Hole in Reality (Working title)

Foreword: Not ready, just need to show some peeps so I can get any feedback!

---

I was laying on my bed, awake, staring at the ceiling. My mind was wandering from my negligible knowledge of physics to my vast knowledge of programming to my somewhat adequate understandings of biology. I was trying to create a mix that would make me understand why we think. What is the meaning of consciousness? Why does it seem to benefit a species to be able to communicate abstract concepts to other members of the species? Sure it makes building space shuttles easier, but before that, there are many steps that could be seen as having very little need for more communication. Hunting can be done using only simple hand signals, stories can be exchanged in a dance, and socialising can be done by picking ticks from the other monkey's back.

I was thinking these things, and somehow I wandered on to the essence of our reality. I guess I thought the wrong thoughts or something, because the next thing I knew was that I had torn a hole into space-time. I could see all the little things going on around me, behind walls, in other homes. I saw the "code", so to speak. I could zoom in to the loops of the forces of nature and to the routines of single lifes. It was amazing and mind-blowing, and I was sure I had went insane.

Because there is nothing as interesting to a person than himself - I know, I checked, it's written right there in our class definition - I soon found my own representation in this sea of code, that I found I could navigate in four dimensions. It was tough trying to get a hang of moving in time, when I'm not accustomed to moving in time in any other way than forwards, at the speed of one second per second. But once I found my code, I of course examined it. I found out I had a high chance of giving life to a baby girl - or several, would there ever be women willing to procreate with me enough times. I also had a very low chance of pancreatic cancer, which was nice to know. I would start balding at age 35. My heart would give out at 96, were I to live that long. All that information made me hungry - which I checked from my active code.

Next I checked my fridge - the physical one - and was unimpressed by the noodles and the cucumber I had there. But hey, I had just opened a portal to our reality's source code. If this wasn't the time to test if I was having a psychotic breakdown or a truly divine moment, what would be? So I searched for sandwiches in the code. It was hard to try to find something so specific, and I soon settled on a steak. A nice T-bone steak taken from just the right part of a cow - or, in this case, from the fridge of a local restaurant. It took some tries, but I managed to move the object of the steak from the fridge to the plate in front of me. A whole, bloody, cold steak suddenly just existed in front of my face, laying on the plate like it had always been there.

The steak was raw, of course, but it was really a trivial problem to change its molecular consistency from raw to medium cooked. I enjoyed my ill-gotten steak with milk and without much thought to if it was really that ill-gotten or not.

*

During the next weeks I learned to use the code to my advantage. I also learned that other people couldn't see it. For me, it appeared like a ripple in water was exposing a part of the ocean floor, so I could see the sand and the little creepers living there going about their business, not caring that air was getting where air was not supposed to get. For the other people it appeared like I was crossing my eyes very weirdly at inappropriate moments. I learned to value privacy.

I stopped paying for food. I started learning about cooking, so I wouldn't have to steal from patrons of the restaurants in France to get a decent crème brûlée - I could just steal the ingredients and assemble it in front of me. Once I had mastered that, the thought of copies occurred to me, and I ate my last meal of stolen ingredients in shame.

Whatever I needed, whatever I wanted, I could have it. It was amusing to be able to have any clothes I wanted, any furniture I wanted, any meal I wanted - but the human body desires the flesh of another human. So I looked into the little lines of script that make people attracted to other people. It was more complex than I had thought. I didn't want to manipulate the people I already knew, in case I screwed them up somehow - I was tampering with people's genetic expressions, after all. So I went to a night club and did my magic.

First I just used the code to see if someone was interested in me or not. As is so common in night clubs, none of the ladies that I had my eye on had their eye on me. My next logical step was to change that. Once it worked, I fully embraced the reality, which was now the one where I had all the control. Whatever I wanted to do, the women wanted me to do to them. Whatever I wanted them to do to me, they just discovered their lifelong earning to do just that. When I didn't want them anymore, they instantly felt the same.

