The worst memory of all: the fight with her ex when he was elected to Senate. Storming out of the house with her son and a suitcase.
She slumped against the counter, the tears pouring down, even among the happy memories. This was it, she knew. She wouldn’t be seeing these people again, wouldn’t have a chance to watch her son grow up.
Her final memory was of her son, away on the camping trip. The feel of his hair under her fingertips as she had said goodbye to him yesterday. Then she felt a blistering pain spread across her head. She screamed out one last time, then she was silent, mouth open. She wavered, and fell sideways, dead before her head hit the floor.
The doorbell rang.
* * *
Monday, July 16, 2035
Catherine shrugged her shirt on, then looked back to the bed where Nick still slept. She watched him breath for a minute, and gazed at the stubble of day old beard. Cute, but dumb, she thought. Well, she’d keep him until she got bored, she guessed.
She looked in the mirror at her T-shirt, mentally reversing the words. Life without geometry was pointless. She smiled and headed for the hallway. She padded softly down the stairs to avoid waking her housemates.
As long as she could remember, she was always the first to wake up. She didn’t go to bed early, she just didn’t need to sleep much. It didn’t take long to learn that housemates don’t like early risers. Downstairs, Einstein was sleeping on an eastern windowsill, catching the early morning rays. Catherine tickled the dat’s ears, and she purred softly. The cat half of Einstein’s recombinant heritage was strongly dominant. Other than Einstein’s size and fur, most people thought she was pure cat, and couldn’t see the dog heritage at all. On the other hand, take Einstein to a park, and she’d fetch a stick. You couldn’t teach a cat that.
Catherine slid out the kitchen sliding glass door into the courtyard that passed for a backyard. It wasn’t bad really, plants gone wild around the border, reclaimed fireplace bricks for pavers. She faced east, toward the house, and started Ba Duan Jin, the Eight Treasure qigong form. She moved slowly, eyes unfocused, hearing the wind in the leaves of the small trees, a neighbor’s wind chime, her breath. She repeated the movement twice, then started the Jade Body form.
She had finished her qigong forms and had moved onto the Nihaichi karate forms when she finally heard movement in the house. She finished Nihaichisan for the fifth time. Sweating slightly, she sat down to meditate, cross legged on the porch steps. Inside she heard the sounds of the coffee pot gurgling, laughter, the toilet running. She sat for twenty minutes. Empty mind. Empty mind.
Finally she opened her eyes and gazed anew at the world. She watched the sunlight play on leaves, and slowly stood up and stretched.
She’d heard that other people had a hard time meditating. That they couldn’t stay focused - their mind wandered and they found themselves thinking about other things. She didn’t really understand the phenomenon. If they wanted to meditate, why would they think about other things?
She padded barefoot to the backdoor, and slide it open. After the cool morning air outside, the house felt stuffy. Her housemates were in the kitchen now.
“Hello, Karate Kid,” Tom said affectionately, vaguely waving a coffee cup in her direction, an air of distraction suggesting he was deep in cyberspace. Catherine focused, switched her implants on. Sure enough, a bubble popped up above Tom’s head saying, “Away.”
“Have some coffee, honey,” Maggie said, the motherly one of their little group. Everyone who wanted to stay sane found some way to define themselves now that there were no jobs.
“No, thanks,” Catherine answered, not wanting to disturb her qigong calm with caffeine. “Are those eggs I smell?”
“Quiche coming up in five minutes,” Maggie answered.
“Where’s Sarah?” Catherine asked. Their fourth roommate was usually up by now, filling the room with her sour mood.
“Don’t go there,” Maggie said, looking directly at Catherine.
“Ah, fuck her.” Catherine said with a sigh.
“She can’t help herself,” Maggie said to Catherine’s retreating body, already stomping toward the staircase.
Catherine took the steps two a time, the old carpeting masking her approach. She stormed into her room, the cheap door flying open, harmlessly striking a pile of dirty laundry. Sarah was naked, straddling Nick, who sat upright, legs crossed. They were almost motionless, rocking slowly, foreheads touching. Nick’s hands cupped Sarah’s breasts.
Catherine focused, and saw the high bandwidth connection between the two. She focused harder, pushing on the link and severing it.
Sarah rocked back and grabbed her forehead in pain. “Fuck, you bitch. Don’t fucking do that.”
“Don’t fucking sleep with the guys I bring home.”
Sarah impatiently untangled herself from Nick. She stood up, naked. “You were the one going on about how dumb he was last night in the bar. I don’t see why you fucking care. And besides, stay the fuck out of my head. I don’t want you fucking with my implant. Just because you can, it doesn’t give you the right.” She swore again under her breath as she left the room.
Catherine turned to Nick, who, propped up on his elbows, was admiringly watching Sarah’s ass as she walked out. He looked at her, and shrugged. “Look, I…”
She held up her hand to stop him. “Just shut up and get out.” Catherine shook her head, and left, going back downstairs. Fucking guys. Fucking roommates.
