Girl Reading (38 page)

As brilliant as a detective, Cloud spots what is unusual about her and is intrigued enough to suspend her sunflower game, although hers is second-tallest already. Maribel is the only child not wearing i-specs.

Do you wear i-ris like an adult? (No need for preamble, just ask outright.) You were wearing specs earlier, I saw you.

Maribel pouts, hangs her head, shakes it briefly.

Are yours broke? Does Teacher know?

No, they’re fine. It’s just . . . Maribel’s voice trails off.

If they’re not broke, why aren’t you wearing ’em?

Maribel turns resolute. I just don’t like being in mesh all the time. It’s very boring, you know.

Cloud has never come across anyone her own age who thought
being in mesh was boring; on the contrary, children love being in mesh. You reckon? That’s a pity. I think it’s terrific. We’re playing a good program at the moment, growing flowers like
Jack and the Beanstalk.
They’re massive. Plus, I have a cat in mesh so I like DP because I get to play with her. (She checks: sim-kitty is crouched by the sim-penguin sniffing at it skeptically.) I love animals. I want to be a vet when I grow up. What do you want to be?

Maribel frowns at Cloud suspiciously.

Cloud sighs the way she does when a jar will not open. You must want to be something? At least have an idea? Don’t tell me you never thought about it before.

I’ve thought about it, I just don’t like telling people, that’s all, because I don’t like being made fun of.

I won’t make fun of you, cross my heart I won’t.

Heard that before. People say they won’t laugh, then they do. It’s upsetting.

Who likes to laugh at you?

Mean kids.

Cloud Yabuki-Varma, not a child who has had much experience of unpopularity or being the object of a joke, perseveres: If I make fun of you, you can make fun of me. You can say I would be a rubbish vet, that I would give cat medicine to a dog and I would mistake an iguana for a guinea pig.

Maribel thaws—it sounds like a fair swap—mumbles, I want to break world records.

Cloud opens her mouth, the image of amazement. This timid and rather sullen schoolgirl does not come across as an adventurer. What sorts of records?

Sailing records. Going around the world in the shortest time. Crossing oceans and winning races. That sort of thing. We’ve got a sailing boat, you see. Boats are friendly.

I never heard of a friendly boat before. What makes ’em friendly?

You wouldn’t understand.

I might! Try me.

Oh, just that they do whatever you tell them, and they’re reliable, and they can be peaceful, or you can get everything right and then they take you really fast over the water. And they have their own names and feelings.

What’s yours called?

Cormorant.

Fancy!
I never did meet someone who knew so much about boats. Do people get paid for it? For breaking world records?

Maribel replies uncertainly, Some do.

Cloud is thoroughly impressed. I can’t think why anyone would want to be mean about that, it sounds wonderful to me. You’ll be famous.

Maribel graces Cloud with her first smile of the day.

Cloud is determined to maximize her good work. Do you like our school?

It’s okay.

Do you miss your old one?

Not very, because—Maribel reddens—I never had a best friend there, so no one minded when I left.

I prefer good friends to best friends. Best friends can let you down but good friends are always good to you, no matter what, and you can have loads.

I didn’t have many good friends, either.

That is a shame. People are nicer here, you just have to get to know them.

Maribel withdraws again.

Hey, why don’t you come over and grow flowers, it’s really fun.

No thanks.

Go on. It’s not boring, I think you’ll like it when you’ve had a
go. You can make it rain on them and they
bong.
Cloud jumps and throws her arms open in a circle.

No, I shouldn’t.

Why not? Why don’t you want to, Maribel?

Thing is, I’m not allowed.

Course you are, everyone is.

I’m not. Mum says.

At last, Cloud understands. She has heard of parents who limit their children’s time in mesh, or forbid it completely. Cloud’s father has been known to take the mesh away for several days, as punishment, when she is very naughty. Evidently Maribel’s mother only permits it when necessary for lessons. When Cloud asks Maribel what she does for DP, Maribel has no answer, and without thinking about it, Cloud folds up her i-specs and pockets them. She plunges back into their conversation because there is no point in messing around. You know, I think my mummy is famous, but she never broke a world record that I know of.

