"Kim Stanley Robinson - Forty Signs of Rain" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Kim Stanley)

that was hard to shake off. If there was an always defector in the group, one had to be less generous
oneself in order not to become a sap.

That was why Frank had invited him.

Thornton went on, тАЬThe basic problem is at the level of their understanding of an algorithm. An algorithm
is not just a simple sequence of mathematical operations that can each be performed in turn. ItтАЩs a matter
of designing a grammar that will adjust the operations at each stage, depending on what the results are
from the stage before. ThereтАЩs a very specific encoding math that makes that work. They donтАЩt have that
here, as far as I can tell.тАЭ

The others nodded and tapped in notes at their consoles. Soon enough they were on to the next
proposal, with the previous one posted under тАЬDonтАЩt Fund.тАЭ

Now Frank could predict with some confidence how the rest of the day would go. A depressed norm
had been set, and even though the third reporter, Alice Freundlich from Harvard, subtly rebuked
Thornton by talking about how well-designed her first jacket was, she did so in a less generous context,
and was not overly enthusiastic. тАЬThey think that the evolutionary processes of gene conservation can be
mapped by cascade studies, and they want to model it with big computer array simulations. They claim
theyтАЩll be able to identify genes prone to mutation.тАЭ

Habib Ndina shook his head. He too was a habitual skeptic, although from a much deeper well of
intelligence than ThorntonтАЩs; he wasnтАЩt just making a display, he was thinking. тАЬIsnтАЩt the genomeтАЩs past
pretty much mapped by now?тАЭ he complained. тАЬDo we really need more about evolutionary history?тАЭ

тАЬWell, maybe not. Broader impacts might suffer there.тАЭ

And so the day proceeded, and, with some subliminal prompting from Frank (тАЬAre you sure they have
the lab space?тАЭ тАЬDo you think thatтАЩs really true, though?тАЭ тАЬHow would that work?тАЭ тАЬHow could that
work?тАЭ), the full Shooting Gallery Syndrome slowly emerged. The panelists very slightly lost contact with
their sense of the proposals as human efforts performed under a deadline, and started to compare them
to some perfect model of scientific practice. In that light, of course, all the candidates were wanting. They
all had feet of clay and their proposals all became clay pigeons, cast into the air for the group to take
potshots at. New jacket tossed up:bang! bang! bang!

тАЬThis oneтАЩs toast,тАЭ someone said at one point.

Of course a few people in such a situation would stay anchored, and begin to shake their heads or
wrinkle their noses, or even protest the mood, humorously or otherwise. But Frank had avoided inviting
any of the real stalwarts he knew, and Alice Freundlich did no more than keep things pleasant. The
impulse in a group toward piling on was so strong that it often took on extraordinary momentum. On the
savannah it would have meant an expulsion and a hungry night out. Or some poor guy torn limb from
limb.

Frank didnтАЩt need to tip things that far. Nothing explicit, nothing heavy. He was only the facilitator. He
did not express an obvious opinion on the substance of the proposals at any point. He watched the
clock, ran down the list, asked if everybody had said what they wanted to say when there were three
minutes left out of the fifteen; made sure everyone got their scores into the system at the end of the
discussion period. тАЬThatтАЩs an тАШExcellentтАЩ and five тАШVery Goods.тАЩ Alice do you have your scores on this
one?тАЭ