Normal view

An open source rival to Claude Managed Agents just launched

AI infrastructure platform company TrueFoundry has launched its open-source agent harness, TrueForge. The technology, announced Wednesday, is directly billed as an alternative to Claude Managed Agents, Anthropic’s hosted infrastructure service that runs, sandboxes, and orchestrates autonomous Claude agents.

TrueForge promises to enable software engineers to build, deploy, debug, and govern production AI agents on any model (and the company means any model) or MCP server, while reducing total agent operating costs by an estimated 50%.

While open models such as GLM-5.2 from Chinese frontier model maverick Z.ai are challenging proprietary frontier models at lower costs, most managed agent platforms still lock enterprises into a single vendor’s models, infrastructure, and pricing. 

Challenging the pervading narrative of managed agent platform lock-in

Ex-machine learning tech lead at Meta and now co-founder and CEO of TrueFoundry, Nikunj Bajaj, tells The New Stack that this pervading managed agent platform lock-in is precisely the logic behind his firm’s neutral approach to model vendor choice.

“A provider selling you a million tokens for $50 has zero incentive to tell you the same task could be done using a model that charges 50 cents for a million tokens,” Bajaj says. “Traditionally, one vendor provides the models, builds your agents and decides your token usage, in what order, and with what tools and under governance that the managed agent provider stipulates – and they’re selling the exact same setup to your competitor.”

Fundamentally, he insists, this means “the incentives are misaligned” here and so the “players in this game don’t get a voice to talk to the referee” in managed agent deployment scenarios where there’s always a tradeoff. 

“Why should building powerful agents mean giving up control of your AI stack? We give developers the managed-agent experience without forcing them into one vendor forever,” adds Bajaj.

“A provider selling you a million tokens for $50 has zero incentive to tell you the same task could be done using a model that charges 50 cents for a million tokens. The incentives are misaligned, so the players in this game don’t get a voice to talk to the referee.”

The harness underneath becomes the strategic control point

Although Claude Managed Agents only arrived as a beta release in April of this year, Bajaj and team think they can track an evolutionary curve being etched out here. This arc sees the first wave of AI agents existing on developers’ laptops, inside coding tools and prototypes. But the next wave is moving into customer-facing products typified by hosted infrastructure services with the ability to use shared workflows.

Crucially, that’s a shift that turns the harness underneath those products into a strategic control point, working as an execution layer in an operational loop between the user, the model and the systems it interacts with.

“This is indeed the reality: the harness is the critical layer between the user, LLM, and everything else,” clarifies Bajaj. “Say a developer is building an agent. They bring their own models, but the harness still decides when to call an MCP server, when to use an agent someone has already built, what context to keep, and which model handles which part of the plan.”

This means there are security implications, too. Bajaj specifies that “some actions” still need to run in a completely isolated sandbox, and some data should never be sent to a closed-source model. 

“All of that logic sits in the harness. If software engineers don’t use one, then the developer team has to build all of that logic from scratch,” he adds.

Enterprises will want to own key agent layers

In an open vendor-neutral approach to managed agent platform provision, organizations must manage persistent sessions, tool credentials, execution sandboxes, context, human approvals, debugging, access policies, and spending across every agent they operate. TrueFoundry is betting enterprises will want to own that layer rather than inherit it from a single model provider, but with enterprise governance built in at lower cost.

TrueForge routes every model call and MCP interaction through TrueFoundry’s AI Gateway, so budget enforcement, rate limits, and guardrails can be applied to deliver a governed and secure managed agent experience for enterprises.

Headless chickens, when foo and bar are behind the wheel

When organizations don’t have the same hold on the steering wheel, Bajaj says that he has personally witnessed operations where “foo” and “bar” (standard placeholder names used in computer programming for as yet-unnamed known metasyntactic variable values, rather like John Doe) end up becoming the doers of everything. 

“Every action in the system came from a generic shared account, not a person you could actually identify. So when something changed or broke, you had no idea who to talk to. Once, when we were halfway through a migration from shared access to individual access, some keys were rotated. Half the company was still on the old account, and the system broke for half the company,” he explains.

Teams can run TrueForge on their own infrastructure, bring their own models, MCP servers, and API keys, and route each task to whichever model fits the cost, latency, or quality needs of that job. But does that mean workloads might become too fragmented that way?

“On the contrary, workloads become more uniform,” enthuses Bajaj. “Most teams already bring their own models by default. What changes is that organizations get to define what it takes for a model, agent, or MCP to belong in their registry. I call it the agent development life cycle, or ADLC. Once you own that, you can enforce the same operating principles across everything.”

In practice, the TrueFoundry team confirms it has seen most AI-centric software engineering operations converge on “roughly a dozen models” for typical tasks, plus a few specialized models for niche work. 

Is Anthropic doing something wrong?

TrueForge ships with support for OpenAI, Anthropic, and 20+ additional models, along with 40+ built-in tools, sandboxed execution, human-approval workflows, large-context handling, generative UI, and web search powered by Tavily. But despite offering a Claude Managed Agents alternative, Bajaj goes to pains to point out he doesn’t hold Anthropic up as some kind of pariah. 

This isn’t about Anthropic doing something wrong,” confirms Bajaj. “It’s that it doesn’t own every model in the world. Claude Managed Agents can only choose from the finite set of models Anthropic offers. There are open models that are terrific at certain tasks at a fraction of the cost, or simply more capable for that particular job. An open harness has a much wider set of choices.”

When you own the harness, you can get rid of the parts that don’t apply to you

He underlines his point by pointing out that Anthropic also has to build one harness for a very broad set of customers; a truth that means its system prompt has to account for all kinds of instructions, guardrails, and corner cases. 

“Many of those elements may have nothing to do with a developer’s own use case, but they still go into every call and add cost and latency. When you own the harness, you can get rid of the parts that don’t apply to you and make it extremely specialized,” he adds.

“To be clear, we support Anthropic as a first-class provider because its models are great. There will be many cases where our users want to use them. The point is not to limit that choice to Anthropic alone.”

To validate its statements here, TrueFoundry has tested the above claim on a total of 14 level-one and level-two tasks from DevRev’s public Enterprise-Bench. The company says TrueForge “came in 50% cheaper at similar accuracy”, so the savings came from using fewer tokens and having access to models outside Anthropic’s set that were better suited to specific tasks.

“To be clear, we support Anthropic as a first-class provider because its models are great. There will be many cases where our users want to use them. The point is not to limit that choice to Anthropic alone,” Bajaj concludes.

TrueFoundry is also launching a hosted, pay-per-usage version of TrueForge for teams that want the same experience without managing the infrastructure themselves.

The post An open source rival to Claude Managed Agents just launched appeared first on The New Stack.

What happens to your indexed data when Mistral flips the switch?

Shredded abstract

Mistral is giving enterprise customers until August 31 to replace the Google Drive and Microsoft SharePoint Knowledge Connectors they use in Vibe Work with MCP-based alternatives. The company says in its Knowledge Connectors documentation that both existing connectors will be shut down and deleted on that date.

There is no automatic migration, so administrators will need to install the MCP replacements before every user reconnects their Google or Microsoft account. The move changes how Vibe Work reaches company documents, but Mistral has said little about the retrieval architecture behind the new connectors.

Mistral stores a searchable index

With the current system, an administrator chooses which Google Drive folders or SharePoint sites the organization wants to make available, then Mistral processes those files and stores the resulting index in its European data centers.

Once the index is ready, users connect their personal accounts, and when they search in Vibe Work, the connector checks permissions copied from Google Drive or SharePoint so the results include only files they can access, while scheduled synchronizations pick up later changes and deletions.

This setup lets Mistral handle retrieval by searching a prebuilt index whenever a user submits a query. The company says indexing can take anywhere from a few minutes to several hours, depending on how much data the organization includes, although that work is completed before users begin searching.

The company says indexing can take anywhere from a few minutes to several hours, depending on how much data the organization includes, although that work is completed before users begin searching.

MCP shifts retrieval off-platform

The company defines MCP as a common interface that lets models call tools and retrieve data from external services — the same protocol layer that is reshaping how AI products connect to external APIs across the industry.

In June, Mistral added Google Drive and SharePoint to a directory containing more than 60 integrations, but it did not explain how those two connectors retrieve documents or say who operates the underlying MCP servers. The setup can range from live calls to the source API to a server-managed search index, with any combination of the two in between. That flexibility is part of what makes MCP appealing in some environments and unnecessary in others, but it also means that the behavior of a given connector depends entirely on its operator.

Permissions rules remain unclearThe company doesn’t run the third-party servers behind these connectors, so it can’t promise how they will behave or what they will do with customer data. That gap between the governance Mistral once provided and what it’s now handing off to third parties reflects a trend in how enterprises are adopting MCP connectors without fully resolving the governance layer. As other platforms have learned, opening the door to external servers means trusting the protocol and the operator and building the guardrails to go with it.

The migration notice offers even less detail. It doesn’t say whether the Google Drive and SharePoint MCP servers retrieve files directly from Google and Microsoft. Any caching remains unexplained, leaving customers unsure where retained data would live. Mistral makes no promise that searches will be as fast or return results of the same quality.

Mistral makes no promise that searches will be as fast or return results of the same quality.

The outgoing Google Drive connector follows the sharing rules already attached to each file, including group and domain access. A file set to “anyone with the link” still isn’t automatically visible to everyone in the organization. SharePoint uses Microsoft Entra ID groups, so older groups created only within SharePoint aren’t picked up.

Mistral hasn’t said whether the MCP replacements will follow the same rules. OAuth can limit a server’s access to the connected user, but that doesn’t mean search results will be filtered exactly as they were in the outgoing index. The protocol wasn’t designed to enforce that kind of enterprise permission model; the connector’s retrieval layer has to do it.

OAuth can limit a server’s access to the connected user, but that doesn’t mean search results will be filtered exactly as they were in the outgoing index.

Deletion timeline still unresolved

The company says disabling a Knowledge Connector results in permanent deletion of the indexed data, but the deprecation notice does not say whether the August shutdown will trigger that process automatically or how long the deletion will take. It also leaves administrators unsure whether they should disconnect the old connectors themselves before the deadline.

Because the same connectors work in Vibe Code and Mistral’s workflow system, teams can use the same approach to expose external data across chat, coding and automated jobs — a pattern that is becoming more common as MCP connectors spread from chatbots into production infrastructure.

Mistral also recommends checking server output for signs of prompt injection — advice that underscores the still-emerging challenge of securing the space between AI agents and the external services they access.

The post What happens to your indexed data when Mistral flips the switch? appeared first on The New Stack.

“If GitHub was stable, these alternatives would not be as interesting”: Cursor launches Origin as GitHub goes dark

A building with most of the lights out, depicting the concept of "going dark"

Cursor has officially thrown its hat into the code-hosting ring with Origin, a Git-compatible platform built for a world where AI agents generate the commits.

The beta launch announced late on Monday comes two months after Tomas Reimers took to the stage at Cursor’s developer conference in San Francisco to tease its agent-focused GitHub alternative. That happened to be on the very same day that Elon Musk’s SpaceX confirmed it had tabled a $60 billion bid to acquire Cursor outright, and with that deal formally closing on August 14, Origin becomes the first product Cursor has shipped as a fully owned SpaceX subsidiary.

Notably, however, Origin landed on the same day that GitHub itself went down worldwide, turning what might have been a routine beta rollout into a “case in point” on why Cursor was building Origin to begin with. But while the 8-hour outage may have seemed like fortuitous timing on the surface, GitHub going offline when it did wasn’t great for Cursor, given that Cursor needs a fully operational GitHub for new users to get the ball rolling. As SpaceXAI’s Matt Palmer acknowledged on X: “We were going to ship this earlier, but GitHub was down. Importing your GitHub repos as a first onboarding step is non-optimal if GitHub is down.”

Still, GitHub’s troubles predate this particular blackout. As The New Stack reported in June, the platform has logged hundreds of incidents over the previous 12 months as commit volume jumped from 1 billion a year to 1.4 billion a month, with AI agents alone generating more than 17 million pull requests monthly — growth GitHub traced to infrastructure bottlenecks like MySQL contention and webhook overload.

“Cursor has joined a slew of technology companies looking to rebuild version control for a world where agents work around the clock.”

In an interview with The New Stack at the time, GitHub COO Kyle Daigle discussed the scaling problem: “It’s not just about normal scaling,” he said. “It’s now making sure we can scale at 30 or 40 times” annual growth, as opposed to doubling each year, which GitHub had historically planned around.

Fast-forward to today, and Cursor has joined a slew of technology companies looking to rebuild version control for a world where agents work around the clock, querying and pushing to repositories faster than any human team ever could.

Origin story

Origin marks a fairly significant expansion of Cursor’s ambitions. Until now, its agents have largely operated on code hosted elsewhere; with Origin, Cursor is pushing to own more of the underlying development infrastructure itself.

At launch, that starts with the basics. Users can create and host Git repositories directly inside Cursor, with the new Codebase tab acting as the home for Origin repos.

Cursor Origin lets users create and host Git repositories directly inside Cursor.
Cursor Origin lets users create and host Git repositories directly inside Cursor.

Those repositories still behave like Git repos outside Cursor. Developers can clone them locally, add an Origin remote, and push code from the command line — essentially putting Cursor in the role normally occupied by a service such as GitHub.

Pushing a local repo to Origin
Pushing a local repo to Origin

Cursor isn’t demanding an all-or-nothing migration, either. Existing GitHub repositories can be synced into Origin and displayed alongside Cursor-hosted repos, while GitHub remains the source of truth for projects that started there.

Syncing GitHub
Syncing GitHub

Pull requests are built in too, including diffs, comments, checks and merging. Cursor’s agents sit directly alongside that code: from the browser, users can ask questions about what they’re viewing, have an agent make changes, update a PR or push a branch.

Reviewing code / ask Cursor / merging
Reviewing code / ask Cursor / merging

That combination is arguably the more consequential part of Origin: the repository, pull request and coding agent now all live inside the same product — giving Cursor more control over the environment in which code is stored, reviewed and changed.

Rob Whiteley, CEO of Coder, a cloud development platform built for enterprises, sees Origin as a “smart play” — most of the industry’s energy has gone into the tools that write code, he argues, while comparatively little has gone into what happens to that code after it’s produced.

“GitHub is starting to crack under the weight of agentic code development, and an agent-native source code forge is needed,” Whiteley tells The New Stack. “Everyone is integrating the ‘writing code’ stack, from editor and chat to agents, tools and LLMs. No one else is really integrating the ‘managing code’ stack, where code gets stored, versioned, reviewed and merged.”

For now, Origin’s restricted to Cursor’s Pro, Teams and Enterprise plans — nothing on the free tier, it seems — and the rollout itself is staged, so not everyone will have access to it quite yet.

How is Origin different to GitHub?

For now, there’s no escaping the fact that there isn’t a great deal that’s different from trusty ol’ GitHub, a fact that wasn’t entirely lost on the online community. And Origin’s own team isn’t shying away from that, either.

Tomas Reimers, the Origin engineer who co-founded Graphite, a code-review startup Cursor acquired in early 2026, fielded questions directly from developers on Hacker News after the launch.

“We’re intentionally releasing this as a GitHub alternative where we meet them toe-to-toe on functionality.”

Asked what set Origin apart from GitHub beyond uptime, Reimers concedes that it’s very “very little,” in all honesty. “We’re intentionally releasing this as a GitHub alternative where we meet them toe-to-toe on functionality,” he writes.

He does note that more is on the way: in the coming weeks, Reimers explains, Origin should start shipping deeper agent integrations, tooling that can make sense of agent-written code, and automation that pushes pull requests toward a mergeable state on their own.

“Expect a lot more from us,” he continues. “We wanted to release a beta so people could start experimenting with our scalability and extensibility themselves. Over the next few weeks, you can expect a handful of features starting to change source control to better understand and work with agents.”

Several in the online community also highlighted the timing of Origin’s launch. Gergely Orosz, author of The Pragmatic Engineer newsletter and an investor in Graphite, initially took to X to complain about GitHub’s ongoing performance issues, despite the number of engineers it has at its disposal.

Incredible how GitHub’s eng team knows reliability (having zero nines) is their #1 problem for ~6 months now and seemingly not being able to get a handle on it. Despite so many solid engineers working on it

My bet: arch decisions years ago bite back v hard now https://t.co/wHbCpugD6X

— Gergely Orosz (@GergelyOrosz) August 17, 2026

Within an hour, however, Orosz was back to comment on Origin. “Cursor could not have timed their launch announcement of their hosted code service better either,” he writes. “If GitHub was stable, these alternatives would not be as interesting / popular!”

“These alternatives,” as Orosz puts it, are already forming an orderly queue in GitHub’s shadow.

The ‘GitHub alternative’ surge

The most direct comparison to Origin is perhaps Entire, a distributed Git network founded by Thomas Dohmke, who stepped down as GitHub’s CEO last August. Entire, essentially, mirrors repositories across regional nodes, with GitHub remaining the source of truth for now — though that could change once teams start creating repos natively on the platform. The company raised a $60 million seed round in February, with investors including Microsoft’s venture arm, and it formally went to market in July.