She stormed back into the kitchen, wanting to yell and stomp her feet. But before she could, Maggie pushed her into a barstool and force her to sit at the kitchen counter. Maggie slid a piece of quiche onto the counter, and held out a fork for Catherine.
Catherine stabbed the quiche.
“Don’t take it out on the food, honey. Just eat.”
She ate a few bits, the quiche sticking in her throat. When she thought she had pushed around the pieces of quiche on her plate long enough to be civil, she stood up. “I’m going to school,” she said to no one in particularly.
Tom didn’t respond, still lost in cyberspace, but Maggie smiled sympathetically.
Sarah chose this moment to make her reappearance, now dressed. “Why bother? None of us are ever going to do anything.”
Catherine stared at the other woman and willed her heart rate to slow down. “For starters, it’s my educational stipend that pays for this house. So be a little grateful that I bother.” Catherine walked roughly past Sarah, heading for the front door.
“It’s not that big a deal,” Sarah called out as she passed. “We’d just squat like everyone else. And stay out of my head. Just because you can do that shit with your implant doesn’t give you any right to do it.”
Catherine froze, one hand on the doorknob. She trembled with anger, and clenched her teeth. She slowly turned the knob, opened the door, and went out.
She pivoted right and walked down the tree-lined street. A small red android, about the size of a ten year old boy, picked through the neighbors’ garbage pile. The bot came up with a handful of discarded electronics, and put them delicately into a rusted green wagon. The bot shied away from Catherine as she passed by. A dialogue bubble opened above the android in netspace, calling out “Good morning” in a friendly font.
Catherine sent an automatic “Good morning” back to the little bot. As she passed close by, she did a double-take. The bot’s head was smashed in on one side, optic sensors dangling. She stopped. “Are you OK?” she sent through her implant.
But the little robot just shuffled away from her, grabbing its wagon handle, and headed down the street.
Catherine stood in amazement. She’d never seen a bot in disrepair like that. Roommates that slept with boyfriends. Boyfriends that slept with roommates. Robots that looked abused. The world was fucked.
After a moment, she resumed her walk, deeper in thought than ever.
Two blocks on she came to the avenue, thick with traffic. Catherine paused. She would normally j
ust step into traffic, but she hesitated. Two Fridays ago, a pedestrian was killed here by thrill-seekers who disabled their AI driver and went for a high speed joyride around the city.
She reached out with her implant and felt for the space-time predictions of the AI drivers. She smirked. This was the sort of stuff that made Sarah such a jealous pain in the ass. No other human they knew, or AI they’d talked to, could do it. Looking left and right in netspace she saw lines in white showing the space-time plots for approaching cars. The lines faded to gray in the future. Impulsively she looked off in the distance, stretching impossibly far beyond her visual field, taking in the city at a glance. In the downtown area she saw white lines tinged pink, showing AI uncertainty. On the highway she saw bulges of red where AIs rapidly adapted to the few manually piloted cars. But in the local environment, all was clear.
Ignoring the cars, she focused instead on bicyclists and took care to cross the road. On the other side, a couple of teenagers were spray painting a storefront, ignoring the protests of the proprietor, a delicate looking android. The droid wore human clothes, the latest trend among AI trying to fit in. In netspace, Catherine could see the proprietor making the call to police. She sensed a perturbation a few blocks away, a police bot circling through traffic, responding to the call.
The teenagers must have rooted their net implants, because they seemed to sense it too and took off in the opposite direction, across the park that was Catherine’s destination.
Catherine climbed the path into the sprawling park. Hundreds of people were around the park, some walking or exercising, but many more, like Catherine, choosing to work there. A few older people with first generation implants, or even using external sensors, waved arms and hands in gestural interfaces only they could see, but most people simply sat quietly, their activities externally invisible.
* * *
Thursday, July 12, 2035
Leon swung his bag over his shoulder, and took the steps two at a time. He emerged from the subway into the late Spring sunshine. It was that rare time in DC when it was warm without being humid. He walked five blocks to the Institute.
Hosted by George Washington University, and attached to the Graduate School for Arts and Sciences, the Institute for Applied Ethics had an exterior that belied the importance of the work that went on inside. At the door, human and robotic security stood guard.
Leon felt the door query his brain implant for ID. Leon authorized the request.
“Good morning, Leon,” one of the human guards said, holding out his hand.
“Morning, Henry. How’s the missus?” Leon offered his bag to Henry.
“Oh, she’s fine, just fine.” Henry placed the bag inside the security scanner, waited a few seconds, then handed it back. “You have a nice day, Mr. Leon.”
“You too, Henry.”
Ritual complete, Leon took the marble steps two at a time to the second floor. Because someone, somewhere decided that checking for ID by brain implant and visual recognition by security guards wasn’t sufficient, Leon also pressed his hand against the biometrics reader, which checked the vein distribution in his hand against a database, and finally allowed him into the secured area.
