by D S Kane
She sat at a seat in the back of the small seminar room with the contents of Ann’s business plans cycling endlessly through her mind. The professor walked into the room to the lectern and she tried to pay attention to him as he spoke, but time passed without his words sinking in. When the class ended, her notes page was blank but she had started to understand some of the AI concepts in Ann’s plan. When she unlocked the door to their apartment, she sat in the living room and researched the meaning behind the concepts that still confused her. One-by-one, she began to have a clear picture of how AI worked.
While she and Ann ate dinner in the kitchen of their apartment, Laura said, “Ann, I’ve been thinking about your AI project all day. Do you really believe it’s possible to build a machine that can think like a human?”
Ann shrugged. “Maybe. Probably. But the entire idea is to mimic human cognition. Not to re-create it. Big difference.”
Laura said, “Well, that’s confusing. What would this machine be able to do?”
Ann says, “Lots, and mostly things humans do poorly or don’t want to do for themselves. First and foremost, the AI must be able to pass the Turing test I told you about.”
Laura remained silent. Then she nodded. “Okay. I think I get it.”
* * *
Ann knew that just the programming of an AI would be an enormous task. But feeding facts into the machine to complete the database that could get it to generate decisions would be close to impossible. I’m sure if we try, we’ll fail. She wondered how to get Laura to understand this.
Ann remembered watching movies and television series with AI as primary characters.
After dinner, she said, “There’s a movie we could watch that might give you a better feel for what I now think of AI. When I was younger, I saw AI as an achievable dream that could be a boon to humanity. But since I started working on the DARPA contest, I’ve grown increasingly fearful of it. Sort of like I feel about the Shelly book, Frankenstein.” She used Netflix to stream Ex Machina, a low-budget movie starring Oscar Isaac.
She watched Laura’s reactions as the movie played out. Too late, she realized that Laura found the movie very disturbing. Her roommate seemed riveted to the television, her face muscles so tense that her face was pale. Ann asked, “You okay?”
Laura replied, “No. But don’t turn this off.”
The next morning, she found Laura hunched over her notebook computer at the kitchen table, crying. When Ann approached, Laura said, “Don’t!” and ran to the bathroom.
Ann peered at the screen of Laura’s notebook. On it was the Wikipedia entry for the plot of Ex Machina:
In the movie, a programmer named Caleb Smith, who works for the dominant search engine company Blue Book, wins an office contest for a one-week visit to the luxurious, isolated home of the CEO, Nathan Bateman. The only other person there is Nathan’s servant Kyoko, who, according to Nathan, does not speak English. Nathan has built a humanoid robot named Ava with artificial intelligence. Ava has already passed a simple Turing test; Nathan wants Caleb to judge whether Ava is genuinely capable of thought and consciousness, and whether he can relate to Ava despite knowing she is artificial…
The description of the movie went on with more summary.
Ann waited for Laura to open the bathroom door. When at last she did, Ann said, “I’m sorry. I hadn’t any idea the movie would affect you that way.”
Laura shook her head. “It wasn’t the movie. It was the prospect of this happening in real life. If the DARPA contest is successful, someday we’ll all have to live side-by-side with these things, not knowing whether they’re really human flesh and blood or soulless machines.”
Once again Ann pondered whether what she and her team’s cofounders were doing was good or evil.
* * *
The terminal at Ben Gurion International Airport was so crowded that William thought it felt like a traffic jam in rush-hour Manhattan. He followed Betsy from the customs line to the luggage return. While they waited for their suitcases, he thought carefully about their next step. “We should take a taxi to Herzliya. I can contact Avram to see if he can get us in to see someone at the Mossad.”
Betsy nodded. “Yeah. But what if he can’t help us?”
“One problem at a time.” He drew his cellphone from his pocket and punched in Avram’s number.
“Shimmel here, but I’m out right now. You know what to do.”
“It’s Wing. Call me back ASAP. We have a problem and an opportunity for you. Avram, we need your help.”
They left the terminal and found the end of a very long taxi line. William’s head swiveled to see if they were being followed.
Betsy saw this and her mouth opened wide. “Willy, stop. If they haven’t found us yet, you’re making it easier for them.”
William nodded, but his head kept turning, albeit less frequently.
* * *
Glen Sarkov had become increasingly wary since his conversation with the Russian. He used the countersurveillance techniques he’d learned from his mother when they prepared to flee from Russia. He watched the reflections in windows as he walked to ensure he wasn’t being followed.
He walked a surveillance detection route, an SDR, doubling back unexpectedly to see if anyone he saw was someone he’d seen previously.
He suspected his skills weren’t up to the task. Paranoia. I’m becoming paranoid!
His first class was a seminar at 7:30 in the morning. The streets were relatively quiet and empty at this time. As he crossed University Avenue toward his classes on the Stanford main campus, a gray van pulled to the curb and three men exited its side door. Before he could react, they grabbed him in a rush and placed a cloth over his nose. He felt the effect of some drug immobilize him as the men pulled him into the van. His consciousness swirled away.
CHAPTER 11
Stanford University Cafeteria,
Stanford University, CA
September 8, 1:12 p.m.
