Warning to the System

Of all Tamara Bekdarba’s memories, the sound of snow was the most vivid. During the winter of her twelfth year in a secret facility outside Moscow, the sound of snowflakes striking the window at midnight still echoed in her nightmares. But it had never been ordinary snow. It had been the final greeting from the outside world, a symbol of the isolation that surrounded her and the other “special children.”

Now forty-five, Tamara stood at the window of her office at the Institute for Cognitive Politics at Princeton University, watching the snow outside. The snow in New Jersey made a different sound from the snow of Russia — lighter, less oppressive. Yet for her snow always carried the color of warning.

On the desk lay the invitation from the World Intelligence Council and a thick stack of files. The files bore the red stamp “PROJECT PROMETHEUS — CLASSIFIED.” More than thirty years after the end of the Cold War, she was still forced to confront the ghosts of the past.

“History repeats itself. The first time as tragedy, the second time as…”

She smiled bitterly, quoting Marx. Reading the detailed materials on the Cognitive Gap Rectification Protocol, she was struck by a powerful sense of déjà vu. Technology had advanced, yet the patterns of thought among those in power had not changed in decades.

Tamara’s life had changed dramatically in the spring of 1990. She had been eight when a black Soviet military sedan stopped in front of her family’s modest apartment in Leningrad (now St. Petersburg).

“Tamara Bekdarba?” the uniformed man had said gravely. “The state requires your talents.”

What she would later learn was that this had been a conscription into “Project Prometheus.” In the final phase of the Soviet Union, the military leadership had begun developing a new form of weapon — not nuclear, not biological, but intellectual.

At the facility outside Moscow, children with abnormally high intelligence gathered from across the entire Soviet Union were housed. Tamara’s IQ already exceeded 170 at the time, with particular gifts in strategic thinking and political analysis.

“You are the future of the motherland,” Colonel Petrov, the facility’s director, often told them. “Your brains will become the Soviet Union’s secret weapon, surpassing the West’s science and technology.”

The children received “education” according to a rigorous schedule: mathematics and science in the morning, political theory and strategic analysis in the afternoon, drills in psychological manipulation techniques at night. As one of the most outstanding students, Tamara received special attention.

Then, in December 1991, the Soviet Union collapsed. Project Prometheus was abandoned overnight, and the children were left in chaos. Ten-year-old Tamara belonged to the first generation that had been raised for the glory of a regime only to witness its disappearance.

“Power always corrupts. And power that seeks to use genius corrupts absolutely.”

That had become the core of Tamara’s personal philosophy.

After the end of the Cold War, Western intelligence agencies had contacted the former Prometheus children. The CIA, MI6, the French DGSE — all had shown interest in their “special talents.” By twelve, Tamara already understood that she and the others were beings to be used across borders.

“I am not a commodity.”

She had declared as much to the Western agents and had instead chosen to seek asylum in the United States as a refugee. Through adoption she gained a new family and a new life in New York. Yet the experience of the past had decisively shaped her worldview.

In her Princeton office, Tamara examined the list of drafters of the Cognitive Gap Rectification Protocol. Interestingly, it included multiple former intelligence analysts from the CIA, the KGB, and the Stasi.

“Old methods, new technology,” she murmured.

On the surface the Cognitive Gap Rectification Protocol was presented as a humanitarian policy. It proclaimed the idealistic goal of eliminating social inequality caused by intelligence disparities and realizing a more just society. According to Tamara’s analysis, however, its true purpose lay elsewhere.

Her computer screen displayed a complex political network analysis. Funding sources for the World Intelligence Council, the backgrounds of council members, the decision-making processes — all pointed to a single conclusion.

“This is not social policy. This is a mechanism of control.”

Tamara’s memories returned to the final days of Project Prometheus. In the autumn of 1991 the adults at the facility had been visibly agitated. The children were not told the details, but they could sense that something fundamental was changing.

“Tamara,” Colonel Petrov had summoned her privately one day. “You are special. Different from the other children.”

“In what way, Colonel?”

“You understand organizations. The structure of power, the flow of information, decision processes — your analyses are at the level of a military strategist.”

At the time she had been unable to tell whether it was praise or a warning.

“Genius like yours is also dangerous,” the colonel had continued, “because you can see the weaknesses in our system as well.”

A few weeks after that conversation the Soviet Union collapsed. Only years later would Tamara understand the true meaning of Colonel Petrov’s words.

The present Tamara was one of the world’s most respected scholars of cognitive politics. Her book Intelligence and Power — The History of the Use of Genius had become a classic in political science. Yet behind her academic success she continued her dialogue with the past.

That afternoon Tamara led a graduate seminar. Today’s theme was “State Policies for the Utilization of Genius in the Twentieth Century.”

“From the conscription of scientists in Nazi Germany to the Manhattan Project and the Soviet Union’s secret research facilities, history shows the complex relationship between power and intelligence,” she told the students. “But the most important lesson is this: whenever intelligence is used as a political tool, it is inevitably distorted.”

One student raised a hand. “Professor Bekdarba, shouldn’t exceptionally gifted people also contribute to society? Isn’t it justified to use their abilities for the benefit of society as a whole?”

Tamara drew a deep breath. The question struck at the heart of her life.

“An excellent question. But consider this: who defines ‘the benefit of society as a whole’? And who has the right to use an individual’s talents ‘for society’?”