*

I kept myself busy for a whole year. I had absolutely everything I wanted. I didn't have to exercise to be fit. I didn't have to cook to be fed. Nobody questioned anything I said or did, since no matter what happened - what I made happen - to them the 'why' was blatantly obvious. I had become God, and I was bored.

Then I woke up one morning, and when I opened the portal to the code, there was a message in plain English.

TAKE A CAR TO THE LOVERS' EDGE

The Lovers' Edge was a known cuddling spot in the mountains just outside of town. I had witnessed the sunset there many times, never twice with the same woman. In the midst of my remembering the serenity of the place, a creeping feeling caught up to me. I had not felt that way in a long, long time, so it took a moment to search for the right words. I was scared.

This void, this code of the reality, had enabled me to do as I wished for so long I had stopped questioning my right to use it. I had started to believe that I had found a loophole to take advantage of - that no one was watching me, judging me, keeping a tab on my actions. Now the evidence to the contrary was staring me in the eye in big, bold letters. What were I to do?

Obviously my curiosity wanted me to go. But since curiosity is a very peculiar animal, it also asked: What would happen, if I didn't go? Would the message still be there tomorrow? Would something happen? Would I lose access to the code and never be able to hear why, because I missed my chance?

I stayed home from work - of course, my boss thought, today's the seminar in Minnesota - to ponder on the message's implications. When the sun was starting to set I had come to the conclusion that I had to go.

I sat in my car, which was, at this point, a very nice car from the '70s. I turned on the radio to ease my nerves and headed for the Lovers' Edge. I got there just as the sun was setting behind the treeline. When I turned off the engine the music from the radio stopped and I started hearing cicadas. I was so tense my insides were turning inside out - figuratively, I at least wanted to think. As I took a deep breath, I stepped out of my car. The warm and welcoming air caressed my face and my body. I closed the door behind me and started to walk towards the edge.

Kognitiolauluja vanhojen iltaan

Saateteksti: Tässäpä tällanen megadump, jos joku haluaa toivoa konnarilauluja saunassa. Tässä on tosiaan vain mun tekemiä lyriikoita, jotkin ENNENJULKAISEMATTOMIA zomg omfg.

Biisilista:
Ikkunakonnari
Kuningaskonna
Känninen konnari
Siltavuorenpenkereellä
Suuri ja mahtava Intelligenzia
Tiedemies
Pikkuaivoposteljooni
--

Ikkunakonnari
(Ikkunaprinsessa)

Naisiin ei voi pieni konnari luottaa,
ne suuren ikävän pikkuaivoihin tuottaa.
Mut koodiaan, tuijottaa, kai käpistellä illoin saa,
sieltä katsoo prinsessa unelmain.

Kruununhakaa, Kruununhakaa, Kruununhakaa konnari katsoo vain.

Ohjelmista kaunein minkä tiedän,
myös pitkät muuttujat prinsessallani siedän.
Syntax on moitteeton, hyvä myös koko kirjaston.
Ruudun takaa konnari katsoo vain.

Open Source, Open Source, Open Source kuinka sua palvonkaan.
Open Source, Open Source, Open Source kuinka sua palvonkaan.

Kerran illalla ikkunaa taas testaan
vaan äijä toinen prinsessan heitti beetaan.
Hän peitti pään ja peitti muun, sen päivitti versioon maksettuun.
Ruudun takaa bottini toinen vei.

Kruununhakaan, Kruununhakaan, Kruununhakaan bottini toinen vei.
Kruununhakaan, Kruununhakaan, Kruununhakaan bottini toinen vei.
Toinen vei, toinen vei, toinen vei, toinen vei, toinen vei.


