by D S Kane
Laura stopped cleaning. Her blonde head popped up. “What contest?”
“It’s being sponsored by the Feds. They want a team to create a sentient artificial intelligence.”
“Oh. You mean like in the movie Terminator?”
“Zackly.”
“Life imitates art.
“Maybe. Anyway, I’m thinking of recruiting a team to enter the contest.”
“You need a team? Like the one your boyfriend Glen had last year? Don’t you think that’s too dangerous? After the government funded Glen’s startup last year, they tried to kill him. Sure you want to do this?”
Ann’s hand left the spoon inside the yogurt container and wandered to her chin. She stroked it as she thought about the risk. DARPA was mostly toothless and their hackathons were always well received. She’d never heard of any of the entrants meeting a bad end. “I dunno. Probably not.”
She spent the rest of the evening writing the homework assignment for her artificial intelligence class. Her premise was how long and how much development would be required before AIs could become sentient. She read several online articles, among them “AI 100: The Artificial Intelligence Startups Redefining Industries,” published by cbinsights.com. There was enough information within this article to give her a list of all the skills that might be required to form an effective and competitive team for the DARPA contest. When she finished the first draft of her paper, it was after ten. She had an early class the next morning, so Ann plodded off to bed.
When she woke the next morning, all she could think of was the damned DARPA contest. She bolted out of bed and was in the bathroom before Laura woke.
Then she dressed, heated leftover coffee in the microwave, and trotted along University Avenue through Palo Alto and back to the campus. While she hurried across the overpass bridge, she thought about who she could get to sponsor the additional funding a team might need if they were headed into the DARPA contest. After all, Stanford might not give her enough cash and there might be other things she’d need to acquire if she were to compete.
But she couldn’t even decide whether or not to enter. When she reached the quad, she decided to speak with her adoptive parents. Cassie and Lee might offer an informed answer.
Ann headed from the cafeteria to the hallway outside the Cecil H. Green Library.
It was quiet there, very few people walking in and out. She pulled her cellphone from her pocket and punched in her folks’ number. Cassie answered on the first ring.
“Hi, mom. I need advice.”
“Wow, that’s a first. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. Anyway, DARPA has posted a hackathon contest and I’m thinking of entering.”
“What’s the contest for? And why? Won’t this take time away from your studies?”
“Maybe. But I have at least one class in the topic that forms the backbone of the contest. They want groups to compete in developing a sentient AI.”
“Oh, crap. My daughter is gonna try to build Data, the Star Trek robot.”
“Well, yeah.”
“Ann, let me remind you that these DARPA nightmares are a waste of time. Last year it was the GNU radio. The year before, it was drone warfare. Their contests are about producing better technology for warfare. Are you sure you want to be a part of that?”
“Well, that’s just it, mom. I don’t know. The prize is a shitload of cash. Plus the notoriety. So, I’m guessing you’d advise me to pass. Right?”
She could hear Cassie breathing but no words for a long time. “I know you’ll do the opposite of what I tell you. You always do.”
Ann struggled to keep from chuckling. “Probably.”
“Would you like to hear your father’s opinion before you decide?”
Ann smiled. Cassie had once been a spy, but Lee worked in computer security. “Yes!”
“Wait. I’ll get him. He’s in the garage with your grandfather. They’re fixing the roadster.”
Ann heard her footsteps. Then she heard a voice. Not her father.
Her grandfather. “Hello, sweet child. What you learning at school, pozhaluysta.”
“Hi, Kiril. Just studying. When did you get into town?”
“Two days ago. You know, I live less than an hour from your school. You could drive to the coast and visit. Maybe soon, da?”
“Okay. I promise. Is Lee there?”
Lee took the phone. “Hi, sweetie. So Cassie told me you’re thinking about entering a DARPA contest. My advice is that, if you do, be careful picking your team. Startups are subject to a host of backfires and miscues. And, in a burgeoning field like AI, the obstacles for a brand-new team could become insurmountable.”
“But, you’re not advising me to stay out of the contest? Right?”
“No. It’s your decision. But just know that what you’re considering is difficult. You’ll have competition that is every bit as bright as you are.”
Ann thought in silence. “Okay. Thanks, dad.” She terminated the call and headed toward the cafeteria for lunch.
As she walked, realized that whether or not she entered the contest, she’d been very lucky so far in her life. From the day her birthmother overdosed on crack, leaving her and her younger brother orphaned, she’d countered every setback with something she learned that still held value. She was twelve then, and had needed someplace to hide from the social services department of New York City. She and Joshua took refuge among the homeless in the endless warren of tunnels underneath Grand Central Station. But lost within the vast labyrinth of cramped tunnels, Joshua was murdered by a homeless man, who then raped her. Even this setback led to meeting Cassandra Sashakovich later that night. Months later, Cassie returned to the tunnels and adopted Ann, saving her from life among the homeless. So far, things seemed always to turn out okay for her.
She took a breath to clear her mind before she walked through the nearest cafeteria’s doors.
