CHAPTER SEVEN
Ken looked terrific. That was Tam's first thought when he walkedthrough the high-security inner doors to greet her. He was squareshouldered and sturdy, with high, full cheeks, expensively trimmed darkhair, and a small, delicate mouth. She figured him for late forties,early fifties. Funny, but he'd always reminded her of one of thosesteely eyed, expensively dressed actors you saw playing executives onthe Japanese soaps.
"Tamara!" He paused abruptly, then bowed. "_Ikaga desu
ka_?"
"_Okagesama de genki desu. Anata wa_?'
"Doing well, thanks. You never cease to amaze me. What a marveloussurprise." A smile attempted to break through his dark eyes. "You'vesurfaced again, just like the Sword."
She'd forgotten how colloquial his English was. Then she recalled he'dtold her once about doing his doctorate at MIT. Possibly because ofthat he could be either Japanese or Western, chameleon-like, as thebackdrop required. He was every bit the charmer she remembered fromKyoto.
One thing was different, though. Kenji Asano was ill at ease. He wastrying to mask it, but it was there. And that was very different fromthe old days.
As they passed the usual pleasantries, he led her down a hall, thenthrough a room where intense young men in open shirts were now openinga case of Asahi beer. Computer terminals were in neat rows along thewalls, beneath gleaming white "blackboards" that sparkled withequations and quips. The place was so informal, so . . . American.There were plenty of jeans and frazzled sneakers among the forty or soyoung researchers, most of them in their late twenties or earlythirties. Plastered across the low partitions were film posters andAmerican counterculture bumper stickers (Radio Already Stolen, Nuke aCommie for Christ); above a row of printers a blond pin-up wasunveiling her gynecological mysteries to the movie still of a startledGodzilla; and a couple of rusty California vanity plates were hangingover one long-haired staffer's terminal like big-game trophies--one read64K-1ST, the other EZ BKS. Probably commissioned by venture capitalistsin Silicon Valley whose Porsches had since been repossessed, shethought. The rock and roll dissonance of Siouxsie & the Bansheessounded from a tiny stereo assembled out of computer hardware and a newYamaha digital tape deck. Presumably as a stunt, the high end of theaudio was being used to drive a garishly tinted computer graphicsdisplay that had been projected against one of the windows, creating avirtual image that seemed to dance amidst the Tokyo skyscrapers like aMartian _son et lumiere_.
But she wasn't fooled by the frat-house trimmings. She realized thesecasually dressed young researchers were the pick of Japan's technicalgraduates. Making the Fifth Generation team these days was one of thehighest honors in the land. After some initial skepticism the bigcorporations were now competing for the prestige of loaning their youngstars to the project for a few years, since they hoped to reap enormousbenefits down the road.
In fact, the youthful atmosphere was entirely intentional. That, sheknew, had been the legacy of Ken's predecessor, Dr. Yoshida, who hadrefused to let anyone over thirty-five on the project. Furthermore,since he believed the stuffed-shirt layout of most Japanese offices andlabs stifled creativity, he had deliberately devised an un-Japaneseworkspace to try and reproduce Western research environments.
Finally they reached a closed door. Metal. When she realized it wasKen's office, she almost remarked on this departure from what sheremembered about Dr. Yoshida's well-known attitude. He liked to be outon the floor, with just another low partition, right there interactingwith his young staffers.
Without a word Ken inserted a magnetic card into the slot beside thedoor handle and then pushed it open. Not only a door, she thought, alocked door. Are they finally starting to worry about industrialespionage?
She wasn't surprised, however, to see that his office had a
monastic spareness, with only his desk, a small but expensive leathercouch, and a row of computer terminals along one wall. He was, sheknew, a big believer in Zen philosophy. Maybe pan of the reason for thedoor was just to shut all the madness outside and keep his own worldserene.
Through the window behind him she could see Mt. Fuji, outlined againsta backdrop of autumn blue. He smiled and pointed it out, saying theywere lucky to have a rare smog-less day, then gestured her toward thecouch.
"Welcome to my refuge." He was cordial but entirely correct--right downto his conservative charcoal gray suit. Not a glimmer of a hint abouttheir brief Kyoto episode. "Let me have tea sent in." He leaned forwardin his leather chair and punched the intercom on his desk.
"Ken, please, don't make a fuss. I know I hate it when people just dropby." She glanced back at the locked door, wondering. "Tell me if thisis not a good time for you."