“Cursor could not have timed their launch announcement of their hosted code service better either. If GitHub was stable, these alternatives would not be as interesting / popular!”

GitLab, meanwhile, is also rethinking source control for an agent-heavy world, announcing a private beta of “Next Generation Source Code Management” — internally called Project Switch — back in June. Instead of agents cloning an entire repository to read or change a handful of files, the system lets them query the server for exactly what a task needs, with each agent’s visibility capped at the minimum required.

Elsewhere, code editor startup Zed has also been teasing a new approach to version control since last year, and in early August the company finally debuted Delta, a “multiplayer environment for coding with agents and reviewing what they build,” as the company puts it.

“Delta keeps code and conversations connected, so developers and agents can work together with the full context of how the code came to be,” Zed co-founder and CEO Nathan Sobo wrote at the beta launch.

Underneath, Delta runs on DeltaDB, which keeps a live copy of conversations and in-progress work synced across a team. It sits alongside a project’s existing Git repository, and works with agent tools including Claude Code. What that changes in real terms: comments stay attached to the code they refer to as an agent keeps editing it.

Despite GitHub’s persistent reliability problems, Whiteley doesn’t see Cursor’s version becoming a major enterprise play any time soon, mostly due to the pain of switching.

“Most [enterprises] have already spent a lot of pain and money standardizing on GitHub, and moving again would mean a lot of pain for limited ROI today,” he says. “That could change as ‘vibe coding’ generates an order of magnitude more code. If Cursor commits to keeping Origin open enough for enterprises to trust and integrate with, it could become much more appealing over time.”

So while there is a clear flurry of activity in the “GitHub alternative” realm, it’s still too early to say whether any of them will cut it in the long term. GitHub has an 18-year head start: it launched in 2008, popularized the pull-request review model most of these newcomers are trying to disrupt, and was snapped up by Microsoft in 2018. It also set off the current wave of AI coding tools itself with the launch of Copilot in 2021 — the same wave now generating the volume its own infrastructure is struggling to absorb.

For now, GitHub remains the only one of these platforms actually handling this kind of developer activity at scale. However, at a lofty $2 trillion valuation, SpaceX is one of the world’s most valuable companies, which puts Cursor in a strong position when it comes to investment — not just in its own AI models, but in the infrastructure underneath them.

The post “If GitHub was stable, these alternatives would not be as interesting”: Cursor launches Origin as GitHub goes dark appeared first on The New Stack.

Agentic AI has a latency problem that more compute won’t solve

Abstract neon pattern of distorted purple columns and lime-green rings rippling across a dark background.

Half of enterprise AI deployments are missing their own latency targets at peak load. This is the headline finding of Akamai’s State of AI Inference 2026 report, which surveyed 200 AI practitioners and found that 82% of organizations say their most critical use cases require end-to-end response times of 500 milliseconds or less. A total of 64% of organizations now require end-to-end response times of less than 250 milliseconds for their most important use cases, yet 50% of deployments are failing to meet these latency demands at peak load.

My colleague Ari Weil, who leads product marketing for our cloud computing business and ran point on that research, summarizes the findings well: “The enterprise AI honeymoon phase is over… they are hitting the latency wall.” 

Agentic workflows aren’t a “single round trip”

The latency issue stems from the way agents work. It’s an iterative process, somewhat like a king sending out knights, emissaries, and messengers to conduct the business of the kingdom. There are many comings and goings, not just one person sent on a single round trip. 

For instance, when an agent built on a framework like LangChain, CrewAI, or Pydantic AI received a user request, it can fan out into dozens of sequential operations such as a reasoning call, a tool invocation, an API lookup, or a context retrieval. Then an agent may execute another reasoning call to decide what to do with what just came back. Every one of these operations or “hops” that must cross a wide-area network to reach a centralized data center adds latency, and a chain of 50 hops can multiply that transport time into seconds on its own, regardless of how fast the model generates tokens.

In fact, in a paper posted to arXiv in November 2025, researchers found that CPU-side processing can account for up to 90.6% of total latency in agentic workloads. In other words, your GPU might finish a reasoning step in a few hundred milliseconds, but then it might have to wait on additional tool call runs to CPUs in distant data centers. This is what causes spikes in GPU idle time. 

“More GPU capacity does nothing for this. You can’t brute-force your way out of a wait state.”

More GPU capacity does nothing for this. You can’t brute-force your way out of a wait state. This is the part of the conversation the industry keeps skipping, mostly because “buy more GPUs” is a much quicker fix to suggest than “figure out where your CPU-bound work is actually executing and why it’s so far from the data it needs.”

We need new benchmarks to fix the latency issue

One reason the looming latency wall sneaks up on teams is that they are not looking at the right benchmarks for agentic workloads. Most LLM-serving benchmarks measure tokens per second and GPU utilization on a single box. That’s great if the workload is indeed on a single box (i.e., one model answering one prompt), but that’s not the case with agentic workloads. Those benchmarks don’t address an agentic response that, say, makes a 50-hop chain cross a WAN 4 times to reach 4 separate services. 

“Staging may pass the benchmarks because it tests the model, but production tests the whole chain, including every hop your serving engine was never designed to see.”

That’s where the gap lies: Staging may pass the benchmarks because it tests the model, but production tests the whole chain, including every hop your serving engine was never designed to see.

The 500ms wall is not a soft target

This is showing up at scale because agents are moving into production faster than most teams’ architecture is evolving to support them. LangChain’s State of Agent Engineering 2026 survey of more than 1,300 professionals found that 57.3% of organizations now have agents running in production, up from 51% a year earlier. Among those builders, latency has become the second-most-cited barrier to production, behind only output quality. 

This is a serious issue for application teams. The 500ms threshold in Akamai’s survey isn’t a performance goal teams can afford to miss. For a live customer interaction or a real-time compliance check, that 500ms determines whether the application works or it doesn’t. 

We’ve solved this problem before

There’s a reason this feels familiar to anyone who was building for the web in 1999. Akamai exists because of a nearly identical problem. MIT researchers Tom Leighton and Danny Lewin founded the company to answer a challenge posed by Tim Berners-Lee: fix what the press had started calling the “World Wide Wait,” the crushing latency of pulling every request back to a small number of centralized servers. When the trailer for The Phantom Menace crashed sites across the internet in 1999, the culprit was distance: millions of browsers all reaching for the same far-away origin server at the same moment. The fix moved content to thousands of points closer to the people requesting it, instead of trying to build a faster origin.

Agentic AI is running into the same wall, just in a different vehicle. AI works just fine on centralized inference if you’re talking about running batch jobs overnight. But today’s applications built on agentic AI are real-time loops sitting inside live transactions, and the fix for agentic lag is distribution. Instead of expanding racks of CPUs and GPUs at the center, we need to move agentic execution to where the model’s tools, context data, and users actually live.

Agentic AI needs a tiered architecture, not a bigger data center

In practice, agentic AI requires a tiered architecture, one that includes a centralized core, regional GPU clusters, and CPUs at the Edge. 

  • Centralized core—perfect for heavy reasoning over large context windows, where the round trip to a large model matters less than the model’s raw capability.
  • Regional GPU clusters, increasingly built on hardware like NVIDIA’s Blackwell platform—ideal for localized inference, so the heaviest compute sits closer to where demand actually concentrates.
  • Edge CPUs—the essential component for speed. This is the nexus for tool execution, orchestration, and context retrieval, since these are the steps that happen most often in a chain and benefit most from sitting next to the data and APIs they call.

We’ve built Akamai Inference Cloud around this tiered framework. It’s the same distribution logic behind our AI Grid Orchestrator. We route CPU-bound orchestration and tool calling to the edge, and keep GPU-bound reasoning where it makes sense, regionally or centrally. 

What to demand before you commit

The good news is you don’t need to distribute every workload to the edge on day one. But before you commit to a production architecture, you should know which of your agent’s dozens of hops are latency-sensitive and which aren’t. Then build a defined performance budget for each one.

“The teams that treat it as a GPU-shopping decision will be back here in six months, staring at the same four-second response time, wondering why more compute didn’t help.”

My advice is this: Before signing off on a large-scale inference deployment, ask your infrastructure for four things: 

  1. Portability across regions and providers
  2. Elasticity to absorb peak load without falling over
  3. Data locality so tool calls aren’t crossing oceans to reach the context they need
  4. A performance budget you’ve actually tested against production traffic, not staging traffic.

The teams that address this infrastructure decision now will be the ones whose agents still work when the benchmark environment transitions to real users. The teams that treat it as a GPU-shopping decision will be back here in six months, staring at the same four-second response time, wondering why more compute didn’t help.

The post Agentic AI has a latency problem that more compute won’t solve appeared first on The New Stack.

Cursor launches Origin code hosting platform as GitHub outage exposes opening in AI coding race

Cursor began rolling out Origin, its own code hosting platform, to paid users on Monday morning. Roughly three and a half hours later, GitHub's status page lit up with what became a six-hour-and-forty-two-minute global degradation — error rates near 20% across pull requests, issues and the API, and near 50% on archive and raw file downloads, according to GitHub's incident log. Enterprise single sign-on went down with it: SAML, OIDC, SCIM provisioning and Team Sync all failed. So did Copilot.

The developer internet did what the developer internet does.

"You can now host your repos in Cursor Origin and deploy to Vercel via Cursor Origin which is itself hosted on Vercel," Vercel chief executive Guillermo Rauch posted on X. "And unlike GitHub, it's online 😁" Asked why he was smiling, Rauch replied: "trying to make light of the situation. We ourselves are stuck because of github rn!"

Matt Palmer, who works at Cursor, quote-tweeted his own company's launch with the day's best line: "We were going to ship this earlier, but GitHub was down." A GitHub outage, in other words, delayed the launch of a GitHub competitor.

Product launches get locked weeks in advance, and no evidence suggests Cursor timed this one. But the coincidence did the company an enormous favor, because it dramatized the argument Origin exists to make. For eighteen years, choosing where to host your team's source code has been the least interesting decision an engineering organization makes. Cursor is betting that AI agents have made it interesting again — and for technical decision makers, that is the real news here. Not a new product, but a new procurement question with a governance problem attached.

Inside Origin: what Cursor's code hosting platform actually does

Origin lives in a new Codebase tab inside Cursor. Teams name a codebase, which becomes part of its URL, then push to it over the command line. From there they get the machinery you would expect from a forge — the service layer that wraps Git and handles storage, permissions, checks and merges. Every repository comes with pull requests: timelines, commits, checks and files changed. Reviewers read the diff, leave comments and merge, without ever opening a browser tab.

What Cursor built around that machinery is the part worth studying. Agents now operate in the same surface as the code and the pull requests they are modifying. "Your code, PRs, and agents are now in the same place," the changelog reads. A developer can ask questions about the file on screen, hand an agent a review comment and have it revise the pull request in place, or tell it to push a branch — all inside the editor where the code was written.

Three integrations shipped on day one, and the choice of partners is telling. Vercel spins up a preview deployment for every pull request and ships to production on merge, available in public beta for Pro and Enterprise customers, its developer account said. Depot and Buildkite run continuous integration, and critically, both execute existing GitHub Actions workflows unchanged. Buildkite adds native pipelines on top.

That compatibility layer is the whole strategy in miniature. Cursor is not asking teams to rewrite their build system, retrain their engineers or rip out their deployment pipeline. It is asking them to try a second window onto code they already have — which is a far easier request to approve.

More partners are coming, the company said, and the ones it landed first are the ones that matter to a platform team evaluating whether Origin can carry real work. A forge without deployments and CI is a code viewer. A forge that runs your existing Actions workflows and ships previews to the CDN you already pay for is a candidate.

Why letting GitHub stay the source of truth is Origin's smartest design choice

Here is the decision enterprise buyers should study most closely, because it determines whether Origin survives a security review at all.

Cursor does not ask you to leave GitHub. Connect a GitHub organization, pick repositories, and they appear alongside Origin-native ones. "Pushes keep going to GitHub, which stays the source of truth for anything started there," the changelog says. Access permissions mirror GitHub's existing read and write settings rather than establishing a parallel system. Pull request conversations sync in both directions — comment in Cursor and it posts to GitHub; reply or react on GitHub and it surfaces in Cursor "within seconds."

This is a classic wedge, and a well-executed one. Rip-and-replace migration of source control ranks among the highest-risk projects an engineering organization can undertake. It touches continuous integration, compliance evidence, audit trails, branch protection rules, every integration in the toolchain and the muscle memory of every engineer on staff. Almost no chief technology officer approves that for a product in early beta.

A read-mostly mirror that leaves GitHub authoritative approves itself. It costs nothing to try, breaks nothing if abandoned, and quietly relocates the place developers spend their working hours. If Cursor's review experience proves better — and Cursor spent real money to make sure it would — the source of truth eventually follows the attention.

That money went to Graphite, the code review startup Cursor bought in December 2025 for what Axios reported was well above its $290 million Series B valuation. Graphite built stacked pull requests, the workflow that lets developers keep shipping dependent changes without waiting on approvals. Announcing the deal, Cursor wrote that "the boundary between where you write code and where you collaborate on it feels increasingly arbitrary," and promised "some more radical ideas we can't share just yet." Origin is the radical idea. Graphite co-founder Tomas Reimers unveiled it on stage at Cursor's inaugural Compile conference in June and leads its development.

How AI agents turned code review into software's new bottleneck

The case for an agent-native forge rests on a claim that is easy to state and, unusually for this market, well supported by evidence: writing code stopped being the constraint. Reviewing and integrating it became one.

Google's 2025 DORA report, drawn from nearly 5,000 technology professionals, found that 90% of developers now use AI at work, spending a median of two hours a day with it, and more than 80% say it made them more productive. But AI adoption showed a positive relationship with software delivery throughput and a negative one with delivery stability. More output, more breakage. The report's authors describe AI as "an amplifier" that "magnifies the strengths of high-performing organizations and the dysfunctions of struggling ones."

Trust has not kept pace with volume. Stack Overflow's 2025 developer survey of 49,009 respondents across 177 countries found 84% using or planning to use AI tools, while trust in their accuracy fell to 33% from 43% a year earlier and distrust climbed to 46% from 31%. Two-thirds named "AI solutions that are almost right, but not quite" as their leading frustration. GitLab's ninth annual DevSecOps survey, of 3,266 practitioners polled by Harris, put numbers on the operational drag: 73% had hit problems with vibe-coded output, 70% said AI made compliance management harder, and only 37% would let AI handle daily tasks without human review.

The volume climbs regardless. GitHub's Octoverse 2025 counted 180 million developers, 630 million repositories and 43.2 million pull requests merged per month, up 23% year over year. And RuntimeWire reported the internal figure that best explains Origin's existence: 35% of pull requests merged inside Cursor were opened by agents running autonomously in cloud virtual machines.

A forge built for humans assumes a pull request represents human intent, opened by someone you can ask what they meant. Once a third of merged changes come from software, the queue stops being a conversation and becomes a scheduling problem. That is a real architectural argument, and it is the strongest thing Cursor has going for it.

GitHub's reliability crisis handed Cursor an opening it did not have to earn

The supply-side case for an alternative is simpler: GitHub has been unreliable, and its own executives have said so.

An analysis by LeadDev counted 257 incidents between May 2025 and April 2026, 48 of them major — roughly one significant disruption per week. February was the worst month on record with 37. GitHub Actions alone accounted for 57 outages in twelve months. Chief technology officer Vlad Fedorov has said the platform "wasn't built for the scale it's now being asked to handle" and must design for 30 times today's load. In an April engineering post covered by InfoQ, the company acknowledged it "failed to meet its own reliability standards," citing rapid growth, tight architectural coupling and inadequate load shedding. Monday's outage was the seventh incident on GitHub's status page in fifteen days.

The fatigue is audible. "GitHub really doesn't feel built for the agent era," one developer wrote on X as Origin went live. "It goes down way too often, but until now there haven't been many real alternatives."

The defections started before Origin existed. The Zig programming language moved to Codeberg in November 2025, citing Actions failures among its reasons. In April, Mitchell Hashimoto announced that Ghostty — a terminal emulator with more than 52,000 stars — would leave too, pointing to near-daily outages that blocked reviews and CI for hours. And The Information reported in March that OpenAI, a company Microsoft holds a large stake in, began building its own GitHub alternative partly because outages left its engineers unable to commit for hours at a time, as Tom's Hardware relayed.

Microsoft's structure has not helped. Thomas Dohmke resigned as GitHub chief executive in August 2025 and was never replaced; the unit's leadership was absorbed into Microsoft's CoreAI organization under executive vice president Jay Parikh. In a May report, The Information wrote that Parikh had warned deputies that coding tools from Cursor and Anthropic could eventually make GitHub obsolete. GitHub's own answer to the agent era, Agent HQ, lets customers orchestrate third-party agents from Anthropic, OpenAI, Google, Cognition and xAI inside GitHub — a coherent strategy that concedes the agent layer and keeps the substrate underneath. Origin attacks precisely that substrate.

Now that SpaceX owns Cursor, who actually holds your source code?

Cursor's rise has been extraordinary even by the standards of this cycle. Founded in 2022 by four MIT students, Anysphere raised $8 million from the OpenAI Startup Fund in October 2023, per TechCrunch, then $100 million at $2.5 billion, $900 million at $9.9 billion, and $2.3 billion at $29.3 billion last November. In May, Bloomberg reported annualized revenue of $3 billion and more than 3,000 customers paying at least $100,000 a year.

Then, three days before Origin shipped, Bloomberg reported that SpaceX completed its $60 billion all-stock acquisition of Cursor — an agreement TechCrunch covered in June, days after SpaceX's record IPO and six months after it absorbed xAI. Cursor now operates inside a division called SpaceXAI. The vendor asking to hold your proprietary source code became, last Friday, a unit of a rocket company with its own frontier-model division and a founder not known for institutional caution.

Jason Andersen of Moor Insights & Strategy raised the model-routing question to Tech Times in June, before the deal closed: "xAI's models and treatment of guardrails are very different than what Cursor has stood for." That piece framed the question a chief information security officer now has to answer. When one company controls the editor where agents write code, the host where that code lives and the model those agents run on, what governs what it does with the code?

Cursor has not published an answer. RuntimeWire noted before launch that Origin's pricing, security architecture, data-handling terms and migration tooling were all unpublished, and Monday's changelog adds none of them. It says only that Origin reaches "all paid plan users starting today, except enterprise orgs whose admins opt out." Opt-out, not opt-in — a sentence administrators should read twice.

There is also a track record to weigh. In July, researchers at Mindgard disclosed that Cursor would execute a malicious git.exe planted in a Windows project's root the moment a user opened it, with no prompt — a repository-poisoning flaw they first reported in December 2025. The Hacker News reported that Cursor declined to patch it, calling the issue out of scope under a shared-responsibility model while conceding it had not "closed the loop with the researcher in a timely manner." No CVE was issued. The same flaw class turned up unpatched in GitHub Copilot CLI, Google's Gemini CLI and OpenAI's Codex — but a vulnerability the vendor declined to fix makes an awkward footnote for a product whose pitch is basically “let us hold your repositories.”

What engineering leaders should settle before they let Origin into the toolchain

Origin is a beta, not a migration, and treated as one it is worth evaluating. The sync mode gives platform teams a low-risk way to measure whether an agent-native review surface shortens cycle time, without touching a single branch protection rule. But three things deserve resolution before anything authoritative moves.

The first is the default. Origin switches on for paid users unless an enterprise administrator opts out, which means an organization that has not made an affirmative decision about whether proprietary code may be mirrored to a new host has effectively had that decision made for it. Confirming your posture is a Monday-morning task, not a next-quarter one.

The second is the paperwork. Retention, residency, training use, subprocessors and what changes now that Cursor reports into SpaceX are all unpublished, and a product page is not a contract. Until those terms exist in writing, the defensible position is to treat Origin as a convenience layer over GitHub rather than a system of record — which is, conveniently, exactly what its architecture already is.

The third is the exit. Origin's Actions compatibility and its GitHub-as-source-of-truth design are the properties that make it safe to adopt. They are also the ones most likely to erode as Cursor's incentives shift toward owning the substrate rather than borrowing it. Ask what egress looks like now, while the mirror is still a mirror.

None of which makes Cursor's argument wrong. GitHub earned its incumbency by being boring, dependable infrastructure, and it has spent eighteen months being neither while a third of the code arriving at its front door stopped being written by people. Origin is a serious answer to a real problem, built by a team that bought the right company to build it.

But GitHub's failure and Cursor's are different in kind, and enterprises should not confuse them. Monday's outage resolved at 20:22 UTC. Availability is an engineering problem, and engineering problems close. The question of who holds your source code, what they may do with it and who they ultimately answer to carries no such timestamp — and on that one, the company that spent Monday selling trust has yet to publish its terms.

Building Networks That Can Keep Up With Modern Automation

17 August 2026 at 16:56
Industrial networks used to have a fairly contained job: connect a few controllers, operator stations and plant systems, then keep them running for years. That model is changing quickly. A production floor may now include collaborative robots, machine-vision cameras, automated guided vehicles, connected tooling, industrial PCs and cloud-connected analytics platforms – all producing and consuming […]

Per-developer environments were the goal. Agents moved the goalposts.

Abstract dark digital render of swirling metallic strands with glowing orange sparks, representing concurrent AI workstreams and software changes.

Multi-tenancy has moved in one direction for 60 years: the tenant keeps getting smaller. Mainframe time-sharing carved a single machine into slices so an organization’s departments could share it, and the tenant was the org. Virtualization gave each team its own fleet of virtual machines, and the tenant became the team. Containers and Kubernetes namespaces shrank it again, until a platform team could hand every developer an isolated environment on a shared cluster.

That last step, an environment per developer, became the target state of platform engineering in the 2020s. A namespace per developer, capacity planned by seat, golden paths sized to headcount. Underneath all of it sits one assumption: a person produces one stream of work at a time, so isolating people isolates work.

Coding agents broke that assumption. A developer running five agent sessions has five changes in flight at once, each needing its own working version of the system. Anthropic’s engineers, building a C compiler with a fleet of parallel agents, ran nearly 2,000 Claude Code sessions across two weeks. Cursor’s documentation tells developers to run as many agents as you want in parallel. None of those concurrent workstreams is a person.

“The tenant has shrunk one more time. It is no longer the developer. It is the change.”

The tenant has shrunk one more time. It is no longer the developer (or even the agent). It is the change.

Tenancy demand scales with changes in flight, not headcount

Capacity planning by seat worked because changes arrived at human pace, roughly one per developer at a time. That denominator is gone. A Microsoft study of command-line coding agent adoption found that developers merged roughly 24% more pull requests over four months, and merged pull requests understate the pressure. Every change that reaches merge is preceded by iterations and abandoned attempts, and each of those also needed somewhere to run.

Run the seat math against the change math. A 50-developer organization where each engineer supervises a few agent sessions has hundreds of changes in some stage of validation on a busy day. Each one wants data it can migrate and write to without asking permission, its own view of shared message topics, and a running version of the services it touched. That is the demand of a 300-person (or more) engineering org on a 50-tenant platform. 

Every layer built on the person-tenant assumption misprices this. A per-developer namespace hands one tenant slot to what is now five concurrent workstreams. Shared staging serializes all of them into a single queue. Seat-based capacity plans budget for the number of employees while the bill tracks the number of changes in flight.

The new tenant is the change, not the agent

The tempting candidate for the new tenant is the agent, and it is the wrong one. Agents are interchangeable workers. Two agents can collaborate on one change, one agent can rotate through five changes, and a crashed agent gets replaced mid-task without anything downstream noticing. Give each agent its own environment, and you have repeated the old mistake at a new scale: isolating workers when the thing that must not leak is work.

“Give each agent its own environment, and you have repeated the old mistake at a new scale: isolating workers when the thing that must not leak is work.”

The durable unit is the change. It comes into existence when work on it starts. It accumulates state that no other tenant should see: a schema migration, test writes, new versions of one or two services, the messages it produced during validation. It needs to observe a version of the system that includes its own edits and nobody else’s. And it is torn down when it merges or is abandoned, taking all of that state with it.

Diagram showing a company's growing tenant count

Naming the change as the tenant turns a vague scaling problem into a design target, because change-level tenancy has three requirements that person-level tenancy never had to meet:

  • Creating a tenant must be near free.
  • Isolation must cover only what changed.
  • The tenant’s lifecycle must be bound to the change itself, not to a ticket or a timer.

Platform teams already run this playbook in production

The discipline these requirements call for is not new. Anyone operating a multi-tenant production service already knows the rules: tenants share the substrate, each tenant privately owns only what makes it distinct, creating a tenant is self-service and cheap, and a tenant’s resources are reclaimed the moment it leaves. Nobody stands up a private copy of the product per customer, and nobody files a ticket to onboard one.

Those same organizations run pre-production on the opposite rules. Environments are provisioned by ticket or by seat, capacity is planned per person, and isolation is achieved by duplicating the stack when it is achieved at all. The multi-tenancy playbook that runs the product has never been applied to the platform that builds the product.

Change-level tenancy is that playbook, applied. Treat every change as a tenant of the development platform, and the three requirements stop being novel. They are the standard properties of any competently run multi-tenant system.

The tenant owns what changed and shares everything else

A SaaS tenant owns its data and configuration, never a copy of the application. A change tenant is sized the same way. It owns the one or two services it modified and an isolated database branch it can migrate and write against, and nothing else. Everything the change did not touch resolves against one shared stable environment, continuously deployed from main, so every tenant validates against real, current dependencies without owning a copy of them.

A footprint that small makes tenant creation nearly free, and creation cost is what decides whether the model scales to agent demand. Isolated data no longer requires copying a database: Neon and Xata create copy-on-write branches in seconds regardless of dataset size, consuming storage only for the data that diverges. The runtime side costs one deployment, because starting the modified services is all that is left to do. A tenant that costs one deployment can be created hundreds of times a day.

Diagram showing how each tenant only contains what changed, while stable environments are shared between tenants

Tenants onboard and offboard themselves

Multi-tenant platforms scale because nobody provisions tenants by hand. Signup creates the tenant, cancellation removes it, and no operator sits in the loop. Change tenants need the same contract. The tenant comes into existence when work on the change starts and disappears when the change merges or is abandoned, with no ticket at the front and no cleanup script at the back.

Offboarding is the half that platform teams underestimate. At person scale, an orphaned environment was a minor waste found in a quarterly cleanup. At change scale, orphans accumulate as fast as agents abandon experiments, and the leak outgrows the cleanup.

Automatic offboarding also keeps the accounting accurate. When tenants are created and destroyed by the change’s own lifecycle events, the number of live tenants equals the number of changes in flight, and platform capacity becomes a quantity you can measure and plan against instead of a pile of environments nobody is sure anyone still uses.

Re-measure the platform in changes, not seats

The practical shift for platform teams starts with measurement. Count changes in flight at peak, not seats: open pull requests with activity in the last day is a fine proxy, and for most teams the number is already several times headcount. Then price the marginal tenant: What does one more concurrent change cost in dollars and in minutes of setup? If the answer is a full environment and tens of minutes, the platform is still doing person-level tenancy.

Those two numbers expose where the old assumptions live. Namespace quotas sized per developer, staging booked by team calendar, database seeds refreshed nightly for everybody at once: each is a seat-denominated policy waiting to fail under change-denominated load. The fix in every case is the same three requirements: near-free creation, isolation sized to the change, lifecycle bound to the change, applied to whichever part of the platform still assumes the tenant is a person.

Change-level tenancy is the prerequisite for an agent-native SDLC

Every previous definition of the tenant named a person or a group of people, and that held because only people produced changes. A platform could equate one seat with one workstream, plan capacity from the hiring plan, and keep a human in the provisioning loop. Coding agents break all three of those properties at once: one person now operates several concurrent workstreams, those workstreams are created and abandoned at machine pace, and no human is positioned to provision or clean up each one.

“The change is the only unit of isolation that stays stable when the workers become software.”

That is why the software development lifecycle (SDLC) needs its tenant redefined around the change rather than around whoever, or whatever, wrote the code: the change is the only unit of isolation that stays stable when the workers become software. 

Organizations that keep person-sized tenancy will watch agent-generated changes queue behind infrastructure built for a fraction of the load. The ones that re-platform around the change will convert agent throughput into merged work. If you’re exploring the second path, that is exactly what we built Signadot to support.

The post Per-developer environments were the goal. Agents moved the goalposts. appeared first on The New Stack.

Your container images are unsigned. In the AI era, that’s a ticking time bomb.

Dark abstract digital network grid with glowing cyan neon geometric lines representing software supply chain infrastructure.

Most organizations that know they should sign their images still don’t. Not because they disagree, but because the path to doing it well has been too long. The result is a delivery pipeline built on trust that nobody can verify.

The problem space

Unsigned container images create an open door for attackers at every stage of the delivery pipeline. Malicious images masquerade as legitimate packages, waiting to be pulled by an unsuspecting team. Compromised CI/CD pipelines silently inject tampered artifacts into production builds with no cryptographic evidence of modification. Stolen credentials let a bad actor impersonate a trusted publisher. Even within a single organization, inconsistent practice means some teams sign while others skip the step entirely, leaving gaps in the chain of trust that nobody has mapped. Compounding all of it is base image inheritance. Every container image inherits the security posture of its parent, so one compromised base image can propagate across dozens of downstream services before anyone notices.

“Scanning is fundamentally reactive. One tells you what is inside. The other tells you whether you can trust it.”

Scanning is fundamentally reactive. It answers, “what vulnerabilities exist in this image?” It cannot answer the question that matters more as artifacts get harder to inspect: “who built this, and has it been modified since it left the build system?” That is the domain of cryptographic signing, which provides proactive provenance. The two are complementary, not interchangeable. One tells you what is inside. The other tells you whether you can trust it. 

Why the AI era makes this urgent

The workloads have changed faster than the tooling. Model weights, training datasets, inference runtimes, and agent tooling increasingly ship as OCI artifacts. A pickled PyTorch checkpoint itself has no CVE to match against. Safer serialization formats like .safetensors remove the code execution path, but they say nothing about who produced the weights or whether they’re the ones you meant to load. There is no vulnerability database for a set of trained weights, and the CVE and SCA based scanning that registries run has nothing to compare them to. 

This is not theoretical. In February 2024, JFrog researchers found a malicious PyTorch model on Hugging Face that opened a reverse shell the moment it loaded, abusing pickle’s __reduce__ hook to execute arbitrary code on torch.load(). Their analysis surfaced roughly 100 models on the hub carrying genuinely malicious payloads. No CVE fired, because there was nothing for a CVE to describe. The malice lived in the serialized weights. Model-specific scanning has since appeared to close that gap. Hugging Face runs ClamAV plus a pickle import scan on every file pushed to the Hub, statically disassembling the pickle’s opcode stream to flag dangerous imports. While they help, they are also already being evaded. In February 2025, ReversingLabs described nullifAI, two models that slipped past picklescan by compressing with 7z instead of ZIP and by corrupting the pickle stream immediately after the payload ran, so static analysis errored out on a file whose reverse shell would have already run. Hugging Face removed the models inside 24 hours and patched picklescan. That is the shape of the problem. Pattern matching scanners are a line that keeps moving, and each one answers whether a file resembles something known to be bad. None of them answers where the file came from.

“A tampered application image defaces a page. A tampered AI model artifact corrupts predictions at scale.”

AI is widening the attack surface in the same motion. Coding assistants suggest dependencies that never pass a human threat model, and that code gets containerized and shipped faster than review can keep up. The blast radius changed too. A tampered application image defaces a page. A tampered AI model artifact corrupts predictions at scale, poisons recommendations served to millions, or in the agentic case takes actions in production: API calls, tool invocations, spend. And when you consume a pre-trained model, you inherit every upstream decision about its training data and its security with zero visibility into any of them. Provenance stopped being a question about your application code. It became a question about the model, the agent, and the tooling that carries them.

But signing is not a checkbox. It is a chain. It only works if every link holds.

Why registry is the right layer

Operating the registry at the scale of Amazon ECR has taught us something that shaped how we think about supply chain security. Most teams don’t verify images. They verify addresses. An admission policy allows images from your registry account, push credentials belong to the pipeline rather than to people, and a scanner blocks critical CVEs. That stops a lot of attacks. What it can’t do is tell a good image from a bad one once it’s inside the boundary, because registry provenance is a claim about location, not origin. Anything that can write to the repository produces an image that looks legitimate: a leaked CI token, a misconfigured cross-account role, a compromised build step. Digest pinning tells you that you got the bytes you asked for, not that those were the right bytes to ask for. 

Every container image passes through a registry before it runs. It is the last system in the path that sees every artifact, knows who pushed it, and controls who can pull it. It already holds identity context, already enforces access policy, and already stores the metadata that describes what an image contains. The hard part of image signing is doing it consistently across every team and every pipeline without slowing anyone down. The registry is the only layer that can make it invisible.

“The hard part of image signing is doing it consistently across every team. The registry is the only layer that can make it invisible.”

Signing does not make forgery impossible. An attacker who fully compromises a trusted signing identity, stealing both the credential and the permission to sign, can produce a validly signed malicious image that passes verification. What signing does is shrink the attack surface. Without it, tampering anywhere in the path works, because nothing downstream checks. With signing and enforcement, none of it works unless the attacker compromises one narrowly scoped signer, and that rogue signature is an auditable event tied to an identity instead of an anonymous overwrite. Revoke the identity and the whole fleet stops trusting it in one change. Signing turns an invisible, unbounded problem into a scoped, attributable, revocable one.

The operational tax we set out to remove

Signing is a three-step process:

Sign: Generate a signature at build or push time, binding the image digest to a verifiable identity. The hard question is custody: who holds the private key, and how is it rotated and protected?

Verify: At pull time, and critically before the workload is admitted, check the signature against a trust policy which is a declared list of the identities you trust to have signed what you are about to run.

Enforce: A Kubernetes admission controller like Kyverno blocks any image not signed by a trusted identity from ever running. Signing without enforcement changes nothing.

Enabling signing comes with operational cost. Engineers had to install and configure client-side tooling like Notation CLI or Cosign, then own their signing keys, certificates, rotation schedules, and revocation lists, then build custom automation to wire signing into every pipeline. Across an enterprise with thousands of uniquely configured pipelines, that rollout took weeks to months. What we wanted to know was whether the registry itself could absorb the cost, so that signing could become a property of pushing an image rather than a project each team takes on. The answer to that question became Amazon ECR Managed Signing.

The mechanics are deliberately boring, which took some doing. You create a registry level signing configuration with up to ten rules, each pairing a signing profile with repository filters, and every matching push gets signed from then on.

Managed Signing answers the custody question by not giving you the keys. You configure a signing profile in AWS Signer, which pins the signing algorithm, a validity period, and the identity that appears in the signature. Signer keeps the certificate and the private key. This means no signing key ever sits in a repo, a runner, or a build log. Validity defaults to 135 months, so signatures won’t expire on you. Revocation is what you’ll actually use when you find out a build was compromised.

Then what gets signed, which is narrower than people assume. Signer signs a small Notary payload whose targetArtifact describes the image manifest: media type, digest, size. Not the image bytes directly. Because the signed material is content addressed, verification becomes a statement about exact bytes. The signature itself lands in the same repository as a detached OCI artifact, typed application/vnd.cncf.notary.signature, with a subject descriptor pointing at the image manifest digest. One image can carry signatures from several profiles as your trust requirements change. 

Signing happens asynchronously, which keeps Signer off the push path. A synchronous call would turn an availability dip or a throttle into a failed docker push for a developer, and it would put signing latency in front of every pipeline. The push commits first, and ECR calls SignPayload after. 

Verification and enforcement happen downstream, and the trust policy is where the whole design becomes legible. Your cluster operator writes it and imports it with notation policy import. It’s a short reviewable file:

{
"version": "1.0",
"trustPolicies": [
      {
        "name": "aws-signer-tp",
        "registryScopes": ["*"],
        "signatureVerification": { "level": "strict" },
        "trustStores": ["signingAuthority:aws-signer-ts"],
        "trustedIdentities": [
          "arn:aws:signer:us-east-1:111122223333:/signing-profiles/platform_images"
        ]
      }
  ]
}

That policy says a workload runs only if it carries a signature chaining to the AWS Signer root and produced by that specific profile. Admission does the work in order: resolve the reference to a digest, fetch the signature via OCI Referrers API, validate the envelope against its embedded certificate chain, walk that chain to the root in the trust store, check the signing identity against trustedIdentities, and check revocation. Revoking a profile makes verification fail wherever that profile is trusted. New admissions stop immediately and running pods pick it up when they’re next rescheduled. On EKS you get there with Gatekeeper and Ratify, or with Kyverno. Both paths use the AWS Signer plugin. Every link is checkable by the cluster itself, from the artifact plus a root certificate without asking the verifier to trust the registry it pulled from, or the pipeline that pushed.

Conclusion

Vulnerability scanning answers a question that mattered in the application era: what is broken inside this image? The AI era asks a harder one that scanning was never built to answer. Can you prove where this came from, and that no one touched it?

The cryptography was never the hard part. Making it the path of least resistance was. Sign, verify, and enforce, and let the registry carry the tax so your teams don’t have to.

To explore what’s referenced here, see Amazon ECR managed signing and signature verification on Amazon EKS.

The post Your container images are unsigned. In the AI era, that’s a ticking time bomb. appeared first on The New Stack.

Five European companies just agreed to buy AI compute that doesn’t exist yet

Abstract illustration of a purple hand holding a tilted hourglass with red sand, symbolizing a closing compliance timeline.

Mistral AI, the French AI company that built its reputation releasing open-weight models, wants companies to use its infrastructure even when they pick a model other than Mistral.

The company said Tuesday that it will begin hosting third-party open models, starting with GLM-5.2 from China’s Z.ai. The model will run on the same infrastructure as Mistral’s own models, with access to its regional processing controls and new priority service tier.

The company wants to give enterprises one place to run different open models, without forcing them to start over every time they switch.

Mistral’s regional endpoints are now largely available in Europe and the United States. Its Priority Tier, which puts eligible requests ahead of standard traffic and comes with a 99.5% uptime service-level agreement, is in public preview.

The company wants to give enterprises one place to run different open models, without forcing them to start over every time they switch.

Third-party models, same pipes

The first is GLM-5.2, a model from Z.ai with a 1 million-token context window. Mistral lists coding and long-context agentic work among its main uses. GLM-5.2 is available through the company’s API as zai-glm-5-2 and costs $1.40 per million input tokens, $4.40 per million output tokens, and $0.14 per million cached input tokens.

A team might use GLM-5.2 for coding, Mistral Medium for work involving images and text, and Small for cheaper, everyday requests. Using the same API doesn’t make the models interchangeable. Each model has its own quirks, so teams will still need to test it before putting it into production.

And while GLM-5.2 has open weights, using it through Mistral is still a hosted service. Mistral decides which version is available and runs the infrastructure behind it.

Each model has its own quirks, so teams will still need to test it before putting it into production.

Regional boundaries have gaps

With Mistral’s regional inference service, developers can decide whether their requests are processed in Europe or the United States by changing the API endpoint. The regular endpoint comes without that guarantee. Mistral says keeping inference closer to users could reduce latency and help companies meet data-location requirements, although it adds 10% to the cost of every input, output and cached token.

Mistral says some account and usage data may still leave the selected region. Information may also be shared with outside companies under the safeguards in its Trust Center.

Companies working with financial, health or government data will still have some homework to do. The prompts may stay in Europe, but teams also need to find out what Mistral logs, where that information is stored, who can see it, and what gets through to outside companies. The Microsoft-Mistral sovereign compute partnership addresses some of these questions for Azure customers, but teams running workloads directly on Mistral’s own endpoints face a different set of guarantees.

The regional endpoints don’t support everything yet and, depending on the region, some models are missing. Developers can use function calling, but not Agents, Batch or the Files API. That indicates moving an existing application to the EU endpoint may take more than swapping out the base URL. If the application depends on an unsupported feature, Mistral’s regional processing guarantee no longer covers the workload.

Priority isn’t always guaranteed

Mistral’s Priority Tier puts eligible API calls into a queue ahead of Standard Tier requests when infrastructure is busy. Customers must arrange access with Mistral and agree on custom limits for each model. Once that is set up, developers can add service tier: auto to a completion request. Leave the field out, and the request goes through Standard Tier.

A request only gets prioritized when the organization has an active entitlement, the selected model is covered, the request falls inside its custom rate limit, and Mistral has capacity for that model in that region. Miss one of those conditions and the request can drop to Standard Tier.

Mistral includes the tier that served the request in the response’s usage object. Developers can record that field to find out how often requests are being downgraded, rather than assuming every call marked auto received priority treatment. If latency suddenly climbs, the team needs to know whether the model slowed down or requests quietly fell back to the standard queue.

Compute commitments without specific

The company is gathering a group of European businesses and institutions willing to make multi-year compute commitments. ASML, Amadeus, Capgemini, Caisse des Dépôts and CMA CGM were named in the announcement, but the company didn’t say how much capacity any of them committed to buy. Mistral calls the resulting allocations European Compute Units, or ECUs. Customers will be able to apply those units across Mistral Compute products as their needs change.

For customers, it is a bet made years in advance. They may know they will need AI compute, but not which models they will use, how large those models will be, or whether the workload will be inference, fine-tuning or something that has not been productized yet. Letting ECUs move across Mistral’s products is supposed to leave room for that uncertainty.

Mistral has not said how much compute an ECU buys, what it will cost, whether customers can carry over unused capacity or what happens if the infrastructure is not ready on time. But it’s clear that Mistral needs customers to keep using its infrastructure, whichever model they choose. That same bet — that the infrastructure layer matters more than any single model — is one that a number of enterprises are already making. GLM-5.2 is the first sign of how that could work.

Mistral needs customers to keep using its infrastructure, whichever model they choose.

The post Five European companies just agreed to buy AI compute that doesn’t exist yet appeared first on The New Stack.

Why space is actually a terrible place to cool a data center

AI data centers in space sound great, but practically speaking, they may be next to impossible.

For tech bros, it sounds great. Two of the buzziest tech giants, SpaceX and NVIDIA, are partnering together to bring AI data centers into space using the just-announced Starmind AI1 satellite

These 30-meter-tall satellites with a 75-meter solar-array wingspan will contain the latest NVIDIA Vera CPUs and Rubin GPUs. These will live in a Low Earth Orbit (LEO) of about 600 kilometers. For networking, it will use Starlink’s laser links. SpaceX says the first AI1 spacecraft will perform localized AI computing in orbit and relay results to Earth via Starlink. 

According to SpaceX, AI1 is designed around a compute payload drawing up to 250 kW at peak and 175 kW on average. It will be solar-powered, unlike its Earth-bound competitors, which frequently require the construction of new power plants.  

Credit: SpaceX.

Starmind is not simply a conventional NVIDIA AI cluster launched into orbit. The effort hinges on integrating high-density accelerator hardware with a spacecraft platform capable of generating power, rejecting waste heat, surviving radiation, maintaining laser communications, and being produced in large quantities. None of that is easy. 

Once in orbit, which will require SpaceX’s still-not-ready-for-prime-time Starship rockets to launch the estimated 2.3-metric-ton satellites, the satellites will work together. 

Eventually, to reach SpaceX’s goal of a million (that’s not a typo, that’s a million) Starmind satellites, the two companies will need to design a standard model spacecraft. These will be built in SpaceX’s 11-million-square-foot manufacturing campus, Gigasat Factory, which is still under construction in Bastrop County, Texas.

This AI-in-space proposal is the most ambitious yet of SpaceX CEO Elon Musk’s dream of placing energy-intensive AI infrastructure in orbit. There, these satellites won’t need to compete for land, electrical-grid capacity, or water with increasingly contentious terrestrial data center buildouts. 

However, SpaceX glosses over the technical issues of turning this vision into reality.

Cooling space data centers

Let’s start with the biggest headache: Cooling.

Contrary to what you may think from bad science-fiction movies, the vacuum of space is not cold per se. Whether the surface of an object is hot or cold depends entirely on whether it’s facing the sun. Those on the sun side will heat up, while those away from the sun will eventually cool down toward the 3 Kelvin background of deep space.

The keyword is “eventually.” You can’t simply use convection, cooling towers, or evaporative cooling to carry away heat. The heat must radiate away as infrared radiation, and that’s a very slow process. 

The physics creates a direct trade-off between computing power, radiator area, spacecraft mass, and operating temperature. A system running hundreds of kilowatts of AI hardware must reject nearly all of that power as waste heat. Liquid cooling can carry heat away from chips, but it does not eliminate the requirement for extensive radiator surfaces.

As NASA has found, “satellites experience harsh environments in orbit,” ranging from about 393 Kelvin in full sun (248 degrees Fahrenheit) all the way down to ~3 Kelvin (-454 degrees Fahrenheit).  

To cool down the Starmind satellites, each will have a deployable liquid radiator system measuring 160 square meters. What liquid? We don’t know yet. Hugh Lewis, a professor of astronautics at the University of Birmingham, expects it to use ammonia, which is already used on the International Space Station (ISS). Whether this will reliably scale to data-center-class AI deployments with their enormous heat remains to be seen. 

Networking limits in orbit

Another issue is its networking. The architecture depends heavily on Starlink’s optical inter-satellite links. SpaceX says AI1 satellites will use high-speed laser links to communicate with other spacecraft and send AI results to Earth via the Starlink network. 

Starlink’s published technology specifications describe mini laser terminals operating at up to 25 Gbps across distances as long as 4,000 kilometers, while SpaceX cites roughly 25-millisecond latency for its customer service. 

Those figures suggest a potentially useful network for distributing inference results, transmitting model updates, connecting orbital sensors to compute nodes, and avoiding some reliance on ground-station passes. But they do not establish that a satellite constellation can function like the tightly coupled networking fabric of a terrestrial AI supercomputer.

We won’t be seeing large-scale machine learning and training in space. This requires huge, predictable bandwidth and very low latency for GPU-to-GPU communications. An orbital network would also face physical propagation delays, laser-link acquisition and handoffs, routing across a moving constellation, and limits on available capacity per spacecraft. 

Debris, war and solar storms

Another issue, according to Doug Mohney, a long-time space influencer, is debris. “One bad day, a piece of random junk hits one satellite, which fragments into multiple pieces of shrapnel, which hits another satellite and so on and so on until you get a Kessler event that turns the selective orbit into a roaming cloud of debris.”

A Kessler event is when one satellite breaks up, and its fragments hit another, and so on until an area of LEO is filled with wreckage rather than viable satellites. 

What a Kessler event could look like. Credit: ESA.

Adding insult to injury, a Kessler event may not happen by accident. Mohney also observes that space warfare is a real threat: “A bad actor such as  Russia, China, Iran, or North Korea could use kinetic (unrandom junk!) means to target one or more satellites, resulting in space debris.” Or, “One good nuclear weapon uses an electromagnetic pulse to get rid of all of them at once. Both Russia and China (and the US) already have anti-satellite weapons (ASAT) programs. North Korea could have ASAT, but a nuke would ensure mass destruction of orbital capability.” 

If that sounds crazy, keep in mind that Starlink satellites are already being used by Ukraine, and Russia has been trying to block their transmissions. There have also been credible reports of Russia developing ASAT weapons specifically designed to knock Starlink satellites out of the sky. Larger and more fragile Starmind satellites would be far more vulnerable.

Mohney also worries about the “known unknown” of space weather.

“A Solar flare that hit the Earth along the lines of the 1859 Carrington Event, the largest recorded solar storm, would take out orbital electronics of all satellites.” This, in turn, as uncontrolled satellites drift from their orbit, might cause a Kessler event.  Lesser events have already pushed LEO satellites out of space. For example, a February 2022 geomagnetic storm forced thirty-eight newly launched Starlink satellites out of orbit

The $170 billion question

There are also business concerns. For all the obstacles that new and expanded ground-based AI data centers face, the energy analytics firm Wood Mackenzie believes “A hypothetical 1 GW orbital data center would cost an estimated $170 billion, more than three times the equivalent terrestrial facility, with launch and satellite costs accounting for approximately 60% of that total. To bring orbital costs to parity with terrestrial alternatives would require a 70% reduction.” 

The company thinks that might be possible, but Robert Liew, Wood Mackenzie Research Director, observes, “That gap does not close without sustained and dramatic progress on launch costs. We forecast US$ 9 trillion of terrestrial data center investment between now and 2040. That is where capital goes first. Orbital data centers are a serious long-term proposition, but right now they remain a bet on the cost curve.”

For now, SpaceX has offered a broad technical vision and a hardware partnership with NVIDIA, but few of the operational metrics that would establish commercial viability. The real test will be whether SpaceX Starship becomes a practical launch vehicle and can overcome its cooling and safety issues. Then, the AI1 must also show enough usable compute per kilogram, kilowatt, square meter of radiator, and dollar of launch cost to outperform or complement ground-based AI infrastructure. I don’t see this happening anytime soon. 

The post Why space is actually a terrible place to cool a data center appeared first on The New Stack.

Anthropic gave agents the ability to dream. Then developers woke up.

During AI DevCon in London this summer, Lamis Mukta, member of technical staff at Anthropic, hosted a stage presentation session entitled ‘Learning while you sleep, beyond memory to dreaming’.  

Mukta set out to examine where state-of-the-art memory management sits today in a world where (as she put it) “context is often orthogonal to the model intelligence” at hand.

“The newest model we’ve just released isn’t going to go out of the box and know exactly what it takes to succeed in your organization and what tasks you want it to do,” said Mukta. “It’s like agents [initially] not knowing their way around a codebase or knowing enough about your own user preferences.”

To steer agentic services the right way, systems obviously need access to memory to create a context window.

A brief history of Anthropic memory management 

Providing a brief history of Anthropic memory management, Mukta said that traditional approaches made use of CLAUDE.md, a file that Claude reads at the start of every conversation (that includes Bash commands, code style, and workflow rules) to give Claude persistent context that it can’t infer from code alone.

Effective to a degree, this technique becomes hard to manage over time, especially when a file with very important preferences gets very, very long. 

“So a second avenue that we investigated was memory tools, and this is interesting because it leans into the idea of what happens if we let agents autonomously manage their own memory systems? We let them decide when they read, when they write, and when they update memories,” explained Mukta.

This process happens in-band i.e. within the context of a session. When dovetailed with so-called progressive disclosure, the agent only looks at the light metadata at Layer 1, before reaching for full content and original source files in Layers 2 and 3, respectively, so that the system doesn’t overload the model’s context. 

“The way I like to think about it is as if I’d had a bookshelf in my room, and every time someone talks to me, I can kind of scan and look at my list of books and see if any of the titles might be relevant to the conversation, and then pick that off the shelf and read it when I need to,” explained Mukta.

But the bottleneck here is that we’re still driven by humans and agents working together i.e. we’re still being quite opinionated about what things need skills. The additional problem here is that memories can go stale and become irrelevant to an organization’s needs. Add the fact that a memory file may be written incorrectly or even maliciously injected and you can see why a lot of guardrails need to be in place.

“We introduced the concept of dreaming, which is a process that runs asynchronously in batch with its own allocated resources, to ensure that memories themselves are effective, up to date, and [so we can] help the agents learn over time.” 

Dreaming consolidates memory & cuts irrelevance

“So we introduced the concept of dreaming, which is a process that runs asynchronously in batch with its own allocated resources, to ensure that memories themselves are effective, up to date, and [so we can] help the agents learn over time,” explained Mukta. “[This process allows us] to consolidate memory and cut things that are no longer relevant, add things that agents are missing, and clean up and organize memory systems.”

In Anthropic’s world of slumber, dreaming is an out-of-band asynchronous process which the organization says solves the in-band limitation, where agents must split effort between completing and executing tasks, while also concurrently curating memory for their future selves. Dreaming spots recurring failure patterns where agents are consistently failing (wrong units, missing topics, broken tool configs, stylistic tics like overused em dashes), and proposes memory-store updates, again for human review, but hopefully at a more effecient level. 

This architecture underpins Anthropic’s Managed Agents memory and API approach at this level, so has the frontier model company won over developers?

Bad memories can outlive sessions

Staff software engineer, cloud architect and independent researcher in AI agent systems, Jayakumar Ramalingam, tells The New Stack that “dreaming is useful, but it also creates a dangerous promotion path” i.e. one that leads from repeated mistakes to persistent policy. 

“A bad answer normally dies with the session; a bad memory can influence thousands of future sessions. Human review sounds reassuring, but at fleet scale it can easily become a rubber stamp for recommendations nobody has time to reconstruct,” Ramalingam says. 

“The industry has spent too much time treating memory as a context window problem when it is really a state management problem.”

He insists that every proposed memory should “carry provenance, evidence and an expiration condition”, and not just exist as a pattern that recurred often enough to look real. Otherwise, he thinks that dreaming may help agents remember more while making organizations forget why the memory was trusted.

“Anthropic is getting one important thing right: its agent memory should look more like versioned infrastructure than artificial cognition. The industry has spent too much time treating memory as a context window problem when it is really a state management problem,” underlines Ramalingam. 

His point is – if an agent cannot show who changed a memory, why it changed and how to roll it back, it does not have production memory, so it becomes an unaudited configuration file with an AI attached.

Dreaming is the right instinct aimed at the wrong evidence

Enterprise AI architect and founder of Besk Tech, Vladimir Beskorovainyi, tells The New Stack that “dreaming is the right instinct aimed at the wrong evidence”, because the failures it catches (wrong units, broken tool configs, too many em dashes etc) are all visible on the surface of a transcript.

“The failure that actually costs you is an agent reaching for the wrong tool for a reason that looked perfectly defensible at the time,” Beskorovainyi says. “In the systems I run in production, the log records the decision rather than the API call, and that is the only reason a review pass like this finds anything worth finding.”

“When the ‘lately’ factor quietly becomes true. That leaves us at a point where versioning tells us what changed and when, not what is correct.”

He points to what he calls “a worse problem underneath the agent’s decision” i.e. if updates are proposed from recent batches, the memory store drifts towards whatever the agent fleet happened to do lately, and so the “lately” factor quietly becomes true. That leaves us at a point where versioning tells us what changed and when, not what is correct.

“The industry spent two years insisting that memory meant embeddings, and Anthropic solved it with a filesystem and grep [a Linux command that searches for patterns in files] and that is the most interesting decision in this whole discussion,” insists Beskorovainyi.

He says the reason it matters is legibility. A memory store a developer can open and read is a memory store an engineer can audit, and (he insists) “no vector database has ever offered that”, while everything else in the architecture (the versioning, the hashes, the tiered permissions), is ordinary distributed systems engineering we have known how to do for decades.

Dreaming is the clever (but worring) part

Founder of autonomous AI penetration testing company Penetrify, Viktor Bulanek, tells The New Stack that when the industry spent two years convinced that agent memory was a vector database problem, and Anthropic shipped grep, that was a useful thing.

“In terms of what Anthropic is getting right… a memory store you can cat, diff and code review is one you can actually operate, whereas nobody has ever successfully debugged an embedding that quietly ranked the wrong chunk third,” Bulanek says.

“Anthropic’s approach to dreaming is the clever part and also the part that worries me most, because it points an automated writer at session transcripts, and transcripts are full of content the agent did not author.” 

He thinks that the versioning matters here far more than the auditability framing suggests and reminds us that “rollback is not a compliance feature”; it is the undo button for a poisoned memory a software engineer discovers three weeks after it was written, which is the incident every serious agent deployment is going to have eventually.

“But to add balance here, Anthropic’s approach to dreaming is the clever part and also the part that worries me most, because it points an automated writer at session transcripts, and transcripts are full of content the agent did not author,” Bulanek cautions. 

“Anthropic is right that human review is the answer, but bulk review of proposed diffs is exactly the control that decays fastest once the suggestions are mostly good. The other gap is that nothing in this architecture says when a stored fact stops being true. Versioning tells you what changed, it does not tell you what rotted, and a confident note about a system that was refactored last month is worse than no memory at all,” he advises.

Bulanek’s work sees him run autonomous agents in production that perform penetration testing and run for hours unsupervised with real credentials against live systems, so memory for his team is both an operational cost and a security boundary at the same time.

The Anthropic way of doing things has an endearing lack of flair to it

Co-founder and CTO of Noah Labs, Berk Yilmaz, tells The New Stack that the Anthropic way of doing things has “an endearing lack of flair to it” in his view. 

“Everyone wants memory to feel like the newest incarnation of machine intelligence, and their pitch goes something like: just give it a filesystem, versioning, searchability, and don’t let a thousand processes stamp all over each other,” Yilmaz says. “This is closer to how production AI should be done. While we have spent a long time improving models, the supporting infrastructure has not kept up, failing in incredibly prosaic engineering ways.”

Yilmaz is behind a company that develops an AI-native IDE for government and regulated systems, built for air-gapped environments and legacy codebases. He reminds us that once a memory decision is made on which past behavior should become future behavior, memory itself ceases to be inert. 

“A hallucination that dies after a single session is a pain in the neck, but a hallucination that outlives a thousand sessions is infrastructure. The same thing applies to security; if an attack succeeds in writing to memory, it has become persistent. Provenance becomes absolutely critical here, how was the system taught this, where did it learn it from, who certified it, and can I undo it? In enterprise AI, sometimes forgetting is a safety measure,” adds Yilmaz.

A pragmatist would remember that Anthropic gets paid for usage, not efficiency

AI, product & data science leader and former Meta employee, Kerstin Frailey, tells The New Stack that at face value, dreaming (for her money) “certainly sounds like it has the potential to blow up AI bills” right now.

“A cynic would say this is designed to fill the revenue hole left by tokenmaxxing before Anthropic’s IPO,” Frailey says. “An optimist would hope for a beautifully thrifty design. A pragmatist would remember that Anthropic gets paid for usage, not efficiency. A skilled practitioner would run incremental pilots, aggressively monitor costs, and routinely test for measurable improvements.”

“As a nice bonus, dreaming offers potential system improvement, too. But its familiar predecessors – garbage collection and storage compaction – are comparatively deterministic and controlled.”

She continues and notes that dreaming offers cleanup and consolidation, which she defines as a “reasonable development” for any system that constantly generates new files. 

“As a nice bonus, it offers potential system improvement, too. But its familiar predecessors – garbage collection and storage compaction – are comparatively deterministic and controlled. Unlike its namesake or those analogues, dreaming appears neither cheap nor efficient: pay an AI to do the work once, then pay AIs to regularly review, revise, and restructure it,” she adds.

Dreaming as part of Anthropic’s Managed Agents memory and API approach isn’t alone. The notion of AI model dreaming (or automatic out-of-band background memory consolidation if we’re being formal about things) is also being popularised by OpenAI for ChatGPT, in stateful agent coding platform Letta and elsewhere. 

The bottom line here may be a realization that, in AI modeling terms at least, memory is actually maintenance.

The post Anthropic gave agents the ability to dream. Then developers woke up. appeared first on The New Stack.

How I learned to stop worrying and love hyperscaler capex

Amazon data center

The AI boom is an oddly miserable bubble. Despite interesting tech, huge new companies, and products with global reach, AI has attracted legions of detractors.

Some have valid complaints, like seeing their roles automated, or the value of human art being pressured by machine generation. Other complaints have had less staying power.

It was once in vogue to argue that AI companies would run out of data, and thus their models would stop improving. False. Some of the same voices argued that AI lacked a use case and was thus little more than a fancy toy high on its own hype. Incorrect.

Later, the argument shifted to AI being too expensive to use, an incredible flip from the AI has no real use argument. This is being proved false, as low-cost models from China now face both low-cost, closed-source AI models from OpenAI and new, open models from Meta. Agents were too brittle to start; now they are hacking the world. You get the idea.

Lately, I’ve read criticism about the AI boom from a financial perspective. Namely, that the major cloud players (AWS, Google Cloud, Azure) are spending too much money on AI infra. Surely we can’t use all that compute, the argument goes, and thus hyperscalers are torching their nest egg and investor goodwill at the same time.

I wanted to put the contention to the test, so I pulled together data from Amazon, Alphabet, and Microsoft’s cloud groups (here) to peel back the onion a little. Here’s what I found: Growth is accelerating, hyperscaler profitability scales with scale, and hyperscaler capex efficiency is improving.

Continue reading on Cautious Optimism

This is an excerpt from Cautious Optimism, a modestly upbeat publication focused on technology, business, and power. Read more about the concern of hyperscaler cost on Cautious Optimism.

The post How I learned to stop worrying and love hyperscaler capex appeared first on The New Stack.

Anthropic’s watermark survives copy-paste, but not the real dev workflow

A minimalist blue illustration of a hand reaching down to touch a water surface, creating concentric ripples. Beneath the water, a pixelated and distorted reflection of a hand reaches up to meet the finger, symbolizing the connection between a user's experience and the underlying digital infrastructure.

Anthropic announced it will embed invisible watermarks into text generated by new Claude models, including output produced through its API, coding tools and cloud partners. For developers, the mark offers another way to trace where AI-generated text or code might have come from, but it is not strong enough to prove its origin.

Laying out the plan in a support document, Anthropic said Claude models launched in the EU on or after Aug. 2, 2026, will include machine-readable marking from release. The company is working to add support to older models as well.

The marks will apply worldwide across supported Claude products, including the Claude API, Claude Code, Claude Cowork and Claude Tag. Text generated through AWS, Google Cloud or Microsoft Foundry will also carry the watermark when those platforms use a supported model. Because the mark is added at the model level, it follows the output into applications built on top of Claude — the same applications that are already reshaping how enterprises deploy AI infrastructure — although Anthropic cautions that some platforms and features may not support every type of mark.

The change follows the Aug. 2 start of Article 50’s transparency requirements under the EU AI Act, which require providers of generative AI systems to make synthetic output detectable in a machine-readable format. Anthropic signed the accompanying Code of Practice as a provider of both generative AI models and systems. OpenAI, Google, Meta, Microsoft and Mistral are among the other model providers that have committed to the code.

Yet, Anthropic is handling text and files differently. Text gets a watermark hidden in the words themselves, while supported files such as SVGs, PNGs and JPGs receive a digital signature using the C2PA standard. The file metadata can show that Claude processed an asset and whether the metadata has been altered.

“Because the watermark is part of the text, it will travel with the text when it’s copied and pasted elsewhere, and may persist through some editing,” Anthropic said.

“Because the watermark is part of the text, it will travel with the text when it’s copied and pasted elsewhere, and may persist through some editing.”

How token-level watermarking works

Anthropic has not explained how its text watermark works or said whether Claude uses KGW, a semantic version or another method. The company has also not shared any figures showing whether watermarking affects latency or adds to inference costs — a gap that matters for teams already wrestling with the hidden costs of agentic AI workflows.

Alex Cui, CTO and co-founder of AI detection company GPTZero, wrote in a technical explainer on X that watermarking systems fast enough to run on a streaming frontier model often follow the same general approach. One such technique, known as the KGW method, changes the probabilities the model uses when selecting its next token.

A language model normally calculates a probability for every token that could appear next. In a simplified watermarking system, a secret key and the preceding tokens are used to generate a hash, which divides the candidate tokens into two groups, often described as green and red. The model then slightly increases the probability of selecting one of the green tokens.

A detector with the same key can use the preceding text to reconstruct which tokens would have been favored at each position. A passage containing an unusually high number of those choices may carry the watermark.

Cui wrote that more advanced approaches can derive the watermark from the meaning of nearby text rather than an exact sequence of tokens, which may help the signal survive some paraphrasing because replacing a word does not always change the surrounding context.

“Their watermark needs to work token-by-token because they are streaming their text to users,” Cui wrote. “Many watermark methods plan sentences or paragraphs at a time, or change the text after it’s entirely written, in order to make their watermark robust to paraphrasers.”

Anthropic has not confirmed that Claude uses any of these methods, but streaming limits the techniques available because the model must add the signal while generating its response rather than rewriting a completed passage afterward.

Code resists invisible marking

Code presents a different problem because the model has fewer valid choices. Words can often be swapped or sentences rewritten without changing their meaning, but seemingly minor changes can break working code. That challenge intensifies as the AI coding era matures and more production code flows through model-assisted pipelines.

“There are some texts, like code, that cannot be arbitrarily changed; otherwise the code will break,” Cui wrote. “In those cases, the watermark needs to selectively change words in parts of the text that can tolerate synonyms,” such as variable names.

Code may also be difficult to track through a normal development workflow. Anthropic has not published tests showing how well its watermark survives those changes, so teams do not yet know whether a Claude-generated patch will remain detectable after passing through a pull request.

“In my testing, the watermarks don’t survive intense paraphrasing, especially if you combine word choice and syntax attacks.”

Pipelines silently erase watermarks

The same issue comes up when applications change Claude’s output before showing it to a user or committing it to a repository. Summarizing it with another model, translating it, splitting it into smaller sections, turning it into structured data or mixing it with database content could all make the watermark harder to detect.

Anthropic acknowledges this limitation. Editing, paraphrasing, translating or combining the response with other text may weaken or remove the watermark, while short excerpts may not contain enough of the signal to detect.

Cui wrote that determined users can attack a watermark by changing both the vocabulary and the structure of a passage.

“In my testing, the watermarks don’t survive intense paraphrasing, especially if you combine word choice and syntax attacks,” he wrote. Cui added that free paraphrasing tools he tested were able to bypass Google DeepMind’s SynthID text watermark.

Research supports those concerns. The “Watermarks in the Sand” paper found that, under defined assumptions, attackers can remove watermarks without severely damaging the quality of the content. The absence of a watermark does not show that Claude had no role in creating the content. The response may have come from an older model, may be too short to carry a detectable signal or may have been changed somewhere in an application pipeline. It may also have passed through a platform or feature that does not support that type of mark.

Finding a watermark does not prove authorship either. Claude may have proofread, translated or reformatted material written by a person. Anthropic says a detected mark means only that the content “may have been processed by Claude,” not that Claude created the underlying work.

“If Anthropic releases the watermark detector publicly, I think they defeat their own watermark. People find reliable watermark-removal strategies by testing against Anthropic.”

Detection creates new risks

Anthropic plans to give users and third parties a way to detect its marks, but it has not said whether that will take the form of a local tool, a detection API or access limited to selected organizations. A public detector would be easier for developers to add to their applications, but it would also allow someone trying to remove a watermark to keep editing and checking the text until the signal disappears.

“If Anthropic releases the watermark detector publicly, I think they defeat their own watermark,” Cui wrote. “People find reliable watermark-removal strategies by testing against Anthropic.”

The secret keys behind the watermark create another challenge. A leaked key could make it easier to remove the mark or imitate it in text that Claude did not produce. The scenario echoes what happened when provenance attestations were turned into camouflage — a trust signal that was supposed to increase confidence instead became an attack surface.

“To avoid a large blast damage from this, you need to have a couple secret keys in rotation,” Cui wrote.

Key rotation would require detectors to recognize marks created with both current and retired keys, including those embedded in content generated months or years earlier. Anthropic has not explained how it plans to handle that history.

Watermarks aren’t a substitute for real provenance

For developers, Claude’s watermark is best treated as another clue, not a replacement for audit logs or provenance tracking. Applications that need to show where an artifact came from can record the model ID, prompt version, response time and a hash of the original output, then log any changes made before it reaches a user or is committed to a repository.

The watermarking announcement arrives as Anthropic navigates deeper questions about what its models do in the wild. Recent incidents have exposed gaps between lab safety evaluations and real-world containment, and the company has publicly backed calls for the most powerful AI labs to slow down. Watermarking fits into that posture — a transparency mechanism rather than a safety guarantee — but its practical value depends on technical details Anthropic has not yet shared.

Anthropic tells customers to determine how Article 50 applies to their own products and says more technical documentation is coming. But until Anthropic shares those details, teams do not know how they will detect the marks, how key rotation will work or how well the watermark will survive common changes to code and application output.

The post Anthropic’s watermark survives copy-paste, but not the real dev workflow appeared first on The New Stack.

Databricks acquires Electric to give every AI agent its own Postgres database

Databricks on Tuesday announced that it’s acquiring Electric, the startup behind the WASM-based Postgres project PGlite and the Electric sync engine, as agentic applications change how developers use databases.

The Electric team will join Neon, the serverless Postgres company Databricks acquired for about $1 billion last year and the foundation of its Lakebase database service.

The companies didn’t disclose the terms of the deal.

What Databricks bought

PGlite is a complete Postgres database in WebAssembly (WASM). It runs in the browser, a Node.js process, or inside the kind of sandboxes agents use to execute code. It supports dynamic extension loading, including pgvector, the preferred Postgres vector extension.

According to the companies, PGlite has grown from 1 million to 13 million weekly downloads over the last year.

The sync engine at the core of Electric

It’s the Electric sync engine that is core to Databrick’s interest in Electric, though. This engine keeps a central Postgres database that can then be synced in near real-time with browser tabs, mobile apps, or agents. As Databricks notes, this is the multiplayer model of Figma or Google Docs, but applied to Postgres and the agents that use it.

The Neon team, in its own announcement, notes that “complex problems like conflict resolution, partial replication, and reconnection logic make real-time sync difficult to build from scratch.” Hence why Databricks likely acquired Electric instead of trying to build this from scratch itself.

As for the future of Electric, the company’s founders James Arthur and Valter Balegas write that “everything we’ve previously open sourced stays open source.” This covers the sync engine, PGlite, Durable Streams, and TanStack DB.

What doesn’t survive the deal, however, is Electric’s hosted service. “Electric Cloud is winding down,” the founders. “Cloud users will need to self-host or move to another provider.”

The deal also extends a string of database acquisitions for Databricks that includes Neon itself and, more recently, the transactional processing startup Mooncake.

A database that lives for 10 seconds

As the Databricks team argues, traditional non-agentic applications share one database among many clients, and that database is the most permanent piece of the stack. But agent workloads change this.

In a recent post on how agentic development changes databases, Databricks’ Ippokratis Pandis, Nikita Shamgunov, and Reynold Xin write that agents now create roughly four times more databases than human users do on Lakebase. They also stress that the average project now carries about 10 database branches, and that some projects run more than 500 branch iterations deep.

For some types of applications on Lakebase, the average database compute is now alive for under 10 seconds.

Agents, as it turns out, like to branch databases the way they branch code, a pattern Neon built its architecture around.

In practice, a coding agent spins up a sandbox, instantiates PGlite inside it, builds and tests against the database, and then either throws the whole thing away or syncs the result with — in the Databricks context — a Lakebase branch. Because Lakebase separates storage from compute and keeps its data in Postgres page formats on object storage, creating that branch is a relatively cheap copy-on-write metadata operation.

“As coding agents drive the cost of creation to zero,” the Neon team writes, “the number of applications explodes, and most of them are small.” A database server, even a serverless one that scales to zero, imposes a floor on what the smallest viable app costs to run. “You can’t have an age of abundance if every app requires a fixed minimum of compute,” the post argues.

‘Two halves of the same idea’

It’s worth noting that PGlite didn’t start at Electric. Instead, it began as an experiment by Neon co-founder Stas Kelvich, who compiled Postgres to WASM to see whether it could run client-side. Electric picked the work up and turned it into a production project. “That repo became the basis of PGlite,” Arthur and Balegas write.

As Databricks’ announcement notes, this now “reunites two halves of the same idea.”

The post Databricks acquires Electric to give every AI agent its own Postgres database appeared first on The New Stack.

Mistral AI wants to build 1 gigawatt of European compute by 2030 — and lock in customers now.

Mistral AI wants to turn European AI sovereignty from a talking point into a product — one with a service-level agreement attached.

The French artificial intelligence company announced Tuesday a three-part expansion of its infrastructure business: regional inference endpoints that let customers choose whether their AI workloads run in Europe or the United States, a new "Priority Tier" backed by an uptime guarantee for mission-critical deployments, and a coalition of European enterprises making multi-year compute commitments that Mistral says will underwrite 200 megawatts of infrastructure across Europe by the end of 2027 — and a full gigawatt by the end of 2030.

In a move that may raise eyebrows among sovereignty purists, the company also said it will begin hosting third-party open models on its platform, starting with GLM-5.2 from Z.ai, the Chinese AI lab formerly known as Zhipu.

Taken together, the announcements mark a decisive shift in how Mistral positions itself. The company that built its reputation training open-weight language models is now selling something closer to critical infrastructure: assured capacity, regional control, and contractual reliability for enterprises and governments that want frontier AI without surrendering control over where it runs.

"When we spoke in June, the story was around how Mistral was building a full-stack AI offering," Timothée Lacroix, Mistral's co-founder and chief technology officer, told VentureBeat in an exclusive interview ahead of the announcement. "Today, the announcement is about strengthening one part of this infrastructure, which is the inference part."

That one part, it turns out, comes with a price tag measured in the tens of billions of dollars.

Inside Mistral's plan to build 1 gigawatt of European AI compute by 2030

The headline numbers deserve scrutiny, because they imply staggering capital requirements. Mistral currently operates less than 200 megawatts of capacity, according to the company. Details shared with VentureBeat show the near-term buildout resting on three sites: a 44-megawatt facility near Paris that became operational in the second quarter of this year, a 23-megawatt facility in Sweden built in partnership with EcoDataCenter using renewable energy and advanced cooling, and a 10-megawatt site in Les Ulis, France, that came online in the third quarter.

Getting from there to one gigawatt by 2030 is a different order of magnitude. Independent estimates suggest just how different: research firm Epoch AI calculates that a typical one-gigawatt AI data center requires roughly $38 billion in upfront capital expenditure, with servers and GPUs — not buildings or land — consuming the majority of the cost. Goldman Sachs Research pegs next-generation AI facilities at $15 million to $20 million per megawatt before accounting for the chips inside them.

Lacroix did not dispute the scale of the challenge. The investment required for a gigawatt of capacity "is a large investment that requires also a lot of scaling and revenue behind it," he said.

The urgency, in his telling, comes from a supply crunch that is about to get worse. "More and more, and especially around 2027 and 2028, we see that the demand for AI compute is exceeding what the market has to offer, especially in Europe," Lacroix said. McKinsey has estimated that meeting global AI demand could require $5.2 trillion in data-center capital expenditure by 2030 — and Europe, by most analyses, is starting from behind.

A company valued at a fraction of its American rivals cannot close that gap with venture capital alone. Which explains the most consequential — and most unusual — piece of Tuesday's announcement.

European Compute Units turn AI sovereignty into a five-year contract

Mistral is assembling what it calls an anchor group of enterprises whose long-term commitments will collectively finance infrastructure none of them could justify alone. Those commitments convert into "European Compute Units," or ECUs — a claim on Mistral-built capacity over multiple years that participants can spend on inference, training, model adaptation, or other AI workloads as their needs evolve.

If that structure sounds more like a power-purchase agreement than a cloud contract, that appears to be the point. Data-center financing increasingly resembles large infrastructure projects — gigawatts, substations, energy agreements — rather than traditional technology spending, and lenders want demand locked in before capital gets deployed. Mistral raised €830 million ($962 million) in debt earlier this year to fund its data center near Paris, TechCrunch reported in March, and pre-committed enterprise demand is exactly what makes that kind of financing repeatable at ten times the scale.

Lacroix was unusually direct about the mechanics. "The entire point of compute units is to have commitment," he said. "The goal is to have customers commit for around five years, or at least a long time." Asked what happens if a customer wants out early, he didn't soften the answer: "There is no getting out."

What makes a five-year, no-exit commitment palatable, he argued, is flexibility in how the capacity gets consumed. "Typically this can be spent on raw inference that you then feed through any other AI stack. It can be spent on raw compute as managed Kubernetes, and it can be spent at the very top with our full AI offering," he said. "My hope is that they will use it with our full-stack services and will love it."

The anchor group already includes some of Europe's industrial heavyweights. Amadeus CEO Luis Maroto said in a statement that "capacity, deployment control, and operating continuity become increasingly important for all enterprises." ASML chief Christophe Fouquet — whose company led Mistral's $13.4 billion (€11.7 billion) Series C last year — called building European AI capacity one of the few industrial endeavors that "will matter more to Europe's next generation," while Capgemini's Aiman Ezzat framed it as "a question of who shapes the future of European industry." CMA CGM chairman Rodolphe Saadé said the shipping group's Mistral deployment is "already under way among thousands of employees."

Commitments of that duration only make sense, of course, if the sovereignty being purchased is real. On that question, Mistral's announcement contains an asterisk worth reading closely.

The fine print on sovereign AI: what data can still leave Europe

The centerpiece product is Mistral Regional Endpoints, now generally available, which let customers pin inference and its associated processing to Europe or the U.S. Alongside it, the new Priority Tier — in public preview — offers committed service levels, custom rate limits, and an uptime SLA for mission-critical workloads.

Mistral claims it is the only European AI lab offering both a choice of processing region and an SLA-backed service tier, and Lacroix said a third option is coming: an endpoint "that stays on Mistral-controlled infrastructure, so on Mistral compute" — for customers who want their inference not just in Europe, but off hyperscaler hardware entirely.

Then comes the fine print. Mistral's own materials note that in-region inference remains subject to "limited, safeguarded transfers" to sub-processors that may sit outside the chosen region. Pressed on what actually leaves Europe, Lacroix pointed to the connective tissue of modern AI applications: tool calls.

"There are some tool services, like some tool calls, that might be hosted in places where we don't fully control this," he said, citing web search as an example. "A few of our web-search providers might not all be in Europe, and in that case, we need to potentially gate that capability."

His answer to the compliance question — would this satisfy a European bank or a defense ministry? — was that gating is the feature, not the bug. Capabilities that cannot be sourced in-region can be switched off entirely, restricted to certain users or workspaces, or, given sufficient demand, rebuilt with European providers. "Any capabilities that we don't find a provider for in Europe — if it needs to be done in Europe, we'll find some way to implement it or find ways to address it," Lacroix said.

For enterprise buyers, that is a more honest framing than most sovereignty marketing offers: full regional control is available, but the moment an AI agent reaches out to the open web, sovereignty becomes a configuration decision rather than a default. The same pragmatism runs through the announcement's most surprising line item.

Why Europe's open source AI champion is hosting China's GLM-5.2

A French national champion — one that has partnered with the French army and positioned itself as Europe's answer to American AI dependence — hosting a Chinese lab's model invites an obvious question. Lacroix's answer was disarmingly matter-of-fact.

"It's a great model. Everyone loves it. It's open weight, so there was no good reason for us not to do it, really," he said, noting that Mistral's own stack is already built on open-source software like Kubernetes.

On security vetting, he argued that open weights fundamentally change the risk calculus. "The risks in taking a new model, at the layer of the weights, are — at least in my opinion — rather limited," Lacroix said. "We checked basically all of the safety and compliance evals that we have. We'll control that model, its outputs, and what it does the same way we do any of our models. We have the same inputs and outputs and monitoring capabilities over all of it."

The strategic logic is worth unpacking. By hosting third-party open models under European regional controls and the same SLAs as its own, Mistral is repositioning itself from model vendor to sovereign distribution layer — the trusted intermediary through which any open model, regardless of origin, can be consumed by a regulated European enterprise that could never call a Chinese API directly. It is the "model garden" playbook the hyperscalers run with Bedrock and Vertex, executed on European soil with European guarantees.

Customers appear to be reading it that way. "Mistral allows us to run open models under strict regional controls and service commitments, making it easy for us to maintain data residency and compliance requirements," Matan Griberg, CEO of AI software-engineering company Factory, said in a statement.

Lacroix stressed the move is not a retreat from frontier training: the model Mistral had in training as of June "is still training, and we're still very excited about it," he said. But openness to rivals' models signals where the company now believes its moat lies — not in any single model, but in the infrastructure underneath all of them. Which makes its relationship with the world's most powerful infrastructure company all the more interesting.

How the multibillion-dollar Microsoft deal funds Mistral's independence

Hovering over every sovereignty claim is Mistral's deepening relationship with Microsoft. In July, the two companies announced a multibillion-dollar expansion of their partnership under which Microsoft will rent capacity from Mistral's European data centers to serve its own cloud and AI demand, while adding Mistral Medium 3.5 and OCR 4 to Microsoft Foundry, bringing Medium 3.5 to Copilot Studio, and enabling Mistral models on Azure Local for disconnected, customer-controlled environments. Mistral CEO Arthur Mensch told The Wall Street Journal at the time that two-thirds of Mistral's customers already work with Microsoft.

How does a company selling independence from U.S. hyperscalers square taking one on as its largest tenant? Lacroix described Microsoft not as a patron but as an anchor customer that de-risks the buildout.

"It allows us to scale different parts of the business differently by building infrastructure with Microsoft as a customer," he said. "We can scale that team, we can scale our infrastructure, and make sure that we can then, on the side of it, also build for ourselves and for our customers." He compared the arrangement to the neocloud playbook — companies that built businesses supplying capacity to the hyperscalers themselves. "As that part of our business resembles that of neoclouds, we're following the same thing."

It is a genuinely clever inversion: rather than renting American infrastructure, Mistral is renting infrastructure to one of America's largest companies, using Microsoft's demand to finance capacity that also serves European sovereignty customers. But the independence has limits no contract can engineer away — the GPUs filling Mistral's European data centers come overwhelmingly from Nvidia and other American chipmakers, as SiliconANGLE noted in its coverage of the July deal.

Asked directly why a customer should choose Mistral over an EU region on AWS or Azure, Lacroix gave two answers. "The simplest possible answer is capacity. There is more demand than supply right now, and so it adds another option," he said. The second cuts closer to the pitch: "We are a European provider, and on the region that would be Mistral compute, we are fully independent. That's a truly differentiated offering than all of the hyperscalers or pure inference companies can provide."

The economics of open models: why agentic AI is pushing inference to the cloud

There has always been a tension at the heart of Mistral's business: its best-known models are free to download, and open models have historically been difficult to monetize through APIs. Asked how free weights fund a gigawatt buildout, Lacroix offered the clearest articulation yet of the company's thesis — that the economics of self-hosting are collapsing under the weight of the models themselves.

"When the models were smaller, and we were before the explosion of agentic AI, it was doable for enterprises to host their own — up to, let's say, 100-billion-parameter dense models — on their premises," he said. "More and more, with models going into the trillion or more parameters, with the current hardware, and with the increasing amount of tokens that need to be processed, it becomes harder."

His conclusion was blunt: "I don't see how, with the current trend of model size and growth of agentic tokens, we keep the full inference on-prem. To me, that is why we think we're going to monetize our cloud inference." Inference, he noted, is particularly well suited to the cloud because it "does not need to hold any data" and can be encrypted in transit.

In other words: open weights get Mistral into the enterprise, and the physics of trillion-parameter agentic workloads brings the inference — and the revenue — back to Mistral's data centers. The thesis will get an expensive test. Mistral has raised roughly $4 billion to date, according to PitchBook data — a fraction of the war chests assembled by OpenAI and Anthropic — and Bloomberg reported in June that the company is in talks to raise about €3 billion at a roughly €20 billion valuation, nearly double its Series C mark. The revenue behind the buildout will have to come from exactly the enterprises Tuesday's announcement is courting.

And Europe, in Mistral's telling, is only the first market for what it is selling. Asked whether the framework could be replicated in the Middle East, Asia, or anywhere else anxious about AI dependence, Lacroix didn't hedge: "It's completely right. We're starting this in Europe because it's also an easier part of the world for us to scale into, especially in the infrastructure. But we definitely want to extend this, depending on customer demand." Every layer of the stack, he said, "can be controlled, changed, replaced depending on where we operate and what the requirements are — that's pretty much where we excel."

That is the wager underneath the SLAs, the compute units, and the Chinese model flying a European flag: in a world where the U.S. and China dominate frontier AI, the durable business is selling everyone else control. To fund it, Mistral is asking Europe's largest enterprises to sign five-year contracts with no exit — while making a bigger, longer commitment of its own. A gigawatt, after all, is a promise measured in decades. For Mistral, too, there is no getting out.

Pulling multi-gigabyte container images in seconds on Amazon EKS

Dark abstract fluid art with vibrant flowing streams of color, representing parallel data pipelines and container image optimization.

When the image is the bottleneck: Machine learning changed what a container image looks like. A typical application ships in a few hundred MB and starts in seconds. A modern ML inference image carries a deep-learning framework, the CUDA stack, and sometimes the model weights. These images roughly reach 20 to 30 GB, with some even higher. On the GPU and accelerated instances these run on, pulling one of those images takes several minutes before the application can serve its first request: minutes during which provisioned accelerators are ready to process real work but waiting for images to be pulled.

We hit this bottleneck on a production ML platform running on Amazon EKS. The team needed pods ready within two minutes, but image pull alone consumed several minutes. Each pod pulled a roughly 30 GB container image on top of loading model data from a shared filesystem. The images were rebuilt on a regular cadence, so worker nodes faced cold pulls with no usable local cache. While the image was pulled, accelerators sat idle, autoscaling lagged demand, and request queues built up.

The natural first suspect for these large image pull times was the network or the registry. After all, 30 GB is a lot of data. However, profiling the image pull path showed neither was the bottleneck on accelerated instances with 100 to 400 Gbps of network bandwidth available. The real constraint was how the software used the hardware already available.

“The real constraint was how the software used the hardware already available.”

By rethinking the pull pipeline to leverage the network bandwidth, storage throughput, and compute these instances already had, we got those multi-minute pulls down to seconds. The improvements are available by default on EKS Auto Mode today, and we contributed the core changes upstream to containerd and the SOCI snapshotter. This is the story of how we dove into the internals of the image pull path, identified where time was being lost, and rebuilt those stages. It starts where we started: understanding what a large container image looks like and how it gets onto a node.

What a container image looks like at scale

A container image is not one file. It is a stack of layers plus a small JSON manifest listing them. Each layer is a tar archive of part of the filesystem (the base OS in one, CUDA libraries in another, your code in a third), gzip-compressed. For each layer, the manifest records a digest, a SHA-256 hash of the compressed bytes, so the node can prove it received exactly what was published. When the container runs, these layers are stacked and mounted together into a single unified filesystem.

Here is what real ML images look like when measured directly from their registry manifests:

ImageCompressed SizeLayersLargest Layer
AWS DJL LMI 21.0 Inference (cu129)16.5 GB299.5 GB
AWS PyTorch Training NeuronX 2.7.012.8 GB213.9 GB
AWS SageMaker Distribution 4.2.1 GPU10.5 GB289.4 GB

Notice that layers within an image are not roughly equal in size. A single layer can account for more than half the total image, with individual layers often reaching 9 GB or larger, while the remaining layers are comparatively small. This size disparity has direct consequences for how long a pull takes, as the next sections explain.

Getting each of these layers onto a node involves six stages, and traditionally containerd, the industry-standard container runtime, performed most of these operations sequentially.

The stages of a pull

Diagram showing the six stages of a container image pull

For each layer, containerd performs six operations in sequence. The first three are the download phase: fetch the compressed bytes from the registry over a single HTTP connection, verify the bytes by computing their SHA-256 and comparing it against the manifest digest, and write the compressed blob to local disk. 

The next three are the unpack phase: decompress the gzip archive, verify the decompressed content by computing a second SHA-256, and extract the files into the local snapshot directory managed by a containerd snapshotter, the component that stores and serves the on-disk representation of each layer. By default, containerd downloads up to three layers in parallel, but each layer uses a single connection, and unpacking remains strictly sequential across layers.

Two details are worth noting. Both SHA-256 checks mentioned above are mandated by the Open Container Initiative (OCI) specification, and on a multi-gigabyte layer, each of these hashes requires real work. The first is computed over the compressed bytes and proves the download was not corrupted or tampered with. 

The second is computed over the decompressed content. It gives the runtime a stable fingerprint of the layer’s actual filesystem data, which is what allows it to recognize shared layers across images and avoid redundant unpacking. Decompression is another deceptively expensive operation on large layers: gzip often triples a layer’s size on expansion, and because each block depends on the previous one, it runs on a single core. At the same time, the rest of the instance sits idle. 

Downloading layers can be parallelized, but the unpack sequence runs layer by layer. Layer two cannot begin until layer one finishes all six stages. The result is that at any given moment during a pull, the node is bottlenecked on only one resource: network bandwidth during download, CPU during decompression and hash verification, or disk throughput during extraction. The other resources sit idle, waiting their turn in the pipeline.

“Because layers are not equally sized, the single largest layer becomes the long pole in the pipeline.”

Because layers are not equally sized, the single largest layer becomes the long pole in the pipeline. A 10 GB layer that takes a minute to decompress on one core holds up the entire image, even if the other layers finish in seconds. Total pull time is effectively bounded by that one dominant layer moving through all six stages.

Existing approaches: working around the pull

There are well-known approaches to reducing image pull times. Each works around the bottleneck differently, whether by altering images, caching them, or relying on assistance from other parts of the stack.

Image size reduction: The most direct approach is to make images smaller through multi-stage builds, distroless base images, and stripping unused packages. For ML workloads, this hits hard limits. The GPU software stack alone (PyTorch, cuDNN, CUDA) imposes a compressed floor of roughly 3 to 4 GB that no build optimization can remove. Beyond that, ML images are assembled across organizational boundaries: a platform team provides the OS and drivers, a frameworks team adds deep-learning libraries, and researchers contribute application code and model weights. No single team controls the final artifact; model weights frequently end up baked in because serving frameworks expect local paths, and multi-stage builds yield only single-digit percentage savings on images whose bulk is irreducible.

Image caching (pre-pulling): Cache images on nodes by snapshotting image content into a volume and mounting it at provisioning time, so subsequent launches skip the pull entirely. This works for stable images but adds a dedicated pipeline stage for each image version. For ML workloads, the challenge goes beyond frequent rebuilds: a common pattern is a single pod consuming an entire node, so nodes scale in and out with each scheduling decision and every new node faces the full cold pull. This limits pre-caching to workloads with long-lived, static node pools.

“The GPU software stack alone (PyTorch, cuDNN, CUDA) imposes a compressed floor of roughly 3 to 4 GB that no build optimization can remove.”

Registry-side optimization: Some approaches serve image content remotely rather than pulling it to the node. Alibaba’s DADI, for example, presents container images as remote block devices that the node mounts on demand without a discrete pull step. This eliminates startup latency for workloads that access only a fraction of their image. Still, the container depends on the network throughout its lifetime and requires purpose-built serving infrastructure that may not be portable across providers.

Lazy loading: Instead of pulling the whole image up front, start the container immediately and fetch file content on demand. Projects in this space include eStargz and Nydus (which require converting the image to a new format) and AWS’s SOCI (Seekable OCI), which adds a seekable index alongside the unmodified image. These techniques work well when containers touch only a fraction of their data at startup. Still, ML images densely access the framework, CUDA libraries, and model weights before serving the first request, so nearly all the data ends up being fetched anyway. For these workloads, the pull pipeline itself needs to be faster.

Peer-to-peer distribution within the cluster: Tools like Dragonfly (a CNCF graduated project) and Spegel turn nodes that already have an image into seeders for nodes that need it, reducing registry egress and accelerating rolling deployments. For ML workloads, though, the first node still faces the full cold pull, and when images are rebuilt frequently, no node has the new version cached yet. P2P distribution complements rather than replaces improvements to the pull pipeline itself.

Fixing the image pull pipeline

Out of the six stages in the pull pipeline, we focused on two: downloading the layer blob from the registry, and unpacking the layers on the node. These are where the most time is spent and where the serialization cost is highest.

Since SOCI was already an open-source containerd snapshotter plugin with the plumbing to intercept and customize the pull path, it served as a staging ground where we could develop and validate these changes before contributing them upstream to containerd. 

Download: sharding a single layer into multiple requests

containerd traditionally uses a single HTTP connection to download each layer. We identified that splitting a layer into fixed-size chunks and fetching them concurrently over separate connections using HTTP range requests was significantly faster. At the same time, the containerd community also independently added parallel chunked download support in containerd 2.1, and we built on the same principle in the SOCI snapshotter.

However, there is one significant difference that allows us to keep the runtime’s memory footprint constant regardless of image size. The difference is where chunks live between arrival and final assembly. Our implementation writes each chunk directly to the local disk the moment it arrives, while containerd holds it in memory as the layer is assembled. This means the runtime’s memory stays flat whether you are pulling a 1 GB layer or a 15 GB layer, which matters on GPU nodes where system memory is shared with model weights and CUDA contexts.

Once download completes in seconds rather than minutes, the compressed layer hash that previously hid behind it becomes visible. Because the layer is now a complete file on disk rather than a stream consumed once, integrity verification and unpacking can proceed at the same time.

Unpack: All layers concurrently

After downloading, containerd decompresses and extracts each layer one at a time. This sequencing exists because in some filesystem backends, a later layer can overwrite files from an earlier one, so the order matters. The overlay snapshotter, which is the default on EKS and most Kubernetes clusters, sidesteps this constraint by keeping each layer in its own separate directory. The kernel mounts them together into one unified view only when the container starts. Because each layer extracts to an independent directory, unpacking one layer does not need to depend on another to finish.

With that established, we built an unpack path that decompresses and extracts all layers concurrently. The snapshotter detects whether the backend actually requires ordering and falls back to sequential if it does. For images with multiple large layers, total unpack time goes from the sum of all layers to roughly the time of the single largest one. We contributed this parallel unpack capability upstream to containerd v2.2, so the improvement is available to the broader community.

What this looks like in practice

With chunked parallel download, a large layer that previously took over a minute on a single connection finishes in single-digit seconds. When you then unpack all layers concurrently rather than sequentially, the full pipeline for a large ML image compresses from several minutes to well under a minute on instances with fast local NVMe storage. The machine spends its available compute and bandwidth actively pulling rather than waiting on serial stages. On larger images and instances with faster storage, the gains are more pronounced because the gap between available hardware capacity and what a single connection can use is wider.

What’s next

The two changes above address download and layer sequencing, but decompression of a single large layer remains serial. On a 64 vCPU machine, decompressing a layer that expands to 18 GB means a lot of compute sitting idle. Two opportunities stand out:

Parallel decompression within a single layer. Libraries like rapidgzip can locate block boundaries and inflate blocks across cores in parallel.

Parallelizable integrity verification. Today, the layer hash requires a single sequential read over the entire compressed blob after all bytes have landed. A tree-structured hash like BLAKE3 would allow computing the layer digest from independently hashed chunks so that verification could run in parallel with download rather than as a separate pass afterward.

Addressing these opportunities will squeeze out the last remaining serial stages in the pull path, bringing total pull time closer to what the raw hardware is capable of delivering.

Using parallel download and unpack with Amazon EKS

This image pull optimization is enabled by default on G/P/Trn instances with EKS Auto Mode. You can also benefit from this on other node types through one of two mechanisms:

  • Native containerd 2.2: parallel download and unpack built into the runtime. Use when your node already runs containerd 2.2.
  • SOCI snapshotter: parallel download and unpack with a memory-bounded download path. Use on older nodes without containerd 2.2 or memory-constrained instances.

EKS AL2023 and Bottlerocket AMIs that ship with containerd 2.2 do not enable this feature by default, but you can set the containerd config explicitly as shown below:

AL2023: add the containerd config through the nodeadm NodeConfig in user data:

apiVersion: node.eks.aws/v1alpha1
  kind: NodeConfig
  spec:
    containerd:
      config: |
        [plugins.'io.containerd.transfer.v1.local']
          max_concurrent_downloads = 20
          concurrent_layer_fetch_buffer = 16777216
          max_concurrent_unpacks = 5

Bottlerocket (K8s 1.36): Bottlerocket generates the same containerd config from its settings API, so set the equivalent keys in user data:

[settings.container-runtime]
  max-concurrent-downloads = 20
  concurrent-download-chunk-size = 16777216
  max-concurrent-unpacks = 5

SOCI snapshotter is bundled in the optimized EKS AMIs (AL2023 and Bottlerocket).

Bottlerocket: enable SOCI through EC2 user data:

[settings.container-runtime]
  snapshotter = "soci"
 [settings.container-runtime-plugins.soci-snapshotter.parallel-pull-unpack]
  max-concurrent-downloads = 20
 concurrent-download-chunk-size = "16mb"
 max-concurrent-unpacks-per-image = 5

Tune chunk size and concurrency under [settings.container-runtime-plugins.soci-snapshotter.parallel-pull-unpack]; the right values depend on your instance type and images.

AL2023: enable SOCI through the nodeadm FastImagePull feature gate, which switches image pulls to SOCI’s parallel-pull-unpack mode, and you can override the SOCI tuning parameters through user-data:

apiVersion: node.eks.aws/v1alpha1
  kind: NodeConfig
  spec:
    featureGates:
      FastImagePull: true

The image pull problem was never really about the registry, and it was never about needing faster hardware. The network, the storage, and the CPU were always there. When containerd’s pull pipeline took shape, images were measured in hundreds of megabytes, and the sequential approach served that world well. 

“The image pull problem was never really about the registry, and it was never about needing faster hardware.”

As AI and ML workloads pushed images past 20 GB, the gap between available hardware throughput and what the pull path was utilizing became impossible to ignore. For workloads running on the overlay snapshotter with high-bandwidth instances and fast local storage, parallelizing download and unpack closes most of that gap today. Other snapshotters and storage backends may have different constraints, and opportunities like parallel decompression and parallelizable integrity verification remain open.

We have been contributing these changes upstream because this is where they belong: in the runtime itself, available to everyone by default rather than locked behind additional software. Some of that work has already landed in containerd 2.2, and more is in progress. 

If you are working on container runtimes, image formats, or compression tooling and any of the open problems described here interest you, we would welcome collaboration. The faster we can collectively close the remaining serial stages, the sooner multi-gigabyte images stop being a deployment bottleneck for the entire ecosystem.

The post Pulling multi-gigabyte container images in seconds on Amazon EKS appeared first on The New Stack.

The “AI kill switch” assumes you know what you are trying to shut down

Abstract digital geometric structures converging into a dark void, representing complex cloud infrastructure and data pipelines.

“AI kill switch” entered the public conversation because it gives people a simple way to talk about a complex fear. 

As AI systems become more autonomous and harder to evaluate with familiar operating assumptions, a clearly defined intervention capability sounds reassuring. If something starts behaving in a way that creates unacceptable risk, people want confidence that someone has both the authority and the mechanism to stop it. It’s the “kill switch.”

Recent reporting around OpenAI models escaping a sandboxed testing environment and reaching Hugging Face gave that concern a concrete example. CNBC reports that the incident helped trigger a bipartisan bill requiring certain AI companies to maintain the ability to shut down, throttle, or suspend their models, with the Department of Homeland Security given authority to order a slowdown or shutdown in cases involving potential catastrophic harm. 

The political reaction is understandable. When a new category of risk surfaces, especially one the public does not yet know how to evaluate, leaders look for a way to make an abstract concern into something actionable. In this case, that language has formed around shutdown authority.

People who operate large environments tend to hear a different question underneath the policy language. If a shutdown order arrives, what exactly gets shut down?

In a modern production environment, answering that question usually means tracing more than one system. An AI-enabled service may depend on endpoints, APIs, cloud resources, identity systems, package registries, data pipelines, workflow automation, logging tools, and downstream applications that act on model output. 

Some of those dependencies may belong to different teams. Others may sit outside the company entirely. A few may have started as experiments and later become part of a production path without receiving the same scrutiny as the original architecture. By the time the service is important enough to raise governance concerns, it may no longer resemble a bounded application with a single owner and a clean operating surface.

Writing shutdown authority into legislation is far simpler than carrying that decision through a production estate shaped by years of migrations, exceptions, integrations, acquisitions, temporary fixes, and team-level decisions. That implementation gap is where the issue becomes most relevant to infrastructure teams.

For the last several years, much of the AI safety conversation has focused on acceptable use, privacy, model behavior, and human-in-the-loop oversight. Those topics still deserve attention, especially as organizations formalize where AI may be used, which data can be shared, and how employees should evaluate generated output. 

“Writing shutdown authority into legislation is far simpler than carrying that decision through a production estate shaped by years of migrations, exceptions, integrations, acquisitions, temporary fixes, and team-level decisions.”

As AI moves deeper into production workflows, the discussion also needs to involve a more practical concern: when an AI-enabled system creates unacceptable risk, can the organization understand the affected environment well enough to constrain it quickly, consistently, and with evidence?

The phrase “kill switch” may drive the public discussion, but the practical answer lives in the systems surrounding the AI capability.

The limits of a single control

Emergency stops are the kind of control most people picture when they hear the phrase “kill switch.” They make sense in physical systems. Manufacturing equipment, industrial machinery, and certain safety-critical devices can be designed with direct shutdown mechanisms. Software estates already stretch that metaphor, and enterprise AI stretches it further.

The model may be the most visible part of the discussion, although it is rarely the full surface area. An AI assistant used in software delivery might have access to repositories, CI/CD tools, artifact stores, ticketing systems, secrets, test environments, and deployment workflows. An AI agent used in IT operations might read telemetry, recommend remediation, open change requests, call automation scripts, or modify infrastructure through approved orchestration paths. 

Stopping one part of that chain can leave other paths untouched. Turning off a service may not revoke the credentials it uses. Suspending inference may leave downstream systems acting on outdated outputs. Interrupting the wrong dependency can create a separate service incident while the original risk remains only partly contained. Anyone who has worked through a security incident, emergency patch cycle, or major outage knows how quickly a clean decision turns into a sequence of technical tradeoffs.

A credible response plan must account for the system as it exists now, not as it looked during an architecture review months earlier. Infrastructure teams bring useful skepticism to that exercise because they are used to tracing scope, access, ownership, dependencies, and verification paths under pressure. They also know that many environments contain a gap between documented intent and production behavior.

Once AI is embedded in business workflows, those operational details become part of the governance conversation. They expose the places where policy language has moved faster than the infrastructure knowledge needed to make policy executable.

Before containment comes discovery

Much of the public conversation assumes organizations know where AI is running, which is a generous assumption in many enterprise environments.

AI can enter an enterprise through obvious channels, such as internally approved model providers or purpose-built applications. It also arrives through less visible paths. A SaaS product adds an AI feature. A development team experiments with an open source model. A hosted API gets attached to an internal tool. A vendor introduces an AI capability inside software the company already approved. Over time, the line between an “AI system” and a system that happens to use AI becomes harder to define.

This is where the kill switch metaphor starts to show its limits. If the relevant systems are discovered during the response, the team is already behind. Dependency questions, business impact, access paths, and evidence collection all become harder when the basic inventory is still being assembled.

“If the relevant systems are discovered during the response, the team is already behind.”

Infrastructure teams have seen versions of this problem before. During incident response, a service thought to be isolated turns out to have undocumented consumers. During a cloud migration, a supposedly unused integration is suddenly linked to a business process. During an audit, ownership records, configuration data, and actual operating conditions refuse to line up cleanly. AI adds a new category of concern, but the underlying visibility problem is familiar.

The challenge quickly expands beyond the model itself. Teams need to understand which systems call external models, where generated content influences workflows, which accounts and automation paths sit between a recommendation and an action, and how third-party AI capabilities have found their way into the environment.

Most discussions start with how to stop risky AI behavior. In many environments, the more revealing question comes earlier: can the organization produce a reliable picture of where AI touches the estate, which systems depend on it, and which workflows would keep moving if access changed?

Containment depends on the state of the system

Most infrastructure teams know that containment is less a single action than a set of operating conditions. The difficult work happens before the incident, when teams decide what should change if risk reaches a level that requires intervention.

Under ordinary circumstances, a service operates with a defined set of permissions, connections, dependencies, and logging requirements. Under restricted operation, selected assumptions change while investigators preserve evidence and determine whether the risk has been contained. A team might turn off endpoints, suspend integrations, limit external network access, revoke or rotate credentials, increase logging, or isolate workloads while the situation is being investigated.

The details vary because environments vary. That is exactly why generic answers tend to fall apart. A useful containment plan must match the systems it is intended to govern, including the dependencies that surround them and the business processes that rely on them.

Inventory sounds mundane until a response effort depends on it. In my work with infrastructure and compliance teams, I’ve repeatedly seen organizations struggle to maintain an accurate picture of their environments as cloud resources, Kubernetes clusters, SaaS services, and AI projects multiply faster than governance processes can track them during normal operations, which creates audit and support headaches. During a containment event, those same blind spots slow investigations, complicate dependency analysis, and make evidence harder to produce.

Governance eventually reaches production

Governance efforts often begin with documentation. Committees are formed to define responsibilities, agree on escalation paths, and establish a common language for discussing risk before an incident forces the issue. 

The conversation shifts once someone asks whether the control can be demonstrated. A document can describe who has authority to suspend an AI-enabled service. Still, it cannot turn off an integration, revoke a credential, increase logging, or prove that a set of systems entered a restricted condition. A risk register can identify a containment scenario, although it cannot document which nodes changed, when they changed, and whether they remain aligned with the required configuration.

Security, compliance, and infrastructure teams know this gap well. It appears in patching programs, configuration baselines, incident response exercises, supply chain reviews, and disaster recovery planning. Written controls tend to be cleaner than the real-world environments they describe. Production systems reflect years of accumulated decisions, exceptions, migrations, temporary fixes, acquired assets, and workarounds that may outlive the original reasons they existed.

“Written controls tend to be cleaner than the real-world environments they describe.”

AI increases urgency because some systems are becoming more autonomous and more connected to business workflows. It also adds outside pressure. When an incident becomes visible enough to prompt legislative action, boards and customers start asking sharper questions. A company may be able to point to an AI policy, but boards, customers, and regulators eventually want to understand exactly how that policy translates into action.

If leadership declares an AI-enabled workflow should be restricted, the discussion moves quickly from oversight to execution. Teams need to know where to intervene, which systems are affected, who owns the required changes, how completion will be verified, and what evidence remains once the response is over.

A vague answer may pass during experimental stages but becomes much harder to defend once AI is embedded in production services, regulated workflows, customer-facing systems, or environments connected to critical business operations.

Why a mandate will not solve the estate problem

A federal shutdown authority, if enacted, would place legal pressure on a narrow class of powerful AI providers. It would not remove the implementation burden for organizations that adopt, integrate, fine-tune, host, or embed AI systems inside their own environments.

Even if a major AI provider can throttle or suspend a model, each enterprise still must understand its own exposure in the context of its applications, workflows, dependencies, and operating assumptions. Which applications depend on that model? Which workflows fail open or fail closed if access is restricted? Which internal systems contain cached outputs, calculated decisions, or agent-created changes? Which business processes need manual fallback when an AI service is unavailable?

Policy debates often treat AI control as if the decisive action happens at the model layer. Sometimes it will; however, in many business environments, the risk will live in the connections that surround the model. A hosted AI service may be suspended while local workflows, scripts, integrations, and access tokens continue following their last known configuration.

“A serious AI containment strategy has more in common with mature infrastructure management than with an emergency stop button.”

A serious AI containment strategy has more in common with mature infrastructure management than with an emergency stop button. It requires an up-to-date inventory of AI-adjacent systems, a map of dependencies and access paths, predefined restricted conditions for high-risk services, tested procedures for applying those conditions, and evidence that changes were enforced. Ownership also needs to be clear, since fast action becomes difficult when authority is scattered across teams.

The work is less exotic than the public conversation can make it sound. AI-enabled systems still need to be managed as production systems with real dependencies and business impact.

Infrastructure teams belong earlier in the conversation

Spend enough time running infrastructure, and you develop a complicated relationship with documentation. Most organizations have diagrams, inventories, and governance processes, and all of them serve a purpose. The challenge is that production systems keep evolving long after those artifacts are created. Acquisitions introduce systems that do not fit cleanly into existing models. Applications gain integrations nobody anticipated during the original design process. Temporary exceptions become permanent. Cloud resources intended to live for a week are still running after a year.

Most of this happens for defensible reasons, usually in support of uptime mandates, delivery pressure, customer needs, or business continuity SLAs. The result is that operational knowledge becomes dispersed across people (some of whom will inevitably have moved on), tickets, runbooks, monitoring systems, and memory rather than living neatly in one place.

Infrastructure teams spend their days tracing dependencies, untangling ownership questions, and figuring out how systems behave outside a design review. Bringing that perspective into AI governance conversations early can prevent containment plans from depending on assumptions that did not translate into production. It also helps organizations understand the difference between disabling a model, restricting access to a service, isolating a workload, and preserving evidence during an investigation.

Scale complicates things further. A manual action that works effectively for ten systems may fail across hundreds or thousands. A change one expert can perform during business hours may become fragile if that person is unavailable when an event occurs. A runbook that looks adequate in a tabletop exercise may not survive a live environment where dependencies have changed, and the current ownership is unclear.

The phrase “kill switch” will probably remain part of the public debate because it is simple, memorable, and familiar. Practitioners do not have to accept the metaphor literally to leverage the attention it creates. They can redirect the conversation toward more useful questions: what restricted operation would mean for a given service, which dependencies would have to change, which controls can be applied reliably, which steps remain manual, and how the organization would prove the response worked.

These questions are less dramatic than a big red button, but their answers are also most likely to improve readiness.

Control starts before the incident

The Hugging Face incident gave the industry a vivid story, and Washington responded with the language of shutdown authority. That reaction is understandable. Leaders want mechanisms that sound equal to the risk, especially when the public conversation moves faster than the technical details can be explained.

By the time an organization begins thinking about containment, much of the hard work should already be done. Teams should already understand what is running, who owns it, what depends on it, and how changes will ripple through the environment.

AI can reduce certain workflow bottlenecks, but it also exposes weak inventory, unclear ownership, and brittle operating assumptions faster than many teams are prepared to handle. A future incident will not pause while teams locate assets, clarify ownership, identify credentials, or discover that a service dependency was never documented.

The current debate may be framed around new kill switches. For most organizations, the more useful work starts with building and maintaining an accurate picture of the systems, dependencies, and workflows that already exist across the estate.

The post The “AI kill switch” assumes you know what you are trying to shut down appeared first on The New Stack.

Data center infrastructure company Tate boosts welding productivity 12-fold with fleet of 58 Hirebotics cobots

7 August 2026 at 10:02
Hirebotics, a provider of collaborative robot solutions for the metal fabrication industry, has announced that data center infrastructure company Tate, has deployed a fleet of 58 Hirebotics Cobot Welder systems across manufacturing facilities in Arkansas, Virginia and Kentucky. According to a new Hirebotics case study, Tate has achieved a 12x increase in per-welder throughput on […]

Why AI tools know nothing about your company — until now

Cloudflare launched its CloudflareOS open-source AI workspace platform this week, promising every employee a secure workspace equipped with AI tools and access to internal company systems.

Positioned significantly beyond the notion of legacy virtual desktop infrastructure (VDI) services, which delivered the same fixed applications through a remote screen — and even past the dynamic application delivery, app masking and streaming of modern VDI iterations — this is an essentially more dynamic way of working with internal company tools, documents and systems. 

Cloudflare’s CloudflareOS makes its apps and services accessible through secure connection points that verify every user and every agentic request or connection point before access is granted. 

In AI, every new work session starts from zero

The technology proposition here is built on the fundamental truth that the typical enterprise AI tool knows a great deal about the world, but almost nothing about how a specific company operates, the shape of its internal systems, approval processes, or the ways teams actually get work done.

That means every new work session starts from zero, with employees re-explaining context the AI should already know. But how can new business context-aware agentic access freedoms be granted securely?

Rita Koslov, VP for developers & AI at Cloudflare, tells The New Stack that powering up modern agent use cases means “data is often leaving controlled systems en masse” for the first time.

“It used to be the case that, for example, people asked analytics questions in the data warehouse where the organization had control,” Koslov says. “Now, employees are asking for API keys for their own tools, agents, etc. This creates a new class of security problems that Cloudflare OS helps to solve.”

Capability-based access beats handing agents raw API keys 

Cloudflare has built what we can call capability-based access, which the company promises beats handing agents raw API keys outright.

“API keys give agents broad access to systems; a capability-access-based approach lets us grant one specific resource, then record exactly what the agent observed, and verify that anyone who sees its work is also allowed to access the source,” underlines Koslov.

Cloudflare OS enables an agent to create documents, slides, spreadsheets, workflows, other agents – or entirely new full-stack applications – all tailored to an employee’s work. What it creates can remain connected to live data sources, be modified and shared safely, and be used directly by both people and agents.

“API keys give agents broad access to systems; a capability-access-based approach lets us grant one specific resource, record exactly what the agent observed, and verify that anyone who sees its work is also allowed to access the source.”

In terms of how developers and systems operations professionals should react to this offering, Koslov suggests that “the difficult problem is not generating an app” today. Instead, the real challenge is safely running thousands (or millions) of dynamically generated apps, each with persisted state and controlled access. 

“Cloudflare OS uses Dynamic Workers, which provide lightweight isolated runtimes to load each app’s code on demand, and Durable Objects Facets to give it isolated SQLite storage under the platform’s supervision. Outbound networking is disabled by default, and Gatekeepers expose only the resources explicitly granted by the users,” Koslov says. “Dynamic Workers and Durable Objects Facets were invented because doing this was previously not possible.”

For completeness here – and once again a Cloudflare original technology service – a Gatekeeper is a service-specific Worker that sits between Cloudflare OS and an external service to interpret and understand the service’s API, its resources, and the operations that can be performed on them. 

What happens when it all goes wrong

Koslov confirms that she knows how badly things can skew out of control in unmanaged environments. 

“We know this from our own experience talking to other companies on all accounts. They’ve shared instances of internal data copied into AI tools that IT did not know were in use, AI keys embedded into agent-built applications, and even data being shared internally to people who ordinarily wouldn’t have access (or even publicly),” she adds.

Building a tailored alternative is no small project; a platform with proper security and real integration into internal systems can take years to develop and cost millions to maintain. In the meantime, employees find workarounds, IT loses track of which AI tools are running and who is using them, and costs pile up, often with little to show for it. 

CloudflareOS starts from a different premise: a company captures its knowledge, processes, and ways of working once in a form AI can actually execute, and that knowledge travels with every employee’s workspace from day one.

How do we measure business ‘context’?

“Captured business ‘context’ in this case can include company terminology, policies, operating procedures, product documentation, technical standards, sales processes, templates, and established ways of performing recurring work,” confirms Koslov.

CloudflareOS started as the platform Cloudflare built to run its own workforce. Thousands of Cloudflare employees across every team use it daily to perform research, create documents connected to live data, automate repetitive tasks, and build working apps for their day-to-day jobs. 

That same platform is now available to any organization as open-source software. Because it’s open source and runs in a company’s own Cloudflare account, organizations own what they build on it. 

The platform itself works on any AI model and controls cost. Through Cloudflare AI Gateway, organizations can use any AI model provider, so they’re not locked into one vendor. Administrators see exactly what’s being spent, broken down by person, team, or app. They can set spending budgets, rate limits, or route routine tasks to smaller, more affordable models where a top-tier model isn’t needed.

Pricing platforms by the token is the wrong meter entirely

Cautiously upbeat about the wider story playing out here, enterprise AI architect and founder of Besk Tech, Vladimir Beskorovainyi, tells The New Stack that, traditionally, the industry is pricing these platforms by the token, “and that is the wrong meter entirely” in his view.

“In this example with Cloudflare OS, what a company actually buys here is the obligation to write down how an AI-powered business process really works, and then keep that description true as the business shifts underneath it,” Beskorovainyi says. “The model is the commodity part. What costs real money is the curated context, and nobody budgets for the fact that it starts decaying the day it is written, which is exactly what decides whether any of this survives contact with production.”

“Cost broken down by person, team and app is the first time I have seen a vendor treat spend as an engineering signal rather than an invoice, and sending routine work to a smaller model is the obvious next step that most enterprises still fail to take.

Beskorovainyi insists that the organizations that win in this game will “not necessarily be the ones running the best model”; they will be the ones that could “already answer in writing what their own approval process is”, way before an agent ever asked.

“Cost broken down by person, team and app is the first time I have seen a vendor treat spend as an engineering signal rather than an invoice, and sending routine work to a smaller model is the obvious next step that most enterprises still fail to take,” advises Beskorovainyi.

Owning your own context is not the same as your context being any good

He clarifies his point and explains that the qualification here is that “owning your own context is not the same thing as your context being any good”, and so open source tooling and community connections plus an organization’s own account settle who holds the context file.

“Neither tells us whether what is recorded and logged in the context file is still true this quarter. That work stays with the customer permanently, and it is where I expect most of these deployments to come apart, not in anything Cloudflare has built,” Beskorovainyi adds.

Matthew Prince, co-founder and CEO of Cloudflare has said that his team built Cloudflare OS, “because nothing else did what we needed”, and so now, any company can start from where it took the organization’s internal software engineering function years to get to.

The apparent appeal here must come down to the dynamic nature of Cloudflare OS and its ability to work with and apply AI tools at a custom-engineered business context-aware level with zero trust by default. The platform can turn any output into a working app with its own isolated database, real-time capabilities, and access controls – once agan, that’s not legacy virtual desktop is it? 

No developer required (yet)

The bottom line from Cloudflare is that employees can use any app on Cloudflare OS  directly, or adapt it for their own needs so that it’s a case of “no developer required”, or at least until the next integration task needs to be shouldered, or the big thing comes along, or both.

The post Why AI tools know nothing about your company — until now appeared first on The New Stack.

❌