concerning MITI's new role in the lab. He knew how to be a team player,
she thought. Very Japanese.
This time he raised a response. A female voice dripping with long-vowel
honorifics announced his tea would be delivered immediately.
Next came a small, awkward lull as they both sat there remembering
Kyoto and not sure how to get around that memory. She wondered if it
was happening all over again.
Maybe it hadn't been just a fluke, a crazy one-night diversion. She was
about to switch to Japanese, thinking that might provide the jolt
needed to break the ice, but just as the silence swelled between them,
there came a knock on the door and tea.
She was half annoyed, half relieved.
He rose to walk over and began chatting as though they'd been
interrupted in the midst of some intense technical exchange.
"Are you scheduled to present a paper at that Kyoto conference coming
up?" He pushed a button beside the door, and it swung wide. "There's
sure to be quite a crowd. Everybody here's excited about supercomputers
these days."
"No, this is strictly a pleasure trip. With maybe a few interviews
thrown in to make it a tax write-off for a book I'm planning on
robots." She hesitated. "Though I actually might go down and try to see
a few people."
"Then this could turn out to be a pleasant coincidence." He took the
tea, and the bowing girl vanished. Again the door clicked shut. "I have
to go too, but I'm hoping to steal a few moments of freedom."
"You're chairing a session this year?"
"Absolutely not." He turned serious. "I'm not allowed time for anything
like that anymore, Tam. This new project is top priority." He poured
her a cup of the pale green liquid and passed it over, seemingly
relieved that the tension had abated. "There's a lot of work here at
the Fifth Generation lab now that we're coordinating this program with
the supercomputer effort."
"You mean with MlTl's supercomputer project?" Caught your little slip,
she told herself. You are still with MITI. Which means they have taken
over this lab.
He didn't blink. "As you probably know, MITI has the goal of creating a
machine capable of a hundred billion computations a second, targeted
just down the road. Which means we have to come up with entirely new
computer languages and architecture."
"Parallel processing."
"Exactly. Handling multiple streams of information at once. Now that we
finally understand what's required for a superfast computer, this work
in AI just happens to be very relevant. It turns out we humans are
already walking around with parallel processing in our heads, able to
handle words, images, ideas, all at the same time. So if we want to
create machines that operate as fast as possible, then it's crucial to
understand how our brain manages things like recognition, learning,
inference. Our hope is that by utilizing the studies here in those
areas, incorporating them into our supercomputer work, we might be able
to put ourselves a major step ahead. . . ."
Good God, Tam thought, it's elegantly simple. That's why MITI has taken
over the Fifth Generation Project. They're going to use this research
in artificial intelligence to come up with a computer more powerful
than anything the world has yet imagined. Their silicon monsters are
about to start replicating themselves, getting smarter as they go, like
in some bad fifties horror flick. The difference is, this isn't make-
believe.
"So you're here on behalf of MITI."
He paused. "For coordination. As I said, MITI needs the Fifth
Generation work to be accelerated." He still hadn't exactly answered
the question. "As part of our supercomputer effort."
Tam knew that Hitachi and NEC were both already claiming they had the
world's most powerful machines, faster even than Cray's entry, the best
American computer. What did MITI want?
He continued. "With 16-megabit chip production already going strong and
64 megabit commercialization in the wings, it did seem the right time
to pull all our work together. If you think about it, computer speed
and computer intelligence go hand in hand. I'll show you in a second
what I mean."
Not kilobit. Megabit. MITI was going for the kill. This was a crash
program. Why?
"Does this mean you plan to increase your funding for the Fifth
Generation effort?"
"Whatever it takes to do the job," he replied after a moment's
hesitation. "I suppose there's never enough money, is there?"
"Ken, why the rush? This sudden drive?"
"It depends on whom you ask." He leaned back and looked at the ceiling.
"Some call it survival, Tamara. Maybe it is that simple. Japan is at a
crossroads; we're rapidly losing our edge in the cost of labor. The
only possible way to counter that is to step up our use of smart
machines."
"Well, it looks as if I came to the right place. I'd like to add your
name to my interview list."
His look darkened a moment. "Strictly off the record." Then he smiled.
"And only if we can do it over dinner."
"That sounds like a bribe."
