The Irregular
The gathering of aides at the White House and generals from the Pentagon had reconvened to discuss follow-up measures for Operation Thor's Hammer. That naturally required an evaluation of the operation itself, which in turn made Yoo Jae-won's name an inevitable topic. With President Al Gore still expected to arrive, the atmosphere remained relatively light as they spoke among themselves.
America had suffered the worst terrorist attack in its history, yet the mastermind, Osama bin Laden, had been captured alive. Moreover, the bombing campaign against al-Qaeda in Afghanistan was yielding results beyond expectations. The greatest concern with aerial bombing had always been civilian casualties, but al-Qaeda's facilities remained isolated in the mountains, not yet embedded among the population. Capturing bin Laden alive had also yielded far more than a single prisoner; computers, cell phones, and other critical intelligence from his safe house had been thoroughly seized. Fresh information extracted from those devices allowed the bombing campaign to be conducted with far greater precision.
“By the way, is it true that Chairman Yoo Jae-won warned about the 9/11 attacks in advance?”
The question came from the Delta Force special operations commander. Only the President, a handful of White House aides, and select intelligence personnel had known about it; the information had been so highly classified that even frontline commanders had not been briefed until recently.
“That is correct. He received intelligence from Russia shortly after the President’s inauguration in January and passed it along immediately,” replied David, the National Security Advisor, as he operated an iWorks laptop and displayed a high-resolution scan of a Polaroid photograph. It showed a makeshift set constructed inside a junkyard, crudely replicating the interior of an aircraft. Thanks to that intelligence, they had been able to accurately anticipate that Islamic extremists would attempt hijackings—though the realization that the attacks would be suicide missions had been a painful oversight. In hindsight, it was deeply regrettable. At the very least, the early investigation into Islamic extremists had allowed them to identify the previously veiled organization known as al-Qaeda.
“Incidentally, are you satisfied with the performance of the stealth drones?” the National Security Advisor asked the special operations commander.
“Absolutely,” came the brief reply. Yet that was not the full answer. “The greatest obstacle in infiltration operations is unfamiliar terrain. No matter how accurate the maps, reality always differs once you’re on the ground. This time, however, that problem never arose—thanks to the mothership that entered the operational area first and relayed real-time information. It felt like flying with the support of an AWACS. The integration with smartphones also proved far more effective than anticipated.”
Though the commander was a soldier by nature and typically laconic, this occasion warranted an exception. The operation to capture Osama bin Laden had unfolded with startling speed, yet it had proceeded flawlessly. The only difference from previous missions was the issuance of smart equipment to Delta Force operators. Linked to reconnaissance drones, the devices had rapidly delivered detailed information about bin Laden’s safe house directly to the team. Everyone knew that video transmission carried far greater informational density than voice communication over radio.
“Having confirmed their utility, we should seriously consider a large-scale adoption,” the National Security Advisor remarked.
“We would be most grateful if you did,” the special operations commander replied. Their exchange lent momentum to the push for introducing stealth drones. Some officials who had previously been skeptical of the drones now wore expressions of confusion. After all, while the U.S. military had been cautious about drone deployment, research programs had been actively underway—Predator attack drones and the Global Hawk high-altitude reconnaissance UAV among them. Then, out of nowhere, an infiltration-type stealth drone had appeared first. Operation Thor’s Hammer had been executed at lightning speed precisely because the stealth drones existed; they had been requisitioned from ID High Tech’s research facilities specifically for the mission.
“I agree as well. There is no better platform for supporting infiltration operations than stealth drones,” the White House Chief of Staff added. The skeptics found this development alarming. Until recently, Chief of Staff Vanderbilt had been supporting their cautious stance. His sudden shift suggested that a consensus had formed without them, and the meaningful glances exchanged among the drone advocates only heightened their unease.
“On another note, have you all noticed the strange rumors circulating online since yesterday?”
