“Oh, yes,” said Anna. “It’s a real problem in the field of math academically, actually. Most of the best US grads in math and computer science either go to the NSA, where they work on classified projects, or to private-sector places like Google or Electronic Arts, where they do stuff that’s covered by nondisclosure agreements. God knows what they’ve come up with; it’s never published in journals.”
Kuroda said something that might have been a swearword of his own in Japanese, then: “She may be right. We should tread very, very carefully here, my friends. If this stuff in the background of the Web is supposed to be secret, those in power may take … steps … to ensure that it remains that way. Miss Caitlin, far be it from me to tell you what to do, but perhaps you could be circumspect about this topic in your blog?”
“Oh, no one pays attention to my LiveJournal. Besides, I flock — friends-lock — anything that I don’t want strangers to read.”
“Do what he says,” her dad said, startling her by the sharpness of his voice.
“The authorities could seize your implant and eyePod as threats to national security.”
Caitlin got down off the table. “They wouldn’t do that,” she replied.
“Besides, we’re in Canada now.”
“Don’t think for one second that the Canadian authorities won’t do whatever Washington asks,” her father said.
She wasn’t sure what to make of all this. “Um, okay,” she said at last. “But you guys are going to keep studying it, right?”
“Of course,” Dr. Kuroda said. “But carefully, and without tipping our hand.”
He paused. “It’s a good thing we’re doing a video conference with Anna; if this were text-based IM the authorities would already know what we’ve found. At least for now, video is a lot harder for them to automatically monitor.”
The full impact of what he and Anna were saying was coming to her. She turned her head toward Kuroda. “But what about our paper?”
“Eventually, Miss Caitlin, perhaps. But for now, the better part of valor is discretion.”
Chapter 30
Masayuki Kuroda had spent the rest of Saturday, and all day Sunday, working with Miss Caitlin, studying the cellular automata. But it was now Monday, the first day of October. Masayuki had been in Canada a week now. He missed his wife and his own daughter, and felt guilty that Hiroshi was having to cover his classes for him. But, still, he was entitled to a little time off while he was here, no? Besides, there was only so much he could do while Miss Caitlin was at school.
He took another bite of his roast-beef sandwich and looked around the kitchen. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to North American houses. A home this size would be almost impossible to find in Tokyo, and yet there were streets full of them here. Of course, the Decters obviously weren’t hurting for cash, but, still, with only Malcolm working, and with all the expensive equipment Caitlin had, they certainly couldn’t have a lot of disposable income left.
“I want to thank you,” he said. “You’ve been so hospitable.”
Barbara Decter was seated on the opposite side of the square pine table, holding a cup of coffee in two hands. She looked over its brim at him. She was, Masayuki thought, quite lovely: probably closer to fifty than forty, but with large, sparkling blue eyes and a cute upturned nose that almost made her look like an anime character. “It’s my pleasure,” she said. “To tell the truth, I’ve enjoyed having you here. It’s nice to, you know, have someone talkative around. Back in Austin…”
She trailed off, but her voice had become a bit wistful before doing so.
“Yes?” he said gently.
“I just miss Texas, is all. Don’t get me wrong; this place is nice, although I am not looking forward to winter, and…”
Masayuki thought she looked sad. After a time he again said, “Yes?”
She held up a hand. “I’m sorry. It’s just … been particularly difficult coming here. I had friends back in Austin, and I had things to do: I worked every weekday as a volunteer at Caitlin’s old school, the Texas School for the Blind.”
He looked down at the place mat. It was a large laminated photo of a city skyline at night; a caption identified it as Austin. “So why did you move here?”
“Well, Caitlin was pushing to go to a regular school, anyway — she said she’d need to be able to function in normal classes if she were going to go on to MIT, which has been her goal for years. And then Malcolm got this job offer that was too good to pass up: the Perimeter Institute is a dream come true for him. He doesn’t have to teach, doesn’t have to work with students. He can just think all day.”
“How long have you been married, if I may ask?”
Again, the slightly wistful tone. “It’ll be eighteen years in December.”
“Ah.”
But then she gave him an appraising look. “You’re being polite, Masayuki. You want to know why I married him.”
He shifted in his chair and looked out the window. The leaves had started to change color. “It’s not my place to wonder,” he said. “But…”
She raised her shoulders a bit. “He’s brilliant. And he’s a great listener. And he’s very kind, in his way — which my first husband was not.”
He took another bite of his sandwich. “You were married before?”
“For two years, starting when I was twenty-one. The only good thing that came out of that was it taught me which things really matter.” A pause. “How long have you been married?”
“Twenty years.”
“And you have a daughter?”
“Akiko, yes. She’s sixteen, going on thirty.”
Barb laughed. “I know what you mean. What does your wife do?”
“Esumi is in — what do you say in English? Not ‘manpower’ anymore, is it?”
“Human resources.”
“Right. She’s in human resources at the same university I work at.”
The corners of her mouth were turned down. “I miss the university environment. I’m going to try to get back in next year.”
He felt his eyebrows going up. “As … as a student?”
“No, no. To teach.”
“Oh! I, ah—”
“You thought I was June Cleaver?”
“Pardon?”
“A stay-at-home mom?”
“Well, I…”
“I’ve got a Ph.D., Masayuki. I used to be an associate professor of economics.” She set down her coffee cup. “Don’t look so surprised. Actually, my specialty is — was — game theory.”
“You taught in Austin?”
“No. In Houston; that’s where Caitlin was born. We moved to Austin when she was six so she could go to the TSB. The first five years, I did stay at home with her — and believe me, looking after a blind daughter is work. And I spent the next decade volunteering at her school, helping her and other kids learn Braille, or reading them things that were only available in print, and so on.”
She paused and looked through the opening to the large, empty living room.
“But now, I’m going to talk to UW and Laurier — that’s the other university in town — about picking up some sessional work, at least. I couldn’t do any this term because my Canadian work permit hasn’t come through yet.” She smiled a bit ruefully. “I’m a bit rusty, but you know what they say: old game theorists never die, we just lose our equilibrium.”
He smiled back at her. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to Toronto for the show?”
“No, thanks. I’ve seen Mamma Mia. We all went back in August. It’s great, though. You’ll love it.”
He nodded. “I’ve always wanted to see it. I’m glad I was able to get a ticket on such short notice, and—” Yes, yes — of course!
“Masayuki?”
His heart was pounding. “I am an idiot.”
“No, no, lots of people like ABBA.”
“I mean Miss Caitlin’s software. I think I know why she was able to see the lightning, but not anything else in the real world. It’s related to the delta modulation: the Jagster feed is already digital, but the real-world input from her retina starts out as analog and is converted to digital for processing by the eyePod — and that must be where I screwed up. Because when she saw the lightning, that was a real-world signal that already had only two components: bright light and a black background. It was essentially digital to begin with, and she could see that.” He was thinking furiously in Japanese and trying to talk in English at the same time. “Anyway, yes, yes, I think I can fix it.” He took a sip of coffee. “Okay, look, I’m not going to be back from Toronto until after midnight tonight. And Caitlin will be in bed by then, won’t she?”