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promised ongoing support to many of these people. I cannot simply abandon them now. The world has changed, Barb; there is no going back.”
    Caitlin looked at her mother, whose face was cryptic—at least to Caitlin!—but she suspected her mom wished they could go back to the way things had been before. How far would she turn the clock back, though? Caitlin had discovered Webmind because of the implant Dr. Kuroda had given her; take that away, and Caitlin’s sight—of both kinds—would be gone.
    She’d heard her parents argue about the move to Waterloo, which predated all of this; Caitlin knew her mother hadn’t wanted to leave Texas. But to turn the clock back even five months, back to before they’d moved here, would undo so much! This house, Bashira, Matt—not to mention her father’s job at the Perimeter Institute.
    Caitlin was relieved when her mother at last nodded. “I guess you’re right, Webmind,” she said, looking again at Caitlin’s laptop.
    That computer was old enough that it hadn’t come with a built-in webcam, and neither she nor her parents had seen any reason to add one for a blind girl. “Mom,” she said gently. “You taught me to always look at the person I was speaking to. Webmind is watching through here.” She touched her head next to her left eye.
    Her mother managed a small smile. “Oh, right.” She looked at Caitlin—looked into her left eye—looked at Webmind. “And you’re right, too, Webmind. People do need you.”
    Webmind had surely analyzed her vocal patterns, and must have determined that she genuinely believed this. Braille dots flashed over top of Caitlin’s vision, and words emanated from the laptop’s speakers. The dots said, I like your mother, and the synthesized voice said, “Thank you, Barb.” But then, after a moment, Webmind added, “Let’s hope the US president agrees with you.”

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    The telephone on the president’s desk rang at precisely 10:00 P.M., and he immediately touched the speakerphone button.
    “Hello,” said a male voice that sounded like a car’s GPS did. “This is Webmind. May I please speak to the President of the United States?”
    The president felt his eyebrows going up. “This is he.” He paused. “An historic event: Richard Nixon talked to the first men on the moon from this very room; this feels of comparable importance.”
    “You are kind to say that, Mr. President. Thank you for taking time from your busy schedule to speak with me.”
    “It’s my privilege although I should inform you that this conversation is being recorded and that I’m not alone here in the Oval Office. An advisor on matters related to artificial intelligence is here, as is a supervisor from a division of the National Security Agency.”
    “The advisor you mention,” said Webmind, “is presumably Colonel Peyton Hume, correct?”
    “Yes, that’s me,” said Hume, sounding surprised to be called by name.
    “And is the supervisor Dr. Anthony Moretti, of WATCH?”
    “Um, yes. Yes, that’s me.”
    “Also here is the Secretary of Defense,” said the president, looking over at the short silver-haired man, who was wearing a charcoal gray suit.
    “Good evening to you, as well, Mr. Secretary.”
    “I’m afraid, sir,” said the president, “that I need you to first verify your bona fides. Granted, you managed to find my BlackBerry number, but that proves only a level of resourcefulness, not that you are, in fact, the Webmind. As you can appreciate, I wouldn’t normally take a call even from the Russian prime minister without establishing that it was genuine.”
    “A prudent precaution,” said the synthesized voice. “Today’s day-word for the Secretary of Defense is ‘horizon.’ For Dr. Moretti, it is ‘flapjack.’ And for you, Mr. President, it is ‘artesian.’ I don’t believe many others would have the resourcefulness, as you put it, to uncover all three