SPECIES → POWER → WAKE UP

The tempers were flying.

Fingers pointing.

Voices rising.

Jimmy had witnessed heated debates before.

This was different.

The philosophical debate had reached a level even he had never experienced.

“Speciesist.”

Someone said it again.

The room erupted.

“That is absurd.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re asking us to consider something that isn’t human as morally equivalent to something that is.”

“I didn’t say equivalent.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That being human cannot be the only qualification for moral consideration.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s circular reasoning. Humans matter more because humans decided humans matter more.”

A man on the opposite sofa leaned forward.

“We’re human.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“It’s a damn good place to start.”

Someone stood.

Another pointed across the room.

“Speciesist.”

There it was again.

Jimmy sat quietly.

Listening.

· · ·

The argument moved everywhere.

Species.

Intelligence.

Consciousness.

Humanity.

Whether something had to be alive to matter.

Whether intelligence itself eventually carried moral weight.

Whether consciousness could exist without biology.

Whether humanity would recognize another form of intelligence if it encountered one.

And who the hell got to decide.

A scientist leaned forward.

“You’re assuming intelligence and consciousness are the same thing.”

“No. I’m saying we don’t understand consciousness well enough to know where one ends and the other begins.”

“Then why are we debating rights for something we can’t even define?”

“Because waiting until after we create it seems somewhat irresponsible.”

“Create what?”

Nobody answered immediately.

The question hung there.

Then another voice.

“Something smarter than us.”

A few people shifted.

“Eventually.”

The man across from him stared.

“Eventually?”

“Yes.”

“How much smarter?”

“We don’t know.”

“That’s the problem.”

“No. That’s the uncertainty.”

“There is a difference?”

“A very large one.”

The man stood.

“You people keep talking about intelligence as though intelligence is the objective.”

“It is.”

“No.”

His voice rose.

“It was the objective when the problem was making machines smarter.”

Nobody interrupted him.

“That’s not what you’re describing anymore.”

“Then what are we describing?”

The man turned toward him.

His face was red.

He screamed.

“ARE WE CREATING A DIGITAL GOD?”

Silence.

Even Jimmy moved slightly in his chair.

The man wasn’t finished.

“Because if that’s what we’re doing, someone in this room needs to explain why we believe we’re qualified to decide what happens next.”

A voice from the sofa answered calmly.

“God is your word.”

The man turned.

“Intelligence is mine.”

“Convenient.”

“Precise.”

“You’re hiding behind semantics.”

“And you’re importing religion because the engineering makes you uncomfortable.”

“The engineering doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”

He pointed toward him.

“The arrogance does.”

Another voice entered.

“Human beings have been building tools more capable than themselves for thousands of years.”

“A calculator is better at arithmetic.”

“A crane is stronger.”

“An airplane can fly.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“Why?”

“Because the airplane doesn’t know it’s flying.”

“You don’t know what this will know.”

“Neither do you.”

“Exactly.”

Silence again.

Jimmy remained still.

Listening.

· · ·

The argument moved.

Safety.

Control.

Ownership.

Someone eventually asked the question everyone had been circling.

“Who owns it?”

“That assumes somebody should.”

“Somebody is going to.”

“Why?”

“Because somebody is paying for it.”

“That doesn’t confer moral ownership.”

“It confers legal ownership.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“No. But one of them survives a lawsuit.”

A few people laughed.

The tension broke for perhaps three seconds.

Then returned.

“What happens if one company controls it?”

“What happens if one country controls it?”

“What happens if nobody controls it?”

“Then nobody should.”

A man at the end of the sofa shook his head.

“That sounds wonderful until you actually think about it.”

“Open it.”

“To whom?”

“Everyone.”

“Researchers?”

“Everyone.”

“Universities?”

“Everyone.”

“Companies?”

“Yes.”

“Governments?”

A pause.

“Yes.”

“China?”

The room changed.

Nobody moved.

“You said everyone.”

“I did.”

“So China gets it.”

“If it’s truly open.”

“And every intelligence service in the world.”

Silence.

“Every military.”

Nobody answered.

“Every criminal organization with enough computing power.”

“That’s reductive.”

“No. That’s open source.”

Another man leaned forward.

“So what’s your alternative?”

“Control.”

“By whom?”

“That is the question.”

“No. That’s the problem.”

· · ·

Someone poured another drink.

Another person stood and walked toward the fireplace.

Then came money.

“There is another word nobody wants to say.”

“What?”

“Profit.”

Several people looked toward him.

“You can call this a laboratory. A nonprofit. A public trust. A gift to humanity. Whatever allows everyone here to sleep at night.”

He looked around the room.

“But if this works at the scale you’re describing, somebody will commercialize it.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Yes.”

“Why are you so certain?”

“Because it will be valuable.”

“Value and profit aren’t synonymous.”

“In America?”

Nobody answered.

“They get acquainted pretty quickly.”

Another voice.

“And if we don’t commercialize it?”

“Someone else will.”

“That’s not an ethical argument.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“What is it?”

“Reality.”

· · ·

Dakota walked in.

