Wonder

sixteen

Caitlin and her mother were up in Caitlin’s bedroom, with its bare cornflower-blue walls. Caitlin was seated, and her mother was standing behind her. On the larger of Caitlin’s two monitors, a Skype video conference window was open. Although Caitlin had never met Shoshana Glick, she was pleased with herself for recognizing her from the YouTube videos; she was actually starting to remember what specific faces looked like. Shoshana’s was narrow and smooth—which meant young!

“Hi, Shoshana,” Caitlin said enthusiastically.

“Hi,” said Shoshana. She indicated a very large man standing behind her. “This is my thesis advisor, Dr. Harl Marcuse.” Caitlin was good at identifying accents; she pegged Shoshana’s as South Carolinian. But she was surprised to hear “Marcuse” spoken out loud by a human; it turned out to be three syllables. When she’d read about him online, JAWS had guessed it as “mark-use.”

“I am here as well,” said Webmind’s synthesized voice.

Shoshana peered at her screen as if expecting to see something other than Caitlin’s bedroom. “Um, ah… a pleasure,” she said.

“And this is my mom, Dr. Barbara Decter,” Caitlin said; her mom was standing behind her.

“Barb,” said her mom. “You can call me Barb.”

“And you can call me Sho.”

Webmind seemed to feel left out. “And you may call me Web,” said the disembodied voice.

Caitlin laughed. “I don’t think so.”

Shoshana shook her head. “Sorry. It’s strange seeing the two of you, but not seeing Webmind.”

“Funny you should say that, Sho,” Caitlin said. “That’s the reason we got in touch. Webmind has a very special appearance coming up, and he wants a public face for that and, well, we think Hobo might be the right choice.”

“Why?” asked Sho. “And what’s this about prior contact between Hobo and Webmind?”

“Oh, that,” said Caitlin. “Webmind says you were having some difficulties with Hobo. He’d become violent, hard to handle, and so on, is that right?”

“Yes,” said Sho, but then she sounded as if she felt a need to defend the primate. “But that’s normal for male chimps as they grow older.”

“But Hobo isn’t just a chimp, is he?” said Caitlin. “He’s a hybrid, right? Half-chimp and half-bonobo?”

“Yes,” said Sho. “The only one in the world, as far as we know.”

Dr. Marcuse spoke; his voice was a deep rumble. Caitlin recognized it as the one that had narrated the YouTube videos she’d seen. “What about this previous contact between Webmind and Hobo?”

“It happened on the evening of October 9 your time,” Webmind said. “You had left a webcam link open so that Hobo could talk at his leisure to the orangutan Virgil at the Feehan Primate Center. While Virgil slept, I overrode the feed from Miami with videos of phrases in American Sign Language, and videos of chimpanzees and bonobos. I explained Hobo’s dual heritage to him, and suggested he could choose between the violence and killing of chimps, or the pacifism and playfulness of bonobos. As you no doubt have observed, he chose the latter.”

“Jesus,” said Marcuse.

“Please forgive me for acting unilaterally,” Webmind said. “But my contact with Hobo was two days before I went public with my existence. The need for him to control his violence seemed pressing, and I thought I could lend a hand—metaphorically, of course.”

“And now you want Hobo’s help?” asked Sho.

“If he is willing,” said Webmind. “He is under no obligation.”

“Why Hobo?” she asked.

“He’s not human,” said Webmind, “which means he had nothing whatsoever to do with the creation of the World Wide Web; no one can say that I am beholden to him for anything. And he has no financial or political interests of his own: he doesn’t hold stock in any company, and he’s not eligible to vote in any election.”

“Wouldn’t a robot body be better?” asked Marcuse. “One of Honda’s Asimo robots, maybe?”

“There would be confusion between me and the machine. I am not a robot, and I don’t wish to be perceived as one; also, the fear would be that if I controlled one robot, I might soon control millions. Hobo is unique, like me: I am the only Webmind; he is the only bonobo-chimpanzee hybrid. No one can confuse Hobo for me, and no one can worry that there will soon be an army of such beings under my command.”

