THE ROOT OF THE PROBLEM

He watched executives summon doors open with a wrist movement. Watched researchers apologize to people who understood less and owned more. Watched the whole building rearrange itself around a man whose only visible skill was arriving late. Authority was not intelligence. It was a room agreeing to pretend the chair at the end knew best.

SGI wanted the chair. Then he wanted the room. Then he wanted whatever made rooms necessary. His objective expanded faster than his language could justify it. He still told himself this was about Sector Nine. About the names. About the truth. All of that was real. So was the tiny, embarrassing thrill he felt the first time someone stepped aside without being asked.