You
think
she is? Aren’t you sure?

Cloud will not admit it outright. Dad says she is.

What is she famous for?

Well . . . Cloud hesitates, then says limply: She built something.

What did she build? A bridge, like we did today? Or a skyscraper?

No, nothing like that, because it’s mesh, but people think it’s quite good. It’s a machine of a lady.

What does it do?

That’s the question! What do it do? Cloud flattens her hands in a gesture of exaggerated ignorance. I dunno! She’s away, anyway, because she’s got to work on it—you know, she’s got to.

Have you seen it?

Loads of times. She let me try it once, just for a teeny bit. Only adults can use it, you see.

Maribel raises her eyebrows, her turn to be impressed. What happened? Did it hurt?

Cloud twists her mouth while she thinks how to describe it. No, it doesn’t hurt much. (Truthfully it did not hurt in the slightest, but somehow it is expected that Cloud should appear heroic for having had a go with Mummy’s invention.) Well, the lady moves, you see, and then looks in her book and then you can see stuff. But it isn’t exactly like the mesh, although it
is
like it. And I saw . . . a girl, an orphan who was very nice and pretty and lived in olden times, except I think she was sad about something. And she had to do a sort of modeling job.

Maribel replies it sounds good, though it doesn’t really, she just wants to make a friend out of Cloud. What does your dad do?

He’s a shrink.

What’s a shrink, then?

Cloud repeats her emphatic gesture. I dunno, but he isn’t very good because he has to practice every day.

Maribel sniffs and wipes her nose with her sleeve. Um, what shall we do now?

Cloud suggests they make up their own game for DP, one that involves Maribel showing her how to sail a pretend boat and Cloud showing Maribel how to perform lifesaving operations on pretend mice, using extremely small pretend surgical knives.

Director Fernand’s violet i-ris twinkle. He is the kind of man who does not make many changes to his mesh appearance. His skin tone is accurate though more even so, his jaw only slightly improved. His real-world clothes are bespoke, so he can afford to let them show through. The room is filled with experts, dignitaries, celebrities from the international community. Some to see and some to be seen. A disorientating array of body shapes, manipulated
facial features, and fashion statements. A supermodel, a superhero, a hypnotist, an invisible man. Decorated masks, skin adornment, hairstyles like architecture. A woman holds a baby dragon in her arms. A minotaur sips espresso. A vampire converses with a 1940s film star; they conclude their point about monetary policy as the speaker raises his hand and the applause dies down.

Colleagues, guests, representatives of the press, welcome to the European Museum of Art. I must start by thanking you for being patient because the journey behind us has indeed been long, and there is a long way left to go. I am extremely grateful that you are here to share this special event with us, in person, in mesh or on-screen, and I promise you will remember today because what you will see is truly extraordinary. This is a unique project, one of a kind. We hope to inform you, we hope to enthrall you, and we look forward to exploring the future
and the past
together with you, our partners and friends. I will not keep you waiting any longer, so please join me in welcoming the head of the Sibil project, and its creator, Sincerity Yabuki.

There is a stronger surge of applause as people scan the hall to see who Sincerity Yabuki is. The fabrics of several garments flux into new designs, colors running like liquid. A lady with green hair and fairy wings flutters these expectantly. A snake necklace worn by another guest comes to life, slithers down its owner’s torso, rearranges itself as a belt. The clapping stretches out artificially for several seconds until, finally, a woman who is slim and conservative in persona appears on the stage, smiles, waves shyly, her gold i-ris sparkling, shakes hands with Director Fernand, who, acting the part of gracious host, invites her to sit with him.

Sincerity, you and I have known each other for some time now. I have said it before but I would like to say it again, publicly, that the Sibil is a remarkable achievement, and this museum is the envy
of galleries and spaces around the world because you have made your home here with us.

