After untold years of dormancy, the Commission on Disséan History has awoken, and brought with it this netpage, the electronic home of the Memory of the City. The red tape was fierce, but at long last reason has prevailed, and the Memory's collection will soon be accessible from anywhere in the archipelago.

Whoever you are, wherever you are, and whyever you're reading, we're glad you're here, and we hope the stories we have to tell capture your imagination and inspire you to discover more about the Cosmos we all share.

There are three categories of partitives in Lilitika:

(a) constructions where a set, general term exists; these are usually vague cases such as "some of the people" or "half of the night"
(b) constructions where a reference must be made to a specific quantity or fraction, e.g. "three of the walnuts" or "ten percent of the battery"
(c) constructions where a reference must be made to a subset which is distinguished by some attribute, e.g. "the wisest of the philosophers" or "the oldest (parts) of the tree" […]

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Íoya Tshúkoto. A woman as smug as her horns were straight.

She was an outcast of sorts, at least within the household and its staff; the last of a once-dominant bloodline, her kin had steadily been supplanted by Regsabta's cousins and sisters over the past three centuries. And she had not blended well, either: a strong, wedge-shaped chin and peculiar outward-pointing, flat ears made it clear to any visitor that she was not of the same stock. Her features rather reminded Regsabta of an inverted five-point star, which was a good omen in the far north and hence a bad one in the capitol and other equatorial metropoles. […]

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Sabta's shimmering greatness was particularly awful today; a pinkish glare that was harmless to the Ksreskézai themselves—but could easily burn and maim a slokdtaba if she stood in it for too long. Closer to night the sky would be a more bearable blue, but the pink tinge of high noon was truly pain embodied. After metal toxicity and childbirth, melanoma was, by far, the most common cause of death for the frail little servants. […]

The first Syngenesis multi-parter, A Crash Course in Evolution, is finally complete. Syngenesis posts should become more frequent and regular as summer evens out.

It's only a matter of time before any existing cryptographic method is cracked.

On the plus side, this seems to take longer than it does to invent good, new ones.

Why not keep the SSH or Tor protocol on a rolling update schedule, like web browsers? Encryption methods should expire just like passwords.

Counterintelligence seems like a good way to create a reliable job market for cryptography experts.

Obviously this is what secret agencies already do, but the commercial market could churn out new standards frequently with enough heads involved, flawed though they might end up being.

Analogy to a one-time pad, maybe?

The word robot comes from a Slavic root meaning "labour." The first time the word was used, by the Czech playwright Karel Čapek, it was used to describe what is today called an android or replicant—an artificial being capable of passing for human, with genuine emotions. The idea of machines that emulate animals and humans, to various degrees of accuracy, is of course much older, and writers have traditionally revelled in finding ways of making these characters behave more artificially and more obviously as machines, from speaking monotonously to ineptitude at lying. But increasing advances in machine learning are suggesting that, perhaps, this is the wrong way of thinking, and that, instead, our fallibility and organic behaviour may actually be essential to what allows us to think.

In part two, we examined peculiar ways of creating computers, as well as past computing technologies. This part concludes the "computers in science fiction" series.


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In part one, we looked at the nature of computers, quantum computing, and the definition of what it means for something be computable. This is all well and good for someone writing a present day or equivalent setting, but what about alien computers? How might they differ theoretically? What can be used to make them? Onward!


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Because of horizontal gene transfer, it's wrong to talk about bacteria in the same way we regard other kingdoms of life. I propose that all bacterial species that participate in HGT be rebranded as 'eigenspecies' or 'eigengenomes'—as if their genetic material were a vector being applied to a matrix (the environment) to yield a constant result (for humourous reasons, the eigenvalue should be 2, to indicate binary fission.) Of course, no genome is completely static, so they'd be near-eigengenomes. Very rapidly changing species are of course not steady-state at all; they are just some vector getting screwed up by the matrix.

This perhaps can be used to talk about any species, since a stable environment generally means a stable survival rate and negative evolutionary pressure, but I think the transitory nature of the designation is particularly suitable to our little transitory friends.

In a scant century, computers utterly reshaped human civilization. They rode with us as we catapulted from the vestiges of a deeply insecure, ceremonial society, where but a few people in a few countries had the means to attain lives of intellectual fulfilment, into one that has—increasingly—become quite the opposite. Along the way, our calculating engines have inspired us to change the way we think, and the absolutism of that new wave of conceptual organization has both depressed us in its omniscience and taught us to forgive in its impartiality. Computers have given us the power to behold nature, at every level, and through that we have been humbled.

It's not surprising, then, that unique or advanced inventions—specifically computers—are prominent in so many science fiction stories.

In this three-part series, we'll look at how computers work, how alien computers might work, and how to write for convincing artificial intelligence.


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