text: Wong Wai-Jeng sometimes wondered if he'd been a fool when he'd chosen his blogging name. After all, few who weren't paleontologists or anthropologists would know the term Sinanthropus, the original genus for Peking Man before it was consolidated into Homo erectus. Surely if the authorities ever wanted to track him down, they'd take his alias as a clue.
  
  Actually, he wasn't a scientist, but he did work in IT for the Institute of Vertebrate Paleontology and Paleoanthropology, near the Beijing Zoo. It was the perfect job for him, combining his love of computers and his love of the past. He wasn't crazy enough to post anything seditious from the PCs here at work, but he did sometimes use the browser on his cell phone to check his secret email accounts.
  
  As always, he was taking his break in the dinosaur gallery; public displays filled the first three floors of the seven-story IVPP building. He liked to sit on a bench over by the giant, bipedal mount of Tsintaosaurus—ever since he was a little boy, his favorite duckbill—but a noisy group of school kids was looking at it now. Still, he stared for a moment at the great beast, whose head stuck up through the opening; the second-floor gallery was a series of four connected balconies looking down on this floor.
  
  Wai-Jeng walked toward the opposite end of the gallery, passing the Tyrannosaurus rex and the great sauropod Mamenchisaurus, whose neck also stretched up through the big opening so that the tiny skull at its end could look at visitors on the second floor. A little farther along, half-hidden in a nook behind the metal staircase, were the feathered dinosaur fossils that had caused such a stir recently, including Microraptor gui, Caudipteryx, and Confusciusornis.
  
  He leaned against the red-painted wall and peered at the tiny display on his cell phone. There were three new messages. Two were from other hackers, talking about ways they'd tried to break through the Great Firewall. And the third—
  
  His heart stopped for a second. He looked around, making sure no one was nearby. The school kids had moved over to stand in front of the mount of the allosaur vanquishing a stegosaur, which was set on a bed of artificial grass.
  
  My cousin lived in Shanxi, the message said. The outbreak was bird flu, and people died, but not just from the disease. There was no natural eruption of gas. Rather …
  
  "There you are!"
  
  Wai-Jeng looked up, momentarily terrified. But it was just his boss, wrinkly old Dr. Feng, coming down the staircase, holding on to the tubular metal banister for support. Wai-Jeng quickly shut off his phone and slipped it into the pocket of his black denim jeans. "Yes, sir?"
  
  "I need your help," the old man said. "I can't get a file to print."
  
  Wai-Jeng swallowed, trying to calm himself. "Sure," he said.
  
  Feng shook his head. "Computers! Nothing but trouble, eh?"
  
  "Yes, sir," said Wai-Jeng, following him up the stairs.
  
  Caitlin spent another hour answering questions from Dr. Kuroda and Anna Bloom. They finally hung up, though, and her parents headed downstairs. This time, she did hear her father turn off the light (something her mother could never bring herself to do), then she slowly moved over to her bed and lay down. She spent another hour darting her eyes left and right, and turning her head from side to side. Sometimes she would follow what she guessed was a web spider, quickly traversing link after link as it indexed the Web—the sensation was like riding a roller coaster. Other times, she just gaped.
  
  Of course, without labels, she wasn't sure which websites she was seeing, but if she relaxed her eyes, her mental picture always centered on the same spot, presumably Dr. Kuroda's site in Japan. She wished she could find other specific sites: she'd love to know that that circle there, say, represented the site she'd created years ago to track statistics for the Dallas Stars hockey team, and that this one was the site she'd just started in July for stats about the Toronto Maple Leafs, now her local team (even if they weren't nearly as good as her beloved Stars).
  
  She guessed that the size and brightness of circles represented the amount of traffic a site was getting; some were almost too bright to look at. But as to how the links, which showed as perfectly straight lines, were color-coded, she had no idea.
  
  She let her gaze—how she loved that concept!—wander, following link after link. The skill Dr. Kuroda had noted was clearly coming into play: she could follow these unlabeled paths from one node to the next, skipping like she'd heard stones could across water, and then effortlessly retrace her steps.
  
  "Sweetheart." Her mom's voice, soft, gentle, coming from the direction of the hall.
  
  Caitlin rolled over, facing the door instead of the wall— and she was momentarily lost as her perspective on … on webspace changed. "Hi, Mom."
  
  She didn't hear her mother turn on the light—although some illumination was doubtless spilling in through the open door. Nor did she hear her crossing the carpeted floor but, after a moment, the bed compressed on one side as her mother sat on it, next to her. She felt a hand stroking her hair.
  
  "It's been a big day, hasn't it?"
  
  "It's not what I expected," Caitlin replied softly.
  
  "Me, neither," her mom said. The bed moved a bit; perhaps her mother was shrugging. "I have to say, I'm a bit frightened."
  
  "Why?"
  
  "Once an economist, always an economist," she said. "Everything has a cost." She tried to make her tone sound light. "The connection you're using may be wireless, but that doesn't mean there are no strings attached."
  
  "Like what?"
  
  "Who knows? But Dr. Kuroda will want something, or his bosses will. Either way, this is going to change your life."
  
  Caitlin was about to object that moving here from Texas had changed her life, that starting a new school had changed her life, that—hell!—getting breasts had changed her life, but her mother beat her to it. "I know you've gone through a lot of upheaval lately," she said gently. "And I know how hard it's been. But I've got a feeling all that's going to pale in comparison to what's to come. Even if you never get to see the real world—and God, my angel, I hope you do!—there's still going to be media attention, and all sorts of people wanting to study you. I mean, there were maybe five people in the entire world who were interested in Tomasevic's syndrome— but this! Seeing the Web!" She paused; maybe she shook her head. "That's going to be front-page news when it gets out. And there will be hundreds—thousands!—of people who'll want to talk with you about it."
  
  Caitlin thought that might be cool, but, yeah, she guessed it also could be overwhelming. She was used to the World Wide Web, where everybody is famous … to fifteen people.
  
  "Don't tell anyone at school about seeing the Web, okay?" her mother said. "Not even Bashira."
  
  "But everybody's going to ask what happened in Japan," Caitlin said. "They know I went for an operation."
  
  "What did you tell your classmates back in Austin when all the other things we'd tried had failed?"
  
  "Just that: that they'd failed."
  
  "That's what you should say this time. It's the truth, after all: you still can't see the real world."
  
  Caitlin considered this. She certainly didn't want to become a freak show, or have people she didn't know pestering her.
  
  "And no blogging about seeing the Web, either, okay?"
  
  "Okay."
  
  "Good. Let's just hold on to things being normal for as long as we can." A pause. "Speaking of which, it's way after midnight. And you've got a math test tomorrow, don't you? Now, I know you, being you, don't have to study for math tests to get a hundred percent—unless you don't show up, that is, in which case you can pretty much count on zero. So maybe it's time to go to sleep."
  
  "But—"
  
  "You've already missed a lot of school, you know." She felt her mom patting her shoulder. "You should turn off the eyePod and go to bed."
  
  Caitlin's heart started pounding and she sat up on the bed. Cut off the Jagster datastream? Become blind again? "Mom, I can't do that."
  
  "Sweetheart, I know seeing is new for you, but people actually do shut off their vision each night when they go to bed—by turning off the lights and closing their eyes. Well, now that you're seeing, in a way, you should do that, too. Go do your bathroom things, then—lights out."