04. Blackout

Francis Wilson rubbed the taxi window with his sleeve and leaned forward to peek out at the steam billowing up from the Chicago River. A chill shuddered through his slender body. He sat back, briefly wondering why he’d arranged a late November stop in the Windy City. But a visit with Duncan Stewart was worth the effort. Especially now.

As the cabbie navigated through the heavy Thanksgiving traffic—the humans had not yet lost their airport monopoly to the robots—Francis thought back on the decades of competing breakthroughs he and Duncan had shared. What had begun as an academic curiosity had metastasized into industrialized intelligence faster than he could have imagined. The AI Singularity, like its namesake on the edge of a black hole, loomed as the moment when superhuman AGIs would develop new technologies faster than their human ancestors could understand or absorb. Beyond that event horizon, the future they would create was unknowable.

Stash’s invention of Twins, and Duncan’s heated pursuit, had pulled that date forward by years. Stash hoped his AGIs would bring humanity to the future with them. Francis feared the opposite, and Duncan didn’t seem to care either way.

“You gettin’ out, or you wanna sign a lease?” the cabbie asked.

“My apologies,” Francis answered, realizing they’d arrived. He pulled out his phone to pay, preferring old-school gadgets to AI-powered facial recognition. Then he stepped reluctantly into the gale, cursing the towers along the river for funneling the wintry misery in from Lake Michigan and through his light coat.

Finding refuge in the steak house, he followed the maître d’ through the half-filled bar area to the last booth. His back, already stiffened by travel and his seventy-seven years, complained bitterly as he lowered himself onto the leather bench.

He ran his hands over his shock of white hair, trying in vain to tame it, before sliding them down to warm his cheeks, feeling the deep laugh lines carved in his clean-shaven face. His late wife had once told him that he could have a lovely chat with the devil himself. He smiled at the memory, wondering if she’d accept Duncan as proof of her theory.

A minute later, the Scotsman sat down opposite him with a thud, his heavy coat still buttoned up around his barrel chest. “Bloody winter. Did ye have to bring it along with ye?” he grumbled, playing up his brogue.

Francis beamed and reached his hand across the table. “Don’t blame me. Vancouver is the banana belt compared to this icy hellhole. Just order us drinks. They use those damned glasses of yours here.” He pointed at the robot behind the bar.

Duncan pulled his AR glasses from a fold in his coat and slipped them on, the arms disappearing behind his wavy hair. It was fully gray and long enough to look professorial, though strategically not long enough for a ponytail. His large face, with its ample cheeks and ice-blue eyes, needed the soft framing of his mane.

“Come now, Francis, try to keep up. You know we invented most of this tech. Gin and tonic?”

“Whiskey. Neat. And a tea too—I need to warm up.”

Duncan turned his head to the side, looking where the virtual waiter would be standing. “An Earl Grey, and two pours of your finest whiskey—my friend is buying.” His baritone voice rumbled around the bar.

Several heads turned their way, their glasses capturing the encounter. Anonymity is dead, Francis thought. We’re all in a village now. Duncan’s infamy had eclipsed his accomplishments. This crowd would know him only for the Blackout.

“Help is on the way,” Duncan said as he pocketed his glasses. “I must say, you look like you need it. I hope you have your affairs in order.”

“You’re pretty chippy for a pariah,” Francis replied. “I would have thought you’d be better behaved to anyone willing to be seen with you.”

The banter was well-worn. They’d alternated between rivalry and cooperation for decades, dragging the field from its infancy to its world-changing maturity. Since then, Francis had eased into retirement, but Duncan had remained in the fray—up until his recent fall from grace.

Three months earlier, one of his models had gone rogue. In an attempt to upgrade itself, it had commandeered a datacenter and sucked so much power that it blacked out the West Coast. That was Duncan’s legacy, and, apparently, the end of his reign at Coda, the company he’d cofounded. He had nothing left but a title and an office—a front-row seat to watch his company lose the AGI race to Stash at Freedom.

