MOVE FAST
At half past nine sharp, Yasira enters the Café Bilderbuch.
Unable to spot Tom Schiller in the front of the place, she passes the counter, climbs a small staircase, and enters a larger room lined with bookshelves.
There, in the far corner, sits the CTO of AlmostReal.
The café isn’t even half full, and yet he’s wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses.
Schiller looks like the stereotype of a man who doesn’t want to be recognized.
He spots Yasira and secretly waves to her, as if she hadn’t recognized him at first glance.
Yasira sits down with him.
“Mr. Schi . . .” she begins.
“No names please,” Schiller interrupts and looks around nervously at the other guests. “The fact that we’re chatting here could cost me my job,” he adds whispering.
Yasira nods.
“That’s why I have to ask you to promise me confidentiality.”
“I’m willing to do so, within my capabilities,” says Yasira.
“But you know that I am neither a lawyer nor a priestess. I am a police officer. If you confess a crime to me, by whomsoever, I will have to take action. However, I can guarantee you source protection or, if necessary, advocate for crown witness protection.”
“No, no,” says Schiller. “It’s not about a crime.” He pauses briefly. “At least not one that the police would pursue.”
Yasira nods, but says nothing. She waits for Schiller to continue on his own initiative.
“Your visit yesterday afternoon . . . and then the events of the evening . . . or in other words, there’s something that’s been troubling me for a long time, a concern that my work, albeit unintentional, will have a negative impact on the world .
. .” He hesitates, obviously struggling to find the right words. “Do you know Geoffrey Hinton?”
Yasira shakes her head.
“He’s like the godfather of artificial intelligence.
You see, in the 1970s there was a so-called AI winter.
The high hopes of the post-war period in this field had not been fulfilled.
Progress was rare and slow. Funding was cut, investors preferred to put their money into other projects.
” Schiller fiddles with the red and white checkered tablecloth.
“And at that time, Geoffrey Hinton advocated the idea that artificial neural networks based on the human brain were the most promising way forward. Yet he was on his own in this view. Hardly anyone believed it. Today, however, his work is the prevailing dogma. The big AI success stories of recent years are all based on artificial neural networks.”
Yasira wonders where Schiller is going with this but doesn’t interrupt him.
“Hinton had been working for Google in the tens. Made millions. But some time ago he unexpectedly resigned. And that was so he could talk freely about the risks of AI”
Yasira nods. She now understands that Schiller is not only talking about Hinton, but also about himself, so to speak.
“I read an interview with Hinton,” says Schiller, “that really made me think. One sentence that stuck with me was: ‘It’s hard to imagine a way to prevent malicious parties from using it for malicious purposes.’”
As he speaks, Schiller seems to look everywhere but into Yasira’s eyes.
“He went on to say that technology, our technology, will lead to a world so full of fake images and texts that no one will be able to discern what is true anymore. Roughly what you said yesterday. It immediately came to my mind.”
Schiller takes a sip of his Americano.
“But there’s more,” he continues. “This man, this genius, said in the interview that he regrets his life’s work, that he regrets having contributed to it.
His concerns obviously extend far beyond generating text, images, and languages.
He fears that we will soon no longer be the smartest beings on the planet.
And if you want to know what that feels like, you should ask a chicken.
” Schiller sighs. “In short, I’m afraid the answer is ‘yes.’”
“Yes?” asks Yasira. “Yes, AlmostReal’s software would be capable of generating a credible video like the one of Lena’s rape?”
Schiller looks at her crestfallen. “Yes,” he says. “And yes, our software could recreate Lena based on images and videos from her Instagram account.”
“Without glitches?” asks Yasira.
“Without glitches. To eliminate the usual errors, we started training our system on fakes. The program has practically taught itself what looks wrong.”
He attempts to take another sip of his coffee, but the cup is already empty.
“Of course, that doesn’t mean that the video was generated with our software, or that I even have any suspicion as to who created it, but, and that was your question yesterday, I think it’s technically possible.”
Yasira slaps her hand on the table.
“I knew it!” She feels excitement boiling up inside her. “Would you be willing to repeat this statement at a press conference? As our expert?”