She filled a tray with food and coffee, then found an empty table and sat. The ham sandwich was dry and tasteless but she gobbled it down anyway. The coffee was burned and too hot so she sipped and shuddered. She saw a shadow looming over her from behind.
Glen Sarkov. He sat across from her. “Look, I get it. You’re still angry with me.”
She decided to drive the point home. Like a dagger, she stared at him and said, “How is Samantha Trout?” Glen had dumped Ann for Samantha, his chief financial officer.
Glen shrugged. “We ran out of money before we completed the prototype. And, it turns out that the president-elect owned the VC firm that invested in us. So, after he was arrested for treason, our startup became evidence in his trial. We were screwed! Sam was angry with all of us. She just left me and told me to fuck off. Turns out, Sam was only after me for my stock shares.”
“So, MindField was a total failure?”
Glen shrugged “Most entrepreneurs go through several failed startups before they are successful with one. So maybe I’m on my way now.”
Ann nodded. She still doubted she could suffer Glen as her friend.
CHAPTER 3
Ann Sashakovich’s apartment,
#211, 3950 Louis Road, Palo Alto, CA
September 4, 7:36 a.m.
The next day, Ann slept through her wakeup alarm. She bumbled her way into the bathroom and saw that the way she’d slept on her hair left her with a long brown spike rising from the middle of her head. She tried brushing it, but to no avail. Hair spray softened the spike, but her hair still looked weird. She dropped her head under the tap of the bathroom sink and then dried it. Much better.
She rushed along University Avenue with the sun beating down and perspiration dripping along her neck and arms. According to her wristwatch, she would arrive at least ten minutes late to her early morning class: SYMSYS 261, Applied Symbolic Systems: Venture Capital, Artificial Intelligence, and the Future.
She sneaked into the back of the classroom, feeling breathless. She sat in the back row and took notes diligently as the prof
essor spoke at the lectern. Her mind drifted occasionally but was quickly drawn back each time by the professor’s references to team formation, reminding her of the DARPA contest.
Several of the students asked questions that led Ann to believe they were also pondering whether to enter the contest. Maybe it’s just my overactive imagination.
After the class, she exited the auditorium, following two of the other students who’d asked these provocative questions. She heard them mention DARPA and now wondered if most of her competition would be from this very class.
Ann found a place to sit in one of the Green Library’s carrels and started a list of the positions she would need to fill to complete her team, were she to enter. Due to her experience with Glen’s startup last year, she thought of the team as if it were a startup. She’d need a CEO, CFO, CTO, VP Personnel, and VP Marketing, but she was sure most of the gut-work staffing would be the programmers reporting to the CTO. Probably at least fifteen total headcount for her team in the contest. Maybe even more.
Ann tried to think of people other than classmates she knew who could fill these roles. She wondered if she could interest her mentor, William Wing, in the CTO job? Wing was a legendary hacker, his name spoken in whispers among the cyberpunk community.
Wasn’t William working with Betsy Brown for Jon Sommers at the UN’s paramilitary force in New York?
She called William and he picked up on the third ring,
“Cybersecurity, Director Wing Speaking.”
“William, it’s Ann Sashakovich.”
“Ann? How are things out on the wrong coast?”
“Fine, but I’d like to ask a favor.”
“Kinda busy. But ask away, maybe I can help. If not, maybe I know someone who can.”
“I’m thinking of entering a DARPA contest. They want a sentient AI. I’d like to offer you the CTO job.”
He laughed. “Been there. Done that. Why would I want to try to do it again?”
“Do you know someone who could help out? It’s only for a few months.”
“So sorry, no. And it will probably turn out to take two or three times as much time as I have to find you the proper candidate to do this. My advice is to walk away, and fast. Listen, I’ve got to go. One of our pen tests just triggered a virus. But, thanks for asking.”
She sat in the nearest chair and dropped her head into her hands. Nothing is easy. Maybe William is right. Maybe I should just complete my studies.
But now, she couldn’t stop thinking about the DARPA contest. William’s opinion had her redoubling her concentration on the contest.
She knew she’d need an entire team of people at least as smart as her mentor.
Who? And how could she find cofounders? What if she underestimated the amount of funding she requested from Stanford?
She opened her notebook to the Stanford University Catalog and in the index she found an entry on Student Research Projects: CS 294A, titled “Research Project in Artificial Intelligence.” It would earn her 3 units. She reread the course description.
Student teams under faculty supervision work on research and implementation of a large project in AI. State-of-the-art methods related to the problem domain. Prerequisites: AI course from 220 series, and consent of instructor.
She already knew that the university offered funding and facilities for student research projects described as “independent study.” She read the notes below the description and found that the university could help her recruit team members from the MBA program to fill non-tech positions. I’m gonna do this!
She called the university registrar and set an appointment to meet and discuss how this might work for her and her team. Now she’d be playing the waiting game.
CHAPTER 4
Wilbur Dining Hall, Stanford University,
658 Escondido Road, Palo Alto, CA
September 4, 1:32 p.m.
