The Circle

installed
     in every room and would be programmed to know what was within the normal boundaries,
     and what was anomalous. Something anomalous happens, the alarm goes off, and ideally
     the alarm alone stops or slows whatever’s happening in the room. Meanwhile, the authorities
     have been notified. You could hook it up so neighbors would be alerted, too, given
     they’d be the closest and most likely to be able to step in immediately and help.”
    “Okay. I get it,” Stenton said. “Let’s move on.” Stenton meant
move on to the next presenter
, but Finnegan, showing admirable resolve, continued.
    “Of course, if you combine all these technologies, you’re able to quickly ensure behavioral
     norms in any context. Think of prisons and schools. I mean, I went to a high school
     with four thousand students,and only twenty kids were troublemakers. I could imagine if teachers were wearing
     retinals, and could see the red-coded students from a mile away—I mean, that would
     eliminate most trouble. And then the sensors would pinpoint any antisocial behavior.”
    Now Stenton was leaning back in his chair, his thumbs in his belt loops. He’d relaxed
     again. “It occurs to me that so much crime and trouble is committed because we have
     too much to track, right? Too many places, too many people. If we can concentrate
     more on isolating the outliers, and being able to better tag them and follow them,
     then we save endless amounts of time and distraction.”
    “Exactly sir,” Finnegan said.
    Stenton softened, and, looking down at his tablet, seemed to be seeing what Mae was
     seeing on her wrist: Finnegan, and her program, were immensely popular. The dominant
     messages were coming from victims of various crimes: women and children who had been
     abused in their homes, saying the obvious:
If only this had been around ten years ago, fifteen years ago. At least
, they all said in one way or another,
this kind of thing will never happen again
.
    When Mae returned to her desk, there was a note, on paper, from Annie. “Can you see
     me? Just text ‘now’ when you can, and I’ll meet you in the bathroom.”
    Ten minutes later Mae was sitting in her usual stall, and heard Annie enter the one
     next door. Mae was relieved that Annie had reached out to her, thrilled at having
     her so close again. Mae could right all wrongs now, and was determined to do so.
    “Are we alone?” Annie asked.
    “Audio’s off for three minutes. What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing. It’s just this PastPerfect thing. They’re starting to dole out the results
     to me, and it’s already pretty disturbing. And tomorrow it goes public, and I’m assuming
     it’ll get even worse.”
    “Wait. What did they find? I thought they were starting in the Middle Ages or something.”
    “They are. But even then, it’s like both sides of my family are these blackhearted
     people. I mean, I didn’t even know the British
had
Irish slaves, did you?”
    “No. I don’t think so. You mean, white Irish slaves?”
    “Thousands of them. My ancestors were the ringleaders or something. They raided Ireland,
     brought back slaves, sold them all over the world. It’s so fucked up.”
    “Annie—”
    “I mean, I know they’re sure about this because it’s cross-referenced a few thousand
     ways, but do I look like a descendent of slave owners?”
    “Annie, give yourself a break. Something that happened six hundred years ago has nothing
     to do with you. Everyone’s bloodline has rough patches, I’m sure. You can’t take it
     personally.”
    “Sure, but at the very least it’s embarrassing, right? It means that it’s part of
     me, at least to everyone I know. To the next people I see, this’ll be part of me.
     They’ll be seeing me, and talking to me, but this will be part of me, too. It’s mapped
     this new layer onto me, and I don’t feel like that’s fair. It’s like if I knew your
     dad was a former Klansman—”
    “You’re completely overthinking it. No one, I mean no one, will look at you funny
     because some ancient ancestor of yours had slavesfrom Ireland. I mean, it’s so insane, and so distant, that no one will possibly connect
     you to it. You know how people are. No one can remember anything like that anyway.
     And to hold you responsible? No chance.”
    “And they killed a bunch of these slaves, too. There’s some story about a rebellion,
     and that some relative of mine led some mass slaughter of a thousand men and women