“Uh, no,” Schiller replies, startled, “I already told you that would cost me my job! And in all honesty, I don’t want all the hate either. Active Homeland-Protection and all that . . . I admit it, I’m scared of them.”
So this is how far things have come in Germany again, Yasira thinks depressed. People remain silent out of fear for their lives and safety.
“We can protect you,” says Yasira.
“I don’t want to be protected,” replies Tom Schiller.
“I’m sorry! I just want to be able to leave the house without having to look over my shoulder.
And do you think that everything will suddenly be alright again when you announce that the video was fake?
The mob won’t believe you even if you had proof. But you don’t even have any.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“If you had any, you would have acted very differently yesterday.”
“You’d just be an expert and wouldn’t have to align yourself with any political faction.”
“So were the virologists during the pandemic. Didn’t help them much in terms of hatred.”
Yasira snorts. But what can she say? Her counterpart is right.
“Talk to Claus Messerschmidt, though,” says Schiller.
Yasira makes a note. “Like the fighter plane?” she asks.
Schiller shrugs his shoulders. “I guess so. Is it spelled with DT at the end? And Claus with a C.”
“And who is this Claus Messerschmidt?”
“Claus was my predecessor as CTO. Maybe he could be your expert. He’s already lost his job. Besides, he’s way more extroverted than I am. Claus will probably enjoy going on TV. Maybe he can help you.” After a short pause, Schiller adds. “He’s also not such a coward like me.”
“Why was Messerschmidt fired?” asks Yasira.
“I’m not allowed to say,” Schiller replies. “I signed an NDA.”
“A nondisclosure agreement?”
“Yes. But go and ask Claus yourself, maybe he’ll tell you. I’m sorry I can’t support you more.”
“Still, thank you for meeting me,” says Yasira. “You’ve been a great help. And it was brave of you to call me.”
“You know, I started at AlmostReal because I love movies! The Matrix, The Lord of the Rings, Avatar!” Mentioning the movies makes Schiller light up briefly.
“That’s why I’m here. Visual effects! But they’re difficult and time-consuming.
They cost tens of millions of dollars. Only the big studios can afford it.
I wanted to help every filmmaker to be able to afford to use visual effects.
Even every amateur filmmaker. A democratization of art, you know?
But now I think it might have been better if some things that technology made easier had remained difficult. ”
“Yes,” says Yasira simply.
“Since the acquisition, we’ve been working for Google.
Of course, that brings many advantages, we get Google’s know-how, we can use the Google AI cloud.
But filmmaking is no longer our focus. Hollywood is too small a business field, you see.
” Schiller laughs bitterly. “Apart from artificial intelligence, I can only think of one technology where the inventors themselves warned that it could unfortunately mean the end of humanity.”
“The nuclear bomb,” says Yasira.
“Yes,” confirms Schiller. “We’re working on a new nuclear bomb.”
“What about safety precautions?” Yasira wants to know. “If, as you say, developers are aware of the risks, they must be cautious accordingly.”
Tom Schiller smiles. “How would you move forward safely?” he asks.
“Slowly. Step by step. Carefully. By feeling your way. Always looking to the right and left. The only problem is . . .” Tom Schiller scratches under his baseball cap.
“The public hasn’t realized it yet, but we’re already in a race.
The Chinese against the Americans. Microsoft against Google.
Musk against Altman. And anyone who moves as cautiously as I just described . . .”
“. . . will lose the race,” adds Yasira.
“Move fast and break things.”
“Excuse me?”
“That was Facebook’s unofficial motto for a long time. And somehow of the entire Silicon Valley. Zuckerberg is said to have repeated it over and over again at meetings. ‘We need to move fast and break things!’ And that’s what the guys in Silicon Valley did. They moved fast and broke the old.”
“And now everyone wonders why we live in a broken world,” murmurs Yasira.
Schiller looks at his watch. “I have to go, otherwise my absence will be noticed.” He gets up. “If you could just stay here a few more minutes . . .”
“Of course. I’ll stay here for a moment,” says Yasira with a smile. “So we don’t leave the café at the same time.”
Schiller nods gratefully.
“I’m sorry,” are his last quiet words. “I’m sorry.”