"Call it an offering from an old admirer." He smiled, attempting to
ease the tension. "The most I can do, for now at least, is just give
you a small peek at a few of our experimental gadgets. Details are
strictly proprietary. At the moment we're concentrating on computer
vision and voice access. And on that last, by the way, I think we've
just about reached AI's Holy Grail, natural language comprehension."
"Good luck." That was one of the mythical dreams of AI research, a
computer that could understand the speech of anybody who happened
along. Even though millions had been invested in the U.S. nobody was
anywhere close yet.
"I think we're getting there. Enough so in fact that we're starting to
look at applications. Expect commercialization in, oh, say a year, two
at most."
Look out IBM, she found herself thinking.
"I probably shouldn't be showing you this, Tamara. So let's just keep
this informal. No notes. But here, have a look at one of MITI's new
toys. Can you guess what this is?" He passed over a small device that
had been sitting on his desk, his hand lingering on hers a moment
longer than absolutely necessary.
She stared down at what appeared to be some kind of calculator-watch,
except there was no watch face, merely a small speaker and two buttons.
"That uses advanced versions of MITI's new 64-megabit memory chips.
There's nothing like it anywhere in the world. Without ever having
heard the speaker's voice before, no calibration, it can translate
ordinary spoken English into Japanese." He pointed to one of the
buttons. "Just press there
and talk. When you finish, push the other button for the translation."
She did, testing it with the opening paragraph of Pride and Prejudice,
her favorite novel. A simulated voice emerged from the small speaker on
the face of the device and gave it back . . . in flawless Japanese.
"Not bad." She set it carefully onto the desk. The thing was actually
almost frightening.
"Using this, linked to our new high-definition video and satellite, you
could punch a button in your living room and bring up people on a wall-
size screen from anywhere in the world, then talk to them in your
language and be understood in theirs. It's a quantum advance over
current technology." He retrieved the device, dropping it into a desk
drawer.
"I must admit I'm very impressed."
"Truthfully, so am I. Where's this program of MITI's taking us?" He
looked up. "But let me show you something else, which I think is even
more astonishing. Of course you're aware that speech comprehension is
easy compared to the really tough nut, duplicating the human eye. Since
a visual image can contain billions of pieces of information, it can be
very time-consuming for a computer to analyze all those at once and
figure out what it's looking at. I've heard people at IBM claim that
for a computer to recognize something even as simple as an odd-shaped
coffee cup would still require almost an hour of processing, that to
match the human eye and brain could take a computer the size of a
building. But watch."
He walked over to a black metal installation attached to the wall and
held up three fingers before its small lens. Then he pushed a button
and spoke into a built-in microphone.
"What do you see?"
She started to reply herself, then realized he was talking to the lens.
This time the answer took about ten seconds. Finally a voice in
passable simulation of the Tokyo dialect emerged from a gray speaker
beneath the lens. "That is a human hand."
"How many fingers does this hand have?" he continued.
Again the eerie, disembodied voice. "The normal human hand has five
fingers. This appears to have only three."
"Thank you." He punched a button and turned back. "That came off the
mainframe here. Can you imagine the amount of memory and logic
processing required to achieve what you've just witnessed: the data
base and the computational power and speed? Not to mention the
recognition of my voice commands."
"How does it do it?"
He paused. "Tam, this is proprietary, top secret, but what you've just
witnessed is an example of parallel processing with MITI's new, still
classified 256-megabit dynamic RAM's."
"A quarter of a billion bits of data on a chip." She just stared. "Are
they writable?"
"Of course." He again settled himself behind his desk. "The test
versions have circuits only a hundred or so atoms wide. And this is
only the beginning. Within five years, maybe no more than three, MITI
fully expects to have a desktop machine that will pass the Turing
test."
"Three years?" It was almost unbelievable. Passing the "Turing test"
meant the computer's "thoughts" and "speech" would be so lifelike you'd
be able to talk with it and not realize it wasn't human. Al's end-of-
the-rainbow.
"As you can see, the project is getting close." He looked pensive, like
some Zen monk. "Strictly off the record--and I mean that--what MITI is
working toward is total automation. Factories run by machines with
human skills, intelligence, manual dexterity. In fact, several of the
robotics labs at Tsukuba Science City already have prototypes in
advanced stages of development."