"Tam, for you any time is a good time." He buzzed again-- there had beenno response--then shrugged. "I guess things are getting hectic out frontjust now." He laughed resignedly, then turned to her. "By the way, Isaw your new book. Fine piece of work. I do hope somebody over therereads it. Are you still running your Center at NYU?"
"So far." She decided to spare him the details.
"Well, it's a good school. Getting better all the time. You've got somefirst-rate supercomputer work at the Courant Institute, particularlywith your IBM connection, but you should keep an eye on Columbia. Nowthat AT&T has joined with them to go after some of the Pentagon's AIcontracts, they may finally start putting together a major computerscience department up there too. In a few years Stanford and Carnegie-Mellon will have to step lively to stay out front."
Hello, she thought. How come Ken suddenly knows so much scuttlebuttabout U.S. computer research? Nobody at home knows the first thingabout what's going on in Japan.
"I was surprised to hear about this new appointment, Ken." She settledback on the couch. "I was guessing you had the inside track for MITIvice minister in a few years."
"Ah, well, for now my work is here." He gestured uncomfortably aboutthe room. "Let me try once more for that tea."
She realized he'd slipped deftly around her quick probe
concerning MITI's new role in the lab. He knew how to be a team player,she thought. Very Japanese.
This time he raised a response. A female voice dripping with long-vowelhonorifics announced his tea would be delivered immediately.
Next came a small, awkward lull as they both sat there rememberingKyoto and not sure how to get around that memory. She wondered if itwas happening all over again.
Maybe it hadn't been just a fluke, a crazy one-night diversion. She wasabout to switch to Japanese, thinking that might provide the joltneeded to break the ice, but just as the silence swelled between them,there came a knock on the door and tea.
She was half annoyed, half relieved.
He rose to walk over and began chatting as though they'd beeninterrupted in the midst of some intense technical exchange.
"Are you scheduled to present a paper at that Kyoto conference comingup?" He pushed a button beside the door, and it swung wide. "There'ssure to be quite a crowd. Everybody here's excited about supercomputersthese days."
"No, this is strictly a pleasure trip. With maybe a few interviewsthrown in to make it a tax write-off for a book I'm planning onrobots." She hesitated. "Though I actually might go down and try to seea few people."
"Then this could turn out to be a pleasant coincidence." He took thetea, and the bowing girl vanished. Again the door clicked shut. "I haveto go too, but I'm hoping to steal a few moments of freedom."
"You're chairing a session this year?"
"Absolutely not." He turned serious. "I'm not allowed time for anythinglike that anymore, Tam. This new project is top priority." He pouredher a cup of the pale green liquid and passed it over, seeminglyrelieved that the tension had abated. "There's a lot of work here atthe Fifth Generation lab now that we're coordinating this program withthe supercomputer effort."
"You mean with MlTl's supercomputer project?" Caught your little slip,she told herself. You are still with MITI. Which means they have takenover this lab.
H
e didn't blink. "As you probably know, MITI has the goal of creating amachine capable of a hundred billion computations a second, targetedjust down the road. Which means we have to come up with entirely newcomputer languages and architecture."
"Parallel processing."
"Exactly. Handling multiple streams of information at once. Now that wefinally understand what's required for a superfast computer, this workin AI just happens to be very relevant. It turns out we humans arealready walking around with parallel processing in our heads, able tohandle words, images, ideas, all at the same time. So if we want tocreate machines that operate as fast as possible, then it's crucial tounderstand how our brain manages things like recognition, learning,inference. Our hope is that by utilizing the studies here in thoseareas, incorporating them into our supercomputer work, we might be ableto put ourselves a major step ahead. . . ."
Good God, Tam thought, it's elegantly simple. That's why MITI has takenover the Fifth Generation Project. They're going to use this researchin artificial intelligence to come up with a computer more powerfulthan anything the world has yet imagined. Their silicon monsters areabout to start replicating themselves, getting smarter as they go, likein some bad fifties horror flick. The difference is, this isn't make-believe.
"So you're here on behalf of MITI."
He paused. "For coordination. As I said, MITI needs the FifthGeneration work to be accelerated." He still hadn't exactly answeredthe question. "As part of our supercomputer effort."
Tam knew that Hitachi and NEC were both already claiming they had theworld's most powerful machines, faster even than Cray's entry, the bestAmerican computer. What did MITI want?
He continued. "With 16-megabit chip production already going strong and64 megabit commercialization in the wings, it did seem the right timeto pull all our work together. If you think about it, computer speedand computer intelligence go hand in hand. I'll show you in a secondwhat I mean."
