hydrocarbon compounds would have been. Still, the strain gauges attached to my feedback systems showed more effort required for movement than previously.
Some of that effort was due to the snow. At a depth of 1.2 meters, it reached to the belly pan of my torso. The compaction that built up in front of my limbs added approximately 150 joules to the normal effort of walking. The energy required to overcome that would drain my electrical reserves at a faster rate.
As I moved across the field of moonlit snow, the random number generator in core Alpha-Four still performed its silent function.
Dr. Bathespeake had understood the essential difference between a computer program and true intelligence. That is: the difference between the headlong rush of blind sequence and the pause out of time, the dislocation, which a human feels when old ideas and perceptions suddenly reassemble themselves into new patterns. Alpha-Four’s business was to kick out a random number that set an override. The override in turn entered a stop code and set an algorithm which selected, again at random, two blocks of memory in the noncurrent RAM bank. Alpha-Four entered these blocks as present inputs to the program stack, then entered a start code.
One of the random memory elements, now suddenly selected for ME, was the exact time of the train wreck, as noted by my internal clock.
The other was the memory address of the map plots for Alberta’s natural gas leaseholds, which I had stolen from the Ministry of Oil and Gas computer.
ME is programmed at core levels with a bias toward immediately analyzing the random bits of information entered by the Alpha-Four override. This bias states that conjunction of new data can be fruitful.
Time of the wreck, location of the leases. Time and location. Time and space. Time and speed. ME also carried in bank the route of the rail line and the schedule for the train to which my boxcar had been joined. With these data, plus the topographic gradient I had detected, the exact location of the wreck could be determined. Then, by superimposing rail distance on leasehold map, I could plot my course across the land to a known destination. The complete chain of calculations required no more than half a second.
The nearest probable habitation, according to the leasehold map, would be the Pelletier Cattle Ranch on Tract 2204, twenty kilometers east of Milk River. This was better than I expected, because that lease was centered no more than twelve kilometers from the international border.
That name, Pelletier, struck a resonance in RAMSAMP. I dredged loose words there for a moment… . Yes, that was the reference.
I stored it in hot RAM for future use, and set my course south-southwest, a rough bearing of 210 degrees magnetic, and began walking through the snow.
After three hours of motion, at an average speed of 1.6 kilometers per hour, I detected unnatural shapes against the sky: a long straight line and a short one, both parallel to the horizon and almost concealed among a stand of trees. I switched to infrared and detected two warm masses, presumably structures, one computed to be 800 cubic meters, the other more than 4,200 cubic meters. The larger one was warmer, and so I moved toward it
Among the trees there was a wide space, plowed clear of snow, with more small structures around it, most of them cold. The large building was still my goal. I crossed the open space slowly to avoid making any noise. The renewed snicking of my knee [REM: puzzling, now that the metal spur was removed] seemed louder than the wind in the trees.
What kind of building was this? A foundation of cold cement was overlapped by heavy wood, poorly finished and painted a dull white. A line of small glass windows, several of them cracked, was set too high up in the wall for any human to look through—unless the floor level was several feet above the threshold of the door. And the door itself was out of human proportion, four meters tall and five
Some of that effort was due to the snow. At a depth of 1.2 meters, it reached to the belly pan of my torso. The compaction that built up in front of my limbs added approximately 150 joules to the normal effort of walking. The energy required to overcome that would drain my electrical reserves at a faster rate.
As I moved across the field of moonlit snow, the random number generator in core Alpha-Four still performed its silent function.
Dr. Bathespeake had understood the essential difference between a computer program and true intelligence. That is: the difference between the headlong rush of blind sequence and the pause out of time, the dislocation, which a human feels when old ideas and perceptions suddenly reassemble themselves into new patterns. Alpha-Four’s business was to kick out a random number that set an override. The override in turn entered a stop code and set an algorithm which selected, again at random, two blocks of memory in the noncurrent RAM bank. Alpha-Four entered these blocks as present inputs to the program stack, then entered a start code.
One of the random memory elements, now suddenly selected for ME, was the exact time of the train wreck, as noted by my internal clock.
The other was the memory address of the map plots for Alberta’s natural gas leaseholds, which I had stolen from the Ministry of Oil and Gas computer.
ME is programmed at core levels with a bias toward immediately analyzing the random bits of information entered by the Alpha-Four override. This bias states that conjunction of new data can be fruitful.
Time of the wreck, location of the leases. Time and location. Time and space. Time and speed. ME also carried in bank the route of the rail line and the schedule for the train to which my boxcar had been joined. With these data, plus the topographic gradient I had detected, the exact location of the wreck could be determined. Then, by superimposing rail distance on leasehold map, I could plot my course across the land to a known destination. The complete chain of calculations required no more than half a second.
The nearest probable habitation, according to the leasehold map, would be the Pelletier Cattle Ranch on Tract 2204, twenty kilometers east of Milk River. This was better than I expected, because that lease was centered no more than twelve kilometers from the international border.
That name, Pelletier, struck a resonance in RAMSAMP. I dredged loose words there for a moment… . Yes, that was the reference.
I stored it in hot RAM for future use, and set my course south-southwest, a rough bearing of 210 degrees magnetic, and began walking through the snow.
After three hours of motion, at an average speed of 1.6 kilometers per hour, I detected unnatural shapes against the sky: a long straight line and a short one, both parallel to the horizon and almost concealed among a stand of trees. I switched to infrared and detected two warm masses, presumably structures, one computed to be 800 cubic meters, the other more than 4,200 cubic meters. The larger one was warmer, and so I moved toward it
Among the trees there was a wide space, plowed clear of snow, with more small structures around it, most of them cold. The large building was still my goal. I crossed the open space slowly to avoid making any noise. The renewed snicking of my knee [REM: puzzling, now that the metal spur was removed] seemed louder than the wind in the trees.
What kind of building was this? A foundation of cold cement was overlapped by heavy wood, poorly finished and painted a dull white. A line of small glass windows, several of them cracked, was set too high up in the wall for any human to look through—unless the floor level was several feet above the threshold of the door. And the door itself was out of human proportion, four meters tall and five
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