FunkyFronds: pinch in a newbie channel? i never thought i’d see the day
pinch: level S1. whatever protocol it is that makes honesty mandatory
nebbit: hope you like complicated code. honesty protocols are rarely a simple on/off deal. for us organics, it would be. either you lie or you don’t. easy. but the architecture for AI communication is hugely complicated. you start pulling threads, you can fuck up the whole tapestry. what’s your programming skillset like? can you write Lattice?
pinch: i was afraid you’d say that. i don’t know lattice. i can write basic tinker, but only enough to get me around mech repairs
tishtesh: yeah, do not go anywhere near an AI
FunkyFronds: there is no need to be rude, this channel is for beginners
tishtesh: i’m not being rude. i’m just saying, tinker isn’t worth shit here
nebbit: you ARE being rude, but you’re not wrong. pinch, i hate to say it, but you need to be very, very comfortable with Lattice before you dive into a project like this. if you’d be cool with someone else doing the work for you, i’d be happy to work out a trade.
pinch: appreciated, but i’ll pass. do you have any resources for learning lattice?
nebbit: yeah, i’ll message you some nodes to download. it’s dense stuff, but i’m sure you can handle it
LOVELACE
The crowds beyond the massive shuttle dock were thick, but Pepper held the kit’s hand, leading the way with the certainty of someone who had done this dozens of times. Lovelace tried to make sense of the throngs of sapients they weaved past – merchants lugging cargo, families embracing however their appendages allowed, tunnel-hopping tourists staring at maps on their scribs – but there were too many of them. Far too many. It wasn’t the excess of information that frazzled her, but the lack of boundaries. There was no end to Port Coriol, no bulk-heads or windows to provide a context, no point beyond which she could cease her directive to pay attention to every tiny detail. On and on the crowds went, stretching off down alleyways and pedestrian paths, a calamity of language and light and airborne chemicals.
It was too much. Too much, and yet, the restrictions that were in place made processing the Port all the harder. Things were happening behind the kit, she knew. She could hear them, smell them. The visual cone of perception that had rattled her upon installation was maddening now. She found herself jerking the kit sharply around at loud noises and bright colours, trying desperately to take it all in. That was her job. To look. To notice. She couldn’t do that here, not with fragmented views of crowds without edges. Not in a city that covered a continent.
What little she could process led to questions she couldn’t answer. In the shuttle, she’d downloaded as much as she could to prepare – books about sapient behaviour in public spaces, essays on socioeconomics, profiles on Port Coriol’s cultural mix. But even so, she kept seeing things she hadn’t anticipated. What was that instrument that Aandrisk was carrying? Why did some Harmagians have red dots painted on their carts? Why, anatomically speaking, did Humans not need breathing masks to shield themselves from the smell of this place? She filled a file with notes as she steered the kit forward, hoping she would have the opportunity to answer them later.