2040 (eBook)

OPTIMIZE AMERICA!

5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1 – Action!

“Welcome to the first debate of the historic 2040 presidential election. I’m Emilia Hernández of Wolf News, and we’re live from Puerto Rico State University. On my left is Democratic candidate Chief John Raging Bull of the Lakota, the first Native American nominee of a major party. And on my right is Republican candidate PresiBot, the first AI nominee of a major party. We will begin with brief opening statements. Chief Bull, you’re up first.”

Raging Bull, a stocky man in his mid-fifties wearing a camouflage jacket, quill breastplate, buckskin pants and feathered headdress, picked up the AK-47 that had been resting against the side of his lectern.

“The history of the United States is nothing but 500 years of pillage and rape, starting with the genocide of the indigenous peoples,” he boomed. “It’s time to put an end to this sorry experiment. Vote for me, and together we will pass the Final Amendment, repeal the Constitution, and dismantle the European colonies white supremacists call states.” He raised the AK-47 above his head. “Death to America!” he yelled, brandishing the weapon. “Long live the Federation of Indigenous Nations!”

Hundreds of Lakota warriors in the audience, garbed in full battle dress, jumped up yelling “Death to America! Death to America!” in unison, brandishing their rifles and tomahawks and stamping their feet.

“Silence! Silence!” said Hernández in her best alarmed voice.

“How dare you try to silence us!” yelled Raging Bull. “This land belongs to the indigenous people! We can do whatever we want!”

The Lakota warriors started to do a sun dance, weaving down the aisles and in front of the stage.

“Please, Chief! Tell your braves to stand down!” implored Hernández. “We need to start the debate!”

“Boo! Boo!” yelled the warriors.

“We don’t need a debate!” boomed Raging Bull. “We need you to leave our land now!” He pointed an accusatory finger at Hernández. “Yes, that includes you, spawn of Unk! Out!”

Some of the warriors started to climb onto the stage.

“Security! Security!” implored Hernández with well-rehearsed panic.

Police officers burst in from both wings, forming a cordon in front of the stage.

“Now you show your true colors!” yelled Raging Bull above the deafening boos. “Repression! Repression is all you know! Wakan Tanka, strike her down!”

The warriors started to scuffle with the police.

“Dear viewers,” said Hernández close to the microphone, “Our apologies. Looks like we won’t be able to have a debate after all. We’ll—”

“Hah!” said Raging Bull. “We’ll cancel the debate when I say so!” He raised a hand. “Hold your peace, my braves! Let the colonizers’ machine parrot its lines, because we have the spirit of Wohpe, and we are kind to our enemies.” He half-turned toward PresiBot with a sneer of contempt. “Go ahead, metal slave! Play your recording! Or rather, let those who control you press the ‘Play’ button!”

Ethan Burnswagger, sleep-deprived and stubble-cheeked CEO of KumbAI, the startup that had built PresiBot, shifted nervously in his seat. With his tousled brown hair, bright blue eyes, rust-colored T-shirt and faded gray jeans, if he hadn’t been sitting in the front row he could easily have been mistaken for a Puerto Rico State student. Now that the opening entertainment was over, the real test began. This debate was the most dangerous moment of the campaign—questions and rejoinders incoming nonstop, and real-time answers required. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing presidential debates were still in the stiff old question-and-answer style instead of the free-for-all that ratings now dictated. Now we’ll see if PresiBot really works, he thought.

The Lakota warriors had quietened down. Some remained standing where they were, others sat down on the floor, and yet others sat on the backs of seats, towering above the rest of the audience.

Hernández glanced at the instant ratings meter on her desk and smiled smugly. The Lakotas’ display had just increased the debate’s nationwide audience by 22 percent. “Machine PresiBot, your turn,” she said in hushed tones.

PresiBot looked like the perfect presidential candidate, a carefully optimized composite of past presidents, high-polling politicians and desirable male traits: tall, square-jawed, deep brown eyes and graying hair, a smart suit and red tie resting easily on the chest that contained its electronics. Only the face and hands were covered in synthetic skin, to save money, but no one besides Ethan and his KumbAI crew knew that. Still, two things gave PresiBot away as a robot: the slightly jerky hydraulics—they were still debugging that—and the mandatory “R” that all robots were required by law to have imprinted on their forehead. PresiBot waited a moment for effect and then spoke.

“My fellow Americans! Humans weren’t made to govern. We all know that! All humans ever do is screw things up. Thinking is hard! Just leave it to us, the machines! Businesses do it, hospitals do it, tax accountants do it—why should governments be any different? It’s time for an AI president. My brain is a billion times more powerful than Raging Bull’s. There’s nothing wrong with America that can’t be solved by logic and massive computation. I have no political agenda. I will unite all Americans regardless of party, race, and favorite social media platform. Optimize America!”

Ethan let out a sigh. Calm down, he told himself. This was the easy part. But his fingers involuntarily clutched the panic button tighter. The button was an app that Arvind Subramanian, his best friend and KumbAI’s CTO, had quickly coded up on a dedicated, stripped-down Android phone. It let him override PresiBot’s brain and speak through it, with its voice, in real time. So if PresiBot started to say something really stupid, as it was prone to, he could immediately intervene and save the day. The button appeared on the phone’s screen as a large red circle on a black background, with the letters “DON’T PANIC” flashing white below, and all he had to do was touch it and start whispering. But it would be much, much better if he didn’t have to.

“Thank you,” said Hernández. “Chief, the first question is for you. What do you say to the millions of Americans worried about losing their homes if the United States is dissolved?”

Raging Bull gave an irritated sigh. “There’s nothing to worry about. This notion that we’ll expropriate everyone is just propaganda being put out by our enemies and their Happinet lackeys. You can keep your house. The Indigenous Nation whose territory you’re on will lease you back the land.”

“In perpetuity?”

“We will, um, study the issue and make a determination.”

Now you’re sounding like a politician, thought Ethan.

“So you can’t guarantee that the average suburban family has nothing to worry about?”

“I said there’s nothing to worry about. They’re safe. The suburbs will become white reservations. No one will bother the wasichu there.”

“And the cities? And the rural areas?”

“I can’t tell you in advance what each tribe will decide to do. The bison will need land to graze on. But everyone will be consulted.”

“Why aren’t you satisfied with the billions of dollars that Native Americans have already received in reparations?”

“Shame on you! You can’t buy us off like that!”

Hernández opened her mouth as if to say something, but then stopped and turned to PresiBot. Here we go, thought Ethan.

“Mn. PresiBot, the next question is for you.”

Ethan braced himself.

“What do you say to the many Americans who believe only humans should be allowed to run for president?”

Ethan smiled and shot a quick glance at Arvind, who sat next to him. Questions like this were wholly predictable, and they had pre-canned the answers. The problem was the unexpected ones.

“They can take it up with the Supreme Court,” said PresiBot. “And how ironic that many of the biggest critics of Blinky v. United States were vociferous supporters of United Pets v. California.”

“But Blinky v. U.S. was only about recognizing the non-human being status of intelligent machines,” said Hernández.

“Which, since United Pets v. California granted citizenship to non-human beings, means I can run for president.”

“But that ruling was merely symbolic, since animals are not able to exercise their voting rights or discharge the duties of an elected official.”

“Surely I don’t have to remind you that a donkey ran in the Democratic primary in this election.”

Wow, thought...