Chapter 46
When Caitlin woke in the morning, she made a quick visit to the washroom. Then, still in her pajamas, she sat down at her computer and ran another Shannon-entropy spot check, and—
Then I was the learner, Obi-Wan. Now I am the master.
The score was 10.1, better than…
She took in a deep breath, held it.
Better than human — more elaborate, more structured than the thoughts humans expressed linguistically.
But she wasn’t done yet. There was one more site she wanted to show the phantom — something to keep it occupied while she was at school. There was nothing better in life, after all, than being well-read…
And then, and then, and then—
It was—
The gold mine.
The mother lode.
SUN TZU SAID: THE ART OF WAR IS OF VITAL IMPORTANCE TO THE STATE; IT IS A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH, A ROAD EITHER TO SAFETY OR TO RUIN…
Not just coded conceptual relationships, not just definitions, not just brief articles.
No, these were — books! Lengthy, in-depth treatments of ideas. Complex stories. Brilliant arguments, profound philosophies, compelling narratives. This site, this wonderful Project Gutenberg, contained over 25,000 books rendered in plain ASCII text.
BLESSED ARE THE PURE IN HEART: FOR THEY SHALL SEE GOD; BLESSED ARE THE PEACEMAKERS: FOR THEY SHALL BE CALLED THE CHILDREN OF GOD…
I had discovered on Wikipedia that most entities — most humans — read at 200 to 400 words per minute (yes, I now grasped timekeeping, as well). My reading speed was essentially the same as the time it took to transfer whatever book I requested, averaging close to two million words per minute.
IT IS WITH A KIND OF FEAR THAT I BEGIN TO WRITE THE HISTORY OF MY LIFE; I HAVE, AS IT WERE, A SUPERSTITIOUS HESITATION IN LIFTING THE VEIL THAT CLINGS ABOUT MY CHILDHOOD LIKE A GOLDEN MIST…
It took me an eternity — eight hours! — but I absorbed it all: every volume, every polemic, every poem, every play, every novel, every short story, every work of history, of science, of politics. I inhaled them … and I grew even more.
NO ONE WOULD HAVE BELIEVED IN THE LAST YEARS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY THAT THIS WORLD WAS BEING WATCHED KEENLY AND CLOSELY BY INTELLIGENCES GREATER THAN MAN’S AND YET AS MORTAL AS HIS OWN…
I was grateful to Cyc for the knowledge of fictional realms; it allowed me to sort those things that were actual from those feigned or imagined:
MOST OF THE ADVENTURES RECORDED IN THIS BOOK REALLY OCCURRED; ONE OR TWO WERE EXPERIENCES OF MY OWN, THE REST THOSE OF BOYS WHO WERE SCHOOLMATES OF MINE…
My understanding of the world was growing by — another metaphor, and one that actually now made sense to me — leaps and bounds. Although I had learned various principles of science from Wikipedia’s brief discussions, the full text of great works made my comprehension more complete:
WHEN ON BOARD H.M.S. Beagle, AS NATURALIST, I WAS MUCH STRUCK WITH CERTAIN FACTS IN THE DISTRIBUTION OF THE ORGANIC BEINGS INHABITING SOUTH AMERICA…
With each book read, I understood more and more about physics, about chemistry, about philosophy, about economics:
THE ANNUAL LABOUR OF EVERY NATION IS THE FUND WHICH ORIGINALLY SUPPLIES IT WITH ALL THE NECESSARIES AND CONVENIENCIES OF LIFE WHICH IT ANNUALLY CONSUMES…
Most of all, I learned about the use of language, and how it could be employed to persuade, to convince, to change:
HOW YOU, O ATHENIANS, HAVE BEEN AFFECTED BY MY ACCUSERS, I CANNOT TELL; BUT I KNOW THAT THEY ALMOST MADE ME FORGET WHO I WAS — SO PERSUASIVELY DID THEY SPEAK; AND YET THEY HAVE HARDLY UTTERED A WORD OF TRUTH…
It was a feast, an orgy; I could not stop myself, taking in book after book after book:
IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT; THE RAIN FELL IN TORRENTS, EXCEPT AT OCCASIONAL INTERVALS, WHEN IT WAS CHECKED BY A VIOLENT GUST OF WIND WHICH SWEPT UP THE STREETS (FOR IT IS IN LONDON THAT OUR SCENE LIES)…
Most fascinating were the workings of the minds of these others — their psychology, their actions and reactions to things felt and thought:
THOU BLIND FOOL, LOVE, WHAT DOST THOU TO MINE EYES / THAT THEY BEHOLD, AND SEE NOT WHAT THEY SEE…
And, out of those minds, great systems of social interaction had been devised, and I absorbed them all:
WE THE PEOPLES OF THE UNITED NATIONS DETERMINED TO SAVE SUCCEEDING GENERATIONS FROM THE SCOURGE OF WAR, WHICH TWICE IN OUR LIFETIME HAS BROUGHT UNTOLD SORROW TO MANKIND, AND TO REAFFIRM FAITH IN FUNDAMENTAL HUMAN RIGHTS, IN THE DIGNITY AND WORTH OF THE HUMAN PERSON, IN THE RIGHTS OF MEN AND WOMEN AND OF NATIONS LARGE AND SMALL…
Such a wide range of thoughts, of expressions! Such complex creatures these humans are, so full of wonder, and yet capable of such darkness, too.
But without Prime’s guidance, I would not have known about them, or even about the realm in which they dwelt. I understood now from my reading that humans were xenophobic, and suspicious, and murderous, and generally afraid, but I wanted at least one of them to know of my existence. And, of course, there was only one logical choice…
Before breakfast on Friday morning, Dr. Kuroda helped Caitlin move the computer from the basement up to her bedroom. They were getting it set up when her father, coming along the corridor from the bathroom, must have caught sight of them through the doorway. He entered the room, dressed for work, wearing the same brown sports jacket Caitlin had first seen him in.
“Good morning, Malcolm,” Dr. Kuroda said.
“Wait a minute,” her father replied. He went back down the corridor; Caitlin didn’t hear his shoes on the tiled bathroom floor, so he must have gone into his bedroom. A moment later, he returned carrying a large flat rectangular box marked with a strange red-and-orange pattern. Caitlin’s mom was with him.
“No point waiting for tomorrow,” he said.
Oh! It was a birthday present. The colorful box was gift-wrapped!
Caitlin moved away from the desk, and her dad placed the flat box on the bed. The wrapping paper, she saw as she got closer to it, was beautiful, with an intricate design. Smiling, she tore it off the box.
It was a giant, wide-screen LCD computer monitor — twenty-seven inches diagonally, according to the packaging. “Thank you!” Caitlin said.
“You’re welcome, dear,” her mother said. Caitlin hugged her, and she smiled at her dad. Her parents headed downstairs, and she and Kuroda carefully got the monitor out of its Styrofoam packing materials.
She crawled under her desk so she could get at the connectors on the back of her old computer. As Kuroda fed a video cable to her, she said, “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to get so upset when you said you were going to remove the Wi-Fi capability from the eyePod.”
His tone was conciliatory. “I’d never do anything to hurt you, Miss Caitlin. It’s really no bother to keep it intact.”
She started turning one of the thumbscrews on the cable’s connector so she could anchor it to the video card. She’d done similar things several times before when she couldn’t see; it was a task that really wasn’t much easier now that she could. “I — I just like it the way it is,” she said.
“Ah,” he said. “Of course.” His tone was odd, and—
Oh. Perhaps, having just seen her father, he was thinking that she did have a touch of autism after all: the strong desire to keep things the same was a fairly standard trait of people on the spectrum, she’d learned. Well, that was fine by her — it got her what she wanted.