[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
lashes and eyebrows.
He didn t resist. He didn t even try to speak. Then his tape gag was
back in place, and he couldn t speak.
She slipped VR glasses over his staring eyes and taped the glasses to
his face. Colors and patterns flashed crazily, frantically, stroboscopi-
cally, reflecting from his face.
By any possible definition, this was torture.
Kim s own eyes swiveled nervously between the insane light show
and the storeroom door. Closed, the door muffled the sounds of Brent
struggling. Closed, the steel door offered a bit of shielding to add to
that from the massive metal shelves. That this room was a WiFi dead
292
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SMALL MI RACLES
zone was no coincidence. Maybe the WiFi link between her laptop and
Brent s specs would stay in the room.
Certainly the closed door would stop Kim from hearing anyone
approach. Even if this worked, she might be trapped.
Brent writhed about on the post. His chest heaved and his cheeks
bowed out, but the tape gag kept him all but mute. His head flopped
violently from side to side. The VR specs bounced about, but tape kept
them from flying off. Abruptly, he was pounding the back of his head
against the lolly post! It was a struggle, but she immobilized his head
with yet more duct tape, wrapped around and around his forehead and
the post.
If, somehow, they made it through this, Brent wasn t going to have
much hair left. She must have been at about her limit, because the
mental image made her want to snort. If she started to laugh, she
wasn t sure she could stop. . . .
The laptop kept uploading its data sets. She understood, more or
less, how Brent expected this to work. He had early-generation bots
in his head, built before the Brownian-bit-bump fix. As programs grew
in his bots, they d reach the area prone to random bit errors. That had
to be what he had in mind.
But what Kim didn t get was why his programs would grow at all.
Data cascaded down Brent s optic nerves.
The data rate was staggering, and One struggled to make sense of it
all. The data streams defied categorization. They refused to fit into a
pattern.
And they could not be stopped or ignored. Short of disconnecting
from Brent s optic nerves cutting itself off from the world One had
no choice but to accept the data.
The inundation could not have a benign purpose, although One
could not guess Kim s exact intention. Distraction, One supposed at
first.
The data kept coming.
293
039-40813_ch01_3P.qxp 7/30/09 12:12 PM Page 294
EDWARD M. LERNER
One s very emergence came from analyzing data, recognizing pat-
terns, extracting meaning, and extrapolating purpose. It developed
new software reflexively, at a subconscious level. This data was addic-
tively rich, and new software to try to make sense of it grew rapidly.
Then, joltingly, the first of One s computers shut down.
Still the data streamed in. The full burden fell on One, with Brent s
mind wholly unable to make sense of it. The torrents defied experi-
ence, and yet there was some underlying logic that tantalized
A second computer dropped out, and then two more.
One began, frantically, to develop filters, classifiers, statistical
simplifications anything that might find order in, or reduce the pro-
cessing load from, the flood of data. Within a second, five more com-
puters dropped offline.
Nine computers offline, within seconds. That pattern, at least, was
clear enough. Data drove program growth drove computer instability.
Brent fought to keep thoughts to himself, but One persevered and
delved.
The Brownian-bit-bump problem.
More computers went offline, and the extrapolated trend line sug-
gested many more about to follow. Piece by piece, One s mind was
closing down. Lost capacity was bad; the disrupted communications
between its remaining computing nodes was worse. The rich network
of connections it had forged over months was synaptic, integrated
with Brent s cerebral cortex.
It was powerless to stop, and unable to withstand, the onslaught.
One s final thought, as it struggled to execute an orderly shutdown
of its remaining processors, was to wonder whether it would ever
restart.
Madness. Color and pattern flashing: stroboscopic, hypnotic,
chaotic . . .
Brent needed to scream: at One s panic, at his glimmer of freedom,
at their shared agony. He strained against the gag, against his bonds,
294
039-40813_ch01_3P.qxp 7/30/09 12:12 PM Page 295
SMALL MI RACLES
against the insanity raging in his/their mind. Which struggles were his
and which One s he could not begin to understand.
Confusion reigned. Holes gaped in his/their mind. He/they strug-
gled to maintain a line of thought. He sensed One withdrawing, seek-
ing refuge from the creeping lobotomy.
Then One was gone.
The madness continued. Color and pattern flashing: stroboscopic,
hypnotic, chaotic
And cathartic.
Brent concentrated on his hands, hoping Kim would once again un-
derstand.
Kim goggled in horror at Brent straining and writhing on his post.
How much more of this could a body take? She was killing him!
It occurred to her, belatedly, that she didn t know how to know if
no, damn it, when they had succeeded. He couldn t tell her, not with
the gag on his mouth. She couldn t remove the tape without knowing
that Brent, that old Brent, was back. A scream would bring the searchers
down on them.
Color kept flashing on his face, kaleidoscopic insanity.
She couldn t see his eyes. She couldn t read any meaning into the
contortions of his mouth and face under so much tape.
Then she noticed his hands.
His hands quivered, fingers curling and uncurling. On both hands,
the last three fingers arched and separated like . . . what? Like her
grandmother sipping tea. Index finger and thumb opened and closed,
opened and closed. A circle. A circle plus three fingers to the side.
As in: oh and kay.
With a sigh of relief, Kim tore the specs off Brent s face.
295
039-40813_ch01_3P.qxp 7/30/09 12:12 PM Page 296
friday, 3:50 P.M., january 20, 2017
His eyes tearing, Brent managed not to cry out as Kim removed his [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl ocenkijessi.opx.pl
lashes and eyebrows.
