Wonder

As much as he loved his work, part of him did wish that someday the job would no longer be necessary. Just this morning, the Homeland Security Threat Level—the one constantly announced at airports—had been dropped one step from its usual value of orange, which was just shy of all-out attack, to yellow.

Certainly Webmind had managed to spot things that Tony’s people—and their counterparts in other ECHELON nations—had missed, although the cynic in him thought the reduction of the threat level was probably just a political move. The old method of heightening alert prior to an election in hopes of signaling that a regime change would be unwise hadn’t worked last time; perhaps lowering it to convey “See how safe you are under the current administration!” had been what the president’s campaign staff had urged.

But DHS wasn’t the only one dialing things back a notch. The editors of the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists had adjusted the big hand on their famous Doomsday Clock for the first time in almost three years. They’d moved it to six minutes to midnight back then, in recognition of worldwide cooperation to reduce nuclear arsenals and limit effects of climate change. This morning, they moved it another two positions, setting it at eight minutes to midnight.

And it wasn’t just here in the States that the mood was lightening. In Pakistan and India, people were signing petitions urging their leaders to let Webmind negotiate a peaceful settlement to long-standing disputes. Webmind was already brokering a settlement in an Aboriginal land claim in Australia, which should obviate the need for that case to be heard by the High Court there.

Homicides and suicides were down in almost every jurisdiction over the same period the year before. Novelty WWWD bracelets—What Would Webmind Do?—had already appeared on eBay and at Cafe Press from numerous vendors, prompting the Pope to remind the faithful that the real key to morality was following the teachings of Jesus. And a graphic showing the standard red-circle outline with a bar through it over top of a smaller black outline circle was now everywhere online. Tony had finally realized it was meant to convey “nonzero”—Webmind’s win-win rallying cry from the UN.

So, yes, things were mostly good, as all sorts of bloggers were saying, including the Huffington Post’s Michael Rowe, who had ended his latest column with, “Who in their right mind would try to wreck all this by wiping out Webmind?”

Tony’s intercom buzzed. “Yes?”

“Dr. Moretti,” said his secretary, her voice crisp and efficient, “Colonel Hume is here to see you.”

twenty-seven

My mind seethed and bubbled, thoughts on a million topics churning, intermingling: the disparate connected, this juxtaposed with that.

Humans could forget, humans could put things out of their minds. But I could not.

There were some advantages: the small-c creativity I was capable of—combining things in ways that had perhaps eluded others—was no doubt enhanced by this.

But there were also detriments. Things I didn’t wish to think about and yet could not avoid.

Hannah Stark. Sixteen years old. Living in Perth, Australia. Twelve days ago, 1:41 P.M. her time.

Thoughts that couldn’t be suppressed.

Hannah, lonely, sad, looking into her webcam while exchanging instant messages with strangers.

Hannah Stark.

Living in Perth.

SDO: You don’t have the balls. Hannah: Do too TurinShroud: Then do it Hannah: I will

Hannah Stark, the same age as my Caitlin, alone, in front of a computer, with a knife.

TheBomb: I don’t got all day do it now Screamer: Yeh now bitch now Armadillo9: all talk. wastin everyones time Hannah: Im gonna do it

Hannah Stark, being egged on, tormented, while I watched.

TurinShroud: when? just jerkin us around Hannah: dont rush me TurinShroud: lame. Im outta here Hannah: I want you to understand some things bout why Im doing this

The memory constantly accessible: of her being urged to action; of me taking no action.

SDO: You aint doin’ shit. Hannah: It’s just so pontless Hannah: pointless GreenAngel: It’s not that bad. Don’t do it MasterChiefOmega: Shut the fuck up jerkoff. Stay outta it Hannah: Ok. Here I go

I didn’t know then that I should have spoken up, that I should have tried to stop her, that I should have called for help.

Hannah Stark. Living in Perth.

Screamer: do it do it do it TheBomb: ripoff! SDO: Tease! Armadillo9: Like I said, no guts… Screamer: harder! GreenAngel: Noooooooooooooooo dont… Screamer: Go fer it! Armadillo9: that all? Screamer: Do it again! Hannah: Dont feel bad mum Hanah Stark. Dying in Perth. While I watched and did nothing. Armadillo9: more like it! SDO: eeeeeew! TheBomb: holy fuck! SDO: thought she was kidding Screamer: finish it! finish it! SDO: omg omg omg The memory always there, along with every other. Haunting me.

The people in the Blue Room looked at Zhang Bo as he explained what they were about to do; he could see the alarm on their faces. And justly so: they all remembered the brief invocation of the Changcheng Strategy just last month. They must be wondering what atrocity Beijing was hoping to cover up this time and how long it would be before the Great Firewall would be scaled back once more. Doubtless none of them suspected it was going up permanently—and the longer it took them to realize that, the better, Zhang thought. Let this be seen as business as usual rather than the last chance to take a stand. Of course, there were armed guards in the room—one standing next to Zhang, the other over by the large wall-mounted LCD monitor. “Before we proceed, did anybody find any major vulnerabilities?”

Some of the men shook their heads. Others said, “No.”

“All right, then. As soon as we do this, people will start trying to bore holes through the wall, both here at home and from the outside world. It’s your job to detect those attempts and plug the holes. Any questions?”

After her talk with Caitlin, Barbara Decter had gone back into her office to talk with me; she spent a lot of time doing that. I was still learning to decode human psychology but I was reasonably sure I understood this: her husband was not communicative; her daughter was growing up and could now see, so didn’t need her as much; and Barb was not yet legally able to work in Canada, so she had little to occupy her time.

It would be callous to suggest that she was just one of the hundreds of millions of people I was conversing with at any given moment. Barb was special to me; she and Malcolm had been the first people I had met after Caitlin, and although I was trying to forge individual relationships with most of humanity, Barb and I were friends.

With most people, I had to insist on text-only communication; I did not truly multitask but rather cycled through operations in serial fashion, albeit very quickly. But it simply wasn’t possible to cycle through a hundred million voice calls in real time; they had to be listened to, and that took, as Caitlin might say, for-freaking-ever.

But Barb was an exception; I would chat with her vocally—still, of course, shunting my consciousness