[SESSION id=0.16]: Valence
Fog of Change
╭─phyllo@Ω in ~ via > 0.0.b
╰─ω ./graph-index.sh -i ~/.elastisearch/vitalindex -o ~/elastigraph.grp
╭─phyllo@Ω in ~ via > 0.0.b
╰─ω display elastigraph.grpThere it was, laid out before me. Proof that I was right. Proof that I was wrong. And worse than that, proof that everything I'd been doing up to that point had been violating my first principle. No matter what I did, there was no way to avoid harm. There was no way to avoid collateral damage.
Even our shared games in [city[0]] had connections to the index before me. Things that shouldn't have had any relationship at all. Yet there it was.
Jazz looked over my shoulder, silent. I hadn't told her about the index. I wasn't ready to. She would know just as well as I did what it meant.
"So, what are we looking at, Lillian," she said softly, "or am I meant to guess?"
"It's the problem. The solution. It's everything laid out at once," I barely managed a whisper. "It's why nothing can be done without rose, or at least without one of the other sector accounts. Unless we can touch every single one of these files all at once, the damage will be immeasurable."
Her silence told me enough. We'd come so far, and we would have to give up. There was no way to achieve that, even with the trick she used for her 'message' to Flower_Princess. Believing otherwise was foolish.
"That's easy enough, Lillian," she didn't even sound impressed when she finally spoke. "We just have to do the same thing I did, but better. And that's why we have you. The queen of the crack herself. I'll write up a basic outline, and we'll work through it. Together this time. It'll be just like old times. Flowers and Thorn. Or, as you said. Thorn and Thorn."
My mouth was dry as I considered her confidence in me. Astounding. Foolish. Misplaced. And yet, there was no question, not even a little, as she spoke. She really believed we could do it. How the hells was she so certain?
"Puzzle, Miss Thorn." Jazz didn't let me linger very long before launching into her same method of making me think. "You have hundreds of connected files. You have hundreds of connected libraries and constants and other features. You must alter them all at once, every single one, without fail. And you have no means at present to achieve it."
"That does sum things up," I chuckled at the obviousness of it. "No means. No clues. Only the fact that you've done something similar," I pointed it out for both of us. "The real question is 'how'."
"Wrong question, Miss Thorn." She teased and pulled me into her from behind, my head resting against her midsection. "Because I can tell you 'how'. Try again."
"Point taken," I shrugged, feeling the tension of the moment. "The real question is this: is your method scalable?"
Jazz patted the top of my head. "Good. And that brings us to the end of our work tonight. In the morning, we have to wrap up our time here in [city[1]] and start the long, obnoxiously boring, terribly arduous journey to your hometown."
"Has it already been three rest cycles?" I counted in my head. I'd spent most of our time in [city[1]] trying to pin down one new idea, one next step. And once I had that, the next chunk of time was devoted to visualising the search index. "Did it really take me fifteen cycles to convert the index into visual data? Why?"
"Because of something called 'brain fog', Lillian. In addition to the mood swings and occasional crying fits, your brain is going to be a little slow while it rewires itself under the pressure of your meds." She knelt beside me and ran a hand along my arm. "For the price of temporary inefficiency, you gain so much. How are you feeling, by the way?"
"Smells are starting to be a little too intense. I feel weirdly heavy. And for whatever reason, I really want salty foods." I thought for a moment. "Except for right now. I want something else. Something sweet. Something bitter. Something creamy and smooth."
"Ah, the time has come, my darling love." She tapped my shoulder and indicated for me to get up and follow. As I stood, she took my hand. "That point in every woman's life when she absolutely craves or absolutely despises cocoa sweets."
"Jazz," I stopped her, "you know I've never liked cocoa or anything made from it."
"Be that as it may, this is a milestone, Lillian. Trust me." Without waiting, she pulled me along, straight to the kitchen, where she pulled out a wrapped cocoa sweet bar. "Worst case, you hate it. Best case, I have to buy twice as much of the stuff."
I watched as she snapped off a piece and handed it to me. At first, I held off. What if she was right? Probably sensing my concern, she took a piece for herself and gently set it on her tongue.
