The Circle

and children. It’s so sick. I just—”
    “Annie. Annie. You’ve got to calm down. First of all, our time’s up. Audio’s going
     back up in a second. Secondly, you just cannot worry about this. These people were
     practically cavemen. Everyone’s cavemen ancestors were assholes.”
    Annie laughed, a loud snort.
    “Promise me you won’t worry?”
    “Sure.”
    “Annie. Don’t worry about this. Promise me.”
    “Okay.”
    “You promise?”
    “I promise. I’ll try not to.”
    “Okay. Time.”
    When the news of Annie’s ancestors went out the next day, Mae felt at least partially
     vindicated. There were some unproductive comments out there, sure, but for the most
     part the reaction was a collective shrug. No one cared much about how this connected
     to Annie, but there was new and possibly useful attention brought to the long-forgotten
     moment in history, when the British went to Ireland and left with human currency.
    Annie seemed to be taking it all in stride. Her zings were positive, and she recorded
     a brief announcement for her video feed, talking about the surprise in finding out
     this unfortunate role some distant part of her bloodline played in this grim historical
     moment. But then she tried to add some perspective and levity to it, and to ensure
     that this revelation wouldn’t dissuade others from exploring their personal history
     through PastPerfect. “Everyone’s ancestors were assholes,” she said, and Mae, watching
     the feed on her bracelet, laughed.
    But Mercer, true to form, was not laughing. Mae hadn’t heard from him in over a month,
     but then, in Friday’s mail (the only day the post office still operated), was a letter.
     She didn’t want to read it, because she knew it would be ornery, and accusatory and
     judgmental. But he’d already written a letter like that, hadn’t he? She opened it,
     guessing that he couldn’t possibly be worse than he’d been before.
    She was wrong. This time he couldn’t even bring himself to type the Dear before her
     name.
    Mae,
    I know I said I wouldn’t write again. But now that Annie’s on the verge of ruin, I
     hope that gives you some pause. Please tell her she should cease her participation
     in that experiment, which I assure you and her will end badly. We are not meant to
     know everything, Mae. Did you ever think that perhaps our minds are delicately calibrated
     between the known and the unknown? That our souls need the mysteries of night and
     the clarity of day? You people are creating a world of ever-presentdaylight, and I think it will burn us all alive. There will be no time to reflect,
     to sleep, to cool. Did it occur to you Circle people, ever, that we can only contain
     so much? Look at us. We’re tiny. Our heads are tiny, the size of melons. You want
     these heads of ours to contain everything the world has ever seen? It will not work.
    Mae’s wrist was popping.
    Why do you bother, Mae?
    I’m already bored
.
    You’re only feeding Sasquatch. Don’t feed Sasquatch!
    Her heart was already thumping, and she knew she shouldn’t read the rest. But she
     couldn’t stop.
    I happened to be at my parents’ house when you did your little idea meeting with the
     Digital Brownshirts. They insisted on watching it; they’re so proud of you, despite
     how horrifying that session was. Even so, I’m glad I watched that spectacle (just
     as I’m glad I watched
Triumph of the Will
). It gave me the last nudge I needed to take the step I’d been planning anyway.
    I’m moving north, to the densest and most uninteresting forest I can find. I know
     that your cameras are mapping out these areas as they have mapped the Amazon, Antarctica,
     the Sahara, etc. But at least I’ll have a head start. And when the cameras come, I’ll
     keep going north.
    Mae, I have to admit that you and yours have won. It’s pretty much over, and now I
     know that. But before that pitch session, I held out some hope that the madness was
     limited toyour own company, to the brainwashed thousands who work for you or the millions who
     worship around the golden calf that is the Circle. I held out hope that there were
     those who would rise up against you people. Or that a new generation would see all
     this as ludicrous, oppressive, utterly out of control.
    Mae checked her wrist. There were already four new Mercer-hating clubs online. Someone
     offered to erase his bank account.
Just say the word
, the message read.
    But now I know that even if