Shoshana tried to suppress her smile. She put on a headset then used the mouse to double-click a desktop icon. Clipped to the top of the monitor was a silver webcam. On the screen, a small window opened showing the webcam’s view — a real-time image of Hobo. Like most chimps, he had no trouble recognizing himself in a mirror or on TV; many gorillas, on the other hand, couldn’t do that. He looked at himself for a moment, then reached up to his head to brush out some blades of grass that were visible in the image.
Shoshana clicked more icons and a bigger window appeared on the screen, showing a webcam view of another room, with yellow-beige walls, an empty wooden chair in the foreground, and a row of mismatched filing cabinets in the background. “Okay, Miami,” she said into the mike. “We’re all set.”
“Roger, San Diego,” said a male voice in her ear. “Once again, sorry for all the delays. And — here we go.”
Suddenly there was a flurry of orange movement on the screen, as—
Hobo let out a startled hoot.
—as a small male orangutan made his way onto the chair visible on the screen, sitting with his long legs bunched up in front of him, and his long arms hugging those legs. The orang was making a face; he kept looking off camera, chittering. Shoshana could hear it over her headset but Hobo couldn’t — they’d deliberately muted the PC’s speakers.
What that? asked Hobo, looking now at Shoshana.
Ask him, Shoshana signed and pointed at the screen. Say hello.
Hobo’s eyes went wide. He talk?
On the monitor, Shoshana could see the orang — whose name, she knew, was Virgil — signing similar questions to his off-screen companion. Each ape simultaneously caught sight of the other signing. Hobo let out a startled yelp, and Virgil briefly clapped his long-fingered hands down on the top of his head in surprise.
Hello! signed Hobo, eyes now locked on the screen.
Hello, Virgil replied. Hello, hello!
Hobo turned briefly to Shoshana. What name?
Ask him, Shoshana signed back.
Hobo did so. What name?
The orang looked astonished, then: Virgil. Virgil.
“He said, ‘Virgil,’” Shoshana said, interpreting the unfamiliar gesture for Hobo.
Hobo paused, perhaps digesting this.
Shoshana tapped his shoulder, then: Tell him your name.
Hobo, he signed at once.
Virgil was a fast study; he mimicked the sign back at him.
You orange, Hobo signed.
Orange pretty, replied Virgil.
Hobo seemed to consider this, then: Yes. Orange pretty. But then he turned to look at Shoshana and flared his nostrils, as if trying to pick up Virgil’s scent. Where he?
Far away, Shoshana signed. Hobo couldn’t understand the notion of thousands of miles, so she left it at that. Tell him what you did today.
The chimp turned back to face the screen. Play today! he signed enthusiastically. Play ball!
Virgil looked surprised. Hobo play today? Virgil play today!
Dillon couldn’t help himself. “Small world,” he said, earning a shush! from Werner. But he was right: it was a small world, and it was getting smaller every day. Dr. Marcuse was nodding in quiet satisfaction at the spectacle of a chimpanzee talking to an orangutan over the Web. For her own part, Shoshana couldn’t stop grinning. The first-ever interspecies webcam call was off to a great start.
Chapter 14
“Mom!” Caitlin shouted. “Dad! Come quick!”
Caitlin listened to the thunder of their footfalls on the stairs.
“What is it, dear?” her mother said as soon as she’d arrived.
Her father said nothing, but Caitlin imagined there was curiosity on his face — something else she’d heard of but couldn’t picture, at least not yet!
“I’m seeing things,” Caitlin said, her voice breaking.
“Oh, sweetheart!” her mom said, and Caitlin suddenly felt arms engulfing her and lips touching the top of her head. “Oh, God, that’s wonderful!”
Even her dad marked the occasion: “Great!”
“It is great,” Caitlin said. “But … but I’m not seeing the outside world.”
“You mean you can’t see through the window?” her mom said. “It’s pretty dark out now.”
“No, no,” said Caitlin. “I can’t see anything in the real world. I can’t see you, or Dad, or … or anything.”
“Then what are you seeing?” her mom asked.
“Light. Lines. Colors.”
“That’s a good start!” she said. “Can you see me waving my arms?”
“No.”
“What about now?”
“No.”
“When precisely did you start seeing?” her dad asked.
“Just after we began downloading the new software into my implant.”
“Ah, well, then,” he said. “The connection must be inducing a current in the implant, and that’s causing interference in your optic nerve.”
Caitlin thought about this. “I don’t think it’s interference. It’s structured and—”
“But it started with the downloading,” he said.
“Yes.”
“And it’s still going on?”
“Yes. Well, it stopped when the downloading stopped, but I’m downloading the software again, so…”
His voice had a there-you-have-it tone: “It starts when you start downloading, it stops when you stop downloading: interference due to an induced current.”
“I’m not sure,” Caitlin said. “It’s so vivid.”
“What exactly are you seeing?” her mom asked.
“Like I said, lines. Overlapping lines. And, um, points or bigger points — circles, I guess.”
“Do the lines go on forever?” asked her mom.
“No, they connect to the circles.”
Her dad again: “The brain has special neurons for detecting the edges of things. If those got stimulated electrically, you might perhaps see random line segments.”
“They’re not random. If I look away then look back, the same pattern I saw before is still there.”
“Well,” said her mom, sounding pleased, “even if you’re not seeing anything real, something is stimulating your primary visual cortex, no? And that’s good news.”
“It feels like it is real,” Caitlin said.
“Let’s get Kuroda on the phone,” her dad said. “Damn, what time is it there?”
“Fourteen hours ahead,” Caitlin said. She felt her watch. “So, 11:28 Sunday morning.”
“Then he’ll likely be at home instead of work,” he said.
“Do we have his home number?” her mother said.
“It’s in his sig,” Caitlin said, opening one of his emails so her mother could read the number off the screen.
Even though her mother must have been holding the handset to her own ear, Caitlin could hear the soft bleeps as she punched in numbers, then the phone ringing followed by a woman’s voice: “Konnichi wa.”
“Hello,” her mom said. “Do you speak English?”
“Ah, yes,” said the voice, sounding not quite prepared for this pop quiz.
“It’s Barbara Decter calling from Canada. Is Masayuki-san available?”
“Ah, just a minute,” said the woman. “You wait.”
And, as Caitlin quietly counted seconds in her head, she was amused to note that at precisely the one-minute mark, Dr. Kuroda’s wheezy voice came on the line. “Hello, Barbara,” he said, shouting in the way people sometimes did when they knew they were talking long-distance. “Have we had success?”
“In a way,” her mom said. “Here’s Caitlin.”
“It’s a speakerphone,” Caitlin said, reaching over; she knew her phone well enough to hit the right button in one smooth movement. “Put down the handset.”