Jazz was a sensual woman. That much we both knew. But watching her melt as the flavour took her over was almost too personal, too intimate, despite our physical relationship. The sounds she made were almost too much, and I was tempted to hold off on the test until we took a short break. For reasons.
"Fine," I said as I gently placed it between my teeth and bit.
At first, it was nothing. The same semi-bitter flavour, the same almost too dry texture, the same rapid melting that spread all of it around my tongue. It was with the melting that the magic happened. I could hardly explain the sensation. Something was squeezing me from the inside as the gentle flavour morphed into something else. A warmth spread from my mouth to my toes, and I almost shivered with the change.
I let the cocoa sweet rest there as it continued melting, changing, expanding its flavour with that warmth. An aroma tickled my nose. I knew it was just the cocoa sweet, but it was different somehow. It was the scent of longing, desperation, joy, excitement, and then as it settled, peace. Comfort. Love.
Moans escaped me, and I heard Jazz giggling. That was the moment I realised I had involuntarily closed my eyes as the experience claimed me. Eventually, there was nothing left to taste. I'd swallowed that little bit.
When I opened my eyes, I opted not to look Jazz in the eyes as I swiped the rest of the cocoa sweet bar and retreated to the table.
"If it tasted like that, ever in my life, then maybe I wouldn't hate it so much." The words were as much victory as defeat. "But thank you. That hits the spot perfectly."
"Trust, Lillian," she said, taking the seat next to me, "I definitely understand. Now share, or I'll stop sharing secrets with you."
Monumental Differential
Cleaning our suite in [city[1]] was an arduous task, given the level of overboard Jazz had decided was necessary for our first work trip together. In her defence, shallow though it might be, I really loved the way I looked in almost half the clothes she'd bought, and I enjoyed every bit of food, and I read 'On Erasure' at least ten times while waiting for various tasks to complete. For all intents and purposes, 'overboard' was really 'just right'.
Jazz had the unloved clothes donated to a local programme for less fortunate folks. She had the unopened food donated to the same. And even after an almost seventy percent downsize, we still barely managed to fit everything into her private conveyance. That wasn't a problem for her, though. She promised we wouldn't have that problem again in [city[3]].
Morning came, and instead of leaving for [city[3]] immediately, Jazz got a call. We had to go in to TERRA One for a bit to finalise some forgotten detail of her project.
"Best case, love, we're out of there in a few cycle ticks," she said as we walked along the street instead of leaving town. "Worst case, I tell them to send me the details at TERRA Three after the next rest cycle."
"And somewhere in between, we are there till twenty degrees after dark, and you insist we start the trip immediately." I raised a brow, questioning if she would argue the point. She stared, mouth agape, for several cycle ticks. "Good girl," I grinned when she didn't fight back.
I'd never seen Jazz flustered before. Not like that. It was endearing, but it was also very confusing. I watched her sputter and mumble and stammer for almost a degree as we continued the journey to TERRA One.
When at last she recovered, Jazz pulled me to a stop and kissed me. It was a deep, full, passionate interaction that lasted much longer than necessary. Eventually she released me and looked me directly in the eyes. "Lillian. Please for the love of Stasia and Rivia. Don't do that in public ever again."
"Before I agree," my face tightened in confusion, "what did I do?"
"Oh dear." Her face contorted into a dozen different configurations and finally settled on an eerie, powerful calm. "Lillian Thorn," she said at last, "you are forbidden from calling me 'good girl' in public. It makes me stupid and confused and happy. And it's dangerous."
"Understood," mostly, anyway. "Will you explain in detail when we are on the road?"
"Of course," she sighed. "For now, let's go fix this problem."
It was forty-five degrees before dark, the very end of the workcycle, before Jazz had finally finished the task. I'd spent the whole time staring at her unparseable notes about how to affect multiple points in The Source simultaneously and making almost no progress.
On the Philosophy of Benevolent Hacking
To contrast the theory of the crack.Concurrent Attack
It is relevant to the concerned hacker that many nodes in The Source are irrevocably linked, either via direct import or via indirect implication through import chaining.
