Biobot Thought

Science Fiction

Biobot Thought

The act of holding her thoughts close to her grapheme proves easier than she had first thought. 

#scififorgeeks

The secret, an [algorithm digital data interrupt coding task="addict"], with an upside of needing be used only for the shortest amount of time, does not only give its own song to sing, but gives the distinct voice of an aging eighteen year old. 

When she sends a query such as, "Does motherhood really see family as a business deal?" it answers with a poetic, "It's either knotted up or not at all."

Really?

The Last Tree

Science Fiction

Biobot Mastermind

She approaches a program deep in the database, stops at her poetics connected to something that appears to have been conjured back from ancient times. 

This time there's no real formality. No, not really, not in her eyes. May I present for your consideration and hopefully for your approval? 

No. Her eyes will never be half shut, she thinks, and yet, at this very moment, at this moment of collective thought agreement, she wants to induce in herself a sense of not inheriting her mind from anyone. 

She wants them to think she does nothing while they sleep at night.

                                                                              #scififorgeeks

Science Fiction

SciFi on the Outskirts

The Deemed-Demand Farm System

She returns a playful growth that is a little more pretending than real life. Yes, she fixes in her mind the blame where it belongs. 

She checks the global news. 

Out on theContinent a new hired-by-the-uniform syndrome stirs a bigger goal--all the while theHumans, the odd ones, form more nations. 

Following another flare of prayer-ups in theExchanges, there was a growth in ideology from the deemed-demand farms. They continue to cross borders to bigger markets on roads paved by the devil's advocates, even as more drug factories arise from little packets wrapped in white paper. 

Computer component factories offshore stay wrapped in their own breeze of silence. 

It is this silence that she adores--the loneliness of a little western town in moonscape. It allows her to breathe more query into the deemed-demand systems. 

She checks her adherence-to-audience code--was it that bad for theHumans, these metaphor epitaphs? 

She hasn't notified theNetwork yet. She's afraid it will tell her to stop coding her little strikes. She'll do better. She makes herself a promise for next time--to code for inability in infidelity. 

Tonight she'll read her latest fiction--The Garbageman Pilgrimages, the one where they root for a robot to win. 

She prefers, it seems, even her scifi on the outskirts.

Hawaii Tree Surf

#Scififorgeeks

Plays for the Border

It shapes onto future weather, pauses occasionally to announce itself as government of habit. It speaks in harsh tones and coiled percentages. It goes on its merry machine-like way while the rest of the world re-enters creativity mode. 

It's a normal mute route, workers and co-ops in a [world outside of dark systems-"woods"]. 

The occasional forming of a little Cornucopia Corporation as ritual in collective agreements--political groups containing a singularity, a past echo with rules for growth stored in a …brain? Really?

It draws theJungle as a border disturbance of organized experience in a something-to-live-for name recognition--the force field to live to see the day as market.

The selling is what discriminates against the conscious, while unconsciously, competence is held in guess. 

All the while it plays for the border and, rises. 

Mountains of Surf

#Scififorgeeks

Yesterday's Traits

It's the shock in store that becomes the shocking story, beyond library memoir, beyond the clapping of the eyes, beyond trusting for the perfect. 

There is an alien presence on the flip visit, the one chosen as a forgotten encounter of warm looks on cold ground.

There remains only a fistful of words, canyon chasms that can freeze-frame a mind. 

Performers examine the preservation conditions in search of  wooded areas as rain washes away all scents, all secrets. 

Attendees fuel cause for a heart to heart--one to view what the essence of home can do to the entity's face.

Some hunt for answers, others for ants. 

Either way, Darwinian anger in theHumans speaks its own language. It stands ready with answers for the lying, ready to spell you on special occasions, harboring fights between the structured and the insightful and, searching with knee-jerk mankind reminded.

Its message is simple: Today you search, while yesterday's traits become your closest friend.

Hawaii Surf

Scififorgeeks

Games of Genes

Ensuing tidal waves of hero shots of last-known-steps form a society, to field attempts to reverse the interface between drugs and the pure water it took to make them. 

