We stand at a remarkable and precarious moment in human history. The same intelligence — artificial intelligence — that could prevent the next LaGuardia, that could see the fire truck before the pilots can, that could save two young Canadians from dying in the dark on a New York runway — that same intelligence is simultaneously being used to select targets in a war that has already killed schoolchildren.

The technology is neutral. It has no conscience. It does not choose its masters.

What it does — magnificently, terrifyingly — is amplify. It amplifies the intentions of those who wield it. Used with wisdom, transparency, and genuine commitment to human life, it could make our skies dramatically safer, our hospitals more effective, and our cities better managed.

Used without accountability, without international law, without the insistence that a human being — a moral agent — remains responsible for every life-or-death decision, it could make war faster, more lethal, and more disturbingly easy to wage.

I have traveled a great deal in my life. I have sat in the back of an aircraft crossing oceans, trusting — as we all do — that the systems around me, human and mechanical, are holding. That somewhere in a tower, someone is watching. That the pilots up front have the skill and the technology to bring us home.

That trust is not blind. It is earned, flight by flight, year by year, by an industry that treats every accident as a lesson and every near-miss as a warning.

What I want — what I believe we all want — is for that same spirit to govern every application of artificial intelligence. Not the spirit of speed and dominance and competitive advantage. But the spirit of responsibility. Of foresight. Of the ancient physician's oath — first, do no harm.

Because without that spirit guiding the machine, our tomorrows — in the air, and on the ground, and on the battlefield — will be nothing more than our yesterdays, with a higher body count and a faster trigger.