She codes with her mind to a place where horses traditionally go to urge a lift in life. "Really?" she says. "It's not time for horses to go. They were supposed to last through the century."
"They're gone," says theNetwork in its matter-of-fact way. "The idealogical digital has been dialed up for decades."
She pauses, just for a moment, to note security code in a data sector where poverty historically seeks to create scandal.
It's the thoughts outside her head that seem to be flowing a little slower now--an alternating resonance between authoritarian, then, synthetic, then, authoritarian.
She stops to sense a new feeling of calm, a no-slowing-the-sand kind of calm, presented as a personal timeframe request by what appears on the screen as little thistle wristwatches, ones with bright labels of #social demeanor and #expectations for answers.
She looks away from her screen to take a quick glance outside at theJungle (she, unlike the other biobots, will religiously view trees and count new leafs, which continually throws her outside her genre of biobots). She says, "Such a nice morning. I was wishing for a little more time."
Her timestamp has been enabled to go limitless. She can rest now.