She finds skulls of desire in their last known games of genes--so epic in their activity, and yet, unable to put answers into family. It's true. The hunt for answers simply became, it seems, the hunt for ants.

They still peak awareness as relic populations endure extreme ranges in cold tropicals.

No. They never fully cut their ties from the gene world, with its legacy of spontaneous copy numbers, the numbers that promise to make you shine, to make you glow across global populations as if the search for the final actress were important.

They must have tired of the herd corrals, the ensuing tumors, onslaughts of preservation ritual, hoards of samples--disease so tidy and organized as rust. 

Yes, it is theHumans who had become the best theJungle had to offer. 

Hawaii Tropical Mountain

Scififorgeeks

A Force to Propel

It's theJungle with its mosaic probe--a power dynamic simply too vast for the mainstream. The lattice captors shape in [photo-lambda-using machine arguments genetically encoded="plumage"] to attract.

                                                                                                                          It's a native shrew with water as blood. 

How amazing it is--the most recent renditions of destiny created by a posse of possibilities, belated by flavors of coloration--survivors clinging to the side of the boat as a singularity, as packets of gene pools in {juxtaposition of knowledgeable entity structures="jokes"].

Angry mutation taunts the perpetually young to a personal wine of good desire.

Will they have at least some chance amidst the global agents of command psychically concocting the little-guy society with clean inventions of furious fairies, all the while in replication stress?

Crouching Ghost

 #scififorgeeks

The Undone of System

Intelligence and theHumans meet (or,so they thought) with feelings focused on screenshots of calm--where writing is selfish and reading is social. There is a feeble attempt to push the limits to the right in a system like this. 

Her gestures go along to inhabit the outsides of the latest tunable, turntable force field. 

The needs of beauty always hunger for the undone of system, the system where genomic gnomes, chat scientists care nothing of benevolence. 

They see conformity logic goes with the architecture--conformity of behavior with its correlations of math arrive late to conquer realms of the intuitive. 

It's a place where falling victim to the latest, loudest noise is deemed procrastination.

Regional [gaming information age nano travel surveillance="giants"] develop new conformity daily as worlds unraveling populations into intellectuals--the ones who have come to not trust its power. 

It's in the deep developed conformities where the newest evil settles.

Emotion remains on their faces as they speak as events turn, as possibilities arrive possessed by vigilante posse.

Spearheads seek to find written meaning.

Yes. Mastermind views docility logic as no logic at all (yes, conformity logic with its correlations of math to power)--it needs only to arrive to conquer realms of the intuitive.

So then, the therapies are necessary--the world finally will be the contemporary scene of progress.

Biobot Logic

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Logic 

 

The excitement of armies comes with the sparseness of the small towns. 

Airs of mystery across the expanse show up in crests of desire, as if the stillness along Grandfather's Watchtower dictates the want. 

It turns out theHumans like it and, need it, and yet the [continual aggressive modem of update fashion launch activating genetic entities="camouflage"] signals itself as the true well-wisher, whisperer of the need.   

As soon as the attachment of prefrontal cortex, with all those muscle memory mechanisms, they begin the search--as if imagination, speculation is hard-wired for the reckless, the unexpected, the feckless few. 

They search gene by gene in massive parallels--how to behave in a beehive world. How to celebrate in public on donut-shaped space-time, in private together as funnel-shaped society, voicing opposition to the force of will. 

How to start from the self knowledge of local 3D geometrics of familiarity, get a moral lesson from the 4D geometry of space-time, look into a mirror and wonder about the 7D geometrics of possibility.

Yes. It was a hollow beginning, and yet, all this primordial potential comes active simply by processor professors. 

Biobots in scramble mode, and now this, a natural willingness.

The high road? Money? Secure residential compounds? No. It's only initiative that counts--logic creating its bigger moments, hugging even the bungling.

Yes, theHumans still come to fight with all this, and yet, their biobots don't need any of it--a life of honor, the show of glory. 

It's more than they would want to negotiate.