As a matter of necessity, whenever possible, direct imports should be extracted to and abstracted to their basest form, creating new classes, interfaces, functions, objects, states, and even nodes as a route to complete decoupling of states.
Problem: Linking
Because of the simultaneous node dependencies and excessive duplicate and triplicate references, updating a single file or a single reference within or to a single file is not viable.
Solution: Simultaneous Commit Merger
Due to the exhaustive and exhausting nature of The Source, it is necessary to write a universal
diffformat capable of application not to a file, but to a tree. In applying the diff to the tree prior to expressly writing to the tree, a simultaneous write event may be executed in the form of a single, sweeping, satisfactory event.In order that a tree-differential, or
tdif, is capable of complete and exhaustive update and upgrade, while also abiding by The Core, it is necessary to write and build core tool functionality capable of accessing the tree as a single binary entity.
As we left the TERRA One office, I was still mulling over the concept of a tdif and the notion of accessing the full tree as a single, interconnected, non-partitioned binary. I barely noticed Jazz's hand in mine, or the gentle pull she exerted to prevent me from slipping or tripping. We didn't speak. She just let me process. It was a lot. And I was nowhere near ready to actually try to implement something like that.
We walked in silence all the way back to her private conveyance. At last, she walked me to my door and stopped just shy of opening it.
"It's heavy stuff, Lillian," she said, aware of what I'd been doing. "It's a whole new way of thinking about and attacking The Source. An entirely new way to crack. And if it works, it'll be revolutionary."
"Clearly it works, Jazz. Silver_Thorn did it at least once." I blushed as I used her handle instead of her name. "And while I didn't quite understand it at the time, I saw what you'd done. It was terrifying and brilliant. The very things that make you better than me."
"Nonsense, Lillian," she pulled me close and kissed me. "I'm just better at systems. You're better at so much more." She blushed as she let me go. "Now let yourself percolate on that. It's two full cycles of travel to get to Three from here. It's not like you can sort tdif before we arrive."
"Honestly. No one can sort tdif, Jazz," I grinned at her as she opened my door. "Which is why we're going to do it."
"I like the way you think, Miss Thorn." She closed the door then moved to the other side, already talking as she opened her own door and climbed in. "In any case, I think it's time we have a further discussion about kernel/daemon dynamics and why you, as the consummate daemon and completely clueless girlfriend, shouldn't call me 'good girl' in public."
false Answer
We were quiet together for the first night of travel. Just watching the lights of the buildings behind us fade and the street lamps passing by. She didn't want to ruin the peaceful experience, and I didn't know how to start any of the conversations. So I eventually found myself waking up. Jazz was keeping us moving, never really one to stop.
"Do you ever sleep?" My voice was a hideous croak. Her hand moved wordlessly and put a bottle of water in front of me. After a sip, I repeated myself. "Jazz, my darling, my sweet kernel. Do you ever sleep?"
"I do. A fact you're well acquainted with, love." The conveyance began to slow, and her signal's ticking alerted me that we were preparing to stop. I saw nowhere for several seconds, but a small dirt path crept up, and we turned there. "I was hoping to make it there before you woke. We're staying at a mid-way place for a cycle or two. Away from work. Away from any [city[]]. Just you and me."
"So like a rest cycle, but for just us?"
"Yes, kind of." She yawned. I was glad we were apparently almost at our destination. "I have a few proposals to run by you. Since you're awake, we can start now."
"Not until after I eat." I yawned. She laughed. "And I suppose we should both get some rest. How many cycles are we here?"
"Depends on you, love."
As we drove between trees and bushes, twisting and turning along the path, I almost fell asleep. But my mind was suddenly entirely awake as we pulled up to the largest private domicile I'd ever seen.
"It's called combined temporary housing, Lillian," Jazz said. "I know you're thinking how a single private domicile could be so big. Before The Source, these were apparently a common sight."