“You mean the 9/11 conspiracy theories?”
Everyone in the room shook their heads at the mention of conspiracy theories. What had begun as idle speculation among netizens had rapidly escalated. Particularly troubling were the wild rumors linking Yoo Jae-won to the 9/11 attacks—stories that seemed utterly absurd to those who knew the full picture. Yet the speed at which these theories spread was astonishing. Now they were being polished and disseminated among certain intellectuals with Republican leanings, raising the potential for real problems. From the Republican perspective, the situation was frustrating: despite the unprecedented 9/11 attacks, America had stabilized with remarkable speed. Capturing Osama bin Laden had reaffirmed its status as the world’s superpower, and al-Qaeda’s bases in Afghanistan lay in ruins. Domestically, donations for the victims had poured in from corporations and citizens alike, quickly totaling billions of dollars. If the aftermath was handled well, the divisive atmosphere that had plagued the nation could be significantly weakened, fostering a renewed sense of unity—and, as a bonus, strengthening Democratic support.
“It seems we need to focus this meeting on determining the appropriate treatment for Chairman Yoo Jae-won.”
“Indeed. Without his support throughout the 9/11 crisis, our successful response would not have been possible.”
“Furthermore, the weight ID Group carries in the American economy cannot be ignored.”
“Though we must hope it never comes to this, if Chairman Yoo Jae-won were to become disillusioned by these conspiracy theories and lose faith in America, scaling back his business operations here would not merely be an economic issue—it would represent a significant loss to the national interest.”
“Precisely. Which is why I believe the time has come to properly acknowledge his presence. To do so, we need an accurate assessment of Chairman Yoo Jae-won at this juncture.”
At David’s final words, everyone nodded. Even some military officials who had been cautious about drone adoption agreed that a proper reevaluation of Yoo Jae-won was necessary.
“The President has arrived.”
Just then, President Al Gore entered the conference room. After brief greetings, they moved directly to the main topic, relaying the discussion that had taken place regarding Yoo Jae-won.
“A timely and appropriate observation. Let us begin at once.”
President Al Gore offered no objections. With his approval secured, there was no reason to hesitate. He immediately ordered the intelligence agencies and think tanks to submit reports on Yoo Jae-won. Roughly ten minutes later, the requested reports began arriving via fax, email, and courier. From the CIA, America’s premier intelligence agency, to the conservative Heritage Foundation—reports spanning the ideological spectrum began piling up on the table.
“I wonder if we’ve bitten off more than we can chew,” President Al Gore and the others muttered as the stack of printouts grew, realizing this task would not be completed in a single day.
Several days later, President Al Gore, his White House aides, and Pentagon generals reconvened. After several dozen minutes of discussion, they reached consensus on a single phrase:
Yoo Jae-won is an Irregular.
“Irregular” signified an existence outside the norm, one that defied conventional categories. The reports reviewed to arrive at this conclusion had stacked high enough to cover the entire desk. Each document reflected the institutional character of its authoring agency, yet all shared one undeniable conclusion: Yoo Jae-won was no ordinary genius.
Genius, after all, implied exceptional individuals. When grouped together, however, even geniuses displayed a certain predictability. Yoo Jae-won, by contrast, could not be contained within that category. History had produced many geniuses, but none had transformed the world as rapidly and comprehensively as he had. Most geniuses excelled in specific fields while remaining average—or even below average—in others. Even computer prodigies typically required partners to compensate for their shortcomings; Steve Wozniak of Apple had needed Steve Jobs to fully realize his potential. Yoo Jae-won broke every precedent. He had personally built and managed his companies with greater acumen than professional executives like Jack Welch. Such an individual had never existed before, and likely never would again. That was the shared conclusion of President Al Gore and his White House staff, and it was what had prompted the creation of the special designation “Irregular.”
Accordingly, the next meeting was devoted to discussing the proper way to utilize this Irregular.
