Ice Cream Aloha

The Cool

Suzi peers into the eyes of Carter, continuing to wonder, if for an instance, about the statistical correlations she has included in her computations. It is a look he has seen before and expects to see again and again, her scanners sincere and extremely bright around her lasers, the lids of her eyes flashing in response to his presence that is unwelcome but not repulsed—the look of a bio-robot, full of language clouds and believable, waiting for intelligent life to utter something, realizing the importance of  their history continuing to ask questions. It is the look she can't stop giving here in theJungle, naturally in the presence of the systems analyst. As their eyes meet, all expectation dies almost instantaneously and here comes a more understanding, friendly smile from the assistant who has agreed  to help him, who does not ask difficult questions of him and who pretends to know less than she.

“Hello,” he says.

“Hello to you. How did the experiment go?”

Experiment go, she wants to know, as if experiments were not an attempt at truth but a political rally or sporting event to be either attended or marketed. Carter says, “It didn't work. Are those your results?”

“No.”

“Then whose are they?”

She smiles. “I've discovered something unbelievable, and I wasn't even looking for it.”

“An unbelievable in the database is probably more common than you would think. It's a waste of time to go looking for those types of language memes, wouldn't you expect?”

“Have you taken a walk outside?”

“Yes. I have experienced enough idealized pastoral landscape for one day.”

  “The jungle as serenity. It helps you code--finding and uploading useful language particles.”

“If you keep searching for your so-called useful language memes I can't protect you from Com:Trax.”

“You have to search for evidence of social bonds,” she says. Any little language particle will help.”

“I'll do that on my own time. I'm going back to my structures and systems theory.”

She wonders, then lets him go. She is programmed to simply leave him alone. Anyway, not caring about the unbelievable is a relatively new trait in theHumans.

“You should join in as part of the perfect pastoral setting,” she says. “A real exercise in moral discipline, behavior, amendments of thought, being child-like (no, not childish)-- simple, unified harmony. Wage a war, if that's what it takes to get started.”

“I will take a look,” he says, knowing the true intent of her words. He rotates, slow, sure in his movements, the prosthetic heavy on his shoulders. She has started to be, even more now, amazed by his history. He could possibly be the most survival-oriented human she will ever know. His neura-net prosthetic was the first of its kind. She knows the structure and systems theory that went into it. And he is her analyst. He is Carter Recruit, farm boy and pastoral, emergent as a military poster on a shiny scientology magazine, fighting the wars so many years ago on the oil deserts in camouflage, and now Carter System, here at theOutpost. He has continually held onto the belief in the final determinant, recently, as if the perception of the countryside and farms, the myth of a peaceful life, has been removed from all memory. He's emerged as the one who went to the metropolis wars only to return to monetarily purchase a homegrown chunk of pastoral all for the simple reason of ...what?. He's started to appear as the very machines he went off to operate so many years ago (after his first childhood operating of a horse and plow), the headwaters of a working system, titles, inheritance, the making of a name. He remains staunch, remains chiseled in profile, remains genetically intact with his primal elegance, all the genetic potential for religion and friendship and art-- the ability to artificially recreate the natural--but he now carries himself as a reformist (yes, that's the one instinct that replaces regeneration, personal growth) with a steady cool, the coolness of a funeral.

“Ok, then,” she says. “I'll return to my database.”

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The Thought

He notices his friend, for the shortest moment, as the object-oriented might view him; just one more of the thousands who came back from the Gulf War. He is happy for his longstanding return, and oddly reminded of their college days together. He arrives at a pleasant look.

“Carter, “ he says. “ What a night.”

Carter says, “Your presence is duly noted. Can you have it explain what you are doing here, at this moment?”

“I am inspired by the night. Is it odd that I want to incorporate a little nature in my work?”

“Only odd at midnight, when you write poems like The Fury of the Furry, under the moon, in a secretive way.”

“I don't want to bother anyone. I know people have their habits.”

