Wake

  She’d wanted it to be the first thing she ever saw. It hadn’t worked out that way, but it was, at least so far, the most beautiful: her mother’s face, heart-shaped—just like her own. The details were still indistinct, but to see her at all was—well, Mr. Struys’s word for it did seem apt just then: a miracle. “Hi, Mom!”

  Her mother swept Caitlin into her arms. “You recognize me?” she asked excitedly.

  “Of course,” Caitlin said, laughing and squeezing her tightly. “I mean, we’ve known each other for almost sixteen years.”

  After a moment, Caitlin felt her mother’s grip loosening, and her hands transferred to Caitlin’s shoulders. The face, the heart-shaped face, loomed close and—

  —and her mother let out a sob. “Oh, my God,” she said. “You’re looking into my eyes! You’ve never met my gaze before.”

  Caitlin grinned. “You’re blurry, and the sun is so bright, but, yes, I can see you.” Each time she said it, her voice cracked a bit; she was sure it would continue to do so for weeks to come. “I can see! I don’t know why or how, but I can see!”

  “Did you put your eyePod in duplex mode?” her mom asked.

  “Um, yes. I’m sorry. I know I should have been paying attention in class, but…”

  “No, no, it’s fine. But Dr. Kuroda had a software patch all set to download to your eyePod the next time you switched over; that must be what’s done it.”

  “Oooh!” said Caitlin. “An eye patch! But—sorry!—I should have told you to bring him with you.”

  “He’s off to Toronto for the day—gone to see Mamma Mia! Apparently ABBA is really big in Japan.” A pause. “God, my baby can see!”

  Caitlin felt her eyes misting over again—and saw that that made her vision even more blurry!

  “Let’s go,” her mother said excitedly. “There’s a whole world for you to see!”

  Caitlin was overwhelmed by all the unfamiliar things she was seeing—strange shapes, splotches of color, flashes of light—and so she took her mother’s hand as they walked to the car. Were the lines she could barely discern painted on the parking lot? She had heard of such things. Or were they edges, maybe of those concrete bumpers at the ends of parking spaces? Or cracks in the pavement? Or dropped drinking straws?

  She looked around the lot. “Cars, right?”

  Her mother sounded delighted. “Yes, indeed.”

  “But they’re all the same!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are just three or four colors. White, and…is that black, that dark one? And—and that one.” She pointed—the gesture came naturally, and she could vaguely see her finger as she aligned it with the object she was referring to.

  “Red,” said her mother.

  “Red!” Caitlin grinned. By some lucky fluke she’d gotten that color right when she’d arbitrarily assigned names to what she’d seen in webspace. “And—and that one there, that sort-of white.”

  “Silver,” her mom said. Caitlin could see her swiveling her head. “Yeah, these days, most people get cars in those colors.”

  “I thought you could get any color you wanted,” Caitlin said.

  “Well, you can. So long as it’s black or white or silver or red.”

  “When I get a car,” Caitlin said, “I’m going to get a color nobody else has.” And then she stopped walking for a second, stunned by what she’d just said. When I get a car! Yes, yes, if her vision continued to improve, if this blurriness went away, she could have a car, she could drive—she could do anything!

  “Here’s ours,” her mom said.

  “Silver, right?”

  “Hi-yo,” said her mom.

  Caitlin got in, amazed by all the interior details she’d simply been unaware of before. Her mom started the car, and CBC Radio One came on, as it always did. “…casting doubt now on the story of a natural carbon-dioxide explosion in China’s Shanxi province, saying that an explosion of the magnitude suggested should have registered on seismographs elsewhere in Asia and possibly even in North America…”

  She saw her mother do something with her hand, and the speakers went silent. “Say,” Mom said, “have you seen yourself yet?”

  Her heart started pounding again. She’d been so excited seeing other things, she hadn’t even thought about that. “No, not really—just my hands.”

  “Well, you should.” Her mom reached an arm over and flipped something down in front of her.

  “What’s that?” asked Caitlin.

  “A shade to keep the sun out of your eyes. You’ll need it now. And here on the back”—her hand did something else—“there’s a mirror.”

  Caitlin felt her jaw drop. Her face was the same shape as her mother’s! She could tell that without touching it—tell it at a glance! “Wow!”

  “That’s you. You’re beautiful.”

  All she could see was a fuzzy, heart-shaped mass and her hair—her wonderful brown hair. But it was her, and, at least for that moment, she agreed with her mother: she was beautiful.

  The car backed out of the parking space, and they started the wondrous, colorful, complex journey home.

  thirty-two

  Other things were visible…off to the sides, in my peripheral vision, but although I was aware of them, they weren’t important. And beyond them, beyond those things on the edge, was—

  Fascinating! Surely something was there, but whatever it might be was…was out of my field of view!

  All right, then; all right. My attention was being…directed, and—

  It was an enormous amount to absorb, to comprehend. Hitherto, my universe had contained only points and lines connecting them, but the realm I was seeing now consisted of complex objects: things with edges; things that moved. I had no idea what these things were, but I watched them, fascinated, and tried to comprehend.

  This realm, this strange, hidden realm, was wondrous, and I could not get enough of it.

  On the way home, Caitlin’s mom gave a running commentary of all the incredible sights: “That’s a pine tree off to the left. But see those trees there? Their leaves are changing color, now that it’s autumn.” “See that mailbox on the corner? They’re blue back in the States, but they’re red here.” “Now that guy really needs to mow his lawn!” “See that? A woman pushing a baby in a stroller.” “Okay, there’s a traffic light—see, it’s red now, so I have to stop.”

  While they were stopped, some faint, tiny smudges in the sky caught Caitlin’s eye—an expression she finally understood! “What’s that?”

  “Geese,” her mom said. “Flying south for the winter.”

  Caitlin was amazed. If they’d been honking, she’d have known they were there even when she was blind, but they were absolutely silent, moving in a…a…

  She balled her fist in frustration. The shape they made, the formation they were flying in: she knew she should be able to name it, but…

  “Okay,” said her mom, “and green means go!”

  Caitlin had gotten used to the clearly defined points and sharp lines she’d seen in webspace, but the real world was soft, diffuse. She figured maybe that the eyePod, after it processed the garbled output from her retina, was sending back only a low-resolution datastream to her implant; she’d have to ask Dr. Kuroda if he could increase the bandwidth.

  Still, even blurred, she was amazed to see her house from the outside. She’d had a dollhouse as a little girl, and had assumed that all houses had the sort of simple symmetry that her toy one had had, but this house was a complex shape, with a variety of angles and elevations, and it was made out of brown brick—she’d thought all bricks were red.

  When they went inside, Schrödinger came down the stairs to greet them. Caitlin was stunned: she knew every inch of that cat’s fur, but had never even imagined that it was three different colors! She scooped him up and he looked into her face. His eyes were amazing.

  “I guess we should call Dad,” Caitlin said.

  “I already did—as soon as you called. But I coul
dn’t get through to him. And, anyway, Masayuki borrowed his car. I took your father to the Institute this morning; I should go pick him up.”

  Caitlin did want to see her father, but the ride here had been overwhelming and almost incomprehensible, and the sun had been so bright! She wanted to look at things she’d touched before so she could get her bearings, and she didn’t want to be left alone. “No, let’s wait,” she said. She looked around the living room while stroking Schrödinger. “That window’s not too bright…”

  Her mother’s tone was gentle. “That’s a painting, dear.”

  “Oh.” There was so much to learn.

  “So what do you want to see?”

  “Everything!”

  “Well, shall we start up in your room?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Caitlin said, and she followed her mother to the staircase. Even though she’d gone up it hundreds of times now, she found herself counting the steps as if it were a new staircase to her.

  “Wow,” Caitlin said. It was astonishing, perceiving a room she thought she knew in a whole new way. “Tell me what the colors are.”

  “Well the walls are blue—they call that shade cornflower blue.” Her mom sounded a tad embarrassed. “The previous owners, they had a boy living in this room, and we figured…”

  Caitlin smiled. “It’s okay. I bet I’m going to hate pink, anyway. What does it look like?”

  She saw her mother’s head turning left and right as she looked for a sample, then she got an object off a…a shelf, it must be, and brought it back. Caitlin looked at it but had no idea at all what it was, and her face must have conveyed that because her mother said, “Here, let me give you a hint.” She did something to the object and—

  “Math is hard!”

  Caitlin laughed out loud. “Barbie!”

  “She’s wearing a pink top.”

  “Tell me some more colors.”

  “Your blue jeans are, well, blue. And your T-shirt is yellow—and a bit low-cut, young lady.”

  They walked around the room, and Caitlin picked up object after object—a plush zebra that hurt her eyes a bit to look at, the jar full of coins, the little trophy she’d won in an essay-writing contest back in Texas.

  And as she heard the names of colors, she finally had to ask. “So the sheets on my bed are white, right?”

  “Yes,” said her mom.

  “And the faceplate on the light switch—that’s white, too, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And the venetian blinds, they’re white.”

  “Yes.”

  “But…” She held up her hands and turned them back to front. “That’s not the color I am.”

  Her mother laughed. “Well, no! I mean, we call it white, but it’s, um, I guess it’s more of a light pink with a little yellow, isn’t it?”

  Caitlin looked at her hands again. The idea of mixing colors to get a different shade was still novel to her, but, yes, what her mother had said seemed more or less right: a light pink with a little yellow. “What about black people? I didn’t see any at school, and…”

  “Well, they’re not really black, either,” her mother said. “They’re brown.”

  “Oh, well, there are lots of brown people at school—like Bashira.”

  “Well, yes, her skin is dark, but we wouldn’t actually say she’s black. At least in the States, we’d only use that term for people whose recent ancestors came from Africa or the Caribbean; Bashira was born in Pakistan, wasn’t she?”

  “Lahore, yes,” said Caitlin. “I don’t suppose I should even ask if there’s really such a thing as a red Indian?”

  Her mother laughed again. “No, you shouldn’t. And the term is ‘First Nations’ here in Canada.”

  “Um, shouldn’t that be ‘First National’?”

  “No, that’s a bank. They also call them ‘aboriginals’ here, I think.” Her mother moved along. “And this, of course, is your computer.”

  Caitlin looked at it in wonder: that must be the monitor on the left, and the keyboard, and her Braille display, and on the floor next to the desk the CPU, and—and suddenly it hit her: yes, she had seen the Web, but now she wanted to see the Web!

  “Show me,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Show me what the World Wide Web looks like.”

  Her mother shook her head slightly. “That’s my Caitlin.” She reached her hand out and turned on the monitor.

  “Okay,” her mom said. “That’s your Web browser, and that’s Google.”

  Caitlin sat in the chair and loomed close to the screen, trying to make out the details. “Where?” she said.

  Her mother leaned in and pointed. “That’s the Google logo, there.”

  “Oh! Such nice colors!”

  “And that’s where you type in what you’re searching for. Let’s put in—well, where your dad works.” Caitlin leaned to one side and her mother worked the keyboard, presumably typing “Perimeter Institute.”

  A screen that was mostly white with blue and black text came up, and—ah, her mother was using the mouse. The screen changed. “Okay,” her mom said. “That’s the PI home page.”

  Caitlin peered at it. “What does it say?”

  Her mother sounded concerned. “Is it that blurry?”

  Caitlin turned to face her. “Mom, I’ve never seen letters before—even if they weren’t blurry, I still couldn’t read them.”

  “Oh, right! Oh, God! You’re such a bookworm, I forgot. Um, well, at the top it says, ‘Perimeter Institute for Theoretical Physics’ and there are a bunch of links, see? That one says ‘Scientific,’ and that one’s ‘Outreach,’ and ‘What’s New,’ and ‘About.’”

  Caitlin was astonished. “So that’s what a Web page looks like. Um, so show me how the browser works.”

  Her mother sounded perplexed—Caitlin guessed she’d never seen herself in the tech-support role. “Well, um, that’s the address bar. And the forward and back buttons…”

  She demonstrated the bookmark list, and how to open tabs, and the refresh button, and the home button—which looked to Caitlin like what a house was supposed to look like. And then they started visiting different Web pages. “See,” her mom said, “that’s a hyperlink. Some people underline them, to make them stand out, and some people just use different colors. See what happens when I click on it? Well, okay, what happens is the page it links to opens up, but if we go back”—she did something else with the mouse—“see, the link has changed color, to show that it’s one you’ve already visited.”

  It was all so…so busy! Caitlin actually yearned for the simplicity of her screen reader and one-line Braille display; she was afraid she’d never find her way around all this.

  “Now, let’s have a look at some streaming video,” her mom said. She leaned in and typed something on the keyboard. “Okay. Here’s CNN. Let’s pick a story…”

  She moved the mouse pointer again, and—

  “More now on the revelations coming out of China,” said the anchor. His voice gave away that he was male, and Caitlin could see that he had gray hair and “white” skin—a light pink with a little yellow.

  “The Chinese president spoke on Beijing television today,” continued the anchor. The image changed, and although it was still blurry and indistinct, Caitlin could see it was now showing a different man with black hair and slightly darker skin. He said a few words in Chinese, and then the volume on his voice went down and a translator’s voice began speaking over him. Caitlin had heard such things on the news before but was surprised to see the president’s lips now moving out of sync with what he was saying. Of course, that made sense—but it had never occurred to her that it would happen.

  “A government must often make difficult decisions,” the translator’s voice said. “And none are more difficult than those in times of crisis. We had to take swift and decisive action in the interior of Shanxi province, and the problem has been contained.”

  Caitlin looked at her moth
er briefly; she was shaking her head in…disgust, perhaps?

  The anchor’s voice again: “World leaders have been quick to condemn the actions of the Chinese government. The president was in North Dakota today, and had this to say…”

  Caitlin watched the moving picture, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Of course, she recognized the US president’s voice—but the face was nothing like what she’d expected. “The American people are outraged by the decision taken by Beijing…”

  Caitlin and her mother listened quietly to the rest of the report, and she realized for the first time that not everything she was going to see would be pretty.

  thirty-three

  As I’d noted, the datastream from the special point did not always follow the same path to its destination. I mulled over the significance of that for a while, and I finally got it.

  It was a huge leap, a startling conceptual shift: the other entity’s location varied substantially in the realm in which it dwelled, and in order to send data to its intended destination, the entity passed it on to whatever intermediate point was physically closest to it at any given moment. Amazing!

  Still, there was one particular intermediary to which the entity linked most frequently, and that point shot out links of its own to many other points, some of which it reconnected with time and again.

  Perhaps these other points were special in some way. I touched many of them, but still, maddeningly, could make no sense of the data they poured forth; the only datastream I could interpret was the one from the special point, and even then, only some of the time. Oh, for a key to understand it all!

  Caitlin was startled to hear the door open downstairs. She looked at her mother, and could see what must have been a startled expression on her face, too. “Malcolm?” her mom called out tentatively.

  A single syllable: “Yes.”