“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.”
seventeen
Dr. Kuroda and his associate, Okawa Hiroshi, spent hours working in their engineering lab at the University of Tokyo, cannibalizing parts originally intended for a second eyePod to build the device Webmind had designed. This time they were incorporating a BlackBerry from the outset instead of adding it later as a clumsy retrofit—Webmind had suggested that, and it made sense; it would make uploading revised firmware into the signal-processing computer much easier if that ever proved necessary.
An American academic on sabbatical here had dubbed Hiroshi and Masayuki, not unkindly, the Laurel and Hardy of the department: Hiroshi was slight of build and had a long face and a curiously wide grin, whereas Masayuki was fat with a round head.
Perhaps, Masayuki thought, the real Hardy had also had a penchant for colorful Hawaiian shirts—but, given that all his films were black-and-white, that fact might have been lost to history. In any event, the comparison was no less flattering than being called the “Sumo Wrestler of Science,” as the Tokyo News had dubbed him in its recent story about his success with Caitlin. And this breakthrough—assuming it worked!—would bring him even more media attention. Still, there was a part of him that wished for the quieter life he’d had before.
He and Hiroshi continued working throughout the afternoon, and well into the evening; Masayuki downed four liters of Pepsi before they were done. But at last the device was ready.
“Behold the second eyePod,” said Hiroshi.
Masayuki frowned. “We can’t call it that. This one’s not for sight.” He’d gotten quite fond of the term Caitlin had come up with, though, and couldn’t see referring to this new unit just as an outboard spinal-signal-processing pack. No good pun occurred to him in Japanese, but—
Ah hah!
It had been slightly uncomfortable, Masayuki knew, back in the Mike Lazaridis Theatre of Ideas, where the press conference announcing his success with Caitlin had been held. Mr. Lazaridis himself was in attendance, and probably hadn’t been happy when Masayuki had revealed that they called the device the “eyePod”—a play on the name of the biggest competitor for RIM’s product line.
But perhaps this would make amends for that. “I have it!” Masayuki said triumphantly. “We’ll call this one the BackBerry!”