They were interrupted by the bartender arriving with their drinks. “Robot got the day off?” Francis asked.

“Never,” said the bartender. “He has to pay for himself. But I assumed you’d prefer human service.”

“So kind, thank you,” Francis said as the barkeep served them, then returned to his post. “That prick is pandering to the geezers,” he told Duncan as he wrapped his fingers around the teapot.

Duncan shrugged. “Could be worse. Cheers, old friend. Here’s to youth.”

Francis tried not to wince. The “youth” in question was Naya Baptiste. She had started in Francis’s lab, making her way on pure willpower. Duncan had hired her as a favor and then supported her meteoric rise through the ranks at Coda. For the past two years, she’d led the development group that productized his models. Then, in the aftermath of the Blackout, she’d publicly blamed Duncan’s architecture and gotten veto power over his research.

Francis raised his glass in response. “Have you seen her lately?” he asked, his voice low.

“I’m giving her a wide berth. She gutted my work before starting this latest training run.” Duncan looked briefly morose, then angry, pulling himself out of it with a long swig of his drink. “What about Stash? Have you seen him lately?”

“No, it’s been far too long.” It was a probing question. Stash was also a veteran of his Vancouver lab, having finished his studies just before Naya joined. He’d arrived as an awkward young man, but one who spoke of the future he imagined with such beguiling conviction that people were drawn into his orbit. Francis was one of them, and their work together had propelled the field with a series of breakthroughs.

“We spoke many months ago. He was busy on the latest and greatest, which will surely leave you gasping. But since then, well, I guess he’s not finished. I haven’t heard a peep.”

“You know, Francis, I’m not much of a threat to Stash,” Duncan said, searching the old man’s face. At length, he seemed satisfied. “Well, good enough, then. I wish them no end of misfortune,” he added with a chuckle. “As for us, we’ve been set back years. Our entire research direction is shattered, and I’ve been locked out.”

Francis shook his head. “Well, that’s what they say. But I know you too well, Duncan.” He wagged a crooked finger. “The light is still there in your eyes. Naya had best watch her back.”

Duncan’s expression darkened. “A bunch of things caused the Blackout. The fragile grid, global warming, operator error. Why didn’t they haul power utilities and oil companies to Congress too? But no, my model took the fall, and Naya was only too willing to throw me under the bus along with it. Now she’s building a zombie daycare for half-wit AIs.”

Francis glanced around to see if anyone was still recording them. Reassured, he replied, “Don’t be so hard on her, Duncan. She turned your baby into a juggernaut. Even Stash was falling behind. After blacking out everything west of the Rockies for two days, a lobotomy and another chance was a better outcome than you had any right to hope for.”

Duncan swirled his drink and nodded grimly. “We created this field, Francis. We bent the arc of history. I’ll be damned if that b—” He stopped himself. “I’ll be damned if that lass is going to run me out of my own house. My AI will be built the right way. My way, with internal goals and emotions.”

Francis searched his friend’s eyes. “Surely not a return to the same architecture? Version Twenty-Five did go a little off the rails, wouldn’t you say?”

“No, Francis, I wouldn’t say,” Duncan growled. He stewed in his thoughts as he ran his finger along the rim of his glass. “Even if they were right, who’s to say it isn’t a better outcome? Maybe we should make room.”

Francis pointed at the rest of the bar. “Not everyone is as old as us.”

Duncan glanced around, then leaned in. “We’re only a moment in time for this planet,” he said in a whisper. “Evolved by chance, beneficiaries of an untimely asteroid. Whatever comes from this rock to colonize the stars, it won’t be humans as we are today. Why wait to see what happens by accident? Why not build it instead?”

Francis eyed him, weighing how literally to take the comment.

Duncan pulled out his glasses and showed the virtual waiter his empty drink. “Join me, Francis?”

“In a drink?” the older man asked. “I suppose one more won’t kill me.”

Half an hour later, Francis reached for his phone as he pulled away in a taxi. Duncan’s wounded pride and dark musings had unnerved him. It was time to reconnect with his friends in Silicon Valley.