Not kilobit. Megabit. MITI was going for the kill. This was a crashprogram. Why?
"Does this mean you plan to increase your funding for the FifthGeneration effort?"
"Whatever it takes to do the job," he replied after a moment'shesitation. "I suppose there's never enough money, is there?"
"Ken, why the rush? This sudden drive?"
"It depends on whom you ask." He leaned back and looked at the ceiling."Some call it survival, Tamara. Maybe it is that simple. Japan is at acrossroads; we're rapidly losing our edge in the cost of labor. Theonly possible way to counter that is to step up our use of smartmachines."
"Well, it looks as if I came to the right place. I'd like to add yourname to my interview list."
His look darkened a moment. "Strictly off the record." Then he smiled."And only if we can do it over dinner."
"That sounds like a bribe."
"Call it an offering from an old admirer." He smiled, attempting toease the tension. "The most I can do, for now at least, is just giveyou a small peek at a few of our experimental gadgets. Details arestrictly proprietary. At the moment we're concentrating on computervision and voice access. And on that last, by the way, I think we'vejust about reached AI's Holy Grail, natural language comprehension."
"Good luck." That was one of the mythical dreams of AI research, acomputer that could understand the speech of anybody who happenedalong. Even though millions had been invested in the U.S. nobody wasanywhere close yet.
"I think we're getting there. Enough so in fact that we're starting tolook at applications. Expect commercialization in, oh, say a year, twoat most."
Look out IBM, she found herself thinking.
"I probably shouldn't be showing you this, Tamara. So let's just keepthis informal. No notes. But here, have a look at one of MITI's newtoys. Can you guess what this is?" He passed over a small device thathad been sitting on his desk, his hand lingering on hers a momentlonger than absolutely necessary.
She stared down at what appeared to be some kind of calculator-watch,except there was no watch face, merely a small speaker and two buttons.
"That uses advanced versions of MITI's new 64-megabit memory chips.There's nothing like it anywhere in the world. Without ever havingheard the speaker's voice before, no calibration, it can translateordinary spoken English into Japanese." He pointed to one of thebuttons. "Just press there
and talk. When you finish, push the other button for the translation."
She did, testing it with the opening paragraph of Pride and Prejudice,her favorite novel. A simulated voice emerged from the small speaker onthe face of the device and gave it back . . . in flawless Japanese.
"Not bad." She set it carefully onto the desk. The thing was actuallyalmost frightening.
"Using this, linked to our new high-definition video and satellite, youcould punch a button in your living room and bring up people on a wall-size screen from anywhere in the world, then talk to them in yourlanguage and be understood in theirs. It's a quantum advance overcurrent technology." He retrieved the device, dropping it into a deskdrawer.
"I must admit I'm very impressed."
"Truthfully, so am I. Where's this program of MITI's taking us?" Helooked up. "But let me show you something else, which I think is evenmore astonishing. Of course you're aware that speech comprehension iseasy compared to the really tough nut, duplicating the human eye. Sincea visual image can contain billions of pieces of information, it can bevery time-consuming for a computer to analyze all those at once andfigure out what it's looking at. I've heard people at IBM claim thatfor a computer to recognize something even as simple as an odd-shapedcoffee cup would still require almost an hour of processing, that tomatch the human eye and brain could take a computer the size of abuilding. But watch."
He walked over to a black metal installation attached to the wall andheld up three fingers before its small lens. Then he pushed a buttonand spoke into a built-in microphone.
"What do you see?"
She started to reply herself, then realized he was talking to the lens.
This time the answer took about ten seconds. Finally a voice inpassable simulation of the Tokyo dialect emerged from a gray speakerbeneath the lens. "That is a human hand."
"How many fingers does this hand have?" he continued.
Again the eerie, disembodied voice. "The normal human hand has fivefingers. This appears to have only three."
"Thank you." He punched a button and turned back. "That came off themainframe here. Can you imagine the amount of memory and logicprocessing required to achieve what you've just witnessed: the database and the computational power and speed? Not to mention therecognition of my voice commands."
"How does it do it?"
He paused. "Tam, this is proprietary, top secret, but what you've justwitnessed is an example of parallel processing with MITI's new, stillclassified 256-megabit dynamic RAM's."
"A quarter of a billion bits of data on a chip." She just stared. "Arethey writable?"
"Of course." He again settled himself behind his desk. "The testversions have circuits only a hundred or so atoms wide. And this isonly the beginning. Within five years, maybe no more than three, MITIfully expects to have a desktop machine that will pass the Turingtest."
