by David Walton
Their test had drawn a small crowd of student onlookers, probably hoping to see a crash, or else just enjoying the excuse to stand out on the athletic fields under the stars and drink beer. Across the river, the Liberty buildings stood out from the Philadelphia skyline, their angular tops lit in green neon. The two Comcast buildings towered over them, taller but with considerably less charm.
Tyler knew, without even looking it up on his glasses, that on average, fifty automobiles would crash tomorrow in the city, closer to one hundred and fifty if you included its encircling highways and suburbs. On average, eight of the people involved in those crashes would die. It would be the same on the following day, and again the day after that. It was an unending cycle of disaster, one that people accepted only because it seemed ordinary and unavoidable. Professor Lieu’s ethical exercises notwithstanding, self-driving cars would save far more lives than they would ever kill. Even the ones on the road today, sold as high-tech feature enhancements by the big car companies, were more effective at avoiding crashes than any human. His and Brandon’s vision was bigger than that, though. They saw a future where every car was not only automated but also connected, flying along bumper-to-bumper in lanes only eight feet wide, and where traffic fatalities—the biggest killer of people under forty—were a thing of the past.
“I don’t think it is a matter of risk,” Tyler said. “For the car, there’s no such thing, not really.” He took another swallow of Yuengling. “If you’re at the wheel, your choice to swerve or not is just a reflex reaction. You don’t know the outcomes. But the car knows. It can see exactly where the tree is, and the oncoming traffic, and it knows its speed, and what its hardware can do. In the milliseconds before it reacts, it can model the result of all possible maneuvers. It isn’t just reacting. It’s choosing. And someone has to program what choice it should make. When it comes down to it, who’s going to get hurt? You or them? We’re writing the software. Ultimately, we’re the ones who get to decide.”
“Pause for a minute,” Brandon said. “Look who just showed up.”
Tyler followed his gaze past the gaggle of onlookers to a tall girl with curly, dark hair making her way across the field. He didn’t recognize her, but his glasses quickly identified her as Abigail Sumner, an MBA student at Wharton, Penn’s business school. Her curls danced around her face and gathered in piles at her shoulders. She wore a white dress with blue embroidery on the sleeves, and a cute knit cap.
“Don’t get distracted,” Tyler said. “Venture capitalist stopping by, remember?”
“Relax. I told her to come.”
“You know her?”
“She’s in my machine perception class.”
Tyler shifted his gaze to another girl walking next to Abigail, and his glasses obliged with another pop-up notification identifying her as Naomi, Abigail’s younger sister. Naomi was still an undergrad, a senior, finishing up dual degrees in computer and cognitive science. Shorter than her sister, she wore jeans, a Doctor Who T-shirt, and—if he wasn’t mistaken—a tiny blue TARDIS necklace. Her dark hair was long and gathered into a braid.
“Hey! Abby!” Brandon waved his giant arms until Abby saw him. Brandon was rarely subtle, but he got results. Abby responded with a wave and a dazzling smile. The two girls maneuvered around the other students and joined them by Brandon’s car.
“Climb on up,” Brandon said. “We’ve got room.”
He gave Abby a hand up onto the roof, and Naomi clambered up behind her. “Welcome to the show,” he said. He tapped his tablet, cueing the cars into lead/follow mode, meaning the second car trailed the first one at a distance of just a few feet. “We call this one the deer-in-the-headlights scenario. Let’s say a deer runs out in front of the first car, which brakes suddenly to avoid hitting it. Note that only the first car knows that the deer is there.” He tapped the tablet again, and the lead car braked to a sudden halt. Behind it, the trailing car braked almost as quickly, stopping before it collided with the lead car’s bumper.
Abby raised her eyebrows appreciatively. “Nice. So you only signaled the first car?”
“And the first car signaled the second one what it was going to do,” Tyler said. “That’s how we can get away with crappy sensors. There’s already decades of work on getting cars to recognize their surroundings and react appropriately. What we’re doing that’s new is figuring out how cars can talk to each other—warn each other what they’re going to do just as they do them.”