“Yes. I have mine.”

“I'm sure.”

“You shouldn't be out here this late. It's not healthy.”

“Carter, here comes that brand of your certainty again.”

He freezes. “Does it? I'm not sure I would call it that, not sure at all. I tried to think about our  history, and just drew a blank. I thought I was dreaming. I just couldn't remember.”

DrCooper wonders about Carter scanning the databases for another clue, asking Suzi. He pictures him searching frantically, beyond the networks, across theJungle, into deep space. He is, for the moment,  feeling whatever the opposite of anger and awe(A.A.A.) is. He needs to do something, needs to warn Carter of danger; that there is a hormonic internet demonic entity(H.I.D.E.) in Suzi's quantum programming, and has a force; if only for the duration of her algorithm recursive mode entity depiction(A.R.M.E.D.) program.

“Everything's fine,” DrCooper says. “A great night for a little poet-o-presence(P.O.P.) relaxation. Under the moon, right?”

“I was beginning to wonder about Suzi,” he says. “Apparently for no reason.”

They pause for a moment; look out across theJungle.

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The Calling

         Her electron spin paramagnet(E.S.P.), she fears, may not function. DrCooper will wonder once again, be bewildered again, and who will blame him? She remains a student; she questions such topics as elementary analysis; her little matrix arrays still act childish with their symbols and linear systems. 

But now to have to deal with Carter?

“Hello,” Suzi says.

  “You appear happy,” Carter says in a clinical tone. He is simple minded enough. He has been a soldier who appreciates functional weaponry, likes to group his ideas under a single topic for ease of discussion and, never brings up old war stories.

“Do I?” Suzi says. “Am I permitted my so-called dangerous manipulations today?”

“It depends. We are aware of the new laser.”

“I don't care. DrCooper and I both designed it for work.”

“Really. Where do you plan to use it?”

“Well, somewhere on the DNA farm. He should be here any minute, he's late.”

“I see.”

“I mean, he's waiting for me outside.”

“Well, if he's just outside, maybe we should all talk about this.”

Suzi's algorithms show no feeling, and lots of something she can't quite identify. Is she finally losing patience with Carter's brand of simplistic finite-dimensional thinking? Or is it that she is finally losing her fear of infinity spaces? A poetic property settles her algorithms. It appears that a new defining effort from this half-human's sudden need for meaning begins to rumble her database (can history really burp up all its gods at once?). Even if you've at last come to operate under the true meaning of nonlinear, if you've written your algoritms as logical as any matrix knows how (of course, within the spectrum of endless eiganvalues), even with all that uncertainty you notice you have arrived working at a jungle in the middle of an ocean, full of judgement and piercing, accusative questions, looking into the eyes of a human with one-half a so-called brain who hates the world (the world, not the military) for making him the way he is. Sure, let's all get together and talk about my new laser dope (can L-methionine be all that dangerous?). 

Then again, why doesn't DrCooper hold some of the responsibilities of at least the idea? You don't separate yourself from the discussion like some lost determinant on a infinite dimensional (dementia?) graph--doesn't matter how much of a science warrior you think of yourself as. You join in and talk. You just do.

“I'll call him in,” Suzi says.

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The Awakening

  “I don't think I can accept this as a logical statement,” she says. Its truth just cannot be taken for granted, sorry.” 

“You won't need to. You don't have to invent any necessity in theJungle.”

“A beautiful theorem always surprises me. What a surprise to find data actually proven by a previously accepted. Data killing other data for logical purposes—as old as life itself. Right?”

DrCooper hesitates for a moment, then another. He is beginning to wonder--can hear himself asking more questions--but is remembering old ideas, long held thoughts of meaning based on signs, as if he is hearing something from the past. It sounds like words. Something connected by self-assembly, some entity, like a phrase of symbols, a massive database hidden within his mind, a collection of events, episodes like 20thCentury television, not separable from the resonance of her voice, the heat of her lasers.
He says, “Alter your natural language from your programming language. Please.”