"Three years?" It was almost unbelievable. Passing the "Turing test"meant the computer's "thoughts" and "speech" would be so lifelike you'dbe able to talk with it and not realize it wasn't human. Al's end-of-the-rainbow.
"As you can see, the project is getting close." He looked pensive, likesome Zen monk. "Strictly off the record--and I mean that--what MITI isworking toward is total automation. Factories run by machines withhuman skills, intelligence, manual dexterity. In fact, several of therobotics labs at Tsukuba Science City already have prototypes inadvanced stages of development."
She was stunned. This was the kind of futuristic talk you heard fromall the AI buffs, but it was still mostly speculation in the U.S. andEurope. Japan, though, was taking it straight to commercialization.
"Why are you telling me all this?"
He sat silent for a moment. Then he looked at her. "Because it's timethe world understood something very important about this country. Thereare people here . . . with an agenda. And resources."
"What do you mean?"
"Tam, there are people, important people, who are getting fed up. Knowwhat they're saying? Try this. Our country has a monarchy older thanRome, a heritage of literature, art, aesthetics, equal to anything inthe West. We've never had any colonies, any raw materials besides airand water. All we do have is a willingness to work and save--the onenatural resource running short in the West. In less than half a centurywe've risen from the most total devastation any country has everexperienced and achieved technological parity with both the U.S. andthe Soviets. We launch satellites, split atoms, splice genes. But stilla lot of foreigners claim all this country can do is copy from theWest, steal and commercialize other nations' inventions. Only a shorttime back the leader of France called our prime minister a 'transistorsalesman.' That's right. A 'transistor salesman.'"
"Ken, that stupid crack was by de Gaulle. Years ago. It's--"
"Tam, look around you. This is an old country. And a lot of influentialpeople have long memories."
"You're getting melodramatic."
He shifted in his chair and studied the white peak of Fuji. "Think so?Don't delude yourself. Believe me, the West is about to dig its owngrave."
"What are you trying to tell me?"
"Nothing you can't see with your own eyes." He turned back. "MITI isnow ready to move into the next phase. Finally here's a project that'sas strategic, in its own way, as the bomb. If Japan can succeed increating a machine capable of humanlike thinking, it will be the mostprofound achievement in the history of mankind." And this project iswell on its way. There may be nothing that can stop the events that lieahead."
"Stop what? What events?"
"That's not a simple question." He caught himself and eased up, smilinguncomfortably once again. "Forgive me. None of this is forpublication." He hesitated. "Your work is well-known here in Japan,Tam. You are one of the few Americans our industrialists respectunreservedly. Maybe you weren't aware of that. Your books are highlyregarded; in fact, I read the new one in manuscript." A long pause,then, "Would you ever consider working with me for a while? Come backhome, so to speak? You can see the implications of this project."
"I see the implications, all right." She didn't know what to say. Why asudden job offer from Ken? Or was it from MITI? "But where is thisheaded? If Japan achieves this technological supremacy, what then?"
"Before the flowers bloom, MITI must tend the garden." He rose andpoured more tea into her cup. "But enough. You know, I've thought aboutyou a lot. Tell me how you've been. What've you been doing?"
"Teaching, writing, you know. Everything and nothing."
He smiled, then brushed an imaginary fleck of lint off his tailoredwoolen cuff. "Well, perhaps we'll have some time to talk."
What was he driving at? Was there more? Something going on he didn'twant to broach here in the lab?
"Tam, it is so good to see you once more." He looked up again. "Wouldyou be interested in going down to Kyoto with me day after tomorrow?There are some things . . ." He sipped at his tea. "As I said, I'mscheduled to look in on the conference and see a few people, but Ishould have some free time."
"That conference doesn't start till next week."
"Actually I need to be down a few days early."
"Oh. Why?"
He measured his words. "Oddly enough it has to do with the Sword.Things have started moving pretty fast since those archeologistsworking for Dai Nippon recovered the sacred Sword-of the EmperorAntoku."
"I saw the Emperor on TV. Try going outside now."
"Well, I think I'll close here a little early and let my people go onhome. It sounds like their celebration has already started anyway." Hegestured toward the music and noise filtering through the door. "Butthe reason I need to be in Kyoto a few days in advance is to see thepresident of Dai Nippon."