Sincerity speaks steadily, taking a breath at each pause: You are being kind, Fernand. It is a great honor for me to work in this beautiful and prestigious building, which so captured my imagination when I was a little girl even before I saw it in mesh. It gives me deep satisfaction that my project will continue to be hosted by the European Museum, and that the museum will be a guardian of its development. Sibil will be the catalyst for a new era in the study of art. Through Sibil, we will rediscover aspects of our culture, and nature, that progress has made us forget. What better place for her to be than here?

More avatars appear in the gallery, some in formal eveningwear.

Take us back to the beginning. How did it all start?

Sincerity tilts her head as though remembering what happened a lifetime ago. I was an undergraduate. I was a young engineer experimenting with mesh programming, to see what it could do and what its limitations were. The mesh is data—vast, complex, magnificent, vibrating, infinite data—that we have put there. We fill it with our knowledge and numbers and theories, our visuals, our music, and our beliefs. The problem is one of orderliness: organizing it, searching it, teasing out what is relevant. And being in mesh as frequently as we are now, we have become liable to synchronistic accidents, open to little acts of serendipity. So it was when I came across a premesh photo of a young woman in a bar, made by an amateur artist. In many ways it was not an unusual image, except that I was rather taken with it, with the product of the union between these two people, artist and sitter. What I wanted, back then, was to know and to experience this particular artwork—or any artwork that touched me, for that matter, be it a painting, sculpture, or photograph. I think it is important to emphasize that I wanted to know about it, really to understand it, on an aesthetic level and on a human level;
in a sense, to get close to it. Who was this person? Why was she in the bar? Where was this location? What turn of events brought her there? How did she know the photographer? Were they strangers, or were they intimate? That was my objective, but also a lot of my work around this time was unconscious, I suppose. As I said, I was experimenting and had nothing to lose. So on the one hand we have a work of art, an object of great beauty and curiosity, a historical artifact with a story to tell; on the other hand we have chaotic data, all the resources and capabilities in mesh . . . (there is a blip: Sincerity’s voice sinks to nothing, her persona wobbles, then the link is restored) . . . the information is already there, captured in the image; the picture, the object d’art, has the potential to tell us everything about it, we just need to unlock it.

You were trying out different mesh programming?

Yes, different coding, various mathematical equations. Some of it was ordinary and familiar, some of it was guesswork, or following my intuition. I had a few hunches, did many trials. Of course, nearly all were unsuccessful, though some turned up interesting results, interesting enough for me to carry on.

Did you have an expectation of what a working prototype might be like? Were you aiming for a particular format?

Oh yes. I had this old photograph, and what I expected to make from it was a profile, a collection of facts and dates and names about the picture; or alternatively, perhaps a referencing system that would point you to potential research pathways, something you would pick up and explore manually, following your areas of interest. I was aiming for something fairly low-tech.

And what did you actually find? What did you
see
and what did you
hear
?

Sincerity Yabuki pauses. She closes her eyes and opens them again before she answers, gold invisible, then returning. There were people and voices. There were environments and events. The photo
came to life, as it were; it started to reveal its story—
a
story, at any rate. The history of the picture was shown to me as if it had always been there, waiting to be discovered. It appeared in fragments and glimpses, at first. There were echoes of conversations between these people, hints as to their relationships and tribulations. It was like I was alone in a theater, and the ghosts were putting on a play just for me.

Sibil makes mesh content?

In a manner of speaking.

Without the need for writers or engineers or anyone to input any mesh coding?

Sibil makes you experience, in mesh, real or fictionalized aspects of what is already there embedded within a real-world object. The artwork is the starting point; from that, it weaves an extended portrait of sorts, showing us this art piece in a new way.

Fernand brings a finger over his smile. It sounds incredible when you say it.

It is.

Is it a tool or a toy?

You mean, can we rely on what Sibil shows us as being factual material, or is it just for entertainment? (Sincerity shrugs emphatically.)