Robert Sawyer - Wake

“Silver,” her mom said. Caitlin could see her swiveling her head. “Yeah, these days, most people get cars in those colors.”

“I thought you could get any color you wanted,” Caitlin said.

“Well, you can. So long as it’s black or white or silver or red.”

“When I get a car,” Caitlin said, “I’m going to get a color nobody else has.”

And then she stopped walking for a second, stunned by what she’d just said. When I get a car! Yes, yes, if her vision continued to improve, if this blurriness went away, she could have a car, she could drive — she could do anything!

“Here’s ours,” her mom said.

“Silver, right?”

“Hi-yo,” said her mom.

Caitlin got in, amazed by all the interior details she’d simply been unaware of before. Her mom started the car, and CBC Radio One came on, as it always did. “…casting doubt now on the story of a natural carbon dioxide explosion in China’s Shanxi province, saying that an explosion of the magnitude suggested should have registered on seismographs elsewhere in Asia and possibly even in North America…”

She saw her mother do something with her hand, and the speakers went silent.

“Say,” Mom said, “have you seen yourself yet?”

Her heart started pounding again. She’d been so excited seeing other things, she hadn’t even thought about that. “No, not really — just my hands.”

“Well, you should.” Her mom reached an arm over and flipped something down in front of her.

“What’s that?” asked Caitlin.

“A shade to keep the sun out of your eyes. You’ll need it now. And here on the back” — her hand did something else — “there’s a mirror.”

Caitlin felt her jaw drop. Her face was the same shape as her mother’s! She could tell that without touching it — tell it at a glance! “Wow!”

“That’s you. You’re beautiful.”

All she could see was a fuzzy, heart-shaped mass and her hair — her wonderful brown hair. But it was her, and, at least for that moment, she agreed with her mother: she was beautiful.

The car backed out of the parking space, and they started the wondrous, colorful, complex journey home.

Other things were visible … off to the sides, in my peripheral vision, but although I was aware of them, they weren’t important. And beyond them, beyond those things on the edge, was—

Fascinating! Surely something was there, but whatever it might be was … was out of my field of view!

All right, then; all right. My attention was being … directed, and—

It was an enormous amount to absorb, to comprehend. Hitherto, my universe had contained only points and lines connecting them, but the realm I was seeing now consisted of complex objects: things with edges; things that moved. I had no idea what these things were, but I watched them, fascinated, and tried to comprehend.

This realm, this strange, hidden realm, was wondrous, and I could not get enough of it.

On the way home, Caitlin’s mom gave a running commentary of all the incredible sights: “That’s a pine tree off to the left. But see those trees there? Their leaves are changing color, now that it’s autumn.” “See that mailbox on the corner? They’re blue back in the States, but they’re red here.” “Now that guy really needs to mow his lawn!” “See that? A woman pushing a baby in a stroller.” “Okay, there’s a traffic light — see, it’s red now, so I have to stop.”

While they were stopped, some faint, tiny smudges in the sky caught Caitlin’s eye — an expression she finally understood! “What’s that?”

“Geese,” her mom said. “Flying south for the winter.”

Caitlin was amazed. If they’d been honking, she’d have known they were there even when she was blind, but they were absolutely silent, moving in a … a…

She balled her fist in frustration. The shape they made, the formation they were flying in: she knew she should be able to name it, but…

“Okay,” said her mom, “and green means go!”

Caitlin had gotten used to the clearly defined points and sharp lines she’d seen in webspace, but the real world was soft, diffuse. She figured maybe that the eyePod, after it processed the garbled output from her retina, was sending back only a low-resolution data-stream to her implant; she’d have to ask Dr. Kuroda if he could increase the bandwidth.

Still, even blurred, she was amazed to see her house from the outside. She’d had a doll house as a little girl, and had assumed that all houses had the sort of simple symmetry that her toy one had had, but this house was a complex shape, with a variety of angles and elevations, and it was made out of brown brick — she’d thought all bricks were red.

When they went inside, Schrodinger came down the stairs to greet them. Caitlin was stunned: she knew every inch of that cat’s fur, but had never even imagined that it was three different colors! She scooped him up and he looked into her face. His eyes were amazing.

“I guess we should call Dad,” Caitlin said.

“I already did — as soon as you called. But I couldn’t get through to him. And, anyway, Masayuki borrowed his car. I took your father to the Institute this morning; I should go pick him up.”

Caitlin did want to see her father, but the ride here had been overwhelming and almost incomprehensible, and the sun had been so bright! She wanted to look at things she’d touched before so she could get her bearings, and she didn’t want to be left alone. “No, let’s wait,” she said. She looked around the living room while stroking Schrodinger. “That window’s not too bright…”

Her mother’s tone was gentle. “That’s a painting, dear.”

“Oh.” There was so much to learn.

“So what do you want to see?”

“Everything!”

“Well, shall we start up in your room?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Caitlin said, and she followed her mother to the staircase. Even though she’d gone up it hundreds of times now, she found herself counting the steps as if it were a new staircase to her.

“Wow,” Caitlin said. It was astonishing, perceiving a room she thought she knew in a whole new way. “Tell me what the colors are.”

“Well the walls are blue — they call that shade cornflower blue.” Her mom sounded a tad embarrassed. “The previous owners, they had a boy living in this room, and we figured…”

Caitlin smiled. “It’s okay. I bet I’m going to hate pink, anyway. What does it look like?”

She saw her mother’s head turning left and right as she looked for a sample, then she got an object off a … a shelf, it must be, and brought it back. Caitlin looked at it but had no idea at all what it was, and her face must have conveyed that because her mother said, “Here, let me give you a hint.”

She did something to the object and—

“Math is hard!”

Caitlin laughed out loud. “Barbie!”

“She’s wearing a pink top.”

“Tell me some more colors.”

“Your blue jeans are, well, blue. And your T-shirt is yellow — and a bit low-cut, young lady.”

They walked around the room, and Caitlin picked up object after object — a plush zebra that hurt her eyes a bit to look at, the jar full of coins, the little trophy she’d won in an essay-writing contest back in Texas.

And as she heard the names of colors, she finally had to ask. “So the sheets on my bed are white, right?”

“Yes,” said her mom.

“And the faceplate on the light switch — that’s white, too, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And the venetian blinds, they’re white.”

“Yes.”

“But…” she held up her hands and turned them back to front. “That’s not the color I am.”