"The firm that--"
"That's right. His name is Matsuo Noda. I've known him for some yearsactually. He contacted me a couple of days ago about a meeting. I'm notsure what he has in mind precisely, but I have to find out. He's justbecome one of the most influential people in the country, not that hewasn't already. And now with all the money he's about to have in thisnew Imperial fund . . ."
"The one mentioned at the Emperor's news conference?"
"Exactly. As you might suspect, that was merely the formalannouncement. Some of us at MITI heard about it several days ago. Myprivate hunch is that in a few days Matsuo Noda could well have moreresources at his fingertips than any one man in the history of theworld." He looked at her. "It's almost frightening when you think ofthe power he'll soon have."
"Ken, I think I would like to come along with you." What was going on?MITI's plans already were pretty astonishing. And now this new nationalhero, the president of Dai Nippon, was about to get involved.
More than that, she'd half forgotten how interesting Kenji Asano reallycould be. Her trip was taking a lot of unexpected turns.
"Well, then, in that famous American phrase, 'Why not?'" He smiled, themask firmly back in place. "In fact, I'll try and arrange for you tomeet Matsuo Noda while we're there." A conspiratorial wink. "Maybehe'll even give us a glimpse of the Sword."
Tokyo was one big party that night, the streets mobbed. They eventuallyfound themselves in Shinjuku, in a high-tech new restaurant all chromeand glass and New Age prices. The tuna sashimi seemed only minutes fromthe sea, and the aged sake was smooth as a flawless white Bordeaux.Afterward they grabbed a taxi over to the Ginza, where Ken got seats onthe tatami straw mats down in the orchestra of the Kabukiza, and theytook in the last act of a Kabuki play (featuring the famous EnnosukeIII) that had been underway since late afternoon. The evening ended upin the art deco mezzanine bar at the Imperial, the part salvaged fromthe old Frank Lloyd Wright structure, where she kicked off her shoes,ordered a twenty-dollar cognac, and nestled against his elegantshoulder.
What was that he'd said about coming back home? Her books beingcirculated here even in manuscript? What was he hinting at?
Finally around two A.M. he called for the check and neither said a wordas they headed for the elevator.
She thought one last time about Allan's warning as she watched thefloors flash above the door and searched for her key. But this was notime to brood about conspiracies. Ken made her feel good. Which was ahell of a lot more than Dave Mason had done. Besides, Ken had somestyle; all Dave did was mope around in a pair of baggy chinos and whineabout his department. Ken was upbeat, alive, aware.
What's more, she enjoyed being with him, feeling the heat of his cheekagainst hers. As the elevator doors opened, he slipped an arm about herwaist and nuzzled her hair. Then their lips met.
He was just as she remembered. His touch, his taste, his body. Still,something about him was definitely changed.
Then he reached for her key and opened the door. The minute theyentered the sitting room of her suite, he took her in his arms.
"Tam, let's not talk anymore about business, no more Swords. I'malready bored hearing about it. Just us. What do you say?"
"Agreed." She looked at him and suddenly realized something. Ken Asanowas beautiful, _kirei_. Not handsome, beautiful. _Anata wa kirei desu_,Kenji Asano. "Want a nightcap? There's some airport Remy in my--"
"Who could even think about another cognac. I just want to think aboutus." He stood back. "All right, maybe if you insist. For old times'sake."
"'Old times' is right, Ken. It's been a very long time since Kyoto."She located the dark Remy bottle, still packed in her leather flightbag. A nice inauguration, she told herself. "What was that all about?Was it real? Or did I just imagine it all?"
"The heart never lies." He settled on the couch. "Do you reallyremember?"
"Vividly." She laughed as she poured an inch into each of two thinhotel tumblers. "Including that dreadful bar
you took us all to."
"A glimpse of the real Japan, Tam, for our tourist friends. Show themit's not all _ikebana_ and _haiku_. Believe me, it's not." He clickedher glass. "Do try to forgive me. And here's to us."
"To us."
"And to the slightly scary world we're stumbling into. Japan needs youhere." He pulled her next to him and brushed her cheek lightly with hisfingertips. Then he kissed her deeply on the mouth, and again. "/ needyou here, Tam. Somebody like you. There's . . . well, there's a lot wecould do together."
She reached up and loosened his tie, then began unbuttoning his shirt.His chest was firm, smooth, scented. She wanted him. "Let's justremember Kyoto for a while."
"I've never forgotten it."
Sometime around four A.M., more content than she had been in a long,long time, Tam Richardson lay awake on the cool sheets, Ken's trim bodybeside her, and wondered how it would end this time around.
Or possibly, just possibly, it wouldn't.
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