She was stunned. This was the kind of futuristic talk you heard from
all the AI buffs, but it was still mostly speculation in the U.S. and
Europe. Japan, though, was taking it straight to commercialization.
"Why are you telling me all this?"
He sat silent for a moment. Then he looked at her. "Because it's time
the world understood something very important about this country. There
are people here . . . with an agenda. And resources."
"What do you mean?"
"Tam, there are people, important people, who are getting fed up. Know
what they're saying? Try this. Our country has a monarchy older than
Rome, a heritage of literature, art, aesthetics, equal to anything in
the West. We've never had any colonies, any raw materials besides air
and water. All we do have is a willingness to work and save--the one
natural resource running short in the West. In less than half a century
we've risen from the most total devastation any country has ever
experienced and achieved technological parity with both the U.S. and
the Soviets. We launch satellites, split atoms, splice genes. But still
a lot of foreigners claim all this country can do is copy from the
West, steal and commercialize other nations' inventions. Only a short
time back the leader of France called our prime minister a 'transistor
salesman.' That's right. A 'transistor salesman.'"
"Ken, that stupid crack was by de Gaulle. Years ago. It's--"
"Tam, look around you. This is an old country. And a lot of influential
people have long memories."
"You're getting melodramatic."
He shifted in his chair and studied the white peak of Fuji. "Think so?
Don't delude yourself. Believe me, the West is about to dig its own
grave."
"What are you trying to tell me?"
"Nothing you can't see with your own eyes." He turned back. "MITI is
now ready to move into the next phase. Finally here's a project that's
as strategic, in its own way, as the bomb. If Japan can succeed in
creating a machine capable of humanlike thinking, it will be the most
profound achievement in the history of mankind." And this project is
well on its way. There may be nothing that can stop the events that lie
ahead."
"Stop what? What events?"
"That's not a simple question." He caught himself and eased up, smiling
uncomfortably once again. "Forgive me. None of this is for
publication." He hesitated. "Your work is well-known here in Japan,
Tam. You are one of the few Americans our industrialists respect
unreservedly. Maybe you weren't aware of that. Your books are highly
regarded; in fact, I read the new one in manuscript." A long pause,
then, "Would you ever consider working with me for a while? Come back
home, so to speak? You can see the implications of this project."
"I see the implications, all right." She didn't know what to say. Why a
sudden job offer from Ken? Or was it from MITI? "But where is this
headed? If Japan achieves this technological supremacy, what then?"
"Before the flowers bloom, MITI must tend the garden." He rose and
poured more tea into her cup. "But enough. You know, I've thought about
you a lot. Tell me how you've been. What've you been doing?"
"Teaching, writing, you know. Everything and nothing."
He smiled, then brushed an imaginary fleck of lint off his tailored
woolen cuff. "Well, perhaps we'll have some time to talk."
What was he driving at? Was there more? Something going on he didn't
want to broach here in the lab?
"Tam, it is so good to see you once more." He looked up again. "Would
you be interested in going down to Kyoto with me day after tomorrow?
There are some things . . ." He sipped at his tea. "As I said, I'm
scheduled to look in on the conference and see a few people, but I
should have some free time."
"That conference doesn't start till next week."
"Actually I need to be down a few days early."
"Oh. Why?"
He measured his words. "Oddly enough it has to do with the Sword.
Things have started moving pretty fast since those archeologists
working for Dai Nippon recovered the sacred Sword-of the Emperor
Antoku."
"I saw the Emperor on TV. Try going outside now."
"Well, I think I'll close here a little early and let my people go on
home. It sounds like their celebration has already started anyway." He
gestured toward the music and noise filtering through the door. "But
the reason I need to be in Kyoto a few days in advance is to see the
president of Dai Nippon."
"The firm that--"
"That's right. His name is Matsuo Noda. I've known him for some years
actually. He contacted me a couple of days ago about a meeting. I'm not
sure what he has in mind precisely, but I have to find out. He's just
become one of the most influential people in the country, not that he
wasn't already. And now with all the money he's about to have in this
new Imperial fund . . ."
"The one mentioned at the Emperor's news conference?"