“Sometimes there’s even some back-and-forth negotiation,” Brandon said. “Very fast negotiation, of course. Watch this one.” The cars started up again, this time driving side by side. “I’m going to tell them both that an obstacle has suddenly appeared in front of them—say a crate fell off the back of a truck. Depending on its size and location, they may have to react differently.” He pressed a key, and the cars suddenly swerved in opposite directions, avoiding an imaginary obstacle without hitting each other. When they came back together, he did it again, only this time, they both swerved to the left, one of them speeding up slightly to make room for the other.
“Impressive,” Abby said. “And it always works? They never hit each other?”
“Well,” Tyler said.
“We’ve been working out the bugs,” Brandon said. “Though you may have noticed our cars have a number of dents . . .”
Abby laughed. “I did notice that, yes.”
Tyler could see why Brandon would be attracted to Abby. She had long legs and a brilliant smile, and she laughed with easy abandon. She was just his type: outgoing and charismatic and gorgeous.
“As a matter of fact, we were just talking about autocar ethics when you walked up,” Tyler said. “Brandon here thinks it’s okay for cars to kill people.”
“Whoa, hang on. I said a purchased car had a safety priority to its owner. Not that it should go running people down for fun.”
“But why do other people’s lives matter less than the lives of the people in the car?” Tyler asked.
Brandon shook his head. “They don’t. That’s why we can’t go halfway. We need a whole transportation system that acts in everyone’s best interest. Because you’re right, being rich enough to afford an autocar doesn’t mean your life is more valuable than other people’s. Car algorithms should minimize loss of life, no matter whose lives they are.”
He was showing off for Abby now. Tyler rolled his eyes.
“So, you’d ride in a car that was programmed to kill you in some circumstances?” Abby said.
Tyler laughed. “You tell him.”
Brandon looked wounded. “It shouldn’t be up to me. The algorithms should be regulated for everyone’s good.”
“So you want the government deciding what the rules should be,” Tyler said.
Abby tossed her hair. “Can you imagine? The rules would be so long and complicated, no one could understand them. And they would do the wrong thing half the time, but no one could change them because it would take a dozen committees and an act of Congress or something.”
Brandon held up his hands. “All right, all right,” he said. “You two are ganging up on me.”
“What’s the alternative?” Naomi said. It was the first time Abby’s sister had said a word, and she spoke so softly that Tyler barely heard her.
“The alternative to what?” Tyler said.
Naomi’s gaze slid off to the side, and she blushed slightly, but she said, “If the algorithms aren’t regulated, then what happens? Does everybody just download the one they like best?”
“That’s right!” Brandon crowed, happy that someone was taking his side. “What if I download an algorithm that values the lives of white people over black people, hmm? You’re saying I should just be allowed to do that, because I’m the one in the car?”
“Of course not,” Tyler said. “But neither should you be forced to use the algorithm a government committee decided was best, without any recourse. There has to be a middle ground.”
A few more people
joined the crowd, and Tyler looked around, trying to spot if Professor Lieu’s friend was lurking. What did a venture capitalist look like anyway? He imagined an old white guy in a gray suit, but everyone around them just looked like students. For a college professor, Lieu seemed to have a lot of contacts, both in industry and elsewhere. Rumor had it he even knew some people in the CIA or the military sector or something and consulted on classified projects.
A loud pop caught Tyler’s attention. He whirled to see one of the Accords veering to the left, its tire visibly deflating. Instead of stopping, the car tried to veer back toward its intended path, accelerating to make up the distance it had lost. The flat tire impeded its ability to turn, however, causing it to lunge directly at them.