As the end of her morning classes approached, Ann received a text from Dave Nordman requesting a face-to-face meeting. Ann immediately thought, shit! He’s going to quit.
But when she arrived at the cafeteria, Dave smiled and pulled out a chair for her at the table he’d secured. He almost tripped over the chair, and muttered a curse. They sat in a corner of the cafeteria almost totally unoccupied.
He removed a printed Excel spreadsheet containing his staffing plan. She examined the rows and columns. “So, I see you’ve done concrete estimates of your staffing requirements. This shows that in order to complete the project on schedule, you’ll require nearly fifty programmers in the early stages of development. Is that right? It’s a lot more staffing than you estimated earlier.”
Dave shrugged. “But that’s what I’ll need to meet our deadline.”
Ann felt disappointed, even though she’d foreseen this obstacle. She took a deep breath.
Dave tapped her sleeve. “There’s bad news and there’s awful news. The bad news is the total staffing required. The awful news is most of them—probably all of them—will have to be paid, even if it’s at substandard wages with stock options to soften the blow. Stanford isn’t giving us nearly enough to cover this. You’ll need a large funding round before they could even begin. And, you have to do that now, and fast. Get us investors and give them board seats.”
Ann shrugged. Another problem to deal with. One that might easily end her team’s ability to produce a viable product.
Dave said, “One more thing, unrelated to everything with our team. Your roommate, Laura. Would it be okay with you if I asked her out on a date?”
Ann suddenly realized that something had happened during the meeting that she had failed to notice. “Uh, well. Sure. I don’t run her life. Go ahead if you want to.”
And with that, Dave shrugged and rose from the table. “I got class now. See ya later.”
She watched him rush through the cafeteria doors. Instead of feeling impending defeat, Ann found herself feelin
g rage now that she knew she’d be forced to face yet another obstacle. She opened her notebook and reviewed the rules for the DARPA competition. What she found there increased her anger:
No team shall use venture capital, a long-term loan, or an offering of public stock (either IPO, ICO, or a secondary public offering) to fund the team in this contest.
The rules didn’t mention angel funding. She thought about this. Silicon Valley was filled with angels. Tech people who’d become rich from investing in pre-IPO projects, mostly from their own startups. She’d need to assemble a list and network these people immediately.
She started by Googling “Silicon Valley angel investors.” She found a few entries that appeared promising:
Band of Angels, at https://www.bandangels.com
Angel Investing Network, at
https://www.angelinvestmentnetwork.us/
Silicon Valley Angel Investors, AngelList, at
https://angel.co/silicon-valley/investors
US Angel Investors, Silicon Valley and San Francisco Bay Area, at angelinvestors.com/
SV Angel, at https://svangel.com/
She opened the webpage for one of the sites and scanned each of the member bios. She thought, this looks like a formidable but interesting bunch of rich nerds. She even took notes. She wrote a thirty-second “elevator pitch” and was about to launch her first cold call when her cell buzzed. “Mom? I’m a bit busy now. Can I call you back?”
“Give your mother a little bit of respect. I’m just asking for a minute or two, honey.”
Ann realized she was being nasty. “Sure. How are you and dad?”
“We’re each busy with work. Jon hired us to work for him at the United Nations Paramilitary Force. But I called to find out what you’re up to. When we last spoke, you were about to form a team to enter the DARPA contest. How’s it going?”
She frowned. “I’m worried more about what happens if I succeed than what happens if I fail.”
“Interesting. I think you’ve grown up at last.”
“Anyway, I remember you were an angel investor with the NYU Angel Group, so there’s not much you don’t already know. But, one thing I need to ask you. Do you still know other angels? It looks like I’ll need a round of funding for the DARPA contest and they’ll only let me accept angel investors.”
“So, you did enter. I was going to ask you about that. Well, I could just fund your business myself. How much do you need?”
Ann thought about her mom’s easy attitude about money. And, yes, it was true mom was rich beyond any need for money. She’d long ago hacked billions of dollars from an illegal US government program to fund terrorists and offer politicians an excuse to tighten immigration restrictions. But then she remembered Cassie’s last adventure as an angel investor. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The last time you put a heap of cash into a startup was GrayNet. Remember how that turned out? You almost died. No, mom. There might be unintended consequences with the DARPA contest. So, no, I won’t use you as an investor.”
She could almost hear Cassie frown. “Yes, I remember. You’re right. But, I don’t know any other angels anymore. I’ve been out of that loop for almost five years. What I can do is introduce you to the professor who runs NYU’s Stern Graduate Business School’s Angel Club.”
Ann smiled. “Please do that.”
“Okay. Ann, we miss you. When can you visit?”
Ann thought about the tight time constraints of the DARPA contest. “Maybe in a few weeks.”
“Okay, but I want a commitment. When? Give me dates.”
Ann pulled her schedule up on her notebook using one hand while the other hand held her cell. “I can make a three-day weekend in mid-October. No classes on Columbus Day and that’s a Monday. Okay?”
“Thanks, honey. I promise you a feast and some company. Not just me and Lee. So now, you absolutely have to come. No cancellations allowed.”
