WWW_ Wonder Part 31

"Not necessarily," said Webmind. "Over the next half hour, in four waves, I am going to send an SMS message to every cell phone in China announcing the transition; for those in the first wave who are on the China Mobile network, I will trigger the phones to ring so that the message will be given immediate attention."

The large window showing Tank Man was replaced with two doc.u.ments, while the procession of faces continued in the small window. The doc.u.ment on the left was a short announcement signed by the former president describing the voluntary dissolution of his government and the transfer of power to the people. On the right was a similar message from Webmind that made no mention of the previous government having cooperated in the change.

"Take your pick," Webmind said.

Wong Wai-Jeng had been instrumental in making the takeover possible, but everything he needed to do had already been done-and he knew exactly where he wanted to be for this historic moment. Although the location was not far, he headed out half an hour in advance-with his leg in a cast and walking on crutches, he couldn't move very fast. He left the Blue Room, went downstairs to the lobby of the Zhongnanhai complex, and signed out with the guard, telling him he was off to a medical appointment. He made his way south through the Forbidden City and then pa.s.sed through the monumental Gate of Heavenly Peace, with its ma.s.sive red walls, yellow roof, and vast hanging portrait of Mao Zedong, bringing him to Tiananmen Square-the heart of Beijing, and the largest civic plaza in the world.

The square was its usual hubbub of tourists and locals, vendors and visitors, couples holding hands, and individuals strolling along. To his left, a thoughtful-looking young woman was sitting on a portable canvas chair in front of an easel, using charcoal to sketch the ten-story-tall obelisk of the Monument to the People's Heroes. On his right, several students were listening to their teacher give an official version of the history of the square. Wai-Jeng wanted to shout the truth at them, but he bit his tongue; he found it in himself to do that one last time.

The square seemed to stretch on forever, but each of the flagstones had a number incised into it, making it easy for him to find the secret spot. He worked up a sweat under the midday sun, maneuvering on crutches, but soon enough was where he wanted to be. He rested his broken leg on that stone-such a tiny example of official brutality in comparison to what had begun here all those years ago: this was where first blood had been spilled during "the June Fourth Incident," when the government had killed hundreds of people while clearing the square of protesters mourning the death of pro-democracy and anti-corruption advocate Hu Yaobang.

The square was noisy, as always: the chatter of countless people, the snapping of flags, the cooing of pigeons. But it was suddenly filled with even more sound.

Sinanthropus's phone came to life. His ringtone was "Do You Hear the People Sing?" from Les Miserables; Les Miserables; when he'd been eighteen, he'd seen the subt.i.tled live production in Shanghai starring Colm Wilkinson. when he'd been eighteen, he'd seen the subt.i.tled live production in Shanghai starring Colm Wilkinson.

Near him, another phone woke up; its ringtone was "Liu Xia Lai" "Liu Xia Lai" by Fahrenheit. by Fahrenheit.

In front of him another played Wu Qixian's "I Believe the Future."

Behind him, a fourth rang out with the drumbeats of "March of the Volunteers," China's national anthem.

And then, so many more, so many thousands and thousands more. To Sinanthropus's surprise, it was not a cacophony but a vast glorious symphony of sound, emanating from all around him-from every part of the square, and, he knew, from every corner of the land: from the high places and the low, from cities and villages, from the Great Wall and countless rice paddies, from skysc.r.a.pers and temples and houses and huts.

People looked at each other in astonishment. And then, all too soon, the wondrous sound began to abate as fingers were swiped across iPhones, cells were snapped open, BlackBerrys were brought to life.

Sinanthropus looked down at the small screen on his own phone, checking to see which of the two messages Webmind had sent.

To the glorious people of China: Effective immediately, we, the leaders of your government, have voluntarily stepped down. It has long been our dream to form the perfect nation here, and now that dream is reality. Henceforth all of you-the billion-plus citizens of this proud land-will collectively decide your fate.

More details may be found at this website this website.

It has been my privilege to lead you. And now, to the wonderful future!

Citizen Li Tao

Sinanthropus smiled and felt a stinging at the corners of his eyes, and- And, he suddenly realized, "Sinanthropus" was a name he would never have to use again; he could speak freely now-as could all his compatriots. Henceforth, online and off, he was simply Wong Wai-Jeng.

There were new sounds in the square: everyone talking excitedly. People were showing the message to those who didn't have cell phones with them, or whose phones had been turned off or hadn't yet received the note. As before, it was a symphony, mostly in Mandarin, but with smatterings of Cantonese and English and French and other languages, too: exclamations of wonder or disbelief, and questions-so many questions!