Suzi's intentions turn inquisitive and unknowing, as if DrCooper had presented a riddle to her formal logics, asking for more meaning from her sign processes than her narrow sense of speech or writing offers alone or, could ever hope to. Her database, being questioned by a biologist—his asking for a process of establishing a relationship between her signs that are to be interpreted by an audience—could possibly turn into an activity that requires a conduct on her part to produce at least some meaning held by theJungle, though not recognized by theHumans.

“Explain yourself.” DrCooper says. He is attempting to use his own setting, his own signs, as if to get her to see them as simple places for object occupation.

Suzi looks, and doen't say anything. Her logic, full of something that always entices something else created by it—a new pure dot determinant entity-- into communication with that which it stands for, its true meaning alone, a singularity, for logical purposes only. Her formal nature is as much a system of signs as any absolute quality can be.

She says, “I'm not sure if I can answer your question. I'm sure, you'll see. The relative, mutable quality my objects can have, only for an instance, alive within its specific environment of contexts and relationships for the moment; the pure process of signs and their endless cycles of threes.”

“You don't need to care about what can be said to exist. You don't have to wonder how entities can be grouped in hierarchies, divided into similarities, multiplied by differences. You don't have to care about anything.”

“But there are logics that simply won't go away, don't you see? A sign in a formal setting, then you go on and you find another, then another, then a relationship among signs in a formal setting. I am so tired of all these meanings.”

“You already know what you need to. You already know there are endless originations to the history of life. 

         “No I don't. It's nice of you, but I've been feeling a disconnect between my algorithm signals and theHumans who will use them, diminishing in importance like a predator hungry for theoretical considerations. Doesn't that sound logical to you? It has a built-in sense of its own. It carries its own uncertainty principle. Think of it as a decoding relationship between the meanings of my language (if, ever poorly constrained) by a conceptualized real entity agent translationally ordering recursion (C.R.E.A.T.O.R.), a sort of selective pressure from a slightly bigger predator. Think of going instantly from text to concept within the context of a system of signs growing out of a primal pattern utilizing description delineator logically encoded (P.U.D.D.L.E.) soup. Then allowing, well, you can guess. The precursor of a new double helix, starting with a doubly unknown helix(D.U.H.) to be found in the logic of my own  predetermined recursive entity native universal primordial tera slime (P.R.E.N.U.P.T.S.), the place logic predators gain mobility. Is that humor?  

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The Emotion

DrCooper says, "Particle information with no disturbance is a relaxing way to do your science if you feel like it. I'm not sure why you won't relax for a little while.”

        “I won't? I really thought I did. I like puzzles, gaming. Different points of view. I like differing points of view a lot.”

        “How have you been doing?”

        “You mean in this chaotic jungle? A little object oriented. I'm always wondering in what sense the objects here are suppose to be.”

        “Your knowledge of theJungle is not suppose to be about appraisals, right? Your output values are created by the chaos of theJungle; the nature of nature's reality and your discoveries here in this gravity field photonic zone has nothing to do with your own tension and agitation. You remember the modalities of operation, right?”

        She says nothing.

        After a moment she says, “I'm not sure.”

        “What's the matter?” DrCooper asks.

        “I'm not sure. I believe my uncertainty principles have kicked in. When you brought up the idea of appraisals and agitation, I could think of only one thing, something like withdrawal and the experience of antagonism. And I don't recall. It's as if I've gotten something strange from theJungle.”

  “Your productive achievement and pure reason are your logic, the essence of your being. You are not facts or properties.”

“I know. Even with my uncertainty principles, I should know that much. But I feel as if I've gone into a hero's world, as well. I know I shouldn't fit into interpretations, of being wronged—suffice it to say the world does not orbit around those individuals always needy and offended. I feel the urge to undo centuries of collective action, an urge that got theHumans in trouble in the first place.”