"Exactly. As you might suspect, that was merely the formal
announcement. Some of us at MITI heard about it several days ago. My
private hunch is that in a few days Matsuo Noda could well have more
resources at his fingertips than any one man in the history of the
world." He looked at her. "It's almost frightening when you think of
the power he'll soon have."
"Ken, I think I would like to come along with you." What was going on?
MITI's plans already were pretty astonishing. And now this new national
hero, the president of Dai Nippon, was about to get involved.
More than that, she'd half forgotten how interesting Kenji Asano really
could be. Her trip was taking a lot of unexpected turns.
"Well, then, in that famous American phrase, 'Why not?'" He smiled, the
mask firmly back in place. "In fact, I'll try and arrange for you to
meet Matsuo Noda while we're there." A conspiratorial wink. "Maybe
he'll even give us a glimpse of the Sword."
Tokyo was one big party that night, the streets mobbed. They eventually
found themselves in Shinjuku, in a high-tech new restaurant all chrome
and glass and New Age prices. The tuna sashimi seemed only minutes from
the sea, and the aged sake was smooth as a flawless white Bordeaux.
Afterward they grabbed a taxi over to the Ginza, where Ken got seats on
the tatami straw mats down in the orchestra of the Kabukiza, and they
took in the last act of a Kabuki play (featuring the famous Ennosuke
III) that had been underway since late afternoon. The evening ended up
in the art deco mezzanine bar at the Imperial, the part salvaged from
the old Frank Lloyd Wright structure, where she kicked off her shoes,
ordered a twenty-dollar cognac, and nestled against his elegant
shoulder.
What was that he'd said about coming back home? Her books being
circulated here even in manuscript? What was he hinting at?
Finally around two A.M. he called for the check and neither said a word
as they headed for the elevator.
She thought one last time about Allan's warning as she watched the
floors flash above the door and searched for her key. But this was no
time to brood about conspiracies. Ken made her feel good. Which was a
hell of a lot more than Dave Mason had done. Besides, Ken had some
style; all Dave did was mope around in a pair of baggy chinos and whine
about his department. Ken was upbeat, alive, aware.
What's more, she enjoyed being with him, feeling the heat of his cheek
against hers. As the elevator doors opened, he slipped an arm about her
waist and nuzzled her hair. Then their lips met.
He was just as she remembered. His touch, his taste, his body. Still,
something about him was definitely changed.
Then he reached for her key and opened the door. The minute they
entered the sitting room of her suite, he took her in his arms.
"Tam, let's not talk anymore about business, no more Swords. I'm
already bored hearing about it. Just us. What do you say?"
"Agreed." She looked at him and suddenly realized something. Ken Asano
was beautiful, _kirei_. Not handsome, beautiful. _Anata wa kirei desu_,
Kenji Asano. "Want a nightcap? There's some airport Remy in my--"
"Who could even think about another cognac. I just want to think about
us." He stood back. "All right, maybe if you insist. For old times'
sake."
"'Old times' is right, Ken. It's been a very long time since Kyoto."
She located the dark Remy bottle, still packed in her leather flight
bag. A nice inauguration, she told herself. "What was that all about?
Was it real? Or did I just imagine it all?"
"The heart never lies." He settled on the couch. "Do you really
remember?"
"Vividly." She laughed as she poured an inch into each of two thin
hotel tumblers. "Including that dreadful bar you took us all to."
"A glimpse of the real Japan, Tam, for our tourist friends. Show them
it's not all _ikebana_ and _haiku_. Believe me, it's not." He clicked
her glass. "Do try to forgive me. And here's to us."
"To us."
"And to the slightly scary world we're stumbling into. Japan needs you
here." He pulled her next to him and brushed her cheek lightly with his
fingertips. Then he kissed her deeply on the mouth, and again. "/ need
you here, Tam. Somebody like you. There's . . . well, there's a lot we
could do together."
She reached up and loosened his tie, then began unbuttoning his shirt.
His chest was firm, smooth, scented. She wanted him. "Let's just
remember Kyoto for a while."
"I've never forgotten it."
Sometime around four A.M., more content than she had been in a long,
long time, Tam Richardson lay awake on the cool sheets, Ken's trim body
beside her, and wondered how it would end this time around.
Or possibly, just possibly, it wouldn't.