Robert Sawyer - Wonder

She also posted comments on seventy-six news stories that had their facts wrong—and, yes, she knew the futility of that, and well remembered having had the famous xkcd webcomic read to her: a man is working at his computer, and his wife calls out, “Are you coming to bed?” He replies, “I can’t,” as he continues to type furiously. “Someone is wrong on the Internet!”

And, anyway, she wasn’t really sure why she was bothering. After all, Webmind himself was now participating on tens of thousands of newsgroups, was posting comments on countless blogs, and was tweeting in dozens of languages. As CNN Online had put it, he was now the most overexposed celebrity on the planet, “like Paris Hilton, Jennifer Aniston, and Irwin Tan rolled into one.”

Except that wasn’t really true, at least not to Caitlin’s way of thinking. In mathematics, celebrities were often used in discussing graph theory, since their interactions with their fans were a perfect example of a directed, asymmetric relationship between vertices: by definition, many more fans know a celebrity than are known to the celebrity. But Webmind did know everyone who was online. He wasn’t a celebrity; he was more like the whole planet’s Facebook friend.

Still she continued to read news coverage and the follow-up comments—some favorable, some not—about Webmind’s speech at the UN, and all the other things he’d been doing, and—

And what was that?

There was an odd red-and-white logo next to the name of the person who had posted the comment she was now reading. She still had a hard time with small text, and JAWS couldn’t deal with text that was presented as graphics, but she squinted at it, and—

Verified by Webmind.

“Webmind?” she said into the air. “What’s up with that?”

His synthesized voice came from her desktop speakers. “A number of people noted that I was in a position to verify the identity of people posting online, affirming that they were using their real names, rather than a handle or pseudonym. On sites like this one that allow avatar pictures, that picture can, at the individual’s request, be replaced with the Verified by Webmind graphic.”

Caitlin thought about this. She often wrote online under the name Calculass, but there were indeed countless trolls who posted incendiary comments under fake names simply to spew hatred or mock others; on many sites, they derailed almost every discussion. Caitlin had found, for instance, that she simply couldn’t stomach reading the comments on the CBC News site, most of which were nasty, crude, racist, or sexist, or one of the eleven possible combinations of those four things.

Webmind went on. “Some sites, such as Amazon.com, already allow an optional ‘Real Name’ badge to be attached to reviews, but, until now, there was no simple, across-the-Web solution for verifying that one was posting under his or her true identity. It was trivial for me to provide it, so I did.”

“Interesting. But… but, I dunno, people gotta be able to say things anonymously online.”

“In some cases, that’s true. There’s obviously a need for free political commentary in repressive regimes, and a way for whistle-blowers to draw attention to corporate and government malfeasance without fear of reprisals. But others have told me that a good part of the joy of the online world has been taken away by people who snipe from behind masks; as they’ve said, they wouldn’t engage in conversation with people who hid their identities in the real world, and they don’t feel they should be compelled to online.”

“I guess.”

“Already filters are starting to appear on sites to allow you to select to see only comments by those who are posting with Verified by Webmind credentials. In other places—where there is no legitimate need for anonymity—filters are being installed to allow only users I have verified to post at all. JagsterMail started offering VBW flags on ‘from’ addresses this morning, and Gmail is planning to follow suit. The initiative, which is grassroots based, has been referred to by many names, but the one that seems to be sticking is ‘Take Back the Net.’ That term—a play on the campaign against violence against women called Take Back the Night—has been used from time to time for other online initiatives, but never with any real traction. But it does seem appropriate here: there’s a feeling on the part of many that the online world, except on such social networking sites as Facebook, has been largely usurped by people who have grown irresponsible because of their anonymity.”

Caitlin shifted in her chair. Webmind went on. “I do not believe you have yet seen the movie As Good as It Gets.”

She shook her head. “I’ve never even heard of it.”

“It stars Jack Nicholson as a novelist. When asked how he writes women so well, he replies, ‘I think of a man, and I take away reason and accountability.’ ”

“That’s awful!” Caitlin said.

“According to IMDb, it is one of the most memorable quotations from the film. But I agree that it is not an apt description of your gender, Caitlin. However, I do think it often applies to the effect of being anonymous online: with anonymity there is no accountability, and without accountability, there is no need for reason, or reasonableness.”

Caitlin had had plenty of online arguments with people whose identities she did know, but, then again, she’d had lots of real-world arguments with such people, too. “It’s an interesting idea,” she said.

“Would you like me to certify you?”

“Well, you can’t when I’m posting as Calculass, right?”

“Correct. But for your postings and email as Caitlin Decter, I can verify that you are who you claim to be.”

She’d always been an early adopter. “Sure. Why not?”

Colonel Hume drove toward his office at the Pentagon; at least he’d have access to facilities, and if any computers on the planet were secure from Webmind, it would be the ones there. His phone rang just as he was turning a corner; he had his Bluetooth earpiece in. “Peyton Hume speaking,” he said.

“Colonel Hume,” said a deep voice with a Hispanic accent. “This is Assistant Director Ortega at the Washington bureau.”

“Good morning, Mr. Ortega.”

“Just thought you’d want to know we were just copied on a missing-persons report. One of the names from the list you gave us: Brandon Slovak. Teh Awesome himself.”

“God,” said Hume.

“Takoma Park PD’s been to his apartment. No sign of forceable entry, but he definitely left unexpectedly. Half-eaten meal on the table, TV still running although the sound was muted.”

“All right,” said Hume. “Let me know if you hear anything further, okay?”

“Of course. And we’re starting a systematic check of everyone on your list within a hundred miles of the capital—see if anyone else is missing.”

“Thanks. Keep me posted.”

“Will do.” Ortega clicked off.

Hume kept driving. Teh Awesome had been the one who’d said he liked Webmind, but—

But he was also one of those who had been most capable of doing Webmind harm. In fact, maybe Slovak himself had known that. He might well have tried to be in touch with other hackers in the area and heard about their disappearances. Maybe all that posturing had been in case Webmind was listening in—in hopes of keeping himself safe.

Fat lot of good it had done him.

Hume turned onto F Street, and soon was passing the Watergate Complex. As an Air Force officer, he’d periodically been asked about Area 51, where the alien spaceships from Roswell were supposedly stored—or about whether the moon landings had been faked. And he’d always had the same answer: if the government was good at keeping secrets, the world would never have heard of Watergate or Monica Lewinsky.