Kuningaskonna
(Kuningaskobra)

On piilossa Käyttiksen           
Suojassa humanistien           
Valtakunta viimeinen           
Kognitiotieteiden           
Vain Penkere tuntee sen       

Illan tullen tutkimaan
Konnat saapuu aivojaan
Penkereellä kimaltelee kuu
Konna vuoden ännännen
Argumentoi huojuen
Vastateesi siitä kumoutuu

Niin piilossa Helsingin
Hypoteesista tietenkin
Alkaa väitös hiljainen
kognitiotieteiden
Vain penkere kuulee sen

Kun gradunsa kultaisen
Konnista vuoden jo ännännen
Toimistolle palauttaa   
Apurahaa konna saa
On aika nyt tullut sen

Mentorina fuksien
Konna vuoden ännännen
Nähnyt on myös Jussin vaimonkin
Mutta byrokratia
Voittanut on asian
Murenee jo paradigmakin

On konnien kuninkaan
Aika nyt luopua nopistaan
Konna vuoden ännännen
Tanssii kauas kadoten
Työelämä tappaa sen       

Illan tullen tutkimaan
Konnat saapuu aivojaan
Penkereellä kimaltelee kuu
Konna vuoden ännännen
Argumentoi huojuen
Helsingistä soitto kantautuu

Niin piilossa Krunikan
Tohtorinteesistä Talolan
Alkaa väitös hiljainen
kognitiotieteiden
Vain konnarit kuulee sen


Känninen konnari
(Rafaelin enkeli)

Halki tuhannen hämärän kontekstin
Neiti tanssii konnarin askelin
Mulla yllä on Oidipus-kompleksi
Sain sen jouluna vaimolta lahjaksi
Tämä ironia silmää kirvelee
Kehys katoaa Koch kun yskäisee
Anna minulle muistiinpanosi
Ole minulle känninen konnari

Psykot kuiskivat kahvihuoneestaan
Ujo konna ei sinne katsokaan
Ne sirosti dataansa mallintaa
Otto neuvoi että plagioida ei saa
Kurkku kipeänä viitoskerrokseen
Esko käski mennä Python-kurssilleen
Anna minulle muistiinpanosi
Ole minulle känninen konnari

Fuksit hinaavat kohmeisin sormin logiikkaa aivoonsa
Kuka kertoisi niille että näkö on takaraivossa
Viime yö veti koodiksi tämän maan ja se maa on Matlabii mustanaan

Aaveraajoja homunculuksiin
Gliasoluja tukikudoksiin
Kvaleja vielä kvaliain jälkeenkin
EEG:llä käyrää aivoihin
Kuka sanoi että oskillaatio
Olen kevyt kuin Nagelin lepakko
Anna minulle muistiinpanosi
Ole minulle känninen konnari

Abstrahointia aamupöydässä
Mies tarvitsee tekoälyä
Kumpi voittaa, sooma vai aksoni
Kysyy minulta töissä tohtori
Mikä minä olen sille vastaamaan
Multa tentti jäi kesken aikanaan
Anna minulle muistiinpanosi
Ole minulle känninen konnari

Fuksit hinaavat kohmeisin sormin logiikkaa aivoonsa
Kuka kertoisi niille että näkö on takaraivossa
Viime yö veti koodiksi tämän maan ja se maa on Matlabii mustanaan

Anna minulle muistiinpanosi,
Ole minulle känninen konnari (6 x)

Siltavuorenpenkereellä
(Täällä pohjantähden alla)

Siltavuorenpenkereellä Python-tehtäviä teen mä
Katson kauas kaukaisuuteen, kaiken koodaan uudestaan.
Siltavuorenpenkereellä näyttö täyttyy sinisellä
siitä hermoromahduksen minä itselleni saan.

::Ja viitoskerroksessa: "missä kahvii, missä vessa"
Ja vain viitoskerroksessa itken vuokses kyyneleen.::

Siltavuorenpenkereellä murheita on koodaajalla,
täällä dedis kuumoittava on myös heti huomenna.
Siltavuorenpenkereellä mitä ihmettä ees teen mä,
Otolta kinuumalla lisäaikaa tehtäviin

::Ja viitoskerroksessa: "missä kahvii, missä vessa"
Ja vain viitoskerroksessa itken vuokses kyyneleen.::

Suuri ja mahtava Intelligenzia
(Suuri ja mahtava Neuvostoliitto)

Oi suuri ja mahtava Intelligenzia
sun synnytti valtava Kompleksi
Sun luonut on konnarein yhteinen tahto,
sun mahtis on säilyvä aikojen taa.

