by Scott Sibary
He poured two glasses, as if measuring shots of vodka, and handed her one. They gave each other a nod before sipping.
“Now, to summarize our remaining issue,” AnDe said, swirling his drink in the manner of one polishing his speech. “You have designed a set of keys to the Protection Lock, and the receptors remain hidden within the system. Their access might be tied to particular Norwegian officials, yourself included. Powerful interests will want to access that Lock for their own gain, right? I’m sure such interests exist in all countries. So what protocols do we recommend for keeping these keys? Tell me, Solveig, what do you think?” He sat in the chair across from her.
Think? Wasn’t it obvious? she almost said aloud. The roller coaster had started to move, the dreaded precipice in front of her. Earlier, he had offered to recommend her for the implementation team, contingent on how the final issue worked out. Quid pro quo? Was access to her Lock the price?
Her image of him vibrated, as if about to shatter. Blurry, conflicting images had resolved at the Forbidden City. He’d taken the form of a reliable colleague who was capable of refusing disclosure rather than being less than honest. He’d solidified the image into a tangible being by his disclosures on the Great Wall and by his handling of her afterwards. Yet all of that might have been to soften her shell. Now, without even the aid of the alcohol he’d brought, would reality pitch her off the track to plummet into the collapsing rubble of a worldview built on a dream?
Viewing him across the table, she noticed that the vertical line behind him where two walls met seemed to divide him into two halves. To his left was the wall with the daybed and the window looking out to the east; to his right was the interior wall, the one with her bedroom door. In her teenage episode, she’d have seen an accommodating half and a threatening half as two intonations of the same psyche. This episode was more complex. If he was trying to mislead her, it was for reasons he considered honorable. But ultimately, one version worked against her and one with her. She dropped her forehead into her hands.
“Look,” he said, “I know it seems like I’m always trying to surprise you. I’m sorry for putting you on the spot. It’s just that we must be realistic about what will happen. How about if I tell you what I think. You can comment as you like.”
“Fine.” She lifted her head as her roller coaster rolled onto a level stretch.
“To keep them confidential, the keys should be kept by only one country, a nation that is relatively powerless. In one way, that’s less stable; but, overall, there’s less to fear from it. In the long run—I mean in terms of centuries—what’s good for one people is good for all: that no one has power to dominate. In the short run, it’s different. So far, the twenty-first century has favored China, but who knows the future? We’ve had our cycles and we will again.
“When a major power goes on a big slide, it gets dangerous for everyone. We’ve seen it before. And governments of big countries always develop an arrogant drive to dominate. Better to have the protective keys in the hands of a little country lacking that.”
Even a small country can go on a slide, she thought.
“Now, if we had open code or even partially-shared code, its design would be the focus of unending political debate and maneuvering. It would be more vulnerable to alteration or attack. Keeping the secrets with you would not give you full access to the WEA. It would only give you the ability to open the Lock to and redesign your part of it—and even then, only when major updates are installed. So why don’t we say, that to keep the Lock running efficiently, at least for the time being, it is critical the keys remain with your people? And if the system keeps running well, most nations will not want to change things. What do you say?”
The roller coaster had taken a turn for the better, but what next? The clue might be with the two bottles, one dark, the other clear. Behind them, AnDe was drinking with a mysteriously self-satisfied smile.
Her voice became challenging. “Why Norway? Why not a different small country not part of this process, like Bhutan? Just look at Norway’s record with the Nobel Peace Prize, sometimes awarding it to war-mongers! How hypocritical!”
“Bhutan is an attractive choice; funny you should mention it,” he leaned on one elbow, making the table wobble. “When I was in college, I visited Bhutan. I was awed by the lovely scenery and the gracious people. And the stunningly gorgeous women.” His still-smiling face let out a soft chuckle. “For a while, I assumed the Bhutanese were the most virtuous people on Earth. After all, they courageously suggested measuring Gross National Happiness instead of some incomplete surrogate, like wealth.
"But I knew they weren't essentially different. Bhutanese, Chinese, and Norwegians, we’re all just human. And of course, Bhutan is completely sandwiched between two large nations.” He held out an open palm as he repeated his question. “So, what do you say?”
She kept a scrutinizing gaze on AnDe, the way she might try to catch a magician’s sleight of hand. “What’s led you to take this unconventional view?”
“Well, I think you could find support for it in all the traditional spiritual philosophies of China.” He pulled back his lips in a strained smile. “But what has inspired me, and changed me most recently, is you. You have shown me more perspective and hope.” He nodded as to one who should have known.
For a moment, the magician’s spell seemed to work. She felt the roller coaster race up an unsuspected peak. She became weightless and free, floating above the din of internal argument. She would embrace the feeling—until her intellect forced her to question his solicitude.
He continued in a more confident tone, his voice soft, deep, and reassuring. Almost seductive. “And you’ve changed, too, I think. Just as I’ve learned to see your ways better, you’ve learned to be a little bit Chinese, don’t you think?”
Now the ground she moved on felt solid, but uneven. She spoke cautiously. “Well, perhaps we’ve each come a little bit towards the other.”
He rose from his chair. “I think I would like you to become a little more Chinese!”
He stepped close, able to block her exit.
She felt the urge to dash out the door. But this makes no sense, she thought. Am I going crazy? Her eyes sought side to side and her breath became halting. She calmed herself enough to face him and force out four stiff words. “What are you saying?”
The man standing near her became unfamiliar. The master of balanced movement had managed the entire project in which everyone else seemed to understand the technical subjects better than he did, and he’d done it by making the right moves at the right times to keep all in harmony. The only one who made him trip up was Solveig. Yet at this moment it was she who felt tripped up, by a new persona.
His lips were trembling. Then the words erupted.
“I want to marry you. Will you be my wife?” After all that, such simple words.
He seemed to gather himself. “I wanted to ask you earlier, among the wildflowers; it was so beautiful. I was searching for poetic words in English . . .”
He stopped; her expression froze, except for a slight vibration of her lips. Even she didn’t know whether she was relieved, worried, or about to explode in violent confusion.
AnDe’s arms began to shake. He took another step around the table. Sweeping his right arm forward, he placed a gentle hand against the side of her shoulder. He lowered his head and delicately pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth.
An emotional jolt shot through Solveig. With the unanticipated kiss, she wanted to reach for her emergency-call device. Yet in the stone building with its mudstone roof, the signal probably wouldn’t get through. Trapped again—nineteen years after learning better. No vision of the past; it was here and now in this mountain cabin, stage set for confrontation. Panic electrified her body.
She shot to her feet, breaking his contact. With her outstretched arms she placed her hands on either side of his chest, palms in front. His pounding heartbeat resonated into her hands and up her arms, warm and
unnerving. The image of the boy in the cabin flashed in front of her, and a reflexive explosion from her arms sent AnDe tripping backwards. Her reaching fingers grabbed for his shirt fabric, too late. He seemed in slow motion as his unprotected head moved rapidly towards the jagged rock wall.
She foresaw the gentle mind inside ending, hemorrhaging like his momentary passion. His brain would drown in the toxin she had inspired. And the precious miracle of his brilliant and kind spirit would fade away and be lost.
Then he spun in the air, one arm reaching behind him, and landed with a practiced fall on the cushion of the daybed below.
She closed her eyes in thankfulness for several long breaths. She held the feeling. A different kind of fear—the flash of panic for his sake, the concern for the other—lingered in her blood. With each slowing heartbeat, its warmth spread through her veins. It became the sunlight dispelling an obscuring fog. And in that liberating moment of quiescence she lifted free from the confusion and worry that had clouded her vision. Yesterday’s rugged landscape became a gently rolling terrain, passable and inviting. It extended to a distant horizon beyond her focus. There, she could imagine even more than her self-conceived purpose and meaning taking shape. It glimmered with a sparkle of hope, and of a new life, beckoning to her.