Ann agreed and ended their conversation. She would now need to work even harder to make space for the time lost traveling home and back, plus part of the weekend with her family. I think this contest just might be the death of me.
CHAPTER 12
Ann Sashakovich’s apartment,
#211, 3950 Louis Road, Palo Alto, CA
September 21, 10:21 p.m.
The next two weeks passed Ann at a furious pace. Papers, exams and her nearly nonexistent social life left her feeling exhausted and frustrated. On a weekend night, Ann returned to her Palo Alto apartment after a long visit to the library, hunting down books for her next set of assignments. She tried to be silent as she walked into her small bedroom. She could hear Laura snoring.
Ann undressed and got into her bed. She pulled the covers to her chin, exhausted from the pace of studying, exams and papers, and the DARPA contest. She was asleep and dreaming, but not at peace.
She dreamed once more about Joshua’s murder and her own rape, but this time she felt herself suffer through to the end and only the buzzing alarm on her cell ended the torture she’d felt when it had really happened seven years ago. Barely awake, she tried without success to shake the remnants of fear from her bones.
She washed and dressed, then found Laura in the kitchen pouring them each a cup of black coffee.
Ann sat next to her roommate in the kitchen, sipping,
Laura handed Ann a set of stapled pages. “It’s my first draft of the midterm paper for the psychology course. Please, please do me a favor and read it. I need to know if a non-psychology major can understand what I’m arguing. I reviewed figure-ground relationships within the human brain. Specifically, which neural clusters trigger when someone sees the reversal of a visual relationship.”
Ann nodded. “I’ll read this today and get back to you on it tonight.” She stuffed the paper into her bookbag and left for her early morning class.
That evening, after she’d read through the twelve pages and sat silent in thought, she waited until Laura returned to their apartment. “Hey Laura.”
“Hey yourself. Did you read my paper?”
“Yeah. Well, I think the paper is brilliant. What else do you know about brain chemistry and physics?”
“As I told you last year, I’m finding art history to be frustrating. Don’t think I’ll ever achieve anything there. So, I changed my major to neuropsychology. Now I’m learning all I can about the chemistry of the brain. And I’m also taking a physics course, but I’m only just into that one. I need to know how people develop their mindset. I know my father sacrificed his freedom to give me a chance at being free. Why did I murder my mother? Why did he go to prison so I wouldn’t have to? I need answers, and Stanford offers me the possibility of helping others if I’m able to help myself.”
Ann was sure that Laura could add something she needed for her startup team, but she didn’t know if there was any way she could convince her roommate of this.
* * *
Glen sat in the old stuffed armchair of his apartment, considering his next move. During the half-day they’d held him captive, it had become clear that what the Russian president had claimed about his robot army’s readiness was empty publicity. They had nothing that worked. Glen had come to believe that Russia needed to get the plans held by everyone else to see if the other countries had more advanced AI that they could copy.
To get the Russians to release him from their black site and stop threatening his mother, he’d agreed to spy on all the DARPA teams, especially his own, and report their status back to the Russians by using a series of burner phones they’d given him. But the only other team for him to possibly gather intel on was Ann’s. And this was only if he could regain her trust. He’d already disappointed her, but he was sure this would breach their relationship and bust it unrecoverably apart. From last year, he’d learned her user ID at school, but he didn’t know her current password. Knowing that she was a world-class hacker meant she would have multiple layers of additional security, so it wasn’t even worth trying to hack her. He already knew s
he would never trust him again.
Glen decided it would be much easier to hack one of her team members. He logged into the DARPA contest and found the listing of the contest teams. She had six people on her team, all their names listed right under hers. He recognized three of them. Laura Hunter, Samantha Trout, and Dave Nordman. Both women didn’t like Glen: Laura because Glen had dumped her roommate, Ann, and Samantha because Sam had dumped him. He decided to poach Sam for his own team using a stock-option offer, but that might take too much time to set up.
He was sure that Dave Nordman wouldn’t remember that Glen was in one of his classes. That would be the easiest path for him to discover what Ann’s team had accomplished. He logged out and began devising a plan.
* * *
William and Betsy sat across from Samuel Meyer, the current director of the Mossad. The office, on the top floor of a squat building in Herzliya, was unnamed on its exterior, and William and Betsy had been told to enter through its underground garage. They had been kept waiting for a long time, and after surrendering their cellphones and wristwatches, they only knew it was afternoon from the light streaming into Meyer’s corner office.
“I’ve been told you might know something of value,” Meyer said to them.
William took off his right shoe and twisted its heel to the right. A thumb-drive dropped into his hand. He set it on the director’s desk. “Plans for the Russian military robots.”
Meyer picked up the drive as if it were dangerous. He pushed a button on his landline. “Michael, come here now. I have something for you.”
Michael Drapoff, a tall, slim man with graying temples, smiled at the two visitors. “Hey, guys. It’s been a long time.”
William and Betsy both smiled back and rose. William and Michael shook hands, and Betsy reached out and hugged Michael.
“How can I help, boss?”
Meyer handed Michael the thumb-drive. “Be sure to use an air-gapped quarantined machine. If it’s safe, take a look at its contents. I’ll need to know if it’s useful.”