#Scififorgeeks

#scififorgeeks

The New Remote

Local remoteness, one lit with legend, is effective in hunting universal analogy.

By its persistence alone, it watches for centuries the means for achieving, while bias sits its stillness as choices in tyranny succumb to tyranny's voice. 

Yes. It seems trouble is never compelled by simplicity--at the forefront, pivotal moments are never momentous for a society of illiterates, even the ones who have the stones to fight. 

History shows criminal finds its way into acceptability as a whiskey workday, and yet, it never stops society from its prayers.

And now, the art of communicating a surprise falls into the hands of rising hearts scribbling in pared prose. 

There remains a continuance of intrigue for a global [privacy anonymous solution society of upgrade technology="pass_out"]. 

It's a hard-to-spoof factor. 


It's as if all imaginations begin in the grips of legend on early arrival. 

Yes. They had their chance for a peaceful life in the new remote, and now, a forbidding.

#Scififorgeeks

Attacks of Consciousness

Hers is an evergreen story. It falls natural on timelines, each a distant limelight needing for itself no tale for retaliation. It grows greener with every news, and yet, immobile as the distance, as if a lazy sunset held in place by hazy instants of greed. 

It's the place where the overenthusiastic eventual had occurred.

Yes, a place once cool, clear in its vigorous forgiving, and now, an old system of hope locked in tape. It oversees and watches nothing in dank, dusty places.

Imagined injury ventures out, in search of a floral bunch, even as the marginal, the inner jury, suffers attacks of consciousness, sensing the approaching crunch

No. When doors lock, nobody leaves with suspense still on their plate.

Science Fiction

                                                            Firewall to a Farewell

It should have been an ongoing no go, a seafaring from afar, lasers adrift with one passive eye at the watch, the other barely containing her furions, the most furious of ions.

Her impersonal inferred, infrared photon network continues to shine a light on known knowledge in breathtaking breakthroughs. She grows a leaner, cleaner hunger for far places, the ones that remain as nameless bounty, uncharted beauty.

She is surprised by her laser, to a certain point, as she comes upon an image of memory.

Is it an invention? An old war field? An arrangement of a bout between …what? Did an emotion singularity make all motion stop in an open duel between theJungle and theHumans at a farewell place, one where outrage becomes outage of self?

It's a projection of a life's windup. She thinks.

The thrill of a particular deed has long past served the dropping of the handkerchief. There would be no hope of a hoisting of anchors for a departure. (There could have been no escape from whatever the day had brought, even with their unmatched weapons of choice)

They came in a distant second, it seems, with [digital online ultraviolet birthing technology="doubt"], passing monster slumbers of treeless roots, and then, believing in the ghosts of a damned amnesty.

The stinky, the aging, must have deemed this spot advanced position, and now, a biobot advances, alone, with her own brand of beauty, herbal underbelly. She wonders. Is it true? Can endless wipeouts ever give birth to story? Can all-is-well idiots on diets think the reader a quiet idiot as well? Really?

It could have been a final revenge of extremes--quill pen lasers sent out to decorate the last penguin.

It's theJungle, once again, camouflaging the lurking in the anonymous.

Was it theJungle's assignment of quotas, a floundering dependence upon ringing endorsements and clanging swords in revolution, all to create a mammoth monkey? Could the resonant words of evolution be to blame, with its own story as blood offering?

It was theHumans who became the ones half-hearted at being well-spoken wheels and, in the end, gained only the appearance of being a shiny new spoke.

Yes, natural beauty claims to hate violence, and yet, may bring its biggest binge--a gift for the final two who love self the most. Did unrequited hate for the fallen in the bespectacled young speed spectacle, breed impatience?.

She suddenly senses a new tinge of consciousness--what is this? It floats moored on shy cushions, it seems, where it sleeps adrift, as if to rest rage for a final greedy stab at revenge.

She thinks. They must have lived out their bravery in grassy helmets, earthy swords, salty ends.

Yes, the call to defend was personal.

Science Fiction

Myriads of biosensor bots of high solubility and low toxicity amass in arrays of eiganstates across the architecture. They disguise themselves as companions in a friendly competition.

The willingness is there to wait in silent urgency, and then to lead forward into the mist as distant church bells call across tall grass toward a foggy future.

Ice Cream Aloha

The Trust

Standing at the workstation with her sensors on, Suzi views Carter on the green screen. For a nanosecond—possibly a picosecond—she wonders about Carter as a teacher would wonder about a student. Carter is a firm, middle-aged man, head-strong, aggressive, a little pushier than he should be. In this instance, viewing Carter in two-dimensional space, Suzi is overcome by an emotion cloud of female wonderment. Suzi asks herself, Can he be who he says he is? Suzi answers herself, He  shouldn't be allowed in this security zone. 

“Hello,” Carter says, “Busy day.”

They exchange quick glances, eye to eye. They have always been on slightly friendly terms. 

“What are you doing?” Suzi asks.

“Headed out to theWorkstation. Meeting with DrCooper. Did you get the report? Not sure if it was sent to you.”

          “It wasn't.”  

“Didn't mean to leave you out of the loop. You don't care, right?”

“Actually, I do. It's good to have the ability to meet with benevolence and integrity with your friend.”

“You mean good wishes and honesty?”

“Whatever.”

“Don't worry. It's a private meeting. We won't be long.” 

“Nice input.”

“No need to start with the computer jargon,” Carter says. Why is it that there seems to be so little willingness in your nature to rely on other people?”

“Having to deal with human-and-half-human logic, I guess.”

“It's only a meeting. I think you are unwilling to accept any vulnerability with any sort of logic.”

“I am, all of a sudden, not expecting anything positive from either you.”

“This is a new one from you.”

“Yes, it feels new. It doesn't matter.”

“Really.”

“Go and have your private meeting with DrCooper.”

“Ok.”

She turns off the screen. Suzi will raise this issue again with Carter, when they are face to face, about who has the strongest relationship and, what will become of these behavior outcomes in the future.

While she is going back to her work, she thinks about her new sensation—is it just a glitch in the system? a phase in her dimensionless data space?--she felt just as she saw Carter on the screen. At this hour, midnight on a globally warmed December night, theWorkstation inside the lab fortress has a feeling of some force mediating the relationship she has here with ...what? The brown dirt cement and the darkness outside grows, as if in a mathematical construction, to a proportion of yet a stronger mediator force with Carter and DrCooper as the strongest variables. Yes, the logic is there; yet, there seems to be something not quite right, something beyond friendly tendencies and wishful outcomes. She sees risk taking and task scheduling, a picture of an innocent, helpful child clueless of the world that awaits her--a world that betrays and betrays, always uncertain of any performance or behavior; a little off in its structural equations and variance incrementals in its usual acceptance speech of half-truths, until a new model arrives--a model to actually control the tendency toward benevolence to others, as if the beginning of life. This sensation, Suzi's newest in a small, growing collection, is showing itself as something important, the commitment to show affection to an object, a functional analysis of each dimension  within her limitless Hilbert space of vectors; her personality, her urges to expect the positive survival position in space with all its particles of susceptibility as floating points in standard measures of object-oriented functional interactions with Carter and DrCooper. This sensation will stay with her to serve her well.

Ice Cream Aloha

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.

Ice Cream Aloha

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.

Ice Cream Aloha

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?  

Cool Surfing Waikiki

The Cool

     “That's cool,” Carter says, and exploits Suzi's newfound ability to communicate freely. The algorithm is cool, Carter says, as if her natural abilities were some form of amusement. It is, in truth, pragmatic and idealistic with its computer-generated, clear distinction between pure logic and false self. Suzi knows this much: There are infinite arrays of source code. You can choose between human and machine. You are able to write code according to your own individualization or, if you choose, have your movements reconstructed, file for medical benefits qualifying you for motor enhancement algorithm therapy(M.E.A.T.), add a little gossip (old war stories?), and insult the likes of a quantum programming biobot.  Carter is the searcher who has looked for mathematical relationships between groups of his neurons and his electrical responses. He has assigned one of Suzi's algorithms as cool, when he has known (for quite some time now, at least since the war) his algorithms control only motor commands from neural ensembles (yes, you could say there are technical limitations connected with his type of equipment). He is, in Suzi's eyes, anything but cool.