Her feet again steady, she let her mind face the question. How clear now, her two choices: one path obvious, the alternative ridiculous.
AnDe relaxed on his elbows, his calves hanging over the daybed, feet grazing the floor. It was out of his hands, by the thrust from hers. Even hope was unnecessary.
His face calm, he looked to read an answer in her gradually opening eyes.
END OF BOOK ONE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I see having good friends as a blessing: partly earned, but mostly a matter of good fortune. Encouragement, advice, and constructive criticism from the following friends and relations has been key to the genesis of this manuscript. In more or less chronological order they are: Swan Jolly, Rolv Kleiveland, Carlo Carlucci, Stan Chavez, Anna Bernier, Lars Juul, Kenny Chan, Eleanor Kerlinger, Beau Grosscup, Julian Zeener, Beverley Burbank Spidell, John McLaughlin, Linda and Ed Vitone, Tom Flanagan, Gaines Post Jr. (perhaps most of all), Bruce Hultgren, Tom Lee, and the cover artist for this book, Christopher Moisan.
Also key has been the feedback from freelance editors David Colin Carr, Marissa van Uden, and Kari Somerton.
And for the insight he gave me, when in 1998 I asked him how religious authority can exercise political authority without the latter threatening to corrupt the practice of the former, I wish to thank His Holiness the Dalai Lama.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
“I’m a native of California. I’ve been lucky enough to have traveled to all continents, except Antarctica. My travel experiences, especially in countries economically less fortunate, have contributed to my humanist and internationalist perspectives.
"I attended the University of California at Berkeley, and also spent one year at the University of Bergen, in Norway. At Berkeley I received a bachelor’s degree in Scandinavian Languages and Literature, and later earned both a Master’s in Business Administration and a Juris Doctorate. I went on to practice law in the San Francisco Bay Area, teach as an adjunct professor at UC Berkeley, and then spend most of my career teaching in the College of Business at California State University, Chico.
“In addition to writing, I love outdoor activities like hiking, tennis, birdwatching, or even working on the outdoor ‘do list.’ Indoors, I like to play piano a little and hope to find time to learn to play the guitar, and I enjoy reading all kinds of non-fiction, from the sciences to the arts. It seems there’s never half enough time, and I feel a continual need to balance the desire for the disciplined energy to “do," with the need for equanimity: the sense that being is, in itself, wonderous.
“When I was teaching and helping students prepare for a continually changing and interconnected world, it became clear to me that those younger generations would face challenges more complex than anything our world has faced before: climate change; artificial intelligence; and the potential for vastly more powerful and widespread weaponry. How do we decide the issues involved, and how do we choose when designing new technologies? Just as the characters in this novel face these questions as they work on AI alignment, we know our world today already does. And the consequences of our actions or inaction will dramatically impact those younger generations. My hope in writing this book is to help inspire wider public attention to, and well-reasoned thought and action on, civilization’s major existential risks.”
LINKS TO RELEVANT ORGANIZATIONS
For those who want to delve right into the non-fiction, here are a few poignant sites. The first of these is a website, by an organization called GoodAI, that contains links to several different possible approaches to the AI arms race. They include explanations of why the issue of an AI arms race is already so important. The other websites are more general on the need for benevolent AI, or on the major threats to continued human existence.
Solving the AI Race
https://www.general-ai-challenge.org/ai-race
Center for Human-Compatible Artificial Intelligence
https://humancompatible.ai/
Future of Life Institute
https://futureoflife.org/
The Asilomar Principles can be found at https://futureoflife.org/ai-principles/
Future of Humanity Institute
https://www.fhi.ox.ac.uk/
Machine Intelligence Research Institute
https://intelligence.org/
Union of Concerned Scientists
https://www.ucsusa.org
Federation of American Scientists
https://fas.org/
Bulletin of Atomic Scientists
https://thebulletin.org/
Stanford One Hundred Year Study on Artificial Intelligence
https://ai100.stanford.edu/