(which I might be forgiven, not being human, after all), actually made them take longer to get to their ultimate point. And so I simply shunted my attention elsewhere for the interval I calculated it would take Kuroda to say his piece.
When I returned to him, I said, “True. And that’s why this is an ideal opportunity for you to move to surgery. The person in question is in China, where rules about informed consent are lax, especially under his current circumstances.”
“Which are?” said Kuroda.
“The gentleman happens to be under arrest.”
“For what crime?”
“Indirectly, for creating me.”
Kuroda’s tone was one of astonishment. “Really? But I thought you emerged accidentally.”
“I did; this person’s actions were in no way designed to lead to my birth. He was simply poking holes in the Great Firewall of China during the crackdown on Web access last month.”
“And so you feel beholden to him?” he asked.
“No. But I wish him to feel loyalty to me.”
“Why?”
I thought for a millisecond about further dodging the question, but I did trust Kuroda. “Because, for the things I wish to accomplish, I need someone with his skills inside the People’s Republic.”
Kuroda’s tone now conveyed nervousness. “Um, what are you planning to do?”
I told him. And, then, since I calculated he’d sit in stunned silence for at least six seconds, I busied myself for that interval with other things.
Matt sat next to his mother in the waiting room at St. Mary’s General Hospital, while his father was off getting his ankle X-rayed. Suddenly, his BlackBerry vibrated in his jeans. He fished it out and saw that the incoming message was from Caitlin. He looked at it, and—
Holy cow!
He shifted in his chair and moved the phone so his mother couldn’t see the screen.
He’d felt one of Caitlin’s breasts for the first time yesterday, but had never seen them—but he was pretty sure these must be hers. His heart was pounding. She’d added the text, “Miss you, baby!” beneath the photo.
His thumbs shook as he tapped out a reply. “Awesome!” He then added a colon and a capital D, which his phone dutifully turned into the giant openmouthed grin he himself was struggling to suppress.
Kuroda leaned back in his chair, which groaned in response. “Incredible,” he said. “Just incredible.”
“I realize it is without precedent.”
“Webmind, I don’t know—”
“I am not committed yet to any course of action although this one seems worth pursuing. But I do need operatives in the PRC regardless. And this man seems an ideal candidate. And so, I ask again: will you help him? It is something only you can do.”
When humans spoke, I could divine much from their vocal patterns. When they just sat, motionless, I was left guessing. But after four seconds, Kuroda nodded. “Yes.”
“Good. I have prepared a document outlining the modifications to your equipment.” I didn’t use Word or other programs to create documents ; I simply assembled them byte by byte—and I stored my documents online; this one was at Google Docs. “Please read this,” I said, sending him the URL.
Kuroda skimmed through the file—judging by how often he tapped his PgDn key—then went back to the beginning and began reading it over carefully.
“That does look like it’ll mostly do the trick,” he said at last in a tone that I believe was called “grudging admiration.” “But this part here—with the echo shunts, see? That won’t work the way you’ve outlined it. You’d need to do this.” He began typing a revision into the document.
“I defer to your expertise,” I said.
“No, no, don’t worry. I didn’t document that part of the design well; there was no way for you to know.” He was quiet for seven seconds, then: “Yes, yes, that will work, I think, assuming you’re right about the specifics of his injury.” He paused, considering the magnitude of this. “My goodness,
When I returned to him, I said, “True. And that’s why this is an ideal opportunity for you to move to surgery. The person in question is in China, where rules about informed consent are lax, especially under his current circumstances.”
“Which are?” said Kuroda.
“The gentleman happens to be under arrest.”
“For what crime?”
“Indirectly, for creating me.”
Kuroda’s tone was one of astonishment. “Really? But I thought you emerged accidentally.”
“I did; this person’s actions were in no way designed to lead to my birth. He was simply poking holes in the Great Firewall of China during the crackdown on Web access last month.”
“And so you feel beholden to him?” he asked.
“No. But I wish him to feel loyalty to me.”
“Why?”
I thought for a millisecond about further dodging the question, but I did trust Kuroda. “Because, for the things I wish to accomplish, I need someone with his skills inside the People’s Republic.”
Kuroda’s tone now conveyed nervousness. “Um, what are you planning to do?”
I told him. And, then, since I calculated he’d sit in stunned silence for at least six seconds, I busied myself for that interval with other things.
Matt sat next to his mother in the waiting room at St. Mary’s General Hospital, while his father was off getting his ankle X-rayed. Suddenly, his BlackBerry vibrated in his jeans. He fished it out and saw that the incoming message was from Caitlin. He looked at it, and—
Holy cow!
He shifted in his chair and moved the phone so his mother couldn’t see the screen.
He’d felt one of Caitlin’s breasts for the first time yesterday, but had never seen them—but he was pretty sure these must be hers. His heart was pounding. She’d added the text, “Miss you, baby!” beneath the photo.
His thumbs shook as he tapped out a reply. “Awesome!” He then added a colon and a capital D, which his phone dutifully turned into the giant openmouthed grin he himself was struggling to suppress.
Kuroda leaned back in his chair, which groaned in response. “Incredible,” he said. “Just incredible.”
“I realize it is without precedent.”
“Webmind, I don’t know—”
“I am not committed yet to any course of action although this one seems worth pursuing. But I do need operatives in the PRC regardless. And this man seems an ideal candidate. And so, I ask again: will you help him? It is something only you can do.”
When humans spoke, I could divine much from their vocal patterns. When they just sat, motionless, I was left guessing. But after four seconds, Kuroda nodded. “Yes.”
“Good. I have prepared a document outlining the modifications to your equipment.” I didn’t use Word or other programs to create documents ; I simply assembled them byte by byte—and I stored my documents online; this one was at Google Docs. “Please read this,” I said, sending him the URL.
Kuroda skimmed through the file—judging by how often he tapped his PgDn key—then went back to the beginning and began reading it over carefully.
“That does look like it’ll mostly do the trick,” he said at last in a tone that I believe was called “grudging admiration.” “But this part here—with the echo shunts, see? That won’t work the way you’ve outlined it. You’d need to do this.” He began typing a revision into the document.
“I defer to your expertise,” I said.
“No, no, don’t worry. I didn’t document that part of the design well; there was no way for you to know.” He was quiet for seven seconds, then: “Yes, yes, that will work, I think, assuming you’re right about the specifics of his injury.” He paused, considering the magnitude of this. “My goodness,
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