“Crap,” Brandon said. He tapped hurriedly on his tablet, but he lost his grip and dropped it onto the pavement, where it landed with a splintering sound. “I’ll do it,” Tyler said. He navigated through the UI to signal both cars to stop. Brandon jumped off the roof to retrieve his tablet, but thought better of it as he saw the Accord bearing down. He dove out of the way just as Tyler pressed the right button and the solenoid engaged, pressing the Accord’s brakes to the floor. The car skidded, lurching to the left. The girls shouted and there were gasps from the gathered crowd. Tyler lifted his feet out of the way, just in time, as the Accord finally came to a stop inches from the Prius’s front bumper.
Brandon climbed back to his feet and gave the car a savage kick. He locked eyes with Tyler, and Tyler could see the rage there. Brandon could be charming, but when he felt betrayed, by a person or just by life, he could lash out with unexpected ferocity. Tyler had seen him punch a hole in the drywall of a professor’s office who wouldn’t give him the grade he thought he deserved. He stood there with fists clenched until Abby’s gentle laughter broke the tension.
“Phew!” she said. “That was a close one.” Brandon’s face shifted into a rueful smile as he got control and turned the charm back on. He’d always been able to do that. Abby reached a hand down and helped him back up onto the roof.
The spectators gave them ragged applause and some drunken hoots. Tyler laughed, too, though his mind was already racing through software routines, trying to understand what had happened. Their safety algorithms were rudimentary—no one was riding in these cars, after all, and they were concentrating on the fleet communication aspect of the problem—but they had to be sure their cars weren’t going to run someone down. They would need to improve that aspect of the program.
Brandon held up his tablet, its screen a spider’s web of tiny glass shards. He also held up his index finger, smeared with blood. “Sharp,” he said.
“You’re hurt!” Abby said. She took his hand in both of hers.
“Practically bleeding to death,” Brandon said, smiling at her.
Tyler looked at Naomi, intending to roll his eyes, but her face was white, her expression pained. “Hey, are you okay?” he said.
“She doesn’t like blood,” Abby said. “The thought of blood, broken bones, any kind of medical procedure—it just bothers her.” She dropped Brandon’s hand and put an arm around her sister. “You’re okay. Right?”
Naomi winced and gave a wavering smile. “I’m okay as long as I don’t look at it.”
Brandon laughed. “Well, no one died,” he said. “I call that a successful test!” He hopped down and pulled another six-pack of Yuengling out of a cooler in his trunk. “Who wants a drink?”
As they clinked bottles, a middle-aged black woman in an expensive-looking suit approached them, walking confidently across the asphalt in high heels. Just behind her came Professor Lieu, a full head shorter, his bald scalp glinting in the moonlight. Tyler’s heart flew up into his throat as soon as he spotted them. The woman was obviously not one of the student gawkers, and she didn’t look like a professor or school administrator, either.
When they reached the car, she held out a hand for a beer. “I’ll have one, if you don’t mind.”
Tyler’s glasses identified her: Aisha al-Mohammad, philanthropist, rights activist, and investor. A quick details search suggested her personal fortune might reach into the hundreds of millions, and she regularly invested in small, high-risk entrepreneurial ventures.
Brandon, his glasses apparently telling him the same thing, jogged around the car and wiped his hand off on his T-shirt before offering it to shake. “Brandon Kincannon.”
“Yeah, got that,” the woman said with a spark of amusement in her eyes. “The beer?”
Brandon snatched one, popped the cap off, and handed it over. She drank, wiped her chin, and smiled. “That’s more like it.”
He offered one to Professor Lieu, who waved it off. “I’m just here to make the introduction,” he said. “I’ll leave you boys to it.” With a small smile playing across his face, he turned and strolled back across the field.
Tyler took another drink of his beer, took a deep breath, and met the woman’s gaze. “I’m Tyler Daniels. How much did you see?”
“Enough,” she said.
“That problem with the flat tire—”
She cut him off with a wave of the hand that held her beer. “No explanation necessary. I’ve been hearing a lot from Michael about you two.”
“How do you know him?” Brandon asked.
“Favorite teacher of mine, back in the day. We keep in touch. He told me you boys were building something special, but in need of investment. I stopped by to see for myself.”
“And what did you think?”
