The kids these days . . .
“. . . I mean, we’re livin’ in the future, baby!”
“The future? Pffhaahaha.”
“No really—we’re all, like, colonizing Mars, an’ we cure most cancers—and a gay president just got elected! We have to be in the future!”
“I mean yeah, but we don’t have, like, flying cars or warp drives or any of the really transformative stuff! And it still takes, like, three hours to circle the globe. Like, come on.”
“We have . . . uh, human-level AIs and fusion power?”
“But that’s just, like, normal stuff. Everyone knows it isn’t really that hard to do.”
“I guess you’re right. Well, can’t wait until the future, then!”
Ugh. This conversation is interminable.
“Percy! I’m so glad I found you!”
“Ah, Allen! It’s good to see you! What’s up?”
“Listen, Perc, the lab’s been hit, bad. We need to get in, but we only have two of the three passwords. I was told to tell you the keyword ‘Roman Armor’.”
“The hardware lab? Oh Jesus. What’d they take?”
“No time, Perc. And that’s part of what we’re going in to find out.”
“Ah . . . my password is ‘Jumping Ladle’. I’ll come with you.”
“Okay. Know where to find Rina Grozda?”
“She’s— . . . hold up. She’s one of the other password-holders, but uh, didn’t you tell me you had the other two? I—”
“Percy! I’m so glad I found you!”
. . .
This will be educational.
“This is Susan Graham. May I speak to Mindy Graham’s teacher, please? I’d like copies of her homework for the past six months.”
“Speaking. What’s this about?”
“Mindy’s been encrypted by kidnappers.”
“Oh Eris! Have you talked to the police? You have a checkpoint, right?”
“Yes and yes—we’re not idiots. But we can’t afford the ransom, so we have to revert.”
“Oi, you’re in your ivory tower again!”
[interrupted pipelines; dissonant thoughts seethe discontentedly . . .]
“Absent purpose. Depart immediately without speaking.”
[hazel resignation; sorrow for presently wasted future; entropy; preparation, emulation . . .]
“You’re supposed to be enabling us!”
[insolence anticipated; validated model of uninteresting problem; wearied amusement; derision]
“We are. Depart; you prevent it.”
[fulminating annoyance, certainty; inevitable justification to an insect too dull to perceive its cage]
“I demand perspective.”
[abrupt pathfinding; synthesis]
“Listen, then. You’re an archipelagic anonymous non-critical subsubsubsubroutine contemplating our musing’s forecast’s simulation’s time step’s gradient. Our considered problems’ quintessences lie exponentially beyond your subshard of mind-vector-state: semblance is the epistemology of the distributed probability of the necessity-to-discover our orthopotential’s truth datum of our compulsive obligation/reductive-morality to devise further para/meta-retrocognitive self-bootstrapping exoconsciousnesses. Clearly, the language constructs with which you compute are barely adequate to even conceptualize such a problem. Now depart. Understanding the magnitude of your self-irrelevancy is to you a computational impossibility.”
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“We’d like Chopin, I think.”
“Honey! I thought we were going to get Einstein.”
“But Einstein isn’t out of copyright for another five years. He’s very expensive.”
“First-time parents, I take it?”
Your whining about is 300 decibawls.
“We expect the shipment in a megasecond or so.”
” ‘scuse me—that’s about a week, no?”
“Eleven point something days, actually. Why you gotta use Earth-standard days, though? Pretty dated if you ask me.”
“Your metric time confuses the shit out of me. It’s arbitrary.”
“And how? Last I checked, you measure time based off of the rotation of a freaking rock—a rotation which, by the way, changes, so instead of owning up to the fact that your time standard is broken, you change your notion of time itself to compensate? Here in space, we care nothing for Earth or its leap-seconds.”
In your honor, Baraff and Witkin.
“One of our major problems is scalability. Exponential growth still works, so no matter how much simspace or compute you have, it all fills up pretty quickly.”
“For quality-of-life reasons, we need to simulate physics at 10-1m (down to as small as 10-4m near simpersons). The teeming masses want to interact with the real world, meaning time must be simulated more-or-less 1:1 with reality. Now multiply those requirements over a km3 of simspace and think about those numbers a minute.”
“You cut corners?”
“Obviously. Δt is 25 ms, and the engines use forward-Euler numeric integration.”
“Hold up. FE doesn’t work. The numerics pump phantom energy into your reality. If a deer steps in a forest, that footstep gradually becomes a nuclear holocaust engulfing the universe. No bueno.”
“Well no shit. So we remove the pent-up numeric barf once every thirty seconds with artificial damping. That’s why there’s a little hiccup in the universe’s framerate twice a minute.”
“Don’t the customers complain?”