“You see, it’s now possible to read many types of information through the WormCam: particularly, the contents of computer memories and storage devices. I checked through the equipment Kate Manzoni was using at the time of her alleged crime. And, eventually, I found that what Manzoni claimed had been true all along.”
“Which is?”
“That Hiram Patterson was responsible for the crime — though it would be difficult to pin it on him, even using the WormCam. And he framed Manzoni.” He shook his head. “I knew and admired Kate Manzoni’s journalism long before the case came up. The way she exposed the Wormwood cover-up.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” David said levelly. “You were only doing your job.”
Mavens said harshly, “It’s a job I screwed up. Not the first. But those who were harmed — Bobby and Kate — have dropped out of sight. And they aren’t the only ones.”
“Hiding from the WormCam,” David said.
“Of course. It’s changing everybody…”
It was true. In the new openness, businesses boomed. Crime seemed to have dropped to an irreducible minimum, a bump driven by mental disorder. Politicians had, cautiously, found ways to operate in the new glass-walled world, with their every move open to scrutiny by a concerned and online citizenry, now and in the future. Beyond the triviality of time tourism, a new true history, cleansed of myths and lies — and no less wonderful for that — was entering the consciousness of the species; nations and religions and corporations seemed almost to have worked through their round of apologies to each other and to the people. The surviving religions, refounded and cleansed, purged of corruption and greed, were re-emerging into the light, and — it seemed to David — were beginning to address their true mission, which was humanity’s search for the transcendent.
From the highest to the lowest. Even manners had changed. People seemed to be becoming a little more tolerant of one another, able to accept each other’s differences and faults — because each person knew he or she was under scrutiny too.
Mavens was saying, “You know, it’s as if we have all been standing in spotlights on a darkened stage. Now the theatre lights are up, and we can see all the way to the wings — like it or not. I guess you’ve heard of MAS? — Mutually Assured Surveillance — a consequence of the fact that everybody carries a WormCam; everybody is watching everybody else. Suddenly our nation is full of courteous, wary, watchful citizens. But it can be harmful. Some people seem to be becoming surveillance obsessives, unwilling to do anything that will mark them out as different from the norm. It’s like living in a village dominated by prying gossips…”
“But surely the WormCam has been, on balance, a force for good. Open Skies, for instance.”
Open Skies had been President Eisenhower’s old dream of international transparency. Even before the WormCam there had been an implementation of something like that vision, with aerial reconnaissance, surveillance satellites, weapons inspectors. But it was always limited: inspectors could be thrown out, missile silos camouflaged by tarpaulins.
“But now,” said Mavens, “in this wonderful WormCam world, we’re watching them, and we know they are watching us. And nothing can be hidden. Arms reduction treaties can be verified; a number of armed conflicts have been frozen into impasse, both sides knowing what the other is about to do. Not only that, the citizens are watching as well. All over the planet…”
Dictatorial and repressive regimes, exposed to the light, were crumbling. Though some totalitarian governments had sought to use the new technology as an instrument of oppression, the (deliberate) flooding of those countries by the democracies with WormCams had resulted in openness and accountability. This was an extension of past work done by groups like the Witness Program, who for decades had supplied video equipment to human-rights groups: Let truth do the fighting.
“Believe me,” Mavens said, “the U.S. is getting off lightly. The worst scandal we suffered recently was the exposure of the Wormwood bunkers.” A pathetic, half-hearted exercise, a handful of hollowed-out mountains and converted mines, meant as a refuge for the rich and powerful — or at least their children — on Wormwood Day. The existence of such facilities had long been suspected; when they were exposed, their futility as refuges was quickly demonstrated by the scientists, and their builders mocked into harmlessness. Mavens said, “If you think about it, there was usually a lot more scandal than that to be exposed, at any moment in the past. We’re all getting cleaner. There are some who argue that we may be on the brink of a true consensual world government at last — even a Utopia.”
“Do you believe it?”
Mavens grinned sourly. “Not for a second. I have the feeling that wherever we’re going, wherever the WormCam is taking us, it’s somewhere much stranger.”
“Perhaps,” David said. “I suppose we’ve lived through one of those perspective-changing moments: the last generation was the first to see the Earth whole from space; ours has been the first to see all of true history — and the truth about ourselves. You know, I should be able to deal with all this.” David forced a smile. “Take it from a Catholic, Special Agent Mavens. I grew up encouraged to believe I was already under the scrutiny of a kind of WormCam… but that ’Cam was the all-seeing eye of God. We must learn to live without subterfuge and shame. Yes, it’s hard for us — hard for me. But thanks to the WormCam, it seems to me everyone is becoming a little more sane.”
And it was remarkable that all of this had flowed from the introduction of a gadget which Hiram, its driving force, had thought was no more than a smarter TV camera. But now Hiram, in deep hiding, was, in the manner of such entrepreneurs all the way back to Frankenstein, in danger of being destroyed by his machine.
“Maybe in a generation or two this will leave us cleansed,” Mavens said. “But not everybody can stand being exposed. The suicide rate remains high — you’d be surprised if you knew how high. And there are many people, like Bobby, disappearing off the registers — poll returns, censuses. Some even dig traceable implants out of their arms. We can see them, of course, but we can’t give them a name.” He eyed David. “This is the kind of group we believe Bobby and the others have joined. They call themselves Refugees. And those are the kind of people we have to trace if we want to pick up Bobby.”
David frowned. “He has made his choice. He may be happy.”
“He’s on the run. He has no choices right now.”
“If you find him, you’ll find Kate too. And she will face her sentence.”
Mavens shook his head. “I can guarantee that won’t happen. I told you, I’ve evidence she’s innocent. I’m already preparing material for a fresh appeal.”
He picked up the data disk and tapped it on the table. “So,” he said. “You want to give your brother a lifeline?”
“What is it you want me to do?”
“We can track people with the WormCam simply by following them,” Mavens said. “It isn’t easy, and it’s labor-intensive, but it’s possible. But eyeball-tracking can be fooled. Nor can a WormCam trace reliably be keyed to any external indicator, even an implant. Implants can be dug out, transferred, reprogrammed, destroyed. So an FBI research lab has been working on a better method.”
“Based on?”
“DNA. We believe it will be possible to begin from any analysable organic fragment — a flake of skin or a nail clipping, enough to record the DNA fingerprint — and then track back the fragment until it, umm, rejoins the individual in question. And then, using the DNA key, we can track the subject back and forward in time as far as we like.