“It’s bad.”

  Ilya looked at his friend calmly and directly. Sam rubbed his face with his hands; he had been expecting something like this. These requests for short meetings without a topic never brought good news. Outside the window, it was a bright day in 2047, and the leaves of an old sycamore carelessly played with the wind and sunlight.

  “How sure are you?”

  “One hundred percent. I’ve got about two months left.”

  “Metastases?”

  “Yeah, damn them,” Ilya replied, pausing briefly before continuing. “Anyway, there’s nothing more to discuss here. I have a request. I need Matilda for those two months.”

  Ilya was asking almost for the impossible. Matilda was an enormous, state-of-the-art computing cluster designed for developing powerful artificial intelligence—the most advanced of the five created by TOBR Corporation. Occupying 15,000 square meters, it housed servers, cooling systems, data storage, and everything else required for cutting-edge research. The cluster’s construction had only recently been completed, and its utilization schedule was fully booked until the end of the year.

  “Damn it, Ilya…” Sam vividly imagined the difficult conversations he’d have with the Board and development teams.

  “I know, I know. But what else could I possibly wish for before I die?”

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  “You want to try creating it again?”

  Ilya nodded. Sam knew his old friend and colleague had spent his entire life passionately pursuing the dream of developing true artificial consciousness.

  Sam paced around the room, periodically shaking his head, staring out the window, and visualizing the repercussions of disrupting a schedule tied to thousands of people and the company’s financial outcomes. Finally, he made a decision.

  “All right.”

  Ilya approached and embraced him warmly. In that simple hug, everything was said: “thank you,” “goodbye,” and all the other important, unspoken things between them.

  “I’ll say we’ve had a series of tests planned for a long time, and it’s critical to finish them now, while you’re still here with us.”

  “Thank you. I always believed in you,” Ilya finally smiled. He had feared Sam’s refusal, and only now did the tension ease. The last days of his life suddenly filled with hope, meaning, and even excitement.

  “I’ll ask you, since you’re taking Matilda, to ensure all protocols—”

  “Yes, yes, I’ll take care of everything and hand it over in perfect order,” Ilya interrupted.

  “How many people do you need?”

  “Just a technical team.”

  Ilya had already conducted numerous experiments attempting to create genuine artificial consciousness, but something always eluded him. Over time, as the company saw no progress, resources for such experiments dwindled, leading eventually to a long hiatus. But after learning about his diagnosis, he began thinking about it again. Fresh ideas emerged, and he truly believed he could finally succeed. He had spent the past two days meticulously refining his plan and request. He had to get it done within a month.

  Matilda would become available in a week. For Sam, things went smoother than anticipated. Ilya’s reputation, his contributions to the company, and the terminal cancer diagnosis convinced both staff and the Board. Though after fifteen years of failed attempts, no one genuinely believed that the ambitious goal Ilya set could be quickly achieved. But they were utterly mistaken.