And yet the Every lawyers still wouldn’t authorize its release. Using it as evidence would be tricky for the district attorney, that much was known. But releasing in-home audio to the public was counter to the HereMe’s consent agreement, and had no precedent, they said, in the Every’s history.

  But what about social media? Rhea asked. Postings and photos and video have been admissable for years, she insisted.

  Those are posted, the attorneys said. They are voluntarily self-published, they said. Or those people are caught, in public, in the committal of a crime. At home, in the privacy thereof, it’s different, they said. It’s different when the evidence is accumulated without consent.

  Of course the HereMe minds went to the obvious solution—alerting HereMe’s terms of consent—and yet the attorneys again were obstructive. In buying a product manufactured by a private company, you cannot consent to the breach of your rights—not in terms of the judicial branch at least. Our terms of consent don’t alter the law, they said.

  And that was the end of Rhea’s patience. She did what she felt she had to do, and what had been the way of things for three decades now, and would be the way of things forever more. She leaked the video, with all identifying characteristics intact but the Every’s participation opaque. The video was a sensation, viewed a hundred million times in a week. She authorized more; they made one each day, and pushed them out through a variety of cloaked accounts.

  Each video began with an exterior shot of the home—this was easy to find, given the Every had photographed every American home, from satellites and the street, multiple times. The audio caught by HereMe then began, with the transcribed words scrolling over the home in white type. When a given speaker began talking, his or her face appeared and could be identified in seconds. When offending words were spoken, when the conversation escalated and tensions rose, the POV switched to the police dispatcher, who, alerted by the AI, began listening. Squad cars were sent, and the POV switched to their car- and bodycams, and the view from the local surveillance blimps (most self-respecting cities had blimps). The slam of car doors, the rush to the front porch. Now the video had both perspectives—the audio in the home and the video outside. They were merged into a tense and cinematic cross-cutting confrontation, ending with the arrival of Social Services, the saving of the child or children, the arrests of fathers or uncles—in one case a grandmother—and finally a coda enumerating charges and court hearings pending.

  The clips were hugely popular; the most dramatic of the first batch was the most-watched video for eight days, amassing 420 million views. The father in that particular instance was caught screaming threats and obscenities at his eight-year-old twins, was arrested and kept in jail for seven days before being released on $500,000 bond. The district attorney, though, had no evidence to go on beyond the vague threats and loud voices in the HereMe audio. It was not against the law—not yet—to yell inside the home. The twins had not yet been abused, it was determined.

  Still, a new kind of justice was done. What the letter of the law could not or would not do, the public would. The father was fired from his job on the following Monday. On Tuesday, the mother—who public opinion determined was complicit—was fired from hers. The nation seemed satisfied, and while the legality of HereMe, SaveMe was being worked out, the program proceeded at an urgent pace.

  Partner police departments were identified—eighty-eight of them in cities large and small, with some sorting for those with higher-than-average instance of domestic violence and child abuse. The departments were given link-ups to HereMes in their towns, and the program triggered hundreds of police visits. In some cases, the AI was hearing voices from television, music, video games and even audio-books, and this provided much helpful information for HereMe’s programmers.

  It was not perfect, no, but the AI was still learning, and of the six hundred and nine visits that first month, fully eleven of them yielded actionable results. In three cases, siblings were fighting and those were settled after the children had spent a month or so in foster care. In two cases, parents and children were rehearsing plays, and these situations were explained after single nights in jail and effective lawyering. The key takeaway, though, was that in six instances, real trouble was likely prevented. “I’m gonna kill you!” was heard in three cases; “You’re getting a beating” was recorded in two. The crack of a belt was correctly ascertained in one.

  From the public, Delaney expected a deluge of resistance. There was something off-limits, she was sure, about the home—something far beyond the reading of emails, or the surveillance on the street, or the presence of cameras in taxis and subways and libraries and stairwells and schools and restaurants and bakeries and offices and government buildings and groceries and corner stores and boutiques and candy shops and movie theaters and the DMV and art galleries and museums and hospitals and retirement homes and boat-supply retailers and off-track betting centers and chiropractic practices and hotels and motels and vape shops and public bathrooms.

  The home, though, was different. She expected a hundred million people a day to do what she’d done at her old place with Wes—she expected a mass tossing-out of the HereMes in one global show of disgust.

  But this did not happen. Instead, people saw the wisdom in it. They saw the gains in safety and security. They wanted to show their virtue by demonstrating it, all day and night, to the AI listeners.

  People grew quieter at home. They were more careful with their words. They did not yell at their spouses or children. They did not threaten. Sex became quieter, laughter more cautious. Those who shrieked when they laughed or sneezed or came found a way to suppress their noisemaking. The happy screams of children confused the AI for a long while, and brought authorities to a few million homes before the machines learned. By then, children knew to be quieter—or, better yet, just quiet.

  And only the most lunatic and criminal attempted abuse. The world grew safer for all humans in weeks, and would grow exponentially safer in the years to come. Just as the insertion of microchips into children had eliminated all but a few child abductions, the universal adoption of HereMes would guarantee the safety of children wherever they were required. Which was everywhere.

  It would begin with private companies. They would require their employees with children to install and keep HereMes awake in the home. Churches would follow suit, then private schools. Homeowners’ associations would have no choice but to require them, too, then co-op boards and landlords. Then hotels, motels and vacation rentals. Outside the obvious issues of child safety, it was a liability matter, too. Towns and states, and finally nations, would find ways to make them mandatory, and after some desultory legal opposition, they would become ubiquitous and beloved in most every corner of the globe, giving humanity a new sense of control and safety, and all this would be vastly improved—and the human race far closer to perfection—when HereMe added video, and this became law, too.

  XXXV.

  IT WAS SUNDAY NIGHT and Francis was gloating. In the kitchen he boxed, his feet dancing around the firepit, his little fists jabbing. Delaney’s next rotation was at PrefCom, and Francis couldn’t wait; he’d already begun a kind of preliminary onboarding in the Havel. After the catastrophe of the unhoused humans, he’d been subdued, even cowed, but now he seemed on the verge of a comeback.

  “I know you’ve signed an NDA,” he said, “but it’s still a big deal you’re going to see what you’ll see. And you have me to thank for that.” Realizing that might not sound Everypropriate, he amended. “I mean, we should both be grateful for the opportunity.”

  Delaney had watched HereMe proliferate like a plague. Rhea and Karina were apostles of a world message of peace-through-surveillance. No one objected. And anyone who was tempted to object was quickly cowed into silence: fighting for unseen and unheard homes was fighting for spouse abusers, child molesters, terror-planners. Every week brought some story of a plot thwarted, an adolescent saved from harm. And more than being shy about being on camera in their homes, the vast majority of people welcomed it, and were tickled when AI monitors identified funny or adorable things they are or their children or pets did in the home, and then broadcast, automatically—it was so convenient—these funny and adorable moments to the world without their knowledge or permission.

  Delaney said nothing, numbed to the unintended consequences of every goddamned thing she and Wes had proposed. The travel industry was flattened by Stop+Lük, and its now-unemployed millions were apoplectic. A cruise ship even sailed by Treasure Island, its skeletal staff mooning and middle-fingering the Every campus in pitiful defiance. The ship was otherwise empty. No one was going anywhere.

  And no one was eating bananas. Or pineapples, or any fruit or good that had heretofore traveled more than a few hundred miles. Angry entreaties from the Papaya Industry Association—a real thing—had no effect. Millions more became unemployed with every new thing the Every canceled, but there was always work in the Every warehouses, where humans were invited to work beside robot package-pickers and while monitored by AI, and be paid a fair minimum wage for it. It was an orderly system.

  Delaney wanted to scream and rage and plan more urgently, but Wes was nowhere to be found. Or rather, he was easily found, because he’d moved onto campus. But he’d become busier every day, what with having been elevated to the Gang of 40, a development Delaney saw as a key way they might probe the company for soft spots. But she couldn’t reach him. Her most innocuous texts—I thank you—had gone unanswered. She expected a simple I love you, for no one could object to that, or wonder about it, but she got nothing. One day he hinted in the most cryptic of texts—Big things afoot. So interesting. Catch up later—that he was unavailable for the sharing of new ideas of silly-subterfuge. And so she waited, and continued the rotations, which led her to this one, at PrefCom.

  “AYS is great, of course,” Francis said, and did a very sad kung-fu kick in the direction of the fridge, “but PrefCom has teeth. PrefCom has power. You step outside your prefs, you feel it. But I’ve already said too much. The rest is need-to-know.”

  Delaney knew that the department had grown more furtive in recent months—that there were new plans afoot. It was no secret that they’d added a few hundred staff, and were absorbing much of the Every’s advertising and financial operations.

  “The growth is astronomical,” Francis said. “You’ll see. Some of it at least.” He pretended to chop the counter with a weak fist. “I’m not the one who you’ll be working with, though. It’ll probably be Ladarious or Allyson, but I don’t know. I’ll walk you in, though. That’ll be cool. Take your roomie to work day!” he said, and threw a punch.

  But Monday morning, after madding and dressing, with Francis at the door—at the opening where the door used to be—Delaney received an audio message from Gabriel Chu. “Hello Delaney, this is Gabriel Chu. I’m hoping you can meet me at the Aviary at 8:40 this morning. I’ve checked with your OwnSelf and cleared all obstacles. You can visit PrefCom another time. See you soon.”

  Delaney searched her mind for the Aviary. Oh god, she thought. It was the top floor of Algo Mas, the observatory from which a dozen or so Everyones had leapt to their deaths. It had been closed as long as she’d been at the Every.

  Delaney checked the clock. It was 8:28. She told Francis her visit to PrefCom would be delayed, and she thundered down the steps to the Daisy. She needed Joan, and texted her, hoping she would be at the AYS office. Working out. See you soon! was Joan’s auto-reply. Gabriel’s message had been cryptic, almost aggressive. He left no room for debate or alteration of the plan. Delaney stood in the shadows before the Daisy, pondering her options. Pretend she hadn’t gotten the message? Impossible—he’d have already received confirmation that his message had been heard. A surge of protest welled within her. What authority did he have to summon her like this? Did she have to go? What if she just didn’t respond, didn’t come running?

  Across the Daisy, she saw someone who looked like Wes—he had Wes’s bowlegged cattle-rustling swagger—walking across the grass. But this person was dressed like a male figure skater. He was wearing a form-fitting lycra wrapper with pastel swooshes of color, a sort of marzipan camouflage. She stared, then checked her phone, tapped for Wes’s location and realized it was him. He was surrounded by Everypersons, like Socrates leading a peripatetic lesson, and he seemed very happy, positively aglow.

  It was 8:40:54 when she arrived at Algo Mas. She’d decided she had to at least show up. She didn’t have to go to the roof. She’d see Gabriel and assess from there. And what was she worried about? That he was secretly throwing people off the observatory? She wasn’t sleeping enough. Her mind was disintegrating.

  “There you are!” It was Kiki. She’d appeared out of thin air—and had no reason to be there. Delaney didn’t need her help finding the building, and this wasn’t a rotation.

  “I saw that you were coming here,” Kiki said in explanation, and tapped the screen on her arm. “Do you have a meeting inside? Maybe in the Aviary? I don’t have an appointment, but I’ve always wanted to see it. Maybe I go in with you?”

  Now Delaney saw that Kiki was wearing heels. And that her leggings were torn at the knees. And she had a sunhat in her hands, and in the sunhat were a collection of wildflowers and stones.

  “Kiki, are you okay?” Delaney asked.

  “So good!” Kiki said, altogether too loudly. “Shall we go?” She opened the door to Algo Mas and Delaney stepped in. Kiki rushed to the elevator bank and tapped every button she could. She planned to go up. “The Aviary!” she said. “The views are very dramatic up there. Where are you going? I can hit whatever floor you’re going to, and I’ll keep going up. It’s not a problem.”

  “I think you should rest,” Delaney said.

  “Rest? Yes! Later!” Kiki sang, and pushed the buttons again. “Do you have a meeting here? With Gabriel? Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask how you’re adjusting to life at the Every. It seems like you’re doing assiduously.” Her oval let out an affirming bell. “How are you sleeping?”

  “Kiki,” Delaney said, and reached for her hand.

  “Hey!” Kiki wailed and hid her hand from view. “Hands off, she’s mine. She’s mine to do what I wish. Crepuscular!” Her oval’s bell rang and Kiki smiled. “Magnanimity!” she yelled, and another bell rang.

  “Hello,” a man’s voice said. Delaney turned to find Gabriel Chu standing next to the elevator. He was wearing a dark-blue bodysuit, and with feet planted widely, he assessed the scene, his blade-like arms crossed before him. “Kiki, should you be here?” he asked.

  “I was bringing her,” Kiki said defensively, averting her eyes.

  “The Aviary’s closed,” Gabriel said calmly. “You know that, Kiki, and you know why.”

  “I know,” Kiki said. “I was just bringing her.” She looked at Delaney for a long moment, and Delaney realized she couldn’t recall her name. Finally Kiki looked at her screen. “Delaney,” she said.

  “That was very kind of you,” Gabriel said. “What are you carrying with you?” He approached her so he could get a better view.

  “Nothing,” Kiki said. “Just some rocks I picked. And flowers.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Again, the Aviary is closed.”

  “Nino’s fine,” Kiki said.

  “I’m sure he is,” Gabriel said.

  “He’s surrounded by love,” Kiki said.

  With his sculpted arm, Gabriel showed Kiki the door. “I trust you can show yourself out? I’m sure your day is full.”

  Kiki’s eyes were wild, her mouth moving, shaping possible responses. But finally she said nothing, and spun out of the lobby and into the sunlight.

  “Delaney,” Gabriel said, completely unperturbed. “Thank you for coming.” He looked at the lighted buttons on the elevator bank. “It doesn’t work. We’ve discontinued the elevator in the interest of encouraging exercise. Will you come with me?”

  Delaney followed Gabriel up the winding stairway, thinking of lighthouses and Kiki, and whatever Kiki planned to do once she got to the Aviary. Eight stories up, and Gabriel said little all the way. At one point he asked if Delaney was managing okay, and then corrected himself. “You’re the mountain climber,” he said. “This is nothing for someone with your background, I assume?”

  When they reached the top floor, Delaney expected to find an open-air observatory, but instead it was closed everywhere—the Aviary had become a dark room lit only by makeshift track lighting. In the center of the room, two cushioned chairs sat side by side, separated by a portable screen. The screen was translucent but rippled, allowing a kind of funhouse privacy.

  “Thank you for making this walk. This is one of the quietest places on campus, so I’ve sort of commandeered it. Can I ask for your cam?”

  Delaney took it off and handed it to him.

  “Please sit. Either chair,” he said.

  In the few steps she took to get to the nearest chair, she glanced around. She saw no cameras. Delaney’s heart hammered. Her mind cycled through possible outcomes. She found herself wanting the safety of being watched.

  He sat down on the second chair, and once he did, she could see only a blurry version of him. “Thank you for meeting me,” he said. “I’m going to turn your cam off. But we will be seen through Friendy. Have you used it?”

  “I have,” she said, trying not to seem guarded.

  “With your permission, we’ll begin, and as you know, Friendy will be assessing your truthfulness. Do you consent?”

  Delaney knew she couldn’t refuse. But she’d never been subjected to Friendy in its present form—far more powerful and accurate than she and Wes had ever envisioned.

  “That’s fine,” she said.

  “Okay, then we’ll begin now. Don’t be nervous,” Gabriel said. “You’re not in any trouble. Just the opposite, really.”