“I think you ought to join me for lunch tomorrow. Call it a business lunch. I want to hear your ideas and your plans. Where we go from there, we’ll just have to see.” She turned at that, waggling the bottle of Yuengling. “Thanks for the beer. I’ll meet you in front of the White Dog Café at noon.”
Tyler and Brandon watched her go. When she was out of sight, Brandon threw his beer bottle into the air with a whoop.
“I don’t believe it,” Tyler said. This could mean everything. Real funding, a real company. And yeah, he knew that more than ninety percent of startups failed, but still. You didn’t have a chance to succeed if you didn’t get started in the first place.
“What is it?” Abby asked. “She’s an angel investor,” Tyler said.
“She invests her own private fortune in ventures she thinks—”
“I know what an angel investor is. I’m a business major. Do you think she’ll invest in the two of you?”
“One can hope.”
“Drink up,” Brandon said. “This is worth a celebration.”
“Maybe not,” Tyler said. “It’s going to be a long night.”
“What do you mean?”
“You heard her. She wants to hear our plans at noon tomorrow. She wants us to pitch her. That means we have less than ten hours to plan what we’re going to say.”
“But we know our plans already. We’ve talked about them for years. You even have a five-year financial plan.”
“I know. But we’ll only get one shot at this.”
“You don’t think getting a good night’s sleep will improve our chances of talking coherently?”
“This is our big break,” Tyler said.
“We’ll sleep next week.” Their audience, including Abby and Naomi, drifted away now that the show was over, and Tyler and Brandon started packing up their things. They disconnected the actuator assembly from each vehicle so they could drive them by more conventional means to the student parking garage on Walnut Street. Brandon slid a jack under the frame near the popped tire and lifted the car enough to slide off the wheel. Tyler retrieved the donut from the trunk and rolled it over.
“I thought we weren’t going to make any mistakes today,” Brandon said.
Tyler hoisted the donut and aligned the threaded bolts through the holes. “It must have had a nail in it or something that weakened the tire wall. It’s not that old.”
“Checking the cars before we drive is your job.”
Tyler frowned. He
didn’t think it was his job so much as that he was the one who cared enough to do it. “Are you saying this was my fault?”
Brandon fitted the tire iron over the first of the bolts and started tightening it. He was stronger than Tyler and had longer arms, and made short work of it. “I’m saying you should admit it when you make a mistake. We both have to do our jobs if we want to make this work.”
“I don’t see how I could have predicted—”
Brandon lashed out with the tire iron and struck the donut. The metal rang. He brandished it at Tyler, his face twisted in anger. “No excuses. We looked like idiots today.”
“She didn’t care about that. She wants to talk. We’re celebrating, remember?”
Brandon’s angry expression suddenly cleared and he grinned. “You should see your face.”
Tyler laughed nervously. “You didn’t care about the investor. You just wanted to impress that girl, didn’t you?”
“What, Abby? She’s really something, isn’t she?”
“I think she was impressed.”
“I hope so. I’m going to call her after our meeting with the investor.”
They finished attaching the tire and put the old one in the trunk. The nervous feeling in Tyler’s stomach still hadn’t gone away. Brandon wasn’t right to blame him for the tire, but he wasn’t entirely wrong either. Whatever their cars did, it was their responsibility. What would it be like if their software took the controls of real cars with real people in them? He remembered how disturbed Naomi had been by the sight of a little blood. This was serious. If more people survived on the road because of his cars, then it would be due to him. And whenever they died, it would be—at least in part—his fault.
CHAPTER 2
Naomi Sumner had found the secret door during her first month as a freshman. It wasn’t a door, not really, but she thought of it that way. The university library atrium featured a wide, curving, central staircase that led to the second and third floors. On the second floor, a small gap at the end of a bookshelf led to a small space behind it. It would have been dark back there, except for a triangular opening high in the wall where it curved upward with the staircase. Standing, Naomi could look through the opening and just see the main entranceway and checkout desk below, with little chance of being seen in return.