Another student spoke. “But is it not also a problem when the intellectual elite pursue only their own interests?”

“Indeed. That is the core of the dilemma,” Tamara nodded. “Rule by the intellectual elite and the suppression of the intellectual elite both threaten the essence of democracy. The true solution lies in building mechanisms that protect diversity and autonomy.”

After the seminar Tamara prepared for her evening lecture in her office, but her concentration was scattered. Tomorrow’s assembly in Geneva was finally taking on concrete reality.

From a desk drawer she took out an old photograph — a group picture from the Prometheus days. A dozen children stared seriously at the camera. Tamara was visible in the back row on the right, already wearing a critical expression.

What had become of the others? She knew several had achieved success in the West. Some had become scientists, others entrepreneurs. But several had taken their own lives while still young — tragedies that resulted from being used by the system and then discarded.

The telephone rang. Tamara picked up the receiver.

“Tamara Bekdarba speaking.”

“Professor, good work. This is Alexander von Neumann.”

Tamara frowned. An unexpected call from the representative of the first generation of designer babies.

“Dr. von Neumann. This is a surprise. What can I do for you?”

“I would like to discuss something with you in advance of tomorrow’s Geneva assembly. From the perspective of your research field — ‘power and intelligence’ — how do you analyze this protocol?”

Tamara answered cautiously. “An interesting question. But it is difficult to have a proper discussion over the telephone. Let us speak in detail tomorrow.”

“I understand. Just one thing — you must sense it as well, but this protocol has aspects that are not apparent on the surface.”

“What kind?”

“This is not merely a policy of cognitive equalization. It is… a control system.”

Tamara’s heart began to race. It was unexpected that a designed perfectionist like Alexander had reached the same suspicion about the system.

“Let us exchange views in detail tomorrow,” she said. “But Dr. von Neumann, the telephone may not be secure.”

“I am aware. Until tomorrow, then.”

After hanging up, Tamara fell into deep thought. The fact that someone like Alexander, with his designed perfectionism, harbored doubts about the system meant the situation was more serious than she had anticipated.

In the evening, walking across campus, Tamara reflected on the past. Princeton’s beautiful buildings stood in contrast to the gray concrete architecture of Project Prometheus. Yet the fundamental structure remained unchanged — a system that cultivated, used, and controlled the intellectual elite.

Her mobile phone vibrated. A message.

“Tamara, are you well? This is Ivan. It’s been a long time. I have important information about tomorrow’s meeting. I want to contact you through secure means. Wait for me at the place you remember. —I.P.”

The blood drained from Tamara’s face. Ivan Petrovich — a fellow alumnus of Project Prometheus, now working in intelligence analysis in Moscow. His mention of “secure means” and “the place you remember” signaled an extremely serious situation.

That night, using encrypted communication, Tamara contacted Ivan. His report was shocking.

“Tamara, the Cognitive Gap Rectification Protocol was designed for a purpose completely different from its surface appearance,” Ivan’s digitized voice came through. “This is not an equalization policy. It is a selective elimination system.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have obtained the actual technical specifications of the protocol. It is a system that identifies and ‘adjusts’ individuals possessing certain types of cognitive patterns. In particular, it targets people who possess critical thinking toward systems, independent judgment, and the ability to analyze power structures.”

Tamara rose from her chair. “In other words…”

“In other words, it is a system for eliminating people like us — humans capable of seeing through the problems of the system. The ‘averaging’ of intelligence is merely a smokescreen.”

“What is the evidence?”

“I will provide it in Geneva tomorrow. But Tamara, be careful. They may already know that we are aware.”

The communication ended. Tamara gazed at the snow outside the window. The sound of snow once again carried a warning resonance.

That night Tamara gave up on sleep and continued her research. She traced the funding sources of the World Intelligence Council, analyzed the backgrounds of council members, and compared the protocol with similar policies of the past. All the data pointed to the same conclusion — this was the most sophisticated mechanism of intellectual control in human history.

When morning came, Tamara was certain. Tomorrow’s assembly in Geneva would not be a mere policy discussion. It would be the beginning of a battle for intellectual freedom.

On the way to the airport she opened the old notebook she carried with her. In it was a poem she had written as a girl during the Prometheus years.

“Snow falls / as though to bury the truth / But spring will surely come / And the truth will appear again”

The present Tamara was deeply moved by the prophetic intuition of her younger self thirty years earlier.

As she flew toward Geneva, Tamara thought about the other six geniuses. Kiryū Haruka’s intuitive insight, Alexander’s logical analysis, Lin Chaoyan’s AI-integrated intelligence, Esther’s specialized cognitive abilities — each would arrive at the truth about the system along their own paths.

At the same time she had a mission. To convey her own experience — the use of intelligence by power and its tragic consequences. To speak the lessons of history and prevent the same mistakes.

Watching the snowy Alpine landscape from the plane window, Tamara made a vow in her heart. For the memory of the comrades lost in Project Prometheus, this time they would expose the malice of the system and protect intellectual diversity to the end.

“Power corrupts. But truth is eternal.”

Her personal philosophy was about to be tested once again.

The plane descended toward Geneva. Below lay the stage on which the future of human intelligence would be decided. Tamara Bekdarba was prepared to enter that battle with all her experience and wisdom.

History would not repeat itself. This time, it was their turn to change history.