The Circle

every four years, but some semblance
     of them every year. To eliminate all costly elections, replaced by instantaneous ones,
     all of them nearly cost-free?
    This was the promise of the Circle. This was the unique position of the Circle. This
     is what people were zinging. She read the zings as she rode with Francis, in a train
     under the bay, the two of them grinning, out of their minds. They were being recognized.
     People were stepping in front of Mae to get onto her video feed, and she didn’t care,
     hardly noticed, because the news coming through her right bracelet was too good to
     take her eyes off.
    She checked her left arm, briefly; her pulse was elevated, her heart rate at 130.
     But she was loving it. When they arrived downtown, theytook the stairs three at a time and arrived above ground, suddenly lit in gold, on
     Market Street, the Bay Bridge blinking beyond.
    “Holy shit, it’s Mae!” Who had said that? Mae found, hurrying toward them, a teenaged
     pair, hoodies and headphones. “Rock on, Mae,” the other one said, their eyes approving,
     starstruck, before the two of them, clearly not wanting to seem stalky, hurried down
     the stairs.
    “That was fun,” Francis said, watching them descend.
    Mae walked toward the water. She thought of Mercer and saw him as a shadow, quickly
     disappearing. She hadn’t heard from him, or Annie, since the talk, and she didn’t
     care. Her parents hadn’t said a word, and might not have seen her performance, and
     she found herself unconcerned. She cared only about this moment, this night, the sky
     clear and starless.
    “I can’t believe how poised you were,” Francis said, and he kissed her—a dry, professional
     kiss on the lips.
    “Was I okay?” she asked, knowing how ridiculous it sounded, this kind of doubt in
     the wake of such an obvious success, but wanting once more to hear that she had done
     a good job.
    “You were perfect,” he said. “A 100.”
    Quickly, as they walked toward the water, she scrolled through the most popular recent
     comments. There seemed to be one particular zing with heat, something about how all
     this could or would lead to totalitarianism. Her stomach sank.
    “C’mon. You can’t listen to a lunatic like that,” Francis said. “What does she know?
     Some crank somewhere with a tin-foil hat.” Mae smiled, not knowing what the tin-foil
     hat reference meant, but knowing she’d heard her father say it, and it made her smile
     to think of him saying it.
    “Let’s get a libation,” Francis said, and they decided on a glittering brewery on
     the water fronted by a wide outdoor patio. Even as they approached, Mae saw recognition
     in the eyes of the array of pretty young people drinking outdoors.
    “It’s Mae!” one said.
    A young man, seeming too young to be drinking at all, aimed his face at Mae’s camera.
     “Hey mom, I’m home studying.” A woman of about thirty, who may or may not have been
     with the too young man, said, walking out of view, “Hey honey, I’m at a book club
     with the ladies. Say hi to the kids!”
    The night was dizzy and bright and went too fast. Mae barely moved at the bayside
     bar—she was surrounded, she was handed drinks, she was patted on the back, she was
     tapped on the shoulder. All night she pivoted, turning a few degrees, like a haywire
     clock, to greet each new well-wisher. Everyone wanted a picture with her, wanted to
     ask her when all this would happen. When would we break through all these unnecessary
     barriers? they asked. Now that the solution seemed clear and easy enough to execute,
     no one wanted to wait. A woman a bit older than Mae, slurring and holding a Manhattan,
     expressed it best, though unwittingly: How, she asked, spilling her drink but with
     eyes sharp, How do we get the inevitable sooner?
    Mae and Francis found themselves at a quieter place down the Embarcadero, where they
     ordered another round and found themselves joined by a man in his fifties. Uninvited,
     he sat down with them, holding a large drink in both hands. In seconds he’d told them
     he was once a divinity student, was living in Ohio and heading for the priesthood,
     when he discovered computers. He’d dropped it all and movedto Palo Alto, but had felt removed, for twenty years, he said, from the spiritual.
     Until now.
    “I saw your talk today,” he said. “You connected it all. You found a way to save all
     the souls. This is what we were doing in the church—we tried