text:

PLAYING GOD

an intimate interview with the woman behind CONCURRENT

WHEN WE ARRIVE AT THE BEATIFIC HOME IN UPSTATE NEW YORK, we are greeted by the tech magnate herself. Zariah Alonso, mother of Concurrent and the PANSY program, is wearing a pair of overalls and gardening gloves. Her big smile is joyous as she strips one glove and offers a shake. "Theodore? Oh, I'm so glad you could make it! Come on, let me show you the garden. All of my best ideas happen there."

There should be a bigger word for garden, is the first thing I think when we cross the boundary gate into Zariah's backyard oasis. Something grander. Something all-encompassing and a little overwhelming.

It's like being in another world, somewhere unseen and unexplored by any other person. Flowers and bushes, trees and shrubs. All manner of flora stretches as far as the eye can see.

"I like the foot paths," Zariah says, but nods toward a small paved section I missed. "But there's a paved path, too, if you'd rather? Easier to traverse."

"We're down with the foot path," I say, because I can't help but torture myself and my new shoes. I want to see her in the most organic way possible.

I can tell I've pleased Zariah - her dark eyes glisten in the midmorning sun. "Oh, I'm so glad. The paved walk is nice, but this is the real way to experience the garden."

"Why have the paved section? Do many people come out here?"

Zariah laughs and leads us across the trodden path and through her Eden. "God, no. My husband fell ill in '48; he lost mobility on his left side, so he was scooter-bound. It nearly broke him when he couldn't come into the garden with me; the damn scooter couldn't go over anything bigger than a dust mote, it felt like. So we had the path put in. Tearing up so much landscaping hurt, but I would have done anything for Dennis. I think the garden was one of the only reasons he kept such high spirits."

She doesn't mention the elephant in the garden, but doesn't have to. Dennis Alonso, banking CEO and Zariah's husband of twenty years, died in 2049 from a complicated battle with meningitis.

We walk through the free-flowing carpet of plant life, and Zariah points out her favorites. She tells us how she bred some of them for color or shape. How rare some are. She's a font of knowledge and, to my surprise, I follow it with sincere interest. Zariah is passionate and earnest, and it makes me wonder if that's why her newest endeavor, Concurrent, gained public trust so quickly.

We come to the garden's center and stop at a lovely gazebo festooned with climbing morning glories. There is a bistro table set with various drinks and some cloche-covered plates. The drinks are varied -coffee, tea, kombucha, sparkling water- and the cloches hide a stunning smorgasbord of canapes.

As we nibble and sip, I ask the first question - light, simple. "How are your children?"

Zariah looks surprised, but then she beams. "Hazel, my oldest, just got engaged to her high school sweetheart! Hopefully I'm not spilling the beans before they've told Angela's parents - if so, I might be in the doghouse." She laughs, eyes twinkling.

"Rowan is in school on the West Coast. Can you believe it? He got accepted to Cornell and turned it down to go to UO." She shakes her head, but her smile is fond. "He's just like his father. Stubborn and contrary but so, so wonderful for it."

"And your youngest son? Ash? Wasn't he supposed to start medical school this year?"

A frown mars her brow for a moment. She sips her coffee and says softly, "Ash is doing relief work in Haiti right now. He... When the last earthquake hit..."

She pauses, takes a breath, and starts again. "My mother, Ash's grandmother, was Haitian. His brother and sister spent summers there with their grandmother, which was a formative experience. They loved her - I loved her. But she died before Ash was born, so he never got to experience that. He saw holos of his siblings playing and singing and having a good time with the woman who meant so much to all of us, and... and it hurt him, I think. More than it probably would for most kids.

"So when this most recent earthquake destroyed half of Port-au-Prince, he signed up to help the relief effort."

"To be close to his roots?"

"Manman's house was long since gone - developers bought it up and tore it down before I could fight for it. But the area affected included the place it used to be."

It's not a direct answer, but I don't push. Instead, I start asking the real questions everyone wants to know.

Zariah, Concurrent has risen from nowhere over the past year, garnering investors and believers - seemingly from nowhere. As of Friday, Concurrent stock is the most vigorous grower in the market. How have you done it all?

Some luck, for sure. Persistence. But mostly it's money.

Wow, most people don't admit that.

It's silly not to. It took a lot of money just to get in the door with the first investors. If I didn't have the capital to start this and fund its infancy myself, Concurrent would have never made it off the metaphorical paper.

Are you seeing any of that money come back?

No, but that's not uncommon at this stage. We're operating at a loss each quarter, but that's typical for tech startups. This will be our norm until we soft-open to public participants next year.

About that. Has anyone... what do you call it? Converted? Started a neighborhood?

Conversion, yes. I was the first participant, and so were my children. Many of our investors have done so, as well.

So it's safe?

Oh, completely. It's a short outpatient procedure - no anesthesia, no invasive surgery. Just a quick neural link with our system once a year. Or more. Or less. Your conversion is entirely personalized to you. If you don't want to update it, you don't have to.

Do you keep up with your neighborhood? Your conversion herself? What she's doing day to day?

(Laughs) Not really - I do my conversion once a year, check the annual update, and then move on. From what I can tell, she's living her best life, and that's my entire goal for everyone. Give people a place to be entirely free to be themselves. To grow and learn at their own pace. To be their best person.

And it's working?

It's working.

And the PANSYs? Are they working?

Perfectly. We had some issues with the AI initially, but it was all ironed out before we began human trials. Each individual subsystem of PANSY is perfectly paired to its residents' psyches. It has been invaluable in keeping the neighborhoods peaceful, but surprising. Exciting and entertaining while also being a calm and beautiful space for self-improvement.

So the PANSY system hasn't attempted any coercion since human trials?

No. We've been entirely transparent with its actions even when we didn't have to be. The fact that the public knows about the initial errors in its core ethical code is proof of that.

Just to be clear, there haven't been errors since?

None. I would have never put myself in the system if I were concerned about PANSY's ethical boundaries. Let alone my children.

Do you mind if I ask something more personal?

Go ahead.

Do you feel this venture, Concurrent, was partially due to your family history?

(Silence)

Between your husband's unexpected illness, your mother's sudden accident, your father's mental illness, and your brothers' deaths...

(Clears throat) Of course. If Concurrent were around, maybe things would have gone differently with my father and brothers. And if it was around, my mother and husband would still be... Not literally here, but here. Whole and safe. Forever.

When Zariah walks us back to our van at the front of her house, she still smiles but looks decidedly more tired than she did an hour ago. "Thank you for having us," I tell her. "I really enjoyed our conversation."

"Me, too," she says, and I think she means it. "We're opening the headquarters in Manhattan next month - you should come by. I'll give you a tour of the facilities, and you can meet Mama PANSY."

I can't help being excited about seeing the AI that started it all. "I'd enjoy that. Will it talk to me?"

"Of course. It's very social." She gives me a sneaky little smile and adds, "If you're interested in conversion, you can even meet your own personal PANSY."

"I definitely can't afford the program on a journalist's salary," I laugh.

"No charge."

"What's the catch?" Nothing's free, especially not an opportunity like this. A chance at living forever.

"No catch. Just write about your experience, and your conversion's experience, honestly." She shrugs and smiles, and I realize this is how she convinced so many investors to take a chance on her. Open, earnest, completely uncomplicated.

"I'll think about it," I tell her, even though I've already decided.

As we pull away from the house and return to the long, winding two-way road out of the country, I can't help but think - I'm going to live forever.