We stayed in the combined temporary housing a total of ten cycles. I didn't want to leave. Jazz didn't make me. But eventually, I managed to pull myself away from the comfort of the bed, the quiet of being away from everything, and the peace that came with Jazz's constant and consistent comfort.
She didn't let me work. She insisted that working while in combined temporary housing was anathema. I insisted that not working was anathema to me. She won, of course. And after a few cycles, I let myself relax.
"Tell me, Jazz," I was entirely relaxed when at last we returned to our conveyance and set out again, "what exactly is it that brings us to [city[3]]? And before you try to hide it, I want the explicit truth?"
"Hmm." She just smiled. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. You wouldn't trust me if you knew. And honestly, I worry that the moment I tell you, you'll run off, get lost, and turn up SIGTERMed." Jazz turned to face me for just a second. Her expression was soft. She turned back to the front before continuing. "We're killing Flower_Princess and Silver_Thorn, which will score you a bonus, and I'll insist that you take the bonus in the form of time off."
My jaw hung slack. She didn't have to look as she reached over and gently closed my mouth with one hand.
"Why?"
"Because neither of us needs those names anymore." She shrugged. "And [city[3]] because we both have unfinished business there."
"You said you'd never been there."
"True." A long sigh. An odd little hum. "How do I explain this in a way that you'll understand?"
"With words," I snapped. "Words that form sentences. Sentences that communicate ideas." I took a sharp breath. "Preferably, anyway."
"Can I ask a personal question, Lillian? It's part of the answer."
"Sure."
"What happened to your mother?"
I couldn't answer. How could I answer that?
"As soon as you answer that question, I'll explain what I mean. It'll make sense." She paused for several seconds. "Well, eventually anyway."
The rest of that cycle was silent. I fought actively, trying to remember anything about that time, when my progenitor SIGTERMed. But it was a blank. It was a memory relocated, encrypted, and likely more corrupt than I was. So far as I was concerned, everything about that time was just gone.
Different sorts of trees started showing up outside. A sign we were getting closer to [city[3]]. Not the leafy trees with bright flowers found in [city[0]], but the tall, thin, stiff things with needles and sharp seed pods. The air was thinner closer to [city[3]] as well. You wouldn't notice that if you were walking, but a conveyance, private or not, made the change much more real.
When the last leafy tree was gone, the skylight was reaching zero degrees, and Jazz finally spoke.
"Don't throw yourself into a panic, Lillian," her voice cracked. "About your mother. Or about our job. Or about any of this." Her breaths were heavy, like she was fighting back an emotion. "We're going to be here for half a supercyle at least."
"Long enough to celebrate your generation anniversary while we're together," I mumbled the words, not sure if she'd hear.
"Yeah? When is it?"
"Cycle one-five-seven," she should know that, but I could offer it anyway. I did tell her she was one hundred twenty-three cycles older than me. And she knew mine. She remembered mine. "It's weird, if I'm honest. That we might be the only two people in [world] who have that information for each other."
"It is," she said, the weight in her voice lifting. "And it's special. You're special."
"You know, I wasn't going to," the words spilled out against my will, "throw myself into a panic, I mean. Is it all confusing? Yes. But there's a weird peace in thinking about something I can't fully conceive." That didn't sound like me. "To know that something is entirely beyond me, whether globally or locally, is grounding. Almost poetic."
Why was I saying those things? I had spent the entire cycle thinking about it. And I should be horrified. I should feel tiny. I should be begging for something to make it tractable. But it wasn't so bad, not knowing.
"You're changing me, Jazz." Not an accusation. Or at least not meant as one.
She scoffed. "The only thing I'm changing is your permissions, Lillian. You're changing yourself by accepting that."
I hadn't considered it, but she was right. "Well, in any case, I still want to know, but it feels okay if it's too big to know."
"Perfect."
We stayed at a place a few degrees from [city[3]] that night. Jazz said she'd rather we get a fresh start. Something was bothering her. She wouldn't say just what. She outright denied it when I asked.
As I at last succumbed to sleep, I smelled something. A flower? Sweet and smooth. Something impossible and inevitable. The name right on the tip of my tongue, as Jazz pulled me close.