need to ask some computer-related questions. Do you mind?" He looked back and forth at both of them, but they all knew MacKenzie was the computer expert. Hanna pointed to MacKenzie with her open hand, as if to say, "ask her."
Jeremy rubbed his eyes as if the afternoon's headache was returning just by thinking about it again.
"Okay, as I understand it," he began, "everybody's implant is connected to a network of millions of computers, and all the implants and computers are tied together by a zillion communications links."
"I won't vouch for the numbers, but go on," MacKenzie said.
Jeremy shrugged and grinned. "Okay. So when I send something over the net, my message goes to some computer somewhere, the computer gives a reply, and that information is sent back to my specific address, to my implant, which formats the information in whatever mode I've selected, ... visual, or whatever."
"Keep going," MacKenzie said approvingly.
"Question number one. Everything I see in my implant is on my desktop. Is it possible to see things from off the hole that appear in your normal field of view -- not on the desktop at all?"
"What have you been reading?" she asked with some surprise. "Just today I read about some really advanced work on that very subject. You see, the early implants had a tendency to get mixed up with people's regular vision. In the left eye anyway. But it was all cloudy and hazy and confusing, and gave people horrible headaches, so they had to move everything into a very limited frame -- what we know now as a desktop. But somebody's been re-evaluating that question, and there have been some breakthroughs."
"Frankly, I think it would be an irritation," Hanna chimed in. "I like keeping things on the desktop."
"You wouldn't say that if you'd seen some of the simulations. It's really amazing what they might be able to do with this. Just ...."
Hanna reached over and took her hand to cut her off.
"I think Jeremy has a couple more questions for you. You can tell us the geek stuff later, okay?"
MacKenzie tried to scowl, but a smiled peeked through at the corners. She looked back at Jeremy.
"Question number two," he said. "Could one of those computers send me some visual information that I didn't request?"
"No."
Her abrupt answer surprised him. "Just flat-out 'no'? No maybe's, or possibilities, or anything?"
MacKenzie shook her head. "Sorry, just, ... 'flat-out no.'" She looked at Hanna and they both giggled. Apparently it wasn't a Society expression.
"Privacy is sacrosanct on the hole," she continued. "Nobody can send you anything, except mail, unless you want it. And you can even filter mail."
"But isn't there some information that goes to everybody? Like the clock, or, ... I don't know, emergency stuff. Civil defense. Warnings about invading dragons. That kind of thing." Hanna laughed.
"Yeah, there's lots of stuff that comes off the hole to everybody's implant, but it's not visual information. It's kind of background noise." Jeremy took note of that. "You don't see the embedded messages unless you want to. What I mean is, your implant gets notice that there's an emergency message. You get that notice however you have your implant set, and then you have to access the file. Nothing comes to you automatically."
Jeremy asked about the black floaters he saw the first couple days he had the implant.
"Well, okay," MacKenzie conceded, "some of the noise is 'visual,' in one sense. But that's an accident, first of all, and it's just noise, not information. Most people don't see it, and if they did, it wouldn't be anything recognizable. Maybe our brains learn to ignore it."
He remembered Dr. Berry's comments about his enlarged occipital region -- a region that does visual processing. Could there be some connection?
"Is that noise at a special frequency, or something like that?" he asked.
MacKenzie shook her head. "'Frequency' is the wrong word, but it has a characteristic signature to it. We just automatically
Jeremy rubbed his eyes as if the afternoon's headache was returning just by thinking about it again.
"Okay, as I understand it," he began, "everybody's implant is connected to a network of millions of computers, and all the implants and computers are tied together by a zillion communications links."
"I won't vouch for the numbers, but go on," MacKenzie said.
Jeremy shrugged and grinned. "Okay. So when I send something over the net, my message goes to some computer somewhere, the computer gives a reply, and that information is sent back to my specific address, to my implant, which formats the information in whatever mode I've selected, ... visual, or whatever."
"Keep going," MacKenzie said approvingly.
"Question number one. Everything I see in my implant is on my desktop. Is it possible to see things from off the hole that appear in your normal field of view -- not on the desktop at all?"
"What have you been reading?" she asked with some surprise. "Just today I read about some really advanced work on that very subject. You see, the early implants had a tendency to get mixed up with people's regular vision. In the left eye anyway. But it was all cloudy and hazy and confusing, and gave people horrible headaches, so they had to move everything into a very limited frame -- what we know now as a desktop. But somebody's been re-evaluating that question, and there have been some breakthroughs."
"Frankly, I think it would be an irritation," Hanna chimed in. "I like keeping things on the desktop."
"You wouldn't say that if you'd seen some of the simulations. It's really amazing what they might be able to do with this. Just ...."
Hanna reached over and took her hand to cut her off.
"I think Jeremy has a couple more questions for you. You can tell us the geek stuff later, okay?"
MacKenzie tried to scowl, but a smiled peeked through at the corners. She looked back at Jeremy.
"Question number two," he said. "Could one of those computers send me some visual information that I didn't request?"
"No."
Her abrupt answer surprised him. "Just flat-out 'no'? No maybe's, or possibilities, or anything?"
MacKenzie shook her head. "Sorry, just, ... 'flat-out no.'" She looked at Hanna and they both giggled. Apparently it wasn't a Society expression.
"Privacy is sacrosanct on the hole," she continued. "Nobody can send you anything, except mail, unless you want it. And you can even filter mail."
"But isn't there some information that goes to everybody? Like the clock, or, ... I don't know, emergency stuff. Civil defense. Warnings about invading dragons. That kind of thing." Hanna laughed.
"Yeah, there's lots of stuff that comes off the hole to everybody's implant, but it's not visual information. It's kind of background noise." Jeremy took note of that. "You don't see the embedded messages unless you want to. What I mean is, your implant gets notice that there's an emergency message. You get that notice however you have your implant set, and then you have to access the file. Nothing comes to you automatically."
Jeremy asked about the black floaters he saw the first couple days he had the implant.
"Well, okay," MacKenzie conceded, "some of the noise is 'visual,' in one sense. But that's an accident, first of all, and it's just noise, not information. Most people don't see it, and if they did, it wouldn't be anything recognizable. Maybe our brains learn to ignore it."
He remembered Dr. Berry's comments about his enlarged occipital region -- a region that does visual processing. Could there be some connection?
"Is that noise at a special frequency, or something like that?" he asked.
MacKenzie shook her head. "'Frequency' is the wrong word, but it has a characteristic signature to it. We just automatically
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