bacchusnovels Chapter 220 Hardcore Romance
Chapter 220 Hardcore Romance
"So, since it's a collaboration, in order to enhance our mutual understanding..."
Whitman's smile faded, and her tone became flat.
"Let's start by having the research team from Harvard give a brief self-introduction."
Whitman's words fell to the ground in a rather indifferent tone.
Sitting on the left, a tall and upright woman stood up without hesitation.
A black, custom-made suit jacket with an extremely sophisticated cut.
Her full head of blonde hair was neatly styled, with not a single stray hair out of place.
Add to that pair of blue eyes that exude extreme coldness and rationality.
The way she stood there was like a human embodiment of Harvard University's "elitism" and "rigid rules."
"Hello everyone. I'm Sophie Adler from Harvard Kennedy School."
Her voice was as crisp as ice hitting glass, yet carried an arrogant air that kept people at a distance.
"In this project, I was responsible for social acceptance and policy ethics."
ethics.
As soon as those two words came out.
The atmosphere in the once quiet conference room seemed to suddenly become heavier.
The MIT researchers present frowned deeply.
In the purest science and engineering laboratory.
"Technological breakthroughs" and "ethical constraints" are like water and fire; they have never coexisted harmoniously.
This is strikingly similar to the unspoken rivalry between MIT and Harvard.
Basically, not spitting at each other when you meet is considered very polite.
Faced with the instantly incoming gazes from all around, filled with rejection and even hostility.
Sophie didn't even blink.
She was clearly used to the hostility from these STEM guys, and continued calmly looking straight ahead, speaking in her businesslike, cold tone:
"As a policy ethics scholar, I don't care how beautifully your code is written."
My job is to conduct in-depth analysis of how the algorithms you all pride yourselves on actually operate in the real daily lives of citizens.
Which specific groups will it potentially have unfair impacts on?
And most importantly, when a system crashes and causes a disaster, who should ultimately bear the responsibility?
Sophie scanned the room, her tone firm.
"This is my job. I hope my colleagues will continue to provide guidance and support."
Snapped.
Snapped.
Snapped.
In the conference room, a few dry, perfunctory claps, even tinged with mockery, rang out.
Sophie sat down.
The next Harvard researcher in the Harvard camp stood up.
He was a man as thin as a bamboo pole.
His face was harsh, with high cheekbones, giving off a gloomy feeling as if he had never seen the sun.
"Hello everyone. I'm Michael Kelman from the Harvard Data Science Lab."
The man's voice was somewhat shrill.
"I will be fully responsible for the anonymization of citizen data, the control of pedestrian identification restrictions, and the AI ethics audit work that everyone is most troubled by."
Let me make this clear from the start: any data scraping that goes beyond my authority will not escape my notice.
An extremely awkward and sticky silence instantly fell over the conference room.
This isn't a collaboration, is it?
These are clearly two supervisors sent by the mayor, carrying imperial authority!
Whitman remained expressionless, only giving Allen, who was sitting next to her, a cold glance.
Allen felt a chill run down his spine, coughed awkwardly, and silently looked away.
no way.
For Allen, who was in the political arena, allowing a few Harvard people to get involved was the most helpless compromise he could make under pressure from all sides in the political arena.
To quote the mayor in his own words:
"What if, during the research process, these lawless geniuses create any scandals that violate civic ethics and cause public panic?
The media will tear me apart! They might ruin my reputation!
Allen sighed silently to himself.
After all, he's been in this industry for so long, he understands all too well the feeling of walking on thin ice.
He could very well understand Mayor Patrick's cautious, tightrope-walking political anxieties.
The atmosphere was heavy.
Whitman didn't bother to look at Harvard again, but instead raised his hand and pointed to the people sitting on the other side of the perimeter.
"Alright, now let's have our colleagues from the Transportation Bureau introduce themselves."
Let's hear some real, down-to-earth voices.
The voice just fell.
A middle-aged man wearing a faded old leather jacket pulled out a chair and stood up.
Broad and sturdy shoulders.
Rough hands with large joints and calluses.
There was no sophisticated suit and tie, nor the arrogance of a prestigious university.
His appearance was out of place among the scholars here; he exuded a strong, grassroots atmosphere, a blend of asphalt roads and car exhaust fumes.
"Hey everyone. I'm Tom Riley from the Boston Transit Authority. Just call me Tom."
The man's voice was rough, as if it had been sanded.
"I don't understand any advanced algorithms or high technology."
But I can confidently tell you: of the tens of thousands of signal systems in this city, there isn't a single one that I, Tom, haven't personally touched.
No matter what kind of hellish stuff you come up with.
The actual work involved modifying traffic lights, physically integrating them with sensor networks, and conducting on-site testing in the streets under the elements.
These tough tasks were all handled entirely by our team.
You guys handle the theory, we'll handle the wiring—it's that simple.
Looking at this middle-aged man.
Su Hao, who had been in a daze, couldn't help but reveal a sincere smile.
That was a genuine respect.
In fact, even though Su Hao had long stood at the pinnacle of intelligence in the world, he always held the utmost respect for these truly hardworking and dedicated on-site personnel.
No matter how perfect a theory is, someone still needs to get their hands dirty.
They are people who use their own flesh and blood to truly feel the pulse of this city, to climb utility poles, and to brave the scorching heat and freezing cold to personally repair those broken systems.
Without this down-to-earth willingness to work hard in the mud, even the most lofty theories are nothing but mirages.
This old-fashioned craftsmanship, this pure spirit of changing the world with wrenches and machine oil.
It's a kind of hardcore romance that's deeply imprinted in the hearts of almost every boy with science and engineering blood flowing through his veins!
Besides these few forces.
Scattered in the back row and corners of the conference room were various data engineers from MIT, technical liaisons sent by the municipal government, and miserable interns from top universities who had been dispatched to do odd jobs.
They resembled background NPCs in a game, each carrying their own laptop and thick notebook, sitting quietly in their own secluded seats.
Like silent chess pieces on a chessboard, they dutifully filled every inch of the empty space in this huge conference room.