Martin"s Secret

Industry insurgents had tried for decades to infiltrate ACR and to hack its heavily-encrypted computer network but in most cases the company was already inside their heads. When it came to computer science, Advanced Cybernetics and Robotics was invincible, a too-big-to-fail, clandestine hi-tech corporation with considerable sways over deep-state politicians and governments around the world.

By design, the classified files that Martin accessed, those that first alarmed ACR administrators, were to be remotely deleted post mission. Per protocol, only a handful of ACR’s top executives and a few under-cover CIA suits had access to the information fused into Martin’s head and none were allowed comprehensive access.

However, Martin, who’s IQ measured more than one-hundred-fifty prior to the fusion, had experienced a post-surgery complication. The cranial implant procedure almost killed him. He had lain comatose in a hospital for a month and when he woke, experienced severe disorientation, only able to capture snippets of artificial intelligence. Gradually he was able to call up more AI, but his biological memory was wiped out so completely that he couldn’t remember anything prior to the fusion.

As time passed his artificial intelligence took over his life and handlers urged him to return to work even though he couldn’t remember what his office looked like.

It was the sharing of classified information during a post-surgery Pentagon briefing that complicated matters. An attending Army general overseeing Special Forces in the Middle East had asked CIA officials for their appraisal of enemy troop strength around an embattled Syrian village captured by ISIS. The mission’s objective was to kill ISIS leaders, isolate their forces and diminish the morale of rank-and-file fighters in the terrorist organization.

After fervently disagreeing with his CIA associates’ reconnaissance data in the course of the classified briefing, Martin broke down regional resistance according to ideology, politics, factions, and weaponry in great detail. It was this broad understanding of enemy ground forces that made government operatives in the room uncomfortable about Martin’s access to classified information.

“Sending Fifty SEALS and three helicopters into that valley to take out a handful of bad actors is a suicide-mission Doolittle would have passed on,” Martin had warned, immediately garnering the attention of everyone in the room.

“This isn’t 1942, Mr. Harbach. Besides, I’ve already given the general our best assessment of the situation on the ground,” an undone senior CIA consultant fired back.

Martin stood and aimed his laser at an enlarged aerial map depicting the region of concern.

“The Russians have camouflaged radar units here, here and here in support of a well-armed contingent of Syrian government troops numbering over three thousand.”

“We’re aware of the radar and have resources in place to take out those components in advance with air support,” declared the official, thinking his affirmation would stifle the debate.

“You’re relying on air support from two American fighter jets and six drones based 400 miles away flying over an Iranian anti-aircraft battalion with surface-to-air missiles among other anti-aircraft assets. Meanwhile, Syria has moved its 105th Mechanized Brigade into position here to counter affiliated opposition groups,” Martin argued, while pointing out enemy positions on the map.

“What groups?” the CIA official nearly shouted. “We looked at that area, it’s clean.”

“There is a minimum of six small, anti-Syrian rebel factions with disparate loyalties, poor communications and shoulder-fired rockets that won’t think twice about taking out a few helicopters from either side.”

“You’re pulling this information out of thin air, Harbach. As your superior I order you to stand down,” the official demanded with a tinge of desperation in his voice.

“I’m just trying to make sure our guys make it home to their families. This area is crawling with hostiles. Remember Somalia? We dropped 160 soldiers in to capture two top lieutenants of a renegade warlord and they wound up fighting a battalion of heavily-armed Somalis.”

“Why do you compare this operation to what happened in Somalia twenty years ago?” queried a one-star general at the end of the conference table.

“Because we lost eighteen men, and you’ll lose more than that here” - Martin turned off his pointer and locked eyes with the general - “a lot more.”

He knew by the tone of the objections that the mission was already green-lighted and the powers-that-be would not change their minds. Still, he made the case for postponing the mission before taking his seat amid whispers and muted rebuttals.

Three days later, ISIS shot down a CH-47 Chinook helicopter carrying twenty-two Navy SEALS over the mountainous region. There were no survivors. The other two helicopters and thirty-seven soldiers made it back to base without completing their mission. Five other SEALS were killed by small arms fire and their bodies, along with the remains of many crash victims, were not recovered.

Central Intelligence Agency operatives and ACR executives who attended the final briefing never acknowledged Martin’s righteous scrutiny of the mission or his retaliatory dismissal as a consultant - after all, necks would be on the chopping block should his fateful analysis be leaked to media outlets.

Meanwhile, the company targeted Martin precisely because he had been right. Somehow, he had accessed sensitive foreign intelligence from his implanted device, real-time classified data downloaded from satellites and other global sources, without their knowledge and consent.

It was the quirky malfunctions of the company’s unstable fusion implant that panicked veteran spy-masters and executives at ACR headquarters in New York. Martin had predicted the Syrian mission’s failure and his information had been uniquely accurate according to survivors and informants. But Martin’s unpredictable implant had received classified data outside of corporate jurisdiction and control, which put the company at risk.