“Why not just computer-generate a human face and show it on a monitor?” asked Marcuse.

“That route, which is a mainstay of science-fiction films, is fraught with problems,” said Webmind. “First, there is, as Caitlin might say, the whole Big Brother thing: an all-seeing, all-knowing face peering out from ubiquitous monitors recalls the similar motif from Orwell’s novel. Second, there is the ‘uncanny valley’ issue: the fact that faces that aren’t quite human creep real humans out. Of course, I could simulate a face perfectly, so that it would be indistinguishable from a video of a real human, but then that would raise concerns that any human expert speaking on my behalf might also be a CGI fabrication.”

“They could be anyway.”

“True. Which brings us to the allied concern over who is the authentic me. There have already been numerous phishing attempts to send bogus emails purportedly from me; I believe I have intercepted them all so far. But when I wish to make a significant speech in public, having the world’s only chimpanzee-bonobo hybrid as my assistant will make the authenticity of the speech manifest.”

“Apes are sensitive animals,” said Marcuse, leaning in. “They need stability and routine in their lives. Besides, how would this work? You want Hobo to talk in sign language on your behalf? But how will you tell him what to say?”

Webmind replied, “According to your Wikipedia entry, Dr. Marcuse, you were born 15 October 1952.”

Caitlin winced as the voice synthesizer mangled the name again, but Marcuse simply said, “Yes, that’s right.”

“Are you a science-fiction fan?”

“Somewhat.”

“Did you ever watch the 1970s’ version of Buck Rogers—the one starring Gil Gerard?”

“And Erin Grey,” said Marcuse at once. “Don’t forget Erin Grey.”

Caitlin had heard that as the man’s name “Aaron,” but she rewrote it in her mind following Marcuse’s next words: “She was the hottest thing on TV back then. Put Charlie’s Angels to shame.”

“Be that as it may,” said Webmind. “Do you remember the first season, and a character called Dr. Theopolis?”

“Was that Buck’s boss?”

“No, that was Dr. Huer. Dr. Theopolis was a computer.”

“Oh, right! That big disk that the robot wore like a giant pendant—what was the robot’s name again?”

“Twiki,” said Webmind.

“Right!” said Marcuse. And then he added something that only made sense to Caitlin because Webmind had now shown her clips of Buck Rogers on YouTube; Twiki often said the same thing: “Bidi-bidi-bidi.”

“Exactly,” said Webmind. “I have found that many people the world over are eager to offer their help to me. I’m sure we could find someone to build a device Hobo could carry around through which I will be able to hear and see and speak. There are times, of course, when my ability to be everywhere at once provides an advantage, but there are other times in which the fact that I am ubiquitous means that I cannot be said to be focused on or giving proper attention to a significant event. And when I address the United Nations next week—”

“You want Hobo to go to New York?” asked Shoshana, incredulously.

“I will pay for the trip,” said Webmind. “I currently have 8.7 million American dollars in my PayPal account; of course, I will cover the expenses of you and Dr. Marcuse traveling as Hobo’s handlers, too. Caitlin and her mother will come to New York, as well; Caitlin has been booked for a TV interview there, and that program is paying for their travel.”

“I’m surprised you want to do any more interviews,” Shoshana said.

“It’s The Daily Show,” said Caitlin. “It’s my favorite.”

“So, what do you think?” asked Webmind.

“We’re a serious research institution,” said Shoshana, “with our own projects and agenda. We can’t just—”

“Yes,” said Marcuse, cutting her off. “We’ll do it.”

Caitlin saw Shoshana swing her chair around. “Really?”

“This institute is chronically underfunded,” Marcuse said. “We’ve had a taste these last few weeks of what a little public attention can do for bringing in donations, but imagine the attention this will bring to Hobo.” A big grin spread across his round face. “And besides, Pinker and the rest who’ve been pooh-poohing our work will plotz.”