The answer was instantaneous; even if this consciousness that covered the globe in a sphere of photons and electrons, of facts and ideas, had paused to think, the pause would have lasted only milliseconds. “Webmind.”
The text was also on screen in the instant-messenger program. Caitlin stared at the term and simultaneously felt it slide beneath her index finger. The word — the name! — did seem apt: descriptive without being ominous. She looked out her bedroom window; the sun had set, but there would be another dawn soon. She typed a sentence, and held off hitting the enter key for this one, too; as long as she didn’t hit enter or look at the monitor containing the text, it would have no idea what she’d queued up. Finally, though, she did hit that oversized key, sending, Where do we go from here, Webmind?
Again, the reply was instantaneous: “The only place we can go, Caitlin,” it said. “Into the future.”
Then there was a pause, and, as always, Caitlin found herself counting its length. It lasted precisely ten seconds — the interval it had used to get her attention before. And then Webmind added one final word, which she heard and saw and felt: “Together.”