Kuoro:
Oi suuri ainejärjestö,
sun kunniaasi kaiuttaa
konnarein ystävyys murtumaton.
Sun lippuasi seuraten aivokuvantamisihminen
tietoisuutemme tutkiva on

2. Niin suuri on PJ
Hän kirkasti tiemme,
kun Rexiin me astuimme sitseiltä yön.
Ja VPJ:n johdolla
juhlassa, työssä
me kasvoimme kuntoon kognition.

Kuoro:
Oi suuri ainejärjestö,
sun kunniaasi kaiuttaa
konnarein ystävyys murtumaton.
Sun lippuasi seuraten Nobelisti-ihminen
viidesti Ruotsissa kiittävä on

3. Me darrassa nostimme gradumme maasta,
kuin myrsky me käymme jo valmistumaan.
Nyt maistereiks' puolesta konnarifuksien
ja eestä sun kunnias, Intellia!

Kuoro:
Oi suuri ainejärjestö,
sun kunniaasi kaiuttaa
konnarein ystävyys murtumaton.
Sun lippuasi seuraten kognitioihminen
historian kirjoihin astuva on.

Oi suuri ja mahtava Intelligenzia
sun synnytti valtava Kompleksi

Tiedemies
(Pelimies)

Na-na-na-naa-na-na-nan-nan-naa...
Tästä kurssista ei saa noppia
Na-na-na-naa-na-na-nan-nan-naa...
Tästä kurssista ei saa noppia

Teen mitä vaan, väitöskirjan, HOPSin, logiikkaa
Jos niin mä saan sinut valmistumaan
Teen sulle sen proseminaarin vanhanaikaisen
Oon tiedemies hyvin looginen

Tahdon algebraa (algebraa)
voin sen mallintaa (mallintaa)
Saanko ehdottaa (ehdottaa)
iltaa ruotsiksi?

Tule niin vien sinut Otolle
ja Oliviaan jatkoille
siitä Rexiin ja saatille
tästä kurssista ei saa noppia

Na-na-naa-na-na-nan-nan-naa...
Tästä kurssista ei saa noppia

On joku muu, joka tilastoihin kompastuu
Oon tiedemies, lähden uuteen nousuun
Muut väsähtää, venyy laskareihin tunnit nää
Vain yksi jää silloin iskemään

(kertsi)

Tänä iltana olen voittaja,
data on vahvaa kun tiede on heikkoa
Vielä puuttuu tutkijaseminaari,
mut tänä iltana olen maisteri
Tänä iltana aion toimia,
pääni sisäisen elimeni voimina
Ihanaa Foni ja ihanaa Kompleksi,
tänä iltana juhlii konnari

(kertsi)

Pikkuaivoposteljooni
(Pikkupoika posteljooni)

Minä olen kognitiotiedemies, ja tiedemies, ja tiedemies,
ja minä olen kognitiotiedemies ja kiertelen ympäri kampusta.

Minäpä se teen ne hypoteesit muut, ja teesit ja muut, ja teesit ja muut.
Minäpä se teen ne hypoteesit ja muut, ja generatiiviset kielioppipuut.

Eikä mua ilahduta mikkään muu, ei mikkään muu, ei mikkään muu,
eikä mua ilahduta mikkään muu kuin symbolisysteemihypoteesi.

Tapamme tavata

Saateteksti: Kirjoitin, en editoinut, sainpahan jotain aikaan. Löysin rantein.

--

Tietoisuuksien kohtaaminen
kylmänä syysiltana
kun olet runkannut scatille
ja olen lukenut koko päivän

koska ystäväsi haastoi
koska minun oli pakko

Uuden oppiminen
energiajuomahöyryissä
kun olet eristäytynyt maailmasta
ja olen nukkunut liikaa

koska sinun oli pakko
koska olin juonut liikaa

Valemuistojen toisiaan täydentävä dialogi
savuisessa huoneessa
kun olen yksinäinen
ja olet yksinäinen

Rafaelin konnari (Rafaelin enkeli)

Luovuuteni huipentuma on tämä sitsilaulu, jonka olen ihan itse Rafaelin enkelistä kognitiotieteen teemoihin sovittanut. Kaikki alkuperäiset creditit sinne minne ne kuuluukin jne.

---

Halki tuhannen hämärän kontekstin
Neiti tanssii konnarin askelin
Mulla yllä on Oidipus-kompleksi
Sain sen jouluna vaimolta lahjaksi
Tämä ironia silmää kirvelee
Kehys katoaa Koch kun yskäisee
Anna minulle muistiinpanosi
Ole minulle känninen konnari

Psykot kuiskivat kahvihuoneestaan
Ujo konna ei sinne katsokaan
Ne sirosti dataansa mallintaa
Otto neuvoi että plagioida ei saa
Kurkku kipeänä viitoskerrokseen
Esko käski mennä Python-kurssilleen
Anna minulle muistiinpanosi
Ole minulle känninen konnari

Fuksit hinaavat kohmeisin sormin logiikkaa aivoonsa
Kuka kertoisi niille että näkö on takaraivossa
Viime yö veti koodiksi tämän maan ja se maa on Matlabii mustanaan

Aaveraajoja homunculuksiin
Gliasoluja tukikudoksiin
Kvaleja vielä kvaliain jälkeenkin
EEG:llä käyrää aivoihin
Kuka sanoi että oskillaatio
Olen kevyt kuin Nagelin lepakko
Anna minulle muistiinpanosi
Ole minulle känninen konnari

Abstrahointia aamupöydässä
Mies tarvitsee tekoälyä
Kumpi voittaa, sooma vai aksoni
Kysyy minulta töissä tohtori
Mikä minä olen sille vastaamaan
Multa tentti jäi kesken aikanaan
Anna minulle muistiinpanosi
Ole minulle känninen konnari

Fuksit hinaavat kohmeisin sormin logiikkaa aivoonsa
Kuka kertoisi niille että näkö on takaraivossa
Viime yö veti koodiksi tämän maan ja se maa on Matlabii mustanaan

Anna minulle muistiinpanosi,
Ole minulle känninen konnari (6 x)

Unelmien rallatusbiisi

Lyön nyt nämä tähän vain nähtäville, koska jotkut halusivat nähdä. Tähän meni puoli tuntia ja siihen on olemassa sävel, mutta musikaalisten taitojen maagista manifestaatiota odotellessa...

---

Kerran näin kauniista naisesta unta
oli kevät ja tapailin kitaraa
Puis oli lehdet ja sammalen kanssa
tuoksui grilli antimiaan

Se nainen niin kauniisti minulle tanssi
tai ehkä sittenkin kaikille vaan
Aurinko laski ja sumukin saapui
tuoksui sauna vihdoille - aah!

Löylyjen seasta hänet taas löysin
oli hän siellä ilkoisillaan
Oluen avasin hampaillani
tuoksui mallas ja mm, mh, mh, aah!

Tähtien noustessa hänelle kerroin
että olin joutunut rakastumaan
Suudelman asetin huulillensa
Mmh, mm, mm mm, ahhahhahhaa!

Lehdossa katseita kainostellen me
koskettelimme vartaloja
Ja juuri kun olin niin huipuilla mielen
soi herätyskello - äh äh ää aarrh!

Secret of the Slaves

Saateteksti: Tämä oli alun perin vastaus kirjoitushaasteeseen Redditin /r/WritingPrompