XL.

WHEN SHE WOKE, Delaney found Kiki sitting on her bed, wearing a chartreuse robe. This was a new room, a pink room, a bright recovery room with a powder-blue couch and a row of cacti on the windowsill.

“I heard you were here,” Kiki said, and tapped Delaney’s knee with her tiny forefinger. “I’m here, too. Getting better, just like you.” She blinked cheerfully. “Don’t you love this color?” she ran her hands over the lapels of her robe. Delaney looked down and saw that she, too, was wearing a chartreuse robe. She tried to sit up.

“Let me help,” Kiki said, and pushed a button on the bed until Delaney was nearly at ninety degrees. For a moment, Delaney’s head throbbed like a dying star.

“I’ve been sleeping,” Kiki said. “Finally, yesterday I slept six hours. Restful sleep. You probably didn’t hear that the sleep metrics have been improved. Turns out that the previous measurements were off by 33 percent. So we all were sleeping less than we thought we were. And very little of it was Truly Restful Sleep—TRS. But now it’s been measured better. See?” She raised her fourth finger, which bore a thin white ring. “Let me see yours.”

Kiki reached for Delaney’s finger, which bore the same ring.

“Eight hours! Wow!” Kiki said. “Maybe I need to survive a bombing, too.” A ding came from her oval. “Just a joke,” she said to it and to Delaney. “Anyway, I do feel rested,” she said.

Delaney tried to find evidence of Kiki’s restfulness, but she still looked wan. Her face was puffy, her eyes red and trembling. Delaney looked beyond her, and in the pink hallway saw others in chartreuse robes, shuffling through.

“At first I was so bored here, and I missed Nino,” she said. “But I know they’re caring for him. I see him every day on FaceMe and he seems really happy.” Kiki looked out the window at the shimmering silver water. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes lost focus. Then she returned.

“I’m just glad I’m here and not someone they fished out of the Bay. I guess they were worried about me. The AI flagged my word choices and movements and …” She drifted off again. “But I wouldn’t even know how to even go about that. I mean, how does it work?”

“How does what work?” Delaney asked.

“Drowning. Like, how do you do it? What are the steps?”

Delaney desperately wanted to change the subject but Kiki was one step ahead of her. She turned to Delaney with a bright smile just short of insane.

“And I saw Gabriel Chu! He was so helpful. He explained everything. It turns out some of my goals were out of reach,” she said. “Which is funny, because one of my main OwnSelf goals was to set goals that were out of reach. Growth mindset, right?”

She stared at Delaney’s forehead for a disconcerting amount of time. She was lost again, and then returned.

“I failed, for sure,” Kiki said. “It took me a few days here to admit that. But failure’s good—we know that. It’s even better than grit. Gabriel said that. You’ve met Gabriel Chu?”

Delaney nodded.

“It turns out my OwnSelf settings were too loose,” she said. “I had all my goals in place, but gave myself too much leeway in meeting them. You know how I was always late in getting you places? You were probably like, ‘Why are we always late?’ That’s on me. I’d stop and FaceMe with Nino when I should have been just getting from one place to another. I was pursuing the right goals, Gabriel said, but just needed more structure.”

Delaney swallowed, coating her throat, determined to speak.

“Less freedom,” she managed.

“Exactly!” Kiki said. “If I want to meet my goals, I need to just be told how to achieve them—with far greater specificity and chronology. I’ve started that here in the Overlook, and I’ve gotten a lot better. The stress is gone, because all those decisions are gone. It used to be that I’d set a goal for 18,000 steps a day, but how I would go about getting there would be up to me. And even though OwnSelf was reminding me dozens of times a day about the goals, and where I was in meeting them, it became doubly stressful, with me trying to decide when and where and how to achieve them. So I’m on OwnSelf: Total—OST. Are you on OST?”

“No, but—” Delaney began.

“Oh you should!” Kiki said. “It’s the last step that gives all the other steps meaning. I finally can relax! Even now, see how relaxed I am?” Kiki appeared utterly wasted, hollow.

“You look wonderful,” Delaney said.

“Yesterday, when I found out you were up here, I set aside forty minutes to talk to you. OST figured right now would be the best time to find you awake and free, and coordinated with your auto-meds so you’d be awake. And here we are!”

“Miracle,” Delaney said. She wanted to spirit Kiki out of here with Nino, bring them to an island and nurse Kiki back to health. But how? What were the steps?

“When did the doctors say you could leave?” Delaney asked, her mouth still gluey.

“Doctors? They’re in the mix, sure, but the numbers will determine when.” She tapped her oval. “I’m serious about my recovery, Del—I’m not going to leave it up to some random doctor. And the nurses are worse!”

Delaney found no words.

“And you shouldn’t, either,” Kiki continued. “Get the data. You have to, actually. They don’t let people leave here unless the algos are right. That makes it error-proof.”

“Right,” Delaney said, and suddenly wondered if that were true, or just something Kiki misunderstood. Would an algorithm really determine when Delaney could leave?

“Listen, though,” Kiki said. “I didn’t come to just talk about me. Can I?” She shimmied her buttocks into Delaney’s bed. “I wanted us to watch the Stenton presentation together. Did anyone tell you about it?”

“Sorry, no,” Delaney said. “I think I’ve been asleep the better part of a month.”

“Well, I knew you’d want to see this,” Kiki said. “It’s all prompted by what happened to you and the people who died.” She got a ding on her oval. She read it and looked back to Delaney. “And I’m so sorry about Soren.”

Kiki was using Departy, Delaney realized. “Thank you,” she said.

“Can I?” Kiki said, and shimmied further. Delaney allowed her to place a tablet on her lap, and Kiki pulled up the frozen image of Stenton.

“This happened earlier this morning,” Kiki noted, and pressed Stenton’s frozen face to give it life.

“Greetings,” Stenton said. “For those of you who were here before I left, I say hello again. Thank you for welcoming me back with such graciousness. For those Everyones who have come on staff since I was last here, and I’m thinking there are about two thousand of you, I say hello.”

“He’s back full-time now,” Kiki said. “It’s been so good.”

“When I returned to the Every,” Stenton continued, “my wish was to prove my value to this company. To this movement. And now Mae has given me an opportunity to do that. As you likely know, in China one of the projects in which I was involved was security-oriented, and I became very familiar with the ways we can continue to make ourselves, our families, and our world safer. And of course our workplaces. It’s unacceptable for anyone to come to work and feel at risk of an attack like that which happened last month here. We lost five of our own in that attack, and many more are still hospitalized, on a long journey of recovery.”

Kiki squeezed Delaney’s shoulder, and Delaney noted her long fingernails. Had they always been so long? She looked into Kiki’s dark, trembling eyes. Everything about Kiki seemed strained now—her face gaunt, the veins in her forehead manically searching.

“And I know each of you has been blindsided by these two assaults. You’ve wondered, How can this happen? How can something so unforeseen elude us? Sneak up on us like it did?”

Stenton’s eyes were enraged, as if the bombings were less about violence and more about deception.

“One of my strengths, I’m told, is that I’m practical,” Stenton said. “When confronted by a problem as we now find ourselves, I can see it clearly and arrive at a solution efficiently. I think I’ve done that in this case. We were able to merge some existing tech, like SoulSearch of course, and fast-track some new projects with lightning speed. So I want to give a—” he paused for a second, as if double-checking he could pull off the word—“shout-out to the team, two hundred and eighty-seven of us who have been working day and night on this, which we are calling KnowThem.”

On the screen, a satellite map of the Bay Area appeared, the Every campus heralded with a pulsing yellow dot.

“As you know, the drone that delivered the bomb was an AH-32, a model designed here. Notably, it has one of the shorter transmittal ranges of any of our drones. So we know that the perpetrator of this violent act was within a five-mile radius of our campus. That’s right. The person who committed this crime was not operating from halfway across the world. They were in our midst. For all we know, they might still be in our midst—living among us, because the operator of this drone has yet to be apprehended.”

Stenton’s face shrunk to a small square in the lower corner of the screen, while the majority of the screen showed the streets of Oakland. Delaney had no clear sense of what time it was, but this seemed to be the morning commuter hour, with thousands of people emerging from the subway into downtown.

“This is a live feed of downtown Oakland,” he said, “but this could be anywhere. Anywhere people come and go, we all have to simply trust that the people we’re moving past don’t mean us harm. Must we live in this precarious state, knowing nothing about the people around us? Having to trust their intentions? It’s obscene. It’s irrational. It’s not right.”

The screen now showed an overhead view of a suburban neighborhood, a blimp’s shadow fitting nicely into a high-school football field.

“As you know, for decades now, we have been given the right to know if sexual predators are living among us. Whether these criminals were caught with child porn or were convicted of assault, we have the right to know where they live.”

In the neighborhood of fifty-odd suburban homes, seven red Xes were placed on three freestanding homes and four were concentrated in what appeared to be an apartment complex near a freeway.

“This registry was our right and has been, for millions of families, a safeguard and comfort. As parents and indeed as citizens, we have not just a right, but a duty, to know this. When you commit a crime on the public, that crime itself should be public and forever knowable.”

Now the screen went back to the commuters in downtown Oakland. As they walked up and down San Pablo Avenue, over every head, a question mark appeared.

“And yet we’re deprived of the right to know what other criminals live and walk among us. The Sexual Offender Registry came into effect in the 1990s, and still, in all those years since, we have no registry of addresses for those convicted of murder, assault, burglary, or any other felony or misdemeanor. Years ago, with SeeYou, we tried, but the tech wasn’t there. Now it is—it’s available to anyone with a phone. Wouldn’t you like to know, when you’re walking down the street, if there’s someone close to you who’s been convicted of theft? Wouldn’t that be useful information?”

Again Kiki squeezed Delaney’s shoulder.

“As we speak, in the Bay Area, there are more than 1 million people who have been convicted of some crime, and yet there is no comprehensive database that lists them in an easily accessible way—in a way that we can act on quickly.”

An animation onscreen showed the silhouette of a woman being approached on all sides by threatening cartoon men.

“The tragic thing here, the exasperating thing here, is that we already possess all of this information. The Every has it at this moment. In fact, here it is.”

A satellite map of the Bay Area, in its lushness and the crystal white of its cities, now began to bleed from a million red pinpricks.

“Most of you are already ahead of me,” Stenton said. “Anyone with a phone and a TruYou account—and that represents 93 percent of the population of California, by the way—can be easily known. We can discern their location at any time. And with one quick filter, we can single out those convicted of violent crimes.”

The sea of pinpricks now shrank, but still soaked the map in red.

“Now, those convicted of car theft.”

A different set of red and pink dots overtook the map.

“Now rape,” he said.

Thousands of dots sprung from the map. Stenton quickly ran through other categories of crime, from embezzlement to petty vandalism.

“You’ll see that there are not just red dots but pink, too,” he said. “The pink are those who were arrested for a certain crime but not convicted. We have a right to know where those people are, too.”

Delaney glanced at Kiki. She was looking out the window, where a three-quarter moon was visible in the daytime sky.

“You know where I’m heading here,” Stenton said. “Let’s find those accused of acts of terrorism.” A handful of red dots appeared—far fewer than the previous crimes. “And those arrested on charges of possessing explosives …” A different handful of a red dots appeared, one of them just a few miles west of campus.

“It’s my assertion that all of us, as citizens, have a right to this information. Do you have a right to know if a man in your building has been arrested for breaking and entering? For assault? For rape? I believe you do. And I think it should be as easy as a tap on your device. Let me demonstrate.” He lifted his fist in the air and talked to the phone strapped to his arm. “KnowThem, how many convicted felons are currently within a five-mile radius of the Every?”

“One thousand, eight hundred and eleven,” his phone said.

“Wait. There’s more,” Stenton said, and smiled. “I want to show what it looks like in more visceral, personal terms. Right now we have one of our own, Minerva Hollis, on a BART train. She got on at Lake Merritt and she’s heading toward campus.”

Minerva’s face overtook the room. “Hi!” she said, each of her teeth an inch tall and gleaming.

“Now this is where the information becomes far more useful,” Stenton said. “Minnie, will you do a sweep?”

Minnie’s cam took a quick panoramic video of the other passengers in her BART car. There were nine men, six women, and four children. None seemed to notice her, for all but one of them was looking at their own phones.

“Now when we apply KnowThem to Minnie’s fellow passengers, we see with whom she’s sharing such close and contained quarters.”

The shapes of three of the men were shrouded in a red filter. One more man, and one of the women, went pink. “Okay,” Stenton said, “Minnie’s got an interesting crew with her now. Three convicted felons and two more with arrests, no convictions. She can leave it at that, and get off at the next stop, or she can dig deeper, and find out what each person’s offense was. I believe Minnie has a right to know this. Do you?”

Stenton addressed Minnie. “So you got onto this train, and you saw nineteen strangers. Now you know a bit more about what risks there are around you. Do you feel safer?”

“Well—” Minnie said.

Stenton’s easy smile, which had been conveying his happiness at what was his finest public moment, tightened.

“I have to admit I’m a bit freaked out,” Minnie said.

Stenton glanced backstage and cleared his throat.

“Yes. Yes. It is concerning. The level of crime around us. The chaos. The proximity of those who might do us harm. All the more reason we have a right to be informed.”

“He’s so strong,” Kiki said. “Don’t you think he’s strong?”

Delaney nodded to appease Kiki, and was suddenly certain that Stenton planned to edge Mae out. He had a vision and she had none—that would be the perception. He had a plan, and after the bombings she had only platitudes. Smiles would keep no one safe.

“For the past week, we’ve been experimenting privately with this tech, tracking the few miles around campus,” he continued. “When we note a felon in the radius, AI helps us sort them and alerts us to those who have been accused or arrested for more violent crimes, or those pertinent to the safety of the campus. Our security teams then take a closer look, sometimes politely asking these men and women a few questions, and letting them know we know who they are. We’ve found,” and here he issued a studied chuckle, “that this is usually enough to keep them off our island. Now, the question is, would this tech have prevented the attack that took the lives of five innocent souls? We can’t be altogether certain. But my personal belief is that it would.”

Now Stenton’s eyes took aim. “I have lost patience with the chaos of the world. And chaos is possible because we allow it to fester in the shadows. Well, I vow to eliminate those shadows. One of the Everypersons who lost his life in the bombing was Soren Lundqvist. He was a member of our Reach and Sunlight teams, dedicated to brightening unseen parts of our world. He died in this pursuit—the pursuit of illumination. Of safety through transparency. And it’s my vow, and I hope it’s one you will join me in fulfilling, to eliminate every last shadow on this planet. To that end, I want to introduce someone many of you already know. His name is Wes Makazian.”

Delaney gagged as the camera angle opened to include Wes, wearing an immaculate bodysuit, black and stitched to emphasize his wiry muscles; he looked like a sleek assassin.

“Thank you, Tom,” he said. “As we mourn the many we lost in this horrific act, I want us to remember that there are many survivors, too—many who will be scarred by this experience. Among them is a close friend of mine, Delaney Wells.”

Kiki let out a thrilled eek. Delaney’s heart stopped.

“And to honor her pain,” Wes continued, “we on the Friendy team have been working day and night to expand the software to prevent anything like this from happening again.”

Delaney watched the screen closely, wondering if this was some kind of hostage video, or a Stasi-style forced confession. But Wes seemed utterly calm and wholly sincere. He was gone, gone, gone—intoxicated by the power he’d been given. Delaney was nauseous.

“Friendy’s not just for truth-finding between friends,” Stenton added.

“No, Tom, it isn’t,” Wes said. “There’s no reason we can’t use the same tools, the same diagnostics, to find clues. To see patterns. To identify those inclined toward malfeasance.”

“Great crimes start with small lies,” Stenton noted. “And Friendy, better than any tool humans have yet made, can identify those small lies before they become dangerous acts.”

Wes and Stenton then demonstrated how AI would scan all conversations—anonymized, of course, they were quick to note—and when they found instances of a certain level of dishonesty or guile, that person would be flagged for closer scrutiny. A disproportionately dishonest or cagey person would be referred to the proper authorities, who could keep an eye on them as needed.

“Friendy will continue to assess the quality of your relationships. Don’t worry about that, L-O-L,” Stenton said, and forced a mirthless chuckle. “But in addition, it will be one of our primary instruments in keeping you safe. Thank you, Wes, for your vision and your sacrifice.” Stenton turned briefly to Wes and then back to the camera, which zoomed in, removing Wes from the frame.

“And thank you, Delaney Wells, for your role in all of this. We wish you a speedy recovery, and we can’t wait to get you back on the Every team.”

Delaney remembered to breathe, and wanted to vomit, but she was too tired, too wrecked. She heard a sniffle, and found that Kiki was crying. A ding sounded from her wrist.

“That’s my signal to go,” Kiki said to Delaney, and straightened herself. “You should be proud. Proud of what’s come from Soren’s death and your own suffering. None of it was in vain. Kudos, Delaney. Kudos.”