The door clicked open, and Leon entered. He paused, as he did almost every morning, to survey the room. A vast open space was divided into pods where teams of researchers worked, either quietly collaborating, or gesturing vaguely into space, communing with artificial intelligences, their computers, or the network. He beamed, deeply satisfied. It was the same every time he came into work, but it never failed to bring a smile to his face.
Along the sides of the main room were smaller rooms containing other work groups. Leon headed for his own shared office on the perimeter. As he walked, people noticed his presence, a few visually, but mostly via proximity alerts. Greetings came to him. Some were verbal: “Good morning” and “Hello”. Some were physical nods and waves. But most were speech bubbles superimposed over his vision: they floated in from the direction of the speaker, then slowly floated off into his notifications bar. With a thought he replied-all with a “Cheery-O” and entered his office.
As he passed the door, late arriving greetings piled up in the corner of his visual field in muted colors. When he glanced toward the door, they jiggled for his attention. With another thought he swept them all anyway and sent another message, “Morning, all”.
Focusing, he set his status to “Working,” and set low-priority messages like greetings to queue. Then he turned his attention to Mike.
“Good morning,” he said out loud, and went to get himself a cup of coffee from the side of the office. A small bot scurried out from the wall and met him halfway. “Thanks,” he said absently, and the bot chirped in response. Mike hadn’t answered yet. He turned back, and noticed that Mike had his status set to “On call”. Leon wandered over to a chair and sat down, straddling the back. He sipped his coffee, waiting for Mike to be done.
A few seconds passed, and Mike’s status dissipated with an audible bubble popping sound. Mike’s eyes focused, and he smiled at Leon. “Morning, dude. Sorry, I was on the phone.”
“No problem,” Leon answered. “You remember we have guests this morning?”
“Who?” Without waiting for Leon to answer, Mike concentrated, pulling up the information himself. “Von Neumann Cup winners?”
“Yeah, the fifty greatest math, computation, and applied evolution team competitors at the High School level. Just our regular dog and pony show. We need to be down there in ten minutes.”
“Well, let’s go.”
Coffee in hand, they headed out together, and went downstairs to the main auditorium of the building. They could see students streaming into the room through the main doors, teachers shepherding them into seats. Bypassing the room itself, they headed down a side hallway so they could enter via the backstage.
Leon and Mike shook hands with Rebecca Smith. Former President of the United States, she had served her two terms, and then offered to Chair the Institute. While the chair of an academic think tank might seem like a step down for the former President, the Institute for Applied Ethics was the most influential institution in the world at the current moment.
“Ready to wow some kids?” Rebecca asked. Her tight face belied the light tone in her voice.
“Sure,” Mike answered cautiously. “But what’s up?” He’d known Rebecca for twenty years. There was no mistaking her facial expressions.
“Budget issues. Charter issues.” She shook her head. “The damn People’s Party is hammering us in Congress.”
Leon looked at them. “I thought the People’s Party were a fringe movement of anti-AI extremists.”
“They are.” Rebecca barked. Leon unconsciously took a half step back. “Or, they were. Suddenly they’ve gained real influence in Congress.” She held up one hand. “Look, it’s my problem, I’ll take care of it. You two do what you’re good at.
In the midst of this discussion, Rebecca’s assistant had stepped out onto the stage, and waited for the murmuring of the audience to die down. “Welcome everyone. Please allow me to introduce our Executive Director and Chair, President Rebecca Smith.”
Rebecca stepped out onto the stage to strong applause. Mike and Leon watched from the side.
“Good morning. Welcome to the Institute for Applied Ethics. You’re here this morning because you are all exceptional thinkers in your fields: You are the elite, winners of national math, applied biology, and computation competitions. Here at the Institute we have the elite of previous years.”
Leon watched Rebecca from the side. At sixty-five, the former President was incredibly sharp, a dynamic speaker and leader. He’d never seen her in anything but perfectly tailored business suits and perfectly sculpted hair. She could be warm and personable in a small group setting, and damn scary when she was angry. If she was worried about this new political party, then it must be a serious issue.
“We hire only the very best of the best,” Rebecca was sa
ying, finishing up her introduction. “To tell you more, here are our two lead researchers, founding members of the Institute, and directors of their departments, Leon Tsarev and Mike Williams.”
“Thank you President Smith,” Leon said as he approached the center of the stage. He shook Rebecca’s hand, and she walked off stage. “Today I am going to talk about why we need an ethical framework for artificial intelligence. Then I’ll talk about the key elements of that framework: the global identity and reputation network, the encoding of ethical rules in a machine usable notation, and the use of AI for packet filtering in the net. I’ll explain how those pieces get put together to give us the result we have today: a world in which AIs and humans behave ethically, a world that embraces and balances free will and societal well-being.”
Leon took a sip of water from the podium. “Before I get started, are there any unimplanted people in the audience? Do you need me to use the screen? Raise your hand if you do.” Leon paused, but no hands went up.
“Great.” Leon put up a diagram in netspace, where it floated above his head. “Let me start with the AI war of 2025. Some of you may remember this as the Year of No Internet.”
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A.I. Apocalypse Page 24
