Sarah Chen stared at her monitor, the rejection notice from General Marshall's office illuminated in the dim light of her San Francisco office. On another screen, footage from the Sacramento blackout played in a loop – thirty-seven hours of darkness, eleven deaths in hospitals with failing generators. All because civilian AI couldn't recognize an attack pattern that military systems had cataloged years earlier.
She touched the framed photo on her desk—her father in his hospital bed after the Beijing grid failure five years ago. This wasn't just professional for her. It was personal.
Her phone vibrated. David.
"Three separate rejection notices," she said before he could ask.
"They still don't get that Sacramento could have been prevented if—"
"If military and civilian AI systems weren't operating in separate universes?" Sarah grabbed her jacket. "I'm meeting with Lin tomorrow."
Fog obscured the Golden Gate Bridge beyond the windows of the Officers' Club. Colonel James Lin sat opposite Sarah, skepticism etched in the lines around his eyes.
"You're asking me to risk my career," he said after she outlined her proposal.
"I'm asking you to help prevent the next Sacramento," she countered. "The Chinese integrated their military and civilian AI infrastructure three years ago. The Europeans established their joint commission last year. Meanwhile, we're maintaining artificial barriers between sectors."
"Those barriers exist for good reasons. National security—"
"Was compromised by exactly those barriers last month." Sarah slid a tablet across the table, displaying a technical analysis. "Our systems detected anomalies in the California grid but couldn't identify them as the Lazarus pattern. Your systems recognized the pattern but couldn't access civilian infrastructure in time."
Lin studied the analysis. "What exactly are you proposing?"
"A pilot program. Centauri's system trains on Pentagon datasets under controlled conditions. Secure channels between our labs and your agencies. In return, military systems get enhanced civilian interface capabilities."
Lin looked out at the fog-shrouded bridge—half-visible, half-hidden, like the truth they were circling.
"I can get you a meeting," he said finally. "That's all I can promise."
Seven people watched Sarah in the Pentagon briefing room, expressions ranging from skepticism to hostility. General Marshall, silver-haired and stone-faced, sat at the head of the table beside NSA Director Abrams.
"Dr. Chen," Marshall began, "Colonel Lin tells us you have a new approach to an old request."
Sarah displayed the blackout footage. "Eleven people died because civilian systems couldn't recognize attack patterns known to military systems, and military systems couldn't interface with civilian infrastructure. The same pattern repeated from Delhi three years ago, and Beijing before that."
She advanced to her security architecture diagram. "Artificial intelligence has become a strategic asset as significant as aircraft carriers or satellite networks. But unlike those assets, AI development is occurring simultaneously in multiple sectors with minimal coordination."
Director Abrams leaned forward. "Dr. Chen, we've reviewed similar proposals before. Your company wants access to military datasets."
"My company wants to help build a framework where public and private AI systems can communicate securely during crises." Sarah met Abrams' gaze. "And yes, our systems would improve with exposure to your datasets, just as your systems would improve with our civilian interface capabilities."
"And who controls this proposed integration?" Marshall asked.
"Joint oversight. Military control of classified data access, commercial control of implementation architecture. Shared responsibility for security protocols."
Marshall glanced at Lin. "Your assessment, Colonel?"
"Dr. Chen's technical analysis is sound. The security architecture she's proposing has merit, though implementation would require significant oversight."
"What guarantee do we have that classified information wouldn't be compromised?" Marshall pressed.
"The same guarantee you have with any cleared contractor. Plus sandboxed environments, quantum-encrypted channels, continuous monitoring." Sarah paused. "But the better question is: what guarantee do we have that separation won't cause another Sacramento?"
Marshall exchanged a look with Abrams. "We'll need to review this in detail. Colonel Lin will be our liaison."
It wasn't approval. But it wasn't dismissal either.
Three months later, Sarah stood in Centauri's newly constructed secure facility. Military technicians moved efficiently around equipment bearing no identifying markings.
David watched skeptically. "They're not actually giving us the data."
"No," Sarah agreed. "They're giving us something better—a framework."
"A heavily restricted framework."
"A beginning." Sarah moved to the main terminal. "Do you know what the hardest part of building any bridge is?"
"The foundation?"
"The decision to connect two points that were previously separate."
Colonel Lin entered, now wearing the insignia of a newly appointed Pentagon AI Integration Task Force. "We're ready to commence the test protocol."
On the main display, a secure channel opened between Centauri's algorithms and a partitioned section of military data. The first encrypted packets moved between systems designed to remain separate.
"This is just the beginning," Lin said quietly. "The Joint Chiefs are watching this closely."
"That's the point," Sarah replied.
She thought of Sacramento, of Beijing, of her father. Of all the failures that stemmed from artificial divisions between systems that should have been working together.
Outside, San Francisco continued its daily rhythm, its citizens unaware of the shift occurring behind these walls—a small but significant step toward recognizing that in the age of artificial intelligence, security and innovation could no longer afford to exist in separate worlds.
The bridge was under construction. And Sarah Chen had helped lay the first stone.
Anthropic’s Recommendations to OSTP for the U.S. AI Action Plan
#3: Enhancing Lab Security