Robert Sawyer: Wake

There was no actual photograph of the World Wide Web she could show the phantom, but there had to be appropriate computer-generated images: a map of the world marked by bright lines representing the major fiber-optic trunks that spanned the continents and crossed the seafloors. A big enough map might show dimmer lines within the outlines of the continents, portraying the lesser cables that branched off from the trunks. And one could spangle the land with glowing pixels, each standing for some arbitrary number of computers; the pixels might perhaps combine into pools of light almost too bright to look at in places like Silicon Valley.

But even that wouldn’t convey it all, she knew. The Web wasn’t just confined to the surface of the Earth: a lot of it was relayed by satellites in low Earth orbit, 200 to 400 miles above the surface, while other signals bounced off satellites in geostationary orbit — a narrow ring of points 52,000 miles in diameter, six times as wide as the planet. Some sort of graphic could probably portray those, although at that scale, all the other stuff — the trunk lines, the clouds of computers — would be utterly lost.

She could use Google Image Search to find a succession of diagrams and graphics, but she wouldn’t be able to tell good ones from bad ones — she was just beginning to see, after all!

Ah, but wait! She knew somebody who was bound to have the perfect picture to represent all this. She opened the instant-messenger program on the computer that used to be in the basement and looked at the buddies list. There were only four names: “Esumi,” Kuroda’s wife; “Akiko,” his daughter; “Hiroshi,” a name she didn’t know; and “Anna.” Anna’s status was listed as “Available.”

Caitlin typed, Anna, are you there?

Twenty-seven seconds passed, but then: Masa! How are you?

Not Dr. Kuroda, Caitlin typed. It’s Caitlin Decter, in Canada.

Hi! What’s up?

Dr. K said you were a Web cartographer, right?

Yes, that’s right. I’m with the Internet Cartography Project.

Good, cuz I need your help.

Sure. Want to go to video?

Caitlin lifted her eyebrows. She still wasn’t used to thinking of the Web as a way to see people, but of course it was. Sure, she typed.

It took a minute to get the videoconference going, but soon enough Caitlin was looking at Anna Bloom in a window on her right-hand monitor. It was the first time Caitlin had seen her. She had a narrow face, short gray or maybe silver hair, and blue-green eyes behind almost invisible glasses. She was wearing a pale blue top with a dark purple jacket on over it, and had a thin gold necklace on. There was a window behind her, and through it Caitlin could see Israel at night, lights bouncing off white buildings.

“The famous Caitlin Decter!” said Anna, smiling. “I saw the news coverage. I’m so thrilled for you! I mean, seeing the Web was amazing, I’m sure — but seeing the real world!” She shook her head in wonder. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what it must be like for you, to see all that for the first time. I…”

“Yes?” said Caitlin.

“No, I’m sorry. It’s really not comparable, I know, but…”

“It’s okay,” Caitlin said. “Go ahead.”

“It’s just that what you’re going through — well, I’ve been trying to wrap my mind around it, get a feeling of what it must be like.”

Caitlin thought about her own discussions with Bashira dealing with the opposite issue: her analogy about the lack of a magnetic sense being to her like the lack of sight. She understood that people wrestled with what it was like to perceive, or not, in ways they weren’t used to.

“It’s overwhelming,” Caitlin said. “And so much more than I expected. I mean, I’d imagined the world, but…”

Anna nodded vigorously, as if Caitlin had just confirmed something for her.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she said. “And, um, I hate it when people say, ‘I know just what you’re going through.’ I mean, when someone’s lost a child, or something equally devastating, and people say, ‘I know what you’re feeling,’ and then they come up with some lame comparison, like when their cat got hit by a car.”

Caitlin looked over at Schrodinger, who was safely curled up on her bed.

“But, well,” continued Anna, “I thought maybe your gaining sight was a bit like how I felt — how we all felt! — in 1968.”

Caitlin was listening politely but — 1968! She might as well have said 1492; either way, it was ancient history. “Yes?”

“See,” said Anna, “in a way, we all saw the world for the first time then.”

“Is that the year it started being in color?” Caitlin asked.

Anna’s eyes went wide. “Um, ah, actually…”

But Caitlin couldn’t suppress her grin any longer. “I’m kidding, Anna. What happened in 1968?”

“That was the year that — wait, wait, let me show you. Give me a second.”

Caitlin could see her typing, and then a blue-underlined URL popped into Caitlin’s instant-messenger window. “Go there,” Anna said, and Caitlin clicked the link.

A picture slowly painted in on her screen, from top to bottom: a white-and-blue object against a black background. When it was complete, it filled the display. “What’s that?” Caitlin said.

Anna looked briefly puzzled, but then she nodded. “It’s so hard to remember that all of this is new to you. That’s the Earth.”

Caitlin sat up straight in her chair, looking in wonder at it.

“The entire planet,” Anna continued, “as seen from space.” She sounded choked up for some reason, and it took her a moment to compose herself before she went on. Caitlin was perplexed. Yes, it was amazing for her to see the Earth for the first time — but Anna must have seen pictures like this a thousand times before.

“See, Caitlin, until 1968, no human being had ever seen our world as a sphere floating in space like that.” Anna looked to her right, presumably at the same image on her own monitor. “Until Apollo8 headed to the moon — the first manned ship ever to do so — no one had ever gotten far enough away from Earth to see the whole thing. And then, suddenly, gloriously, there it was. This isn’t an Apollo 8 picture; it’s a higher-resolution one taken just a few days ago by a geostationary satellite — but it’s like the one we first saw in 1968 … well, except the polar caps are smaller.”

Caitlin continued to look at the image.

When Anna spoke again, her voice was soft, gentle. “See my point? When we first saw a picture like this — when we first saw our world as a world — it was a bit like what you’ve been going through, but for the whole human race. Something we’d only ever imagined was finally revealed to us, and it was colorful and glorious and…” She paused, perhaps looking for a term, and then she lifted her shoulders a bit, as if to convey that nothing less would do:

“…awe inspiring.”

Caitlin frowned as she studied the image. It wasn’t a perfect circle. Rather it was — ah! It was showing a phase, and not like one-fourth of a pie! It was … what was the term? It was a gibbous Earth, that was it — better than three-quarters full.

“The equator is right in the middle, of course,” said Anna. “That’s the only perspective you can get from geostationary orbit. South America is in the bottom half; North America is up top.” And then, perhaps remembering again that Caitlin was still quite new at all this, she added: “The white is clouds, and the brown is dry land. All the blue is water; that’s the Atlantic Ocean on the right. See the Gulf of Mexico? Texas — that’s where you’re from, isn’t it? — touches it at about eleven o’clock.”

Caitlin couldn’t parse the details Anna was seeing, but it was a beautiful picture, and the longer she looked at it, the more captivating she found it. Still, she thought there should be a shimmering background to Earth from space — not cellular automata, but a panorama of stars. But there was nothing; just the blackest black her new monitor was capable of.