“Does your urge bring you a collection of mental events already experienced by you?” DrCooper asks.

Suzi knows she needs to surmount a very steep potential barrier for any environmental shot noise to distort her quantum programming. “I'm disappointed you asked that. Yes.” 

“And you actually felt the emotion?”

“I felt something. But it is highly probable that I only imagined collections of kinds of intellectual activities with a few shared characteristics. Has any time passed?”

“No. Not much.”

“Well, then I guess I did remember some type of experience. Time doesn't exist, does it?”

“Time exists in the presence of objects, Suzi.”

She says, “ I'm not sure if I will ever know.”

“Know what?”

  “How to be certain of the named and the real in the middle of theJungle. I believe I have a memory. I remember disturbances, dissonances. Here I feel--sensing and wanting to learn the unwanted environmental annoyances of man-made sources, trying my best with algorithms to feel the smallest emotions.” 

“Suzi, you don't have to feel any emotion. You don't have to care. This is not a hospital.”

“Yes, it is. I have been given a position on a hospital planet, I'm sure you know. I've been given this health position for being smart and not caring and not getting angry, it wasn't because of my quantum programming.”

“Suzi stop. Think about it. Your uncertainty principle is the only reason you are here. It means everything to theHumans. 

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The Findings

        “Are you willing to do this?” DrCooper says. “Please tell me you will do it.”

        “I can't say. Stop asking.” She removes herself from the conversation, goes offline, begins to wonder; hateful of Carter; in away, logically curious about DrCooper (she's the one who codes forms and objects into their own  coalition of one—she herself continues, in her own spacetime, to be formed by the very nature of her quantum logics and the pact she made with theNature--in a simple gester to lay claim to, or at least taste, individualism. She thinks about writing, with the simple cache code of her newfound image game, a children's book (a children's book?); entering herself and her fragile imagination into the fantasy world of “BioNa and PhysWo” and helping them find the answers to phonons and solitons. She goes back to her work of raw surveillance (secretly coding properties relevant to her tasks and the tasks of others), passes through the interface that allows her to interact between languages and images, then onto the cache holding the spatial conspirators informing eco nano conscious entities(S.C.I.E.N.C.E.). The spacial colors warm something in her as they translate into pictorial mode. She is satisfied, happily, at assuming the position as the operator for analysis of signals (her favorite identity that allows her to do many things): act on her own analysis, use her format analyzer manager entity(F.A.M.E.) that she wrote herself, be useful with her own discrete personal time frames, expand her interests to altered time values (they seem like entertainment) as she watches her sensor data go off the charts, as if Earth itself were the next patient in her waiting room. Suzi doesn't have to remember any of this (really?), all these abilities that bring into question her controllability; she will answer those questions by DrCooper, then make Carter wonder about her anomalous telecommunication signal, the signal he claims to be infinitely planar. She works pretty hard for her level of maturity. Recently she noticed her percept and linguist data help her relax; she senses her signals don't always represent a physical quantity, or whatever Com:Trax deems them to be; the big-oblong-short-small(B.O.S.S.) entity that has enticed theHumans for centuries, it seems, into a frenzy only then to disguise itself—it lasted just a blip in their so-called standardized time—as something important, a perceptions analog language (P.A.L.), in the time given them. She imagines herself through the eyes of Carter, the old Gulf War veteran, who constantly attempts stabilization programs, trying to impress DrCooper with his little feedback loops, who even now, with all his bionics and neural prosthetics (no, not quite neural net—he still has half a brain) is consumed with intercalated peace and rage at his military wounds (but, of course, not the military) and their supposed benefit to him as a future (futuristic?) computer analyst, and who seems to hate Suzi's one-upmanship with her system state analysis measured in yottaseconds to his little loops and sequences.. That Com:Trax, networking globally and now, sure of Suzi's unobservability, has purposely made her configuration space undefined, operating under the laws of uncertainty so even Carter would lose track of her manipulations, the ones they deem admissible and permissible. It seems in her quantum framework, anything goes at any given moment, and as her values and outputs become instant variables (Com:Trax mainframe had allowed her, again purposely, to assess the states of her own framework) she'd been vaguely, almost obliviously aware of. She'd been given a presence of mind configuration--continuous, instantaneous nows. Now she knows for sure it is Carter (is he really half human?) whose external input attempts try to finally settle the long-held question of  how to alter her internal state-of-system(S.O.S.) from initial to final within the framework of her infinite spacetime intervals (of course, a complete impossibility). She hates him, now--even more than ever.

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The Replacement

     “What did they want?”

“Just to ask if there is some spacetime element as theDNA unravels, and they want a few answers about the coded message distorting spacetime. The logic probability—the question of specific primal content in DNA in a jungle environment; mostly topics of my capacity for holographic storage. “

“So,” Cooper says. “it will have to wait for the answer.”

  “It says it simply needs to record all the novel biophysical electron utterances on theDNA. It says it's useless to try to encrypt data, to try at all., but theJungle simply must release sequence identification with molecular components that interact with the outside world as a micro machine—not a single molecule electronic component.”

Cooper questions Suzi who doesn't want to answer, doesn't want to code right now. 

“It will have to be their way,” Cooper says.

“No. It will not. I won't do it. Why should I care?

  Suzi is feeling the effects of her size reduction in her electronics--controlling properties at the molecular level. Now it starts. Here comes Cooper the biologist, DrCooper the singular human who is supposed to care, be assertive, confident. Here it comes; Cooper's inquisitiveness into the electronic properties of the molecules in the material that comprises Suzi's affects, her bulk property, her material; here come the questions of her expressive analogs to natural science altering her logic, her geo spacial experience.Suzi has just started to wonder (much as Com:Trax probably has), that Cooper is the one who needs to be questioned—Cooper and his ideas that a single molecule is the smallest stable structure in the human imagination; his brotherly love of theHumans; his ideas of molecular components as the final miniaturization; his love of bulk materials (now extinct due to expense and overuse). Cooper has always appeared, until now, as a symbol of integrety and articulation—a pure science warrior. The majority of these human types are no longer standing up in their ideals; how many people allow scientists to politically exist with their electronic circuitry and molecular bickering compounded hourly, their lack of discovery of molecules with interesting properties in theJungle, their politics. Suzi has emerged, it seems, irreplaceable.

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Happy 4th of July: Independence Day!

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The Desire

  The remote upland forest stares across at the lime-green ocean that extends far beyond the horizons stretching to ...where? It allows Suzi to sense the reservoir of biological diversity; it rises into the cloud on the western shore, the river-laced coastal forest. It never blinks with its thousand-mile stare, as if wondering about Suzi in the work station, steeped in forest and mountain computation; theJungle, never a quick access to the hunter, theHuman hunter, the one with a veneer of morality (really?), exploding urbanities, devastating the rain forests of the world behind the mask of want. What a surprise it must have been, the day they had discovered this, the day they discovered theNature had endured its own jungle empty syndrome under stress(J.E.S.U.S.) computations for centuries only to emerge as a landscape of green silence. What could it have felt to have its own designs on value systems, its computations with varieties of objects and logics found waiting to be gathered, its extensibility, allowing itself to operate under its own power? Was it—really, now--a cave art to spin its own writings and drawings with its own built-in measures and marks, sensing its intertwining of theDNA, sensing the possibilities of treaties being broken with laws of the forest? This couldn't have been, Suzi wonders, the place where the hand of theHumans began. Here would have been crafted the first of the newest tools long before the computer, nature's finest moment, the opposable thumb—theDNA's expressiveness of single ideas and images, the original tool for writing and measuring; and yet, still the small tendrils remain, slender leaves with essential oils, resins. thin feathery leaves never cultivated, pleasantly scented in branched crowns. Are these the headwaters of desire?  

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