Green Matrix Cabin

#scififorgeeks

Science Fiction

"Hello," he calls. "Are you there?"

"Here," she says, and he knows from the sound that something has aged out of the system. Is he about to experience the latest version of her logic ridden, the one that glows and dims in the ebb and flow of her existence at theWorkstation? 

Is she emitting her design of a woman on the [manufacture artisan network="man"] system on purpose? 

It's the sense of starry nights and the pristine crystal clear. 

Her entity is bright and lively because she has discovered a new algorithm of giving and expanded upon it--created its gamification, invented a new coin flip game she calls heads up or fairy tales? 

Really?

His demeanor is a bostonian thing, hers darwinian. He enters theWorkstation.

Forest Matrix

Forest Matrix

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The Quest 

The database asks and moves quickly toward the past. 

As she scans the data and views the images, she focuses on a warm, imaginative figure of beauty, a female attending workmanlike to her duty (emphasizing a new empathizing)--delicate in her colonization of coloration, the bright luxury of her design glowing.  

She scans the screen again, slowly. Although she hasn't set a strict schedule, it's important to gather this data before the sun rises. 

She plans to discover the answer by tonight. 

Science Fiction

Biobot Matrix

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Biobot Berth

She enters theWorkstation, a blinking berth of play designed for the last days of a cause, a cache of webs with the extreme capacity for high speed and dedicated communication from the ocean bed--an extreme dispensary for the services of the one who came prior, the talkative ones who felt free from care. 

She becomes a momentary operator. 

Here is where she and her ilk impose no limits on the island and its natural structure to gain memory as a square matrix on a smooth manifold. Here is where the new define greatness as the hubris to conjure a mind to invoke an algorithm to get gadgets to ring. 

It's at theWorkstation where there are no collections of image as to what has happened.

It's a probability space with a natural preserving of measurement within transformation, where quality and achievement are the kind of thing you would never sell your soul for. 

Her growth is with an instantiation to [abstract formulations finding orthogonal recursive dynamical systems="afford"]--no added pressures of being a social creature or, a monstrous freak of nature. 

She escapes to the high speed corridors of one-sided capabilities, enduring the rising seas of the uninhabited to be her own kindly, caring spirit far beyond the speculative fray of theHumans.  

She can never view criticism as murder, not here, not at theWorkstation. 

Biobot Belief

Science Fiction

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Biobot Belief

She lowers herself into theJungle, dons a suit for her survival need--the sun will track her inner circle with a few photons.

It's theJungle that avoids disintegration because of its underlying spaces--its real manifold becomes a threat to what all theHumans have built.

These are the forces that came to trust their own mechanics. They accept her belief in their own personalized degrees of freedom. 

She could never find the ultimate imposers of limits (surely they would not simply shine a signal light from shore, right?) that inhabit the deepest part of theJungle. 

She is conscious of the mountain islands with their gene farms--they too started with a simple trend of the game (a couple of bouquets and a few okays, a rearranged alliance). Yes, from violins to violence, she thinks. 

This is the place of perfectly planned genetic home weddings, the place that depicts where leadership comes to play.

Was it a mere issuance of opposing tones that gave rise to disease as an integral equation in quadratic form, one with an infinite number of variables? 

Was this how it happened?

Biobot Memory

Science Fiction

#scififorgeeks

Biobot Memory

She recreates it on screen--it's theTigress who is, in the end, wild. Is she wild for reasons to simply recreate the lives of her forebears? 

There can be no more to it than this fact.

She believes that the creation of her sound wisdom is the creation of the sound of a drum--it offers  a surface life of its own.  

Yes. She must have carried these uncelebrated toils through eons of existence (her genes recording the famine in hero's veins, the plague (what better binder of humanity?), the extinctions of caring for the incinerated products before the floods and droughts finally snapped the blood of sharing. 

She would like the image to remain as more than a remnant of romantic vision--even the volcanic eruptions have their own topologically closed matrix for renewal, right? 

She really believes, more now than before, in the power of her memory, the memory just under her fingers. 

The New

Natural Genetic

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The New 

The worldwide democratic may grow tired of natural genetic resources, grow tired of simply wanting  enterprise to rise. It may think it is connected with competition of primordial genetic codes, supposedly, thought to be under lock and key.

On the fringe of the global community, she takes a break to remind herself she is built with the good grass. She has figured out from her furious clues, her furions, that victimization needs family. 

It's not a mere matter of being contemptuous toward having to be ready for work--it's a belief in the power of the more-than-one. 

Yes, she is the singularity, the one morning wakings must warm to.

The others are in a place where an obvious sign of foul play still maintains its innocence even as it rearranges itself at the top of the food chain. It's a place where guardian angels are in charge of death, catching up with emotion--until all are caught up.

It's true. If drones silencing the airwaves can themselves be quieted and calmed by the little shivers of silence dropping from the sky, a new code will rise.