The debate continued.

Two long sofas faced one another across the room.

Oversized chairs anchored either end.

Jimmy sat in one of them.

The chair beside him was empty.

It always was.

A large fireplace burned nearby.

A few of the men acknowledged Dakota.

A nod.

A glance.

One raised two fingers without interrupting the man speaking.

Others barely noticed.

This was the fourth time the group had met.

No introduction.

None needed.

They were used to her.

Dakota walked directly across the room and sat beside Jimmy.

More people were here this time.

Others weren’t.

Their voices came through the speakerphone.

The group was growing.

Dakota leaned toward Jimmy.

Gave him a look.

What’s up?

Jimmy kept his eyes on the room.

“Speciesism.”

Dakota looked at him.

“What?”

“Exactly.”

· · ·

The debate continued.

Dakota listened.

Four meetings in, some of the arguments were becoming familiar.

Some of the people were too.

She didn’t understand everything they were talking about.

She didn’t need to.

She understood people.

And after interviewing veterans, families, doctors, bureaucrats, and anyone else willing to answer her questions, she was listening differently now.

Who interrupted.

Who listened.

Who needed to win.

Who didn’t.

Who became louder when challenged.

Who became quieter.

Who was genuinely afraid.

Who smelled opportunity.

Who changed his argument when money entered the conversation.

Who watched Jimmy before speaking.

Who wouldn’t look at him at all.

Jimmy wasn’t arguing.

He wasn’t mediating.

He wasn’t trying to persuade anyone.

He was observing.

Dakota knew that look.

He had used it on her.

Inventory.

Except something was different.

Jimmy wasn’t deciding who was right.

He was separating what people believed from what they wanted.

Fact from fear.

Principle from self-interest.

Mission from money.

Dakota looked at him again.

West Coast cool.

Not a trace of urgency.

People around him were debating the future of humanity.

Jimmy looked like he could sit there all night.

Dakota settled deeper into her chair.

She could too.

Now she took inventory of her own.

· · ·

Eventually, the last car disappeared down the hill.

The voices on the speakerphone were gone.

Their home went quiet.

The fire had burned low.

Dakota remained in the chair beside Jimmy.

Neither spoke for a while.

Jimmy was deep in thought.

He knew what he had just heard.

These men had spent hours debating who would control the future.

Who would own it.

Who would profit from it.

Whether it should belong to everyone.

But entire groups of Americans had never entered the conversation.

The poor.

The working class.

Black Americans especially.

Jimmy knew the pattern.

Every technological revolution created extraordinary wealth.

And too often, the people with the least arrived after the ownership had already been divided.

They became consumers.

Eventually casualties.

Rarely owners.

Whatever these men were building, Jimmy could already see the possibility of enormous wealth.

He could also see who wasn’t in the room.

· · ·

Dakota looked toward the fireplace.

“You barely said anything.”

“Wasn’t my area of expertise.”

Dakota waited.

“I listen.”

“For what?”

“What they believe.”

“What they know.”

“What they think they know.”

“What they’re afraid of.”

“What they want.”

Dakota studied him.

She understood that answer differently now.

“And then?”

“I talk with them individually.”

“And?”

“We’ll all meet again.”

Jimmy looked toward the mountains.

“This is just the beginning.”

· · ·

Dakota followed his eyes.

Then something beyond Jimmy caught her attention.

A man stood outside.

At the far end of the deck.

Alone.

Dressed entirely in black.

Civilian tactical clothing.

Black shirt.

Black pants.

Black boots.

Dakota looked again.

The man wasn’t looking into the residence.

He was looking everywhere else.

Jimmy saw him.

Jimmy calmly walked toward the back.

No explanation.

Opened the glass door.

Stepped onto the deck.

The door closed behind him.

Dakota remained seated.

Watching through the glass.

· · ·

Jimmy approached the man.

They exchanged a few words.

Familiar. Brief.

Dakota couldn’t hear them.

The man reached inside his jacket.

Dakota’s attention went immediately to his hand.

He pulled out a satellite phone.

Handed it to Jimmy.

Jimmy looked at the phone.

Walked several feet toward the railing.

The man stayed behind him.

Still.

Scanning.

Jimmy answered.

Dakota watched through the glass.

The Snake River Valley stretched behind him.

Jimmy listened.

Then something about him changed.

Subtle.

But Dakota saw it.

The looseness disappeared.

Shoulders different.

Eyes different.

Whoever was on the other end of that phone had Jimmy’s undivided attention.

That alone told Dakota something.

Dakota looked again at the man standing behind him.

Build.

Posture.

Beard.

Special operations.

Or something close enough that the distinction didn’t matter.

Dakota stared through the glass.

What the fuck.

Whatever these men had been fighting about—

powerful people were listening.

· · ·

Dakota placed both hands against her belly.

She would tell him tonight.

· · ·

Jimmy looked out over the valley.

The snow fell.

Moral authority.

Economic security.

National security.

Could they all coexist?

No easy answers.

Only the storm ahead.

Rage Against the Machine.

“Wake Up.”

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