“So, what should we do going forward?” President Al Gore asked. Everyone fell into thought until one hand rose—David, the National Security Advisor.
“The best course would be to make him a full member of this great nation.”
In other words, they should encourage him to naturalize as an American citizen. The greatest source of anxiety among America’s leadership regarding Yoo Jae-won had always been his nationality. While South Korea was an ally, uncertainty remained. Returning to Korea would be preferable to operating in a hostile nation, yet having him remain active in the United States was still the most desirable outcome. Although ID Electronics and ID Display maintained massive factories in Korea, the core of ID Group’s operations was undeniably centered in America. Naturalizing him would resolve every issue at once.
“Do you really believe former Presidents Bush and Clinton were unaware of that option?”
Though simple and decisive, the suggestion immediately drew rebuttal. The speaker was Jonathan Locks, director of the Brookings Institution—the Democratic Party’s premier think tank—who had been specially invited for this meeting.
“I have here the Heritage Foundation’s report, authored by former Chairman Edwin Feulner.”
President Al Gore and his aides were all core Democratic figures, as was Jonathan Locks. Yet the report he presented belonged to the Heritage Foundation, the Republican Party’s flagship think tank. There was good reason: Edwin Feulner had been the first American to recognize Yoo Jae-won’s genius. He had been favorably disposed toward Yoo Jae-won and, trusting his own judgment during the Bush administration, had actively supported him. That support had led to the official adoption of the Android operating system and ID Office across federal agencies, dramatically boosting ID Group’s revenue in the process.
“According to the report, Chairman Feulner proposed naturalization to Chairman Yoo Jae-won, who firmly declined. Once Feulner confirmed that refusal, he never raised the subject again.”
“That is… unusual.”
“It is. But he understood the nature of genius—that such individuals will never do what they dislike. Recent directives from Chairman Yoo Jae-won confirm this pattern. He has instructed ID Electronics to accelerate the localization of core materials used in semiconductor manufacturing.”
At Jonathan Locks’ words, murmurs of understanding rippled through the room.
“So offering naturalization would be worse than doing nothing.”
“Correct. Maintaining the current alignment between America’s national interest and Chairman Yoo Jae-won’s interests remains the optimal approach.”
Even though Edwin Feulner was a Republican, he was an unparalleled expert on this matter. Rather than gambling on a slim possibility, President Al Gore and his aides leaned toward preserving the status quo.
“That said, there is still one option available,” David interjected. “The honorary citizenship program.”
The suggestion that had seemed unthinkable had finally been voiced.
“Absolutely not,” came the immediate rebuttal—from Jack Quinn, the President’s Chief of Staff and most trusted aide. “I do not doubt Chairman Yoo Jae-won’s abilities or achievements. But he is far too young. Moreover, with the exception of Winston Churchill and Raoul Wallenberg, all honorary citizens have been selected posthumously. The public would never accept it.”
Jack Quinn’s objection was blunt and principled.
“Did today’s discussion not conclude that an Irregular of this unprecedented caliber requires equally unprecedented treatment?” David countered, unfazed.
“Even so—this is honorary citizenship we’re talking about!”
The previously smooth meeting had devolved into open disagreement. Both men appeared ready to argue at length, neither willing to yield.
“Enough.”
Before the clash could escalate, President Al Gore himself spoke, his authority overriding all others in the room.
“There is something you are both overlooking. Even if we decide on honorary citizenship here, congressional approval would still be required.”
It was a precise observation. The law governing honorary citizenship stipulated that the President must recommend the candidate and Congress must consent.
“The honor attached to this title is so immense that it has sparked such heated debate among you. In that case, perhaps simply making the recommendation itself would sufficiently demonstrate our sincerity—while leaving the sensitive decision to Congress. What do you think?”
President Al Gore’s proposal was simple: the White House would take the credit for the gesture, while shifting the political risk to the legislature. Silence fell over the aides as each weighed the potential gains and losses.