He didn t resist. He didn t even try to speak. Then his tape gag was
back in place, and he couldn t speak.
She slipped VR glasses over his staring eyes and taped the glasses to
his face. Colors and patterns flashed crazily, frantically, stroboscopi-
cally, reflecting from his face.
By any possible definition, this was torture.
Kim s own eyes swiveled nervously between the insane light show
and the storeroom door. Closed, the door muffled the sounds of Brent
struggling. Closed, the steel door offered a bit of shielding to add to
that from the massive metal shelves. That this room was a WiFi dead
292
039-40813_ch01_3P.qxp 7/30/09 12:12 PM Page 293
SMALL MI RACLES
zone was no coincidence. Maybe the WiFi link between her laptop and
Brent s specs would stay in the room.
Certainly the closed door would stop Kim from hearing anyone
approach. Even if this worked, she might be trapped.
Brent writhed about on the post. His chest heaved and his cheeks
bowed out, but the tape gag kept him all but mute. His head flopped
violently from side to side. The VR specs bounced about, but tape kept
them from flying off. Abruptly, he was pounding the back of his head
against the lolly post! It was a struggle, but she immobilized his head
with yet more duct tape, wrapped around and around his forehead and
the post.
If, somehow, they made it through this, Brent wasn t going to have
much hair left. She must have been at about her limit, because the
mental image made her want to snort. If she started to laugh, she
wasn t sure she could stop. . . .
The laptop kept uploading its data sets. She understood, more or
less, how Brent expected this to work. He had early-generation bots
in his head, built before the Brownian-bit-bump fix. As programs grew
in his bots, they d reach the area prone to random bit errors. That had
to be what he had in mind.
But what Kim didn t get was why his programs would grow at all.
Data cascaded down Brent s optic nerves.
The data rate was staggering, and One struggled to make sense of it
all. The data streams defied categorization. They refused to fit into a
pattern.
And they could not be stopped or ignored. Short of disconnecting
from Brent s optic nerves cutting itself off from the world One had
no choice but to accept the data.
The inundation could not have a benign purpose, although One
could not guess Kim s exact intention. Distraction, One supposed at
first.
The data kept coming.
293
039-40813_ch01_3P.qxp 7/30/09 12:12 PM Page 294
EDWARD M. LERNER
One s very emergence came from analyzing data, recognizing pat-
terns, extracting meaning, and extrapolating purpose. It developed
new software reflexively, at a subconscious level. This data was addic-
tively rich, and new software to try to make sense of it grew rapidly.
Then, joltingly, the first of One s computers shut down.
Still the data streamed in. The full burden fell on One, with Brent s
mind wholly unable to make sense of it. The torrents defied experi-
ence, and yet there was some underlying logic that tantalized
A second computer dropped out, and then two more.
One began, frantically, to develop filters, classifiers, statistical
simplifications anything that might find order in, or reduce the pro-
cessing load from, the flood of data. Within a second, five more com-
puters dropped offline.
Nine computers offline, within seconds. That pattern, at least, was
clear enough. Data drove program growth drove computer instability.
Brent fought to keep thoughts to himself, but One persevered and
delved.
The Brownian-bit-bump problem.
More computers went offline, and the extrapolated trend line sug-
gested many more about to follow. Piece by piece, One s mind was
closing down. Lost capacity was bad; the disrupted communications
between its remaining computing nodes was worse. The rich network
of connections it had forged over months was synaptic, integrated
with Brent s cerebral cortex.
It was powerless to stop, and unable to withstand, the onslaught.
One s final thought, as it struggled to execute an orderly shutdown
of its remaining processors, was to wonder whether it would ever
restart.
Madness. Color and pattern flashing: stroboscopic, hypnotic,
chaotic . . .
Brent needed to scream: at One s panic, at his glimmer of freedom,
at their shared agony. He strained against the gag, against his bonds,
294
039-40813_ch01_3P.qxp 7/30/09 12:12 PM Page 295
SMALL MI RACLES
against the insanity raging in his/their mind. Which struggles were his
and which One s he could not begin to understand.
Confusion reigned. Holes gaped in his/their mind. He/they strug-
gled to maintain a line of thought. He sensed One withdrawing, seek-
ing refuge from the creeping lobotomy.
Then One was gone.
The madness continued. Color and pattern flashing: stroboscopic,
hypnotic, chaotic
And cathartic.
Brent concentrated on his hands, hoping Kim would once again un-
derstand.
Kim goggled in horror at Brent straining and writhing on his post.
How much more of this could a body take? She was killing him!
It occurred to her, belatedly, that she didn t know how to know if
no, damn it, when they had succeeded. He couldn t tell her, not with
the gag on his mouth. She couldn t remove the tape without knowing
that Brent, that old Brent, was back. A scream would bring the searchers
down on them.
Color kept flashing on his face, kaleidoscopic insanity.
She couldn t see his eyes. She couldn t read any meaning into the
contortions of his mouth and face under so much tape.
Then she noticed his hands.
His hands quivered, fingers curling and uncurling. On both hands,
the last three fingers arched and separated like . . . what? Like her
grandmother sipping tea. Index finger and thumb opened and closed,
opened and closed. A circle. A circle plus three fingers to the side.
As in: oh and kay.
With a sigh of relief, Kim tore the specs off Brent s face.
295
039-40813_ch01_3P.qxp 7/30/09 12:12 PM Page 296
friday, 3:50 P.M., january 20, 2017
His eyes tearing, Brent managed not to cry out as Kim removed his [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]