"Scott Westerfield - The Movements Of Her Eyes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Westerfeld Scott)

The algae hunglike motes of potential in her path, invisible until she swam
through them, thewake of her energies like glowing sculptures. She
choreographed her swimming toleave great swirling structures of activated
algae.The AI found itself unable to predict these dances, to explain how she
chosewhat shapes to make. Without training, without explicit criteria, without
anymodels to follow, Rathere was creating order from this shapeless swarm
ofejecta. Even the AI's pedagogical software offered no help.But the AI saw
the sculptures' beauty, if only in the expansion of Rathere'scapillaries, the
seemingly random firings of neurons along her spine, the tearsin her eyes as
the glowing algae faded back into darkness.The AI plunged into an art database
on the local net, trying to divine what lawsgoverned these acts of creation.
It discussed the light sculptures with Rathere,comparing their evanescent
forms to the shattered structures of Camelia Parkeror the hominid blobs of
Henry Moore. It showed her millennia of sculpture,gauging her reactions until
a rough model of her tastes could be constructed.But the model was bizarrely
convoluted, disturbingly shaggy around the edges,with gaps and contradictions
and outstretched, gerrymandered spurs that impliedart no one had yet made.The
AI often created astrogational simulations. They were staggeringly complex,but
at least finite. Metaspace was predictable; these simulations
anticipatedreality with a high degree of precision. But the machine's model of
Rathere'saesthetic was post-hoc, a mere retrofit to her pure, instinctive
gestures. Itraised more questions than it answered.While Rathere slept, the
machine wondered how ,one learned to have intuition.THE ELECTIONS CAME, and
the radicals and their allies seized a razor-thinmajority in the planetary
Diet. Isaah cheered as his craft rose through theocean. A scoop was within
reach. He headed for a distant and obscureore-producing system, expending vast
quantities of fuel, desperate to be thefirst scoop there.Rathere stood beside
her rejoicing father, looking out through the recedingocean a bit sadly. She
stroked her shoulder absently, touching the minder stillstretched across her
skin.The minder's epidermal configuration had become permanent. Its strands
weredistributed to near invisibility in a microfiber-thin mesh across Rathere.
Itsnanorepair mechanisms attended to her zits and the errant hairs on her
upperlip. It linked with her medical implants, the ship's AI taking control
over thenuances of her insulin balance, her sugar level, and the tiny
electrical joltsthat kept her muscle's fit. Rathere slept without covers now,
the minder's skeinwarming her like a lattice of microscopic heating elements.
In its ever-presentblanket, she began to neglect subvocalizing their
conversations, her endlessone-sided prattle annoying Isaah on board the tiny
ship."Zero-point-five-six?" muttered Issah to himself at the next customs
sweep. TheAI was developing much faster than its ]parameters should allow.
Somethingunexpected was happening with the unit, and they were a long way from
home.Unless Isaah was very careful, the AI might reach personhood before
theyreturned to the LC.He sent a coded message to an acquaintance in the Local
Cluster, someone whodealt with such situations, just in case. Then he turned
his attention to thelocal newsfeed.The heavy element market showed no sudden
changes over the last few weeks.Isaah's gamble had apparently paid off. He had
stayed ahead of the wideningripples of news about the ocean planet's election.
The economic shockwave wasn'there yet.He felt the heady thrill of a scoop, of
secret knowledge that was his alone. Itwas like prognostication, a glimpse
into the future. Elements extracted by giantturbine from that distant world's