It was determined that over time Martin’s ability to access classified data would greatly expand and he might cultivate top-secret military intelligence for profit. To that end, the Board and CEO sent him to a clandestine facility in Colorado for a temporary fix.

Doctors at that facility told Martin they would treat specific implant receptors by applying uniquely-coded nerve impulses to close the loop during a remote transcranial stimulation process. He was told it was a necessary adjustment with little risk and no pain.

The company told him that his implant also required a final fix to be performed at a secure CIA medical facility near Denver one day after the temporary block was implemented. What they didn’t tell him, was that ACR researchers planned to surgically remove the implant all together and send it to a Tampa laboratory for analysis - a complex procedure that he was told could prove fatal.

However, the temporary block, like the original fusion, was experimental and flawed. No one, with the possible exception of Martin, could predict which classified secrets might transfer to his consciousness. Artificial memories of classified information lingered. Despite the 300-petaflop computer used to create and program the implant and fusion, they had lost control of the project. The prospect of international turmoil enveloping government intelligence agencies, and the company, had made Martin an unacceptable risk.

The unsuccessful attempt to temporarily block the fusion vessel had set in motion a very different game plan with a more sinister goal. The company decided that eliminating Martin was the only way to plug the hole before a classified leak became the international flood that swamped the company.

As for Martin, he had no biological memory, so his artificial one was all that he knew, and the company wanted to take that away. He had concealed the loss of his biological memory from doctors because he needed time to think. That’s when he decided to steal a car and flee the compound.

“Hey, brother, whatsamatter? You look like you seen a ghost!”

Startled to alertness, Martin eyed the strapping mixologist warily then gazed behind him at three colorful rows of over-priced booze on display before a bar-length mirror.

“Jet lag,” he responded.

“Your face is white as a sheet, brother,” said the bartender.

“Let’s get this straight. I’m not your brother, I’m your customer. Now pour me another shot and a beer,” ordered Martin, his eyes narrowing to a stern glare.

The young man acquiesced and poured the shot. “No offense intended,” he backtracked, not wanting to audition for a larger part in Martin’s bad day.

“None took.” Neither man spoke again. Martin just knocked back the double, chased it with the beer and wandered out to the Mustang.

Nerve-codes supplied by researchers in their mangled attempt to electronically short circuit the fusion channel had backfired on several levels. Instead, he could now access artificial intelligence including data from classified sources like roving spy satellites and global intelligence agencies. The unintended consequences made him a valuable target dead or alive - depending on the predator’s motives.

Martin figured he hadn’t accurately surmised the potential for such pitfalls in fusion technology when it was presented by ACR experts and the company had not reckoned on having to corral a super-spy that could access terabytes of artificial intelligence.

The fusion was presented as a simple operative upgrade that involved minor implant surgery to give Martin limited access to artificial intelligence files that would enhance his already impressive cognitive functions during CIA-supported missions. Theoretically, his fusion operation would assist future agents in gathering information vital to national security.

Prior to fleeing the compound, Martin nabbed an ACR briefcase filled with cutting-edge electronics, a theft he deemed fair payment from a company using him as a human guinea pig. Tapping the safe where the devices were stored was the first time he consciously manipulated artificial intelligence since the intervention. He focused on the serial number engraved deeply in a vault door until his deep search extracted the encrypted code used to bypass retina and finger-print scans protecting the technologically-advanced surveillance gear.

ACR security forces from the company that stole his biological memory would relentlessly pursue him but with the help of these advanced electronics, he could see them first. The surveillance goodies would help keep him alive until he could reclaim his biological memory. The bullet-proof briefcase in which they were stored was a double-agent’s dream toolbox.

Even for scientists at ACR the fusion of artificial intelligence with a human brain was a highly-unstable experimental process that never should have been attempted. Although he didn’t understand exactly what they had done, Martin knew he was now a rogue agent. It was impossible for the company to determine how much information he could access, process and retain. That made him an unacceptable risk to the corporation and a national security threat. For the company’s sake, and for the country’s sake, he had to be eliminated quickly and discretely - killed off before the implant became self-aware of its biological environment.

The company’s ambitious scientists had created a super-agent that its puppet-masters had to kill and incinerate. The failed attempt to temporarily block the implant created a Frankenstein double-agent. Martin was one of tens of thousands of clandestine experiments gone awry - a failed mission to be aborted and every trace of it destroyed.

But he was flesh and blood, a human being. It was not his fault that his brain received classified information from governments and institutions all over the world. ACR was responsible but the company did not believe in transparency. Its brass would kill him rather than risk a global scandal. They knew an investigation would end with the company being systematically reverse-engineered, dismantled and its board members and CEO imprisoned.