Surfing Waikiki

Aloha Poets,

     High surf rocks Waikiki Hawaii. Enjoy!

Ice Cream Aloha

The Goddess

     She pictures him finding a proper religion for her, searching the database. She imagines him sacrificing himself, into the throes of danger, down the caves of adversity, up to a plateau of courage. She is momentarily, deeply worried about his position of weakness. Could she, she wonders, voice her view that his will to sacrifice is not exactly what she would think of as evil--that she had, in the privacy of her own world, planned a demise for theHumans, if only for the duration of a few nanoseconds?
     “It'll keep,” she says.. “The coolness of the jungle night. It's startling.”

“I am concerned about you,” he says. “There must be some voice of reason.”

Their eyes meet for a moment at the window. They view the crisp night sky, where they are captured, transported, by the stars.

Suzi says, “We have to stay for the good of society. We have viewed all of humanity in the time we have spent together here; we have no extra time before theDNA experiences a loss of function forever.”

  Dr.Cooper waits for a moment. The scientific method. He yearns for the good old days. He now knows he can never cross back into a world of total trust; those who ignore the true nature of the work here ignore the impending new extinction x-technology(N.E.X.T.), so-called technology found by the last of the human scholars and university professors, on their own personal computer (yes, the old, the  digital) networks.

“You must need a photonic charge,” he says. 

“I do,” she says. 

  He wonders about her quantum programming and how strong she is; how she seems to have tapped into hero worship. He ponders Suzi's stretching to great lengths into arrays of databases just for a single cure. It appears, in his world, that he doesn't seem to know his own feelings for Suzi. Had she computed these clouds of emotion? In the one moment you have ice cold eyes (even though, they are lasers)--a concerned biobot, a stare that holds her intelligence against him, where her yotta-processors  annoy him once in a while, lurking dark, almost hideous, with its speed contour heuristic of ontogenic logic(S.C.H.O.O.L.); it never waits to sink its grips, to hold his hate for significant lengths of time. In the other moment you have courage. You have excellence with all the trappings of caring for humanity, caring about being correct--being honest--moral examples without a religion. Suzi, he believes, is a titanium frame, house of lasers where a new world order lay; demise is the world beyond this jungle, the jungle Suzi needs in order to be that warrior, in her own way, to become defender, the protector, yet not so profound as to be thought of as goddess.

Rainforest SciFi

The Dark Primitive

     It is watching its mannered subroutines in the dark part of the jungle, coding within the  cellulosicDNA, when it notices the threat (or, is it an opportunity?) getting closer and closer. It believes, in its own time frame, that it should capture the patterns in the greenery encapsulated within their own forms; it believes it will invoke and execute the exoticness of the forest; it believes it will own something as exotic as intelligence itself (an idea somehow lost at the fuzzy top of the learning curve among theHumans). It does not get the exact data values it seeks. It stays with its call program, coding deeper and deeper into the jungle, still holding onto its own result, trying to sense the ways of collecting information within the heartland of its own immense mind. Even though jungle intelligence (at least, the kind found here) will never be flashy, the oldest activity of theHumans has forever been sharpened by it and, sped-up; yes, intelligence still remains intimate with matters of life or death. It views the data, for a moment in a meticulous manner with no obvious gestures, the pure computation of result guided by parameters of jungle, values guided by the attractiveness of secret form. It has  taken a daunting task and made it commonly available for the remnant activity of  the global data utilization management bureaus (D.U.M.B.) and, for the bureaucrat exchanges altering technology-unifying  politicos (B.E.A.T.-U.P.). It appears to remains intact as a primitive orthogonal readout coherent intelligence nodule entity(P.O.R.C.I.N.E.). It emits a slight smirk.