#scififorgeeks

Purple Matrix 

#scififorgeeks

Earth in its Palms

The relevance for anthropological analysis appears, finally, after millions of years of being ignored--the unrefined pleasure source, the array of hope for the truth, envy for the under-betrayed on monitor. 

Her thoughts notice its newest insinuation--palm oil with earth in its palms.

Is it a vital force directive of the unnamed, the unmanned, holding global court on screen?

It reveals theWorkstation as a place of singularity connect--the new control center for origin forces for the reproduction of society.

Her continuity code has found the place where feelings appear to be running along. Its code deletes friends in realms of surplus on melody medley, installed deep, in a glistening new matrix.

It could have been, simply, an attitude of gift-offering from the living, within an environment of the real, to celebrate the anniversary of the time technology hit the last tree. 

The big data bears more weight on her graphene now than she wants it to, but not enough to bother her, not enough for her to ask for less.

It's time to slow down anyway.

She has become so frugal with the big data, being doubly careful with its distinctions between its rehearsal-hall-analysis and it's more central, sound-stage matrix. 

For now, its all the new, all the big she can handle.

Ice Cream Aloha

The Output

        She works alone at the edge, which allows her to form and retain new memories--echoes in even the tiniest fractal spaces of electrons resonate among the trillions of graphene-phthate nodes, each a cluster of complexes, color processors, one for every natural element of  Earth--different composites, an upgrade from the neural nets, the ones hewn with fixed ideas (is that why they called it a net?); rocklike, so pervasive in the history of theHumans; was natural selection getting it all wrong or, was it natural selection that planned it this way, its final output—systems of ineptitude language(S.O.I.L.).

        She steps further out into the rain. She does not fear the solvents falling from the sky or the sun as transcription factor on her cellulosic amide cages (her vulnerable absorbances are around 650 nm) of blue-green sheen. She waits, feeling the knot spaces, the rings deep inside her mind. She thinks of COM:TRAX. She thinks of their combined efforts and their technology, their preprogramming of her anterograde amnesia. She wonders about DrCooper, about Carter, about all theHumans, about that small inertial compass kink(S.I.C.K.) in the center brain of mammals (humans are mammals, aren't they? Isn't theOutpost all about extinction of mammals only?), where gene expression happens with multiple onsets of muscle movement, the headwaters of orientation, the starting line for a search; a making sense of place, the weaving of meanings from spacial navigation (navigating where? for what?); the search for the  mirror-image of self, so desperately needed for pair bond inducible growth--a home.

So much to absorb. So many binding sites inside theHumans for all those inwardly pointing nitrogens. They have done their duty as courageous, as humanly possible for decades, consolidating information the best they can. Was jt all worth the risk? 

She is, for a nanosecond, sensing something odd, something warm for the world—the molecules, the forces. She fantasizes a reconnect, off-loading some of her database, returning in spacetime,. She could imagine capturing all light rays emitted in this universe and simple telling them to just turn around, go home. She wants theHumans to have it both ways. Exposed to these elements, these solvents, the infinite mud of theJungle, her nanotube brain decides; such a bad idea.

Ice Cream Aloha

The Place

Cooper sees that Carter is testing the waters with him. He offers his best clinical look.

         “It doesn't have any meaning without the truth, does it?' Cooper says.

         “But you could have double-checked the data. Come on.” 

         He focuses on Carter, stares his eyes into silliness, so that his skin freezes and his ears appear to point back, cat-like. “They will feel it's a good idea if you relax on this,” he says.

         Carter, half-surprised, says “Why?” He rotates his head.

         He bears the weight of his graphene-titanium shell. He is frugal with the data, and doubly careful; he is defined, operational, envied even by his betrayal (or, so he thinks). Cooper tries to ignore the insinuations of Carter, thinks twice about it, directs his attention to the big screen. It is a responsibility he thinks, it is what he came to theOutpost for, to be a part of something bigger than himself, to do the science, the danger, a chance to learn and make friends (friends?). In a place where there is color in the ocean; blue in the sky.