As Ann ate a quick lunch at the Star Ginger dining room of Wilbur Dining facility, she heard her cellphone buzzing in her bookbag. She pulled the cell out too late; the call had vanished into voicemail. She saw that Glen had called. She frowned, but still found herself hitting the button to call him back.
“It’s Ann. What do you want?”
“I’m sorry, but it’s my nature to be persistent. Can we spend a few minutes pretending we’re still friends?”
“I’m not sure that’s even possible. But, okay. I’ll give it a try.”
“Where are you right now?”
“The Wilbur.”
“I’ll be there in less than a minute.” She waited at her table until she saw him walk up the steps. She waved so he could see her at her table in the middle of the cafeteria. A large group of students sat at the next table and began talking and shouting. This had suddenly turned into a noisy place to meet.
Glen’s voice showed his nervousness. He spoke for just a few seconds and she couldn’t hear his words over the din. She heard the last word: “Dinner?”
“I’m busy with papers and studying.”
“But it’s just dinner. Think of it as a free meal and conversation with someone you were close to last year.” Glen smiled at Ann. “You already know me. I’m not a bad person, even if I mistreated you once. I promise I won’t ever do that again. Ever. How about it?”
Ann thought about Glen. He’d been good to her through most of their relationship. She’d grown to trust him and even moved into his apartment. But, then he’d dumped her for Samantha. Could she forgive him? “Why do you think it will be any different for us this time?”
“Oh, yeah, I understand your concern. Sam was nothing but trouble. I think what I want now is a real relationship. Give and take. Someone I can trust.”
She wondered if he really meant he wanted someone he could control. But, if she was careful and took it one small step at a time, maybe it could work. “Okay, Glen. I’ll give you another chance. But know that I doubt you can prove to me that you’re trustworthy.”
“Dinner tonight. Nothing heavy. How about pizza at the Stanford Shopping Mall?”
After the sun set, Ann and Glen met at the California Pizza Kitchen, a casual restaurant with pizza, pasta, and soda on the menu. Glen bought a small margherita pizza and they sat on metal chairs at a Formica table.
He looked directly into her eyes. “What professors do you have this semester?” Ann noted that he started the conversation referencing what she’d already told him was most important to her.
“Haven’t thought much about my classes yet. My roommate from last year, Laura, is still a bit batty, but I think she’s recovered from her misadventure in Paraguay. Some of my classwork so far is tedious but the AI class is pretty provocative. How are you doing in the wake of your MindField debacle?”
“It wasn’t a debacle. I learned tons about how to manage a growing company. Now, I’m ready for the CEO position I had then. Failure taught me a lot.”
Ann nodded. “Really? So you believe failure is a great teacher.”
He nodded, his face set as if this was some monumental insight.
She wondered if it was a lesson or if he really thought it was just “bad joss,” a Chinese term for luck she’d picked up from William Wing. Then something more important rose up in her mind. Would she always be just someone to pass the time with if they renewed their friendship? Or, even worse, their relationship. “Glen, what do you plan to do in June after you’ve graduated?” She would need to understand any hidden implications of his answer to this question.
“Either work at a venture capital firm or find venture capital to fund a startup of my own.”
“So, essentially, try again at what you just failed at, until you get it right. Yes?”
Glen seemed to ponder this. “Umm, pretty much. Ann, being your own boss is something that’s impossible to forget. For one thing, all the mistakes I made are ones I’ll avoid. And don’t forget that other most companies are unlikely to hire someone as staff once they’ve had the top position. I pretty much blew away any other
jobs.”
Ann nodded. She’d never thought about Glen’s prospects this way before. “What if I told you that being with you while you ran MindField was terribly unpleasant for me.”
“That’s no big surprise. But remember that I’m smarter now. I promise I’ll treat you better. I promise I’ll take your opinion into consideration with every choice I make.”
She had doubts he could. She was sure he wouldn’t. She doubted he was capable of considering the needs of anyone close to him. She wasn’t sure things could ever be this simple. She wondered if Samantha had found him to be a caring lover.
She had to decide if she wanted to be with him despite her doubts. More important to her was his inability in the past to be faithful to her. She remembered how duplicitous he was when she moved into his apartment last year. She decided to test him. “What about the fact that you cheated on me?”
He looked as he might have if she’d slapped his face. When he answered, his eyes looked away and toward the floor. An indicator that he wasn’t being honest. “I’m sorry. I promise it will never happen again.”
She felt as if the room had suddenly gotten much smaller. She stopped speaking and tried to think. Could he really take her needs seriously? But, she still found him attractive; an itch she wanted to scratch. “Last year, when we had sex, it was totally dissatisfying. You paid no attention to me and what I wanted. Did you and Sam have sex?”
He looked down and to the left again, probably lying. “Yeah. Several times.”
“Did you get her to climax?”
Glen’s jaw dropped. “Well, I guess so.”
“That’s a ‘no,’ then, Glen.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Tell me, exactly what did you do to her, to push her toward orgasm. And what you asked in return?”