Wonder

Pentagon business card. “But I was a guest on Meet the Press this week, and I have a news story that I’m sure he’ll be interested in.”

The woman looked at the card, then lifted a handset. “Ed? Reception. I think you’ll want to come out here…”

“What are you doing?” Caitlin asked as she came into the kitchen. Her mother was sitting at the small table there.

“Filling out my absentee ballot,” her mom said.

“For the presidential election, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“But the election is weeks away.”

“True. But I’ve heard horror stories about Canada Post. And it’s not like I’m going to change my mind.”

“And you’re voting Democrat, right?”

“Always do.”

“How does that work? I mean, where is an absentee vote counted?”

“In Texas—it’s counted in your state of last residence.”

Caitlin opened the fridge and poured herself a glass of orange juice, which delighted her in being now both a flavor and a color to her. “But Texas is overwhelmingly Republican. Your vote won’t make a difference.”

Her mother put down her pen and looked at her. “Well, first, miracles do happen, young lady—your sight is proof of that. And, second, it makes a difference to me. We’re trying to transition to a new world in which mankind is not the brightest thing on the planet, while keeping our essential humanity, liberty, and individuality intact. Every time we fail to assert our liberties, every time we fail to express our individuality, we lose a piece of ourselves. We might as well be machines.”

“Colonel Hume,” said Edward L. Benson, Jr., as he entered the lobby; Hume remembered the news director’s full name from the business card he’d been given on Sunday. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” Benson was black, early forties, six-two, on the high side of three hundred pounds, with hair buzzed short; he was sporting wire-frame glasses and wearing casual clothes.

“Thanks for making time for me,” Hume said, shaking Benson’s large hand.

“Not at all, not at all. Listen—sorry about those comments on our website about your appearance on MTP. Webmind’s got a lot of fans out there, it seems.”

Hume had been unaware of the comments, but he supposed they had been inevitable. “That’s okay.”

“For what it’s worth, I thought you made a lot of good points on Sunday,” Benson said.

“Yes, you said that afterwards. That’s why I’m here. Do you have time for a quick walk around the block?”

Benson frowned, then seemed to get it. He looked at his watch. “Sure.”

They actually walked for the better part of an hour, never stopping long enough to let any pedestrians’ open cell phone overhear more than a few words of their conversation.

“We don’t normally use live interviews, except with our correspondents, on the evening newscast,” Benson said.

“This has to be live. It has to be live, coast-to-coast.”

“That’s not possible. There will be time-zone delays. We’re live here on the East Coast, but delayed three hours on the West Coast.”

Hume frowned. “All right, okay. If that’s the best you can manage.”

“Sorry, but it is,” said Benson. “One other thing, though. Of course, your credentials were fully vetted by our legal-affairs guys prior to your last live appearance, and, as far as I know, you came to me today in your official capacity as a Pentagon staff member and an advisor to the National Security Agency. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.”

“I won’t dispute that,” said Hume. “You have my word.”

“Good. But when it is eventually exposed—and make no mistake, Colonel, it will be—that you’re speaking without the authority to do so—”

“It’ll cost me my job and maybe more. Yes, I know. And, yes, I’m sure I want to do this.”

twenty-four

Caitlin had missed Matt a lot when she was in New York, and although they’d IM’d in the evenings, it hadn’t been the same. But he’d come over today right after school. Her heart pounded every time she saw him, and as soon as her mom headed up to her office to work with Webmind, she gave him a long kiss.

But now they had settled in on the white living-room couch, his hand on her thigh—after she’d placed it there—and her hand overtop of his. Of course, they were being watched by Webmind, through the netbook on the small bookcase—but Webmind always saw what she was doing, anyway. She and Matt were looking at the big wall-mounted flat-screen TV.

CKCO, the same local CTV affiliate Caitlin had gone to for that awful interview, showed The Big Bang Theory in syndication every weekday at 4:00 P.M. Caitlin had sometimes listened to it along with her parents back in Austin during its first run, but it was astonishing seeing it. She’d had no idea Sheldon was so much taller than everyone else; in that, he was like her father. And, of course, Sheldon was like him in other ways, too: both were clearly on the autism spectrum.

Caitlin loved the show’s humor. Today happened to be a repeat of the series opener. Penny had just introduced herself by saying, “I’m a Sagittarius, which probably tells you way more than you need to know.” To which Sheldon had replied, “Yes, it tells us that you participate in the mass cultural delusion that the sun’s apparent position relative to arbitrarily defined constellations at the time of your birth somehow affects your personality.” Burn!

But, actually, the clip from TBBT that had gone viral online this past week was the one in which Sheldon burst into Leonard’s bedroom to announce, “I’m invoking the Skynet clause of our friendship agreement,” to which Leonard responds, “That only applies if you need me to help you destroy an artificial intelligence you created that’s taking over the Earth.” Dozens of people had forwarded the link to Caitlin.

Once the episode was done, she hit the mute button; that was something else that was startling. She’d enjoyed TV when she’d been blind, but it had never registered on her that the pictures kept running even after you pressed mute.

An ad came on for the CIBC. Caitlin had previously noted that Canadian restaurants liked to hide their Canadianness behind names such as Boston Pizza and Swiss Chalet. She’d recently discovered that Canadian banks—there were only a few major ones—mostly hid behind initials now, trying to disguise their humble origins as they played on the international stage: TD, instead of Toronto-Dominion; BMO instead of Bank of Montreal; RBC, instead of Royal Bank of Canada. On the other hand, the CIBC’s full name—Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce —was so pompous, the initials were an improvement. And CIBC didn’t have anything as prosaic as bank branches, as she could see on the sign for the one being shown in the commercial. Rather, it had “Banking Centres”—with Centre spelled the Canadian way, of course. All words still looked funny to Caitlin, but that one especially did, and —

And Matt must have been watching the commercial, too. “Hey, Caitlin,” he said, “try this, you American, you. There are lots of words in Canadian English that are longer than they are in American English: ‘honour’ and ‘colour’ with a u, ‘travelling’ with two l’s, ‘chequebook’ with a q-u-e instead of a c-k, and so on, right?”

Caitlin smiled at him. “Uh-huh.”

“And there are plenty that are the same length, but with the letters in a different order.” He gestured at the screen: “ ‘Centre,’ ‘kilometre,’ and so on, with r-e at the end instead of e- r.”