Dr. Kuroda dropped a bomb between the salad and the main course. “I’ve got to go back to Tokyo,” he said. “Now that word’s out about us having cured Miss Caitlin’s blindness there really is a lot of commercial interest in the eyePod technology, and the team at my university that tries to find industry partnerships wants me there for meetings.”
Caitlin suddenly felt sad and frightened. Kuroda had been her mentor through so much of late and, well, she’d just sort of assumed he was going to be around forever, but—
“It’s time, anyway,” he said. “Miss Caitlin can see, so my work here is done.”
She might not yet be perfect at decoding facial expressions, but she was better than most people at reading inflection. He was putting up false bravado; he was sad to be going. “But the bright side is, booking a flight at the last minute meant that there was only Executive Class left, and so the university has sprung for that.”
“When … when do you go?” asked Caitlin.
“Early tomorrow afternoon, I’m afraid. And, of course, it’s an hour or more to Pearson, and I should be there two hours in advance for an international flight, so…”
So he was only going to be here, and awake for, maybe another half-dozen hours.
“My birthday is in two days,” Caitlin said — and she felt foolish as soon as she’d said it. Dr. Kuroda was a busy man, and he’d already done so much for her. Expecting him to stay away from his family and work obligations just to attend her birthday dinner was unfair, she knew.
“Your Sweet Sixteen,” said Kuroda, smiling. “How wonderful. I’m afraid I won’t have time to get you a present before I leave.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” her mom said, looking at Caitlin. “Dr. Kuroda’s already given you just about the best present possible, isn’t that right, dear?”
Caitlin looked at him. “Will you come back?”
“I honestly don’t know. I’d like to, of course. You — and, you, too, Barbara and Malcolm — have been wonderful. But we’ll be in touch: email, instant messenger.”
He smiled. “You’ll hardly know I’m gone. Oh, and I guess we can stop recording the datastream from your eyePod. I mean, I’ve got plenty of old data to study, and everything does seem to be working fine now. I know you were concerned about privacy, Miss Caitlin, so after dinner I’ll detach the Wi-Fi module from the eyePod, and—”
“No!”
Even her father looked briefly at her.
“I mean, um, won’t that cut me off from seeing webspace if I want to?”
“Well, yes. But I suppose I could modify things so that you could still accept a data-stream from Jagster without transmitting back what your eye is seeing.”
Caitlin’s heart was racing. That would still mean she would no longer be able to send what her eye was seeing to the phantom.
“No, no, please. You know what they say: if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
“Oh, this won’t—”
“Please. Just leave everything exactly the way it is.”
“I’m sure Dr. Kuroda knows what he’s talking about, dear,” her mother said.
“And besides,” Kuroda added, “you’ve been getting some interference of late over the Wi-Fi connection — those text strings bouncing back, remember? We wouldn’t want that to start spilling over into your…” He paused, then smiled kindly at Caitlin’s coinage: “…worldview. Better to just unplug all that now while I’m here to do it, rather than have it become a problem later.”
“No,” Caitlin said. “Please.”
“It’ll be fine,” Kuroda said. “Don’t worry, Miss Caitlin.”
“No, no, you can’t.”
“Caitlin,” her mother said in an admonishing tone.
“Just leave it alone!” Caitlin said. She got to her feet. “Leave me and my eyePod alone!”
And she ran from the room.
Caitlin threw herself down on her bed, feet kicking up in the air. All of this — websight, the phantom — was hers! They couldn’t take it away from her now!
She had found something no one else even knew was there, and she was trying to help it, and they were going to cut her off!
She took a deep breath, hoping to calm down. Maybe she should just tell them, but—
But Kuroda would try to patent it, or control it, or make a buck off of it. And he, or her father, or her mother, would start talking about stupid sci-fi movies in which computers took over the world. But to keep her phantom in the dark would be like Annie Sullivan saying it was better to leave Helen the way she was, in case she grew up to be Adolf Hitler or … or whoever the heck had been a monster in Annie’s own time.
No, if Caitlin was going to be like Annie Sullivan, she was going to do it right. Annie had had another duty besides just teaching Helen. After the breakthrough, she had looked after Helen, had done her best to make sure she wasn’t exploited or mistreated or taken advantage of.
Of course, Caitlin knew that if what she suspected was true, eventually this phantom would realize that there was a huge world out here, and at that point she might no longer be special to it. But for now the phantom was hers and hers alone, and she was going to not just teach it but also protect it.
Still, she wasn’t sure if she was making progress at all, if the phantom had understood anything she’d tried to teach it before dinner. For all she knew, she’d accomplished nothing.
And so she set out to administer the test. She once again switched to websight, buffered some of the Jagster raw feed, focused in on the cellular automata, and ran the Shannon-entropy plot again.
And—
And, yes, yes, yes! A score of 4.5! The information content was richer, more complex, more sophisticated. Her lesson about website and link and to transfer had had an impact … or, at least she hoped it had; the score had been trending upward on its own previously, of course. But no, no: it had to be responding to what she was doing, just as the earlier increases must have happened accidentally in response to the phantom having observed her doing literacy lessons.
She leaned back in her chair, thinking. A car honked its horn outside, and she heard someone running water in the bathroom. This — this … whatever it was — was indeed learning.
She looked at the window, a dark rectangle. It was such a small portal, and, as the theme song to one of her mother’s favorite movies said, there was such a lot of world to see…
More sounds from outside: another car, a man talking to someone as he walked along, a dog yapping.
She looked back at her computer monitor, a window of another sort. Its bezel was black, with silver letters on the bottom forming the word DELL, the E canted at an odd angle.
Yes, Waterloo was full of high-tech industry, but so was Austin, where she used to live. It was where Dell had its headquarters, and AMD had a major facility there, too, and—
Yes, yes, of course!
Austin was also home to Cycorp, a company that had been periodically making the news, at least back in Texas, her whole life.
An old one-liner bubbled up in her mind: You can lead a horticulture, but you can’t make her think.
Or maybe you can — and who you callin’ a ho, anyway?
Yes: it was time now to see if the phantom could learn for itself, if, in good computer fashion, it could pull itself up by its bootstraps. And Cycorp could well be the key to that, but…
But how to lead the phantom to it? How could she point to something in webspace? She nibbled at her lower lip. There must be a way. When she’d labeled sites on the captured image as Amazon and CNN, she’d really had no idea if that was what they were. And if she couldn’t identify a particular site with her websight, then how—
Wait! Wait! She didn’t have to! The phantom already was following what she was doing with her computer — it had to be doing that, given that it had echoed her ASCII text back at her. Yes, when she’d been using the kids’ literacy site, it could have seen graphic files of the letters A, B, and C on her screen as she looked at them, but those were bitmapped images; the only way it could have discovered the ASCII codes for those letters was by watching what was being sent by her computer. But … but how had the phantom known that this desktop PC was in any way related to her eyePod?