Many clearly doubted what they were reading. Wai-Jeng was about to remark to the woman nearest him that it was similar to when Webmind had announced himself to the world: no one had believed that at first, either, but evidence of its truth had soon become overwhelming. But she was already saying much the same thing to someone else.

Wai-Jeng looked around the square. Many still appeared bewildered, but some were hugging and others were shouting jubilantly. And Wai-Jeng found himself shouting, too: "The people!" "The people!"

The person next to him took up the shout as well: "The people!" "The people!"

And behind him, two more joined in: "The people! The people!" "The people! The people!"

And then it spread, propagating outward, a vast exultant wave: "The people! The people! The people!" "The people! The people! The people!"

The shouting continued for several minutes, and by its end Wai-Jeng had tears streaming down his cheeks. But there was something else he had to say. As exclamations of joy continued to go up around him, he sent a text message to Webmind, banging it out rapidly with his thumbs: Thank you! Thank you!

The response, as always, was instantaneous: You're welcome, my friend. I believe it is no longer a curse to be living in interesting times . . . You're welcome, my friend. I believe it is no longer a curse to be living in interesting times . . .

forty-one.

Peyton Hume had never expected to visit the Oval Office even once in his life-and now he was sitting in it for the third time this month.

It really was oval in shape, with the Resolute Resolute desk at the end of the long axis. The president had come out from behind that desk and was now sitting on one of the matching champagne-colored couches that faced each other in front of it. He was wearing a blue suit and a red tie. Next to him sat the Secretary of State, her legs crossed; she was wearing a gray outfit. Hume was in the middle position on the opposite couch. Webmind had let him go home to sleep next to Madeleine, and he'd showered there and shaved before coming here. As befit the occasion, he was wearing his USAF uniform. desk at the end of the long axis. The president had come out from behind that desk and was now sitting on one of the matching champagne-colored couches that faced each other in front of it. He was wearing a blue suit and a red tie. Next to him sat the Secretary of State, her legs crossed; she was wearing a gray outfit. Hume was in the middle position on the opposite couch. Webmind had let him go home to sleep next to Madeleine, and he'd showered there and shaved before coming here. As befit the occasion, he was wearing his USAF uniform.

A small dark-wood coffee table sat between them, carefully not obscuring any part of the giant presidential seal woven into the carpet. A basket of fresh, polished, perfect red apples sat atop the table.

The president was looking haggard, Hume thought; four years in this office aged a man as much as eight in any other job. "All right, Colonel," he said. "Suppose we decide to close down Webmind's facility-what did you call it?"

"Zwerling Optics," Hume said. "And, yes, you could indeed do that, but I'm not sure it would make any difference. Webmind is a denizen of the computing world; he understands all about backups. He's got similar enclaves in five other countries; if we stopped him here, he'd just go on using them."

"What about taking Webmind out altogether?" asked the president. "That's what you were originally urging us to do, after all."

"WATCH is still collating all the reports from when Webmind was recently cut in two. But it seems that what Webmind himself has said is true: we won't be able to eliminate him instantaneously, and any gradual whittling away could well result in him behaving erratically or violently."

"So you're saying we should leave him be?" asked the Secretary of State.

"Better the devil you know," Hume replied.

Something in her eyes conveyed, "Tell me about it . . ." But, after a moment, she nodded. "All right." She turned to the president. "I concur with the colonel. Of course, we've got to be ready if civil unrest or a collapse of infrastructure occurs in China, but-"

"It won't," said Hume, and then he immediately lifted his freckled hands, palms out. "I'm so sorry, Madam Secretary. I didn't mean to interrupt."

The cool blue eyes held him in their gaze. "That's all right, Colonel. You sound definite. Why?"

"Because Webmind has too much depending on this to allow it to fail. Don't you see? He owes the Chinese people after the things part of him did while the Great Firewall was strengthened. There are some promises you just have have to keep, and this is one of them. He's not going to let the transition fail." to keep, and this is one of them. He's not going to let the transition fail."

The president nodded. "Colonel, thank you. Let me ask you a question: how risk-averse are you?"

"I'm an Air Force officer, sir; I believe in a.s.sessing a.s.sessing risk but not being daunted by it." risk but not being daunted by it."

"All right, then. Dr. Holdren has been doing an exceptional job as my Science Advisor, but I need a full-time person in the West Wing advising me day in, day out about Webmind. I'm offering you the job-with the caveat that we both both might be out of work come January if my opponent wins on November 6. Feel like taking a chance?" might be out of work come January if my opponent wins on November 6. Feel like taking a chance?"

Peyton Hume rose to his feet and saluted his commander in chief. "It would be my privilege, sir."

Google alerts were normally a great thing, Caitlin thought. They notified you by email whenever something you were interested in was discussed anywhere on the Web. But for some topics, they were useless. Trying to track the lead-up to the presidential election would have resulted in an alert every second. And she'd had to turn off her alert on the term "Webmind." It, too, had resulted in an endless flood. Besides, if anything really important happened, Webmind would- Bleep!

Caitlin was sitting at her bedroom desk reading blogs and news-groups and updating her LiveJournal. Schrodinger was stretched out contentedly on the windowsill. She glanced at her instant messenger, which showed a new comment from Webmind in red: the words "cough cough" followed by a hyperlink. Caitlin found her mouse-she still didn't use it much-and managed to click the link on her second try, and- And . . . and . . . and . . .

She immediately copied the link and went to her Twitter window; she didn't want to take time to shorten the link with bit.ly, which would have require more fiddling with the mouse. As soon as she pasted it in, she saw she had only twenty characters left before she hit Twitters' 140-character limit. But that was enough. She typed: OMG! Squee! OMG! Squee! and the hashtag #webmind, and sent it off to her 3.2 million followers. And then she leaned back and read the full article, grinning from ear to ear: The Norwegian n.o.bel Committee has decided that this year's n.o.bel Peace Prize is to be awarded jointly to Sir Timothy John Berners-Lee and Webmind. and the hashtag #webmind, and sent it off to her 3.2 million followers. And then she leaned back and read the full article, grinning from ear to ear: The Norwegian n.o.bel Committee has decided that this year's n.o.bel Peace Prize is to be awarded jointly to Sir Timothy John Berners-Lee and Webmind.

Sir Tim's creation of the software underlying the World Wide Web in 1990 brought the world together in ways that simply would not have been possible previously. His invention of the hypertext transport protocol, the hypertext markup language, the URL web-address system, and the world's first Web browser, all very appropriately at CERN, itself one of the world's great models of international cooperation, facilitated international friends.h.i.+ps, electronic commerce, worldwide collaboration, and more, tying all of humanity together by opening channels of communication between men and women of all nations.

And Webmind, the consciousness that now lives in conjunction with the Internet, has done as much to foster peace and goodwill on a global scale as any individual human since the Peace Prize was first awarded in 1901.

Although the committee unanimously agreed to dispense with its normal nomination timetable in recognition of the historic significance of the events of this past year, the ceremony will take place on the traditional date of 10 December-the anniversary of Alfred n.o.bel's death-at Oslo City Hall, followed by the annual n.o.bel Peace Prize Concert the next day.

The n.o.bel Peace Prize carries a cash award of 10 million Swedish kronor (worth about one million euro or 1.4 million US dollars), which Sir Tim and Webmind will share between them.

Caitlin's dad was at work and her mom was was.h.i.+ng her hair-she could hear the shower and her mother's attempt to sing "Bridge Over Troubled Water." So, except for all her Twitter followers, there was no one to share the news with just then. Caitlin dived into reading online about the n.o.bel Peace Prize. It turned out it was by no means unheard of for it to go to a nonhuman ent.i.ty-and when that happened, it was often paired with a specific person: the Peace Prize did not just just go to the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change but also to Al Gore; not go to the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change but also to Al Gore; not just just to the United Nations but also to its then-current Secretary-General. Caitlin happened to think that Tim Berners-Lee to the United Nations but also to its then-current Secretary-General. Caitlin happened to think that Tim Berners-Lee did did deserve the award on his own-everything the press release had said about the impact of the World Wide Web on international tranquility was true-but Webmind also deserved it in his own right. Still, having him share the prize with Berners-Lee would deflect criticisms of it going just to Webmind, and the two deserve the award on his own-everything the press release had said about the impact of the World Wide Web on international tranquility was true-but Webmind also deserved it in his own right. Still, having him share the prize with Berners-Lee would deflect criticisms of it going just to Webmind, and the two were were a natural pairing. a natural pairing.

Caitlin googled the list of past Peace Prize winners. Many were unfamiliar to her, although some leapt out: Chinese dissident Liu Xiaobo; Barack Obama; Doctors Without Borders; Jody Williams and the International Campaign to Ban Landmines; Ya.s.ser Arafat, s.h.i.+mon Peres, and Yitzhak Rabin; Nelson Mandela and F.W. De Klerk; Mikhail Gorbachev; the fourteenth-and still current-Dalai Lama; International Physicians for the Prevention of Nuclear War; Desmond Tutu; Lech Walesa; Mother Teresa; Anwar Sadat and Menachem Begin; Amnesty International; UNICEF; Martin Luther King, Jr.; Linus Pauling; Lester B. Pearson (she'd now flown through the airport named for him five times); George Marshall, author of the Marshall Plan; Albert Schweitzer; the Quakers; the Red Cross; Woodrow Wilson; Teddy Roosevelt; and more.

And now Webmind, too!

Webmind followed her Twitter feed, so he'd already seen her excitement. But, still, she wanted to say something to him directly. "Congratulations, Webmind!" she announced into the air.

The deep male voice answered at once from her desktop speakers. "Thank you, Caitlin. The standard response in such circ.u.mstances may perhaps seem cliche, so before I utter it let me underscore that it is the absolute truth." He paused for a moment and said words that had Caitlin bursting with pride: "I couldn't have done it without you."

forty-two.

Another month, another school dance. Caitlin said they didn't have to go, but Matt had insisted, and, so far, at least, she was glad he had. Still, it was too bad that Mr. Heidegger wasn't one of the chaperones this time, and even worse that Bas.h.i.+ra's parents wouldn't let her attend. There might be more freedom in the world today than ever before, but it wasn't yet evenly distributed.

She and Matt had just finished a slow dance-Caitlin had requested Lee Amodeo's "Love's Labour's Found" like forever forever ago, and it had finally come on. They were now taking a break standing at the side of the gym, just holding hands, while Fergie's "Fergalicious" played. ago, and it had finally come on. They were now taking a break standing at the side of the gym, just holding hands, while Fergie's "Fergalicious" played.

When it was done, another song started, and it, too, was by Lee Amodeo-which immediately set Caitlin's mind to wondering what the odds were that two songs by the same musician might come up so close to each other. This one was a fast song, though, and she and Matt rarely did those; fast dancing had never been much fun when she couldn't see since there was no connection at all with her partner, and- A voice from her blind side: a familiar male voice. "Hey, Caitlin." She turned to her right, and there was Trevor Nordmann, the Hoser himself, wearing a blue s.h.i.+rt.

They just stood there-Caitlin, Matt, and Trevor-motionless while others moved to the music. She lifted her eyebrows, making no attempt to hide her surprise at seeing him here. "Trevor," she said, with no warmth.

Trevor looked at her, then at Matt, then back at her, and then he said, with more formality than she'd ever heard from him, "May I have this dance?"

Caitlin turned to Matt, who looked surprised, but also, to Caitlin's delight, calm.

"That is," Trevor added, "if it's all right with you, Matt."

"If Caitlin wants," Matt said, and his voice didn't crack at all.

"Okay," said Caitlin, and she squeezed Matt's hand. She'd been watching others do fast dances all night long; she thought it looked simple enough. She walked out into the middle of the gym and Trevor followed, and she turned to face him, and they began to hop about, a yard (a meter!) between them.

Lee Amodeo's voice blared from the speakers, but for once Caitlin didn't mind the distortion: Tomorrow will be a new day A better day, we'll laugh and play The sun will s.h.i.+ne On Earth so fine We can make tomorrow today!

The song came to an end soon enough, and, in the brief silence before the next one began, Trevor said, "Thanks," and then, in a softer voice, he added, "Sorry."

Caitlin wondered if he meant sorry for last month, when he'd confronted Matt, or sorry for two months ago, when he'd groped her, or maybe sorry for everything he'd ever done. She smiled and nodded, then moved back to where Matt was standing, while Trevor drifted away. Another song started playing, a slow one: "Love Story" by Taylor Swift. She draped her arms around her boyfriend's neck, there at the side of the gym, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. As they swayed gently to the music, she contemplated the wonder of it all.

The flight to Norway had been Caitlin's first time leaving North America since gaining sight. At the airport in Oslo, she found it frustrating to be confronted with signs that she could see but couldn't read; it felt like a giant step backward. Still, she was thrilled to be in Europe, and her mother and even her father-who'd had a hard time accommodating his long legs on the plane-seemed happy.

The Decters were staying in the same luxury hotel as Tim Berners-Lee, and they'd all gotten together for dinner the first night, along with the five members of the Peace Prize committee. Caitlin could barely contain herself meeting the father of the Web, and it tickled her no end to get to call him "Sir Tim." He had a long face and blond hair, much of which had receded from his forehead, leaving behind a yellow dust bunny as the only proof it had once extended farther.

It turned out that Sir Tim was a Unitarian, like Caitlin's mother, and the two of them spent a few moments talking about that; despite the great coming out of atheists that had occurred recently, it was certainly worth noting, her mom said, that there were also intelligent, caring people of a more spiritual bent in the world.

The next day, the ceremony was held in a vast auditorium. Sir Tim's acceptance speech was brilliant; Caitlin had listened to many of his keynotes online in the past and read lots of his articles, but there was something special about hearing him speak in the flesh. He talked about the need for net neutrality, about his hopes for the Semantic Web, and about the role that instantaneous communications had in fostering world peace. It was a gracious speech and, as he said, the hypertext version, with links to the Wikipedia pages covering all the topics he'd discussed, was already on his website.

Then it was Webmind's turn. Caitlin hated to do anyone out of a job, but it had simply been impractical to bring Hobo to Oslo; Norwegian quarantine regulations ruled that out, and it would have been a nerve-wracking, miserable trip for the poor ape. And so the role of carrying Dr. Theopolis onto the stage had fallen to Caitlin, who was wearing a bright green silk dress bought for the occasion. She had never been more nervous-or more proud-in her entire life.

They'd removed the neck strap from the speaking disk. Caitlin simply carried it to the center of the vast stage, then set the disk on the top of the podium; the flat spot on the disk's edge let it stand with its stereoscopic eyes facing the ma.s.sive crowd.

Camera flashes erupted in the audience, as did applause, which lasted a full minute, during which Caitlin went backstage, then hurried down the side stairs to join her mother and father in the front row. Sitting next to them was Liu Xiaobo, the 2010 Peace Prize winner-at last able to visit Oslo.

When the applause subsided, Webmind began to speak in that deep, resonant male voice the world had come to know so well. "Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, Mr. President, Excellencies, Ladies and Gentlemen.

"I am not a creative being. My friend Hobo paints pictures; I cannot do that. I write no poetry, I compose no songs, I sculpt nothing. So, if you're expecting a brilliantly original speech, like Sir Tim's, I must beg your forgiveness for failing to deliver.

"Some have said that I am nothing more than a glorified search engine. I disagree, but perhaps today that model will serve me well. I'm sure you're all familiar with the snippets that Google and Bing and Jagster show you when presenting search results. My speech today will be just that: snippets of other speeches, interwoven with commentary.

"In 1957, at the dawn of the s.p.a.ce Age, this award went to Lester B. Pearson, former Secretary of State for External Affairs of Canada and President of the Seventh Session of the United Nations General a.s.sembly. In his acceptance speech, he said, 'Of all our dreams today there is none more important-or so hard to realize-than that of peace in the world. May we never lose our faith in it or our resolve to do everything that can be done to convert it one day into reality.'

"The day foreseen by Pearson is not yet here-not fully. But it is coming, and faster than many might imagine. Just as my own growth has been exponential, so, too, has recent human progress. My own lifetime is far too short to use as a benchmark, but in the lifetimes of many in this room you've seen j.a.pan stand down as a military power-and willingly retain that status for decades; you've seen apartheid end in South Africa and a black man a.s.sume that nation's presidency; you've seen segregation end in the United States and a black man sitting in the Oval Office. It is often said that human nature cannot be changed-but it does change, all the time, and usually for the better. As my great friend Dr. Barbara Decter contends, there is indeed a moral arrow through time.

"In 1964, this award went to the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. He was thirty-five at the time, the youngest person to that point to receive the prize; I suspect I shall be the new record-holder for the foreseeable future. In his speech, Dr. King said, 'After contemplation, I conclude that this award is a profound recognition that nonviolence is the answer to the crucial political and moral question of our time-the need for man to overcome oppression and violence without resorting to violence and oppression. Civilization and violence are ant.i.thetical concepts. Sooner or later all the people of the world will have to discover a way to live together in peace, and thereby transform this pending cosmic elegy into a creative psalm of brotherhood. If this is to be achieved, man must evolve for all human conflict a method which rejects revenge, aggression, and retaliation.'

"Dr. King was right, and although much is still to be done, much also has has been done. That an organization like the United Nations exists at all is astonis.h.i.+ng. That the European Union has established itself is amazing. That the leaders.h.i.+p of China has stepped aside to create a true People's Republic in that great land presents a beacon of hope for all those who are still oppressed elsewhere. been done. That an organization like the United Nations exists at all is astonis.h.i.+ng. That the European Union has established itself is amazing. That the leaders.h.i.+p of China has stepped aside to create a true People's Republic in that great land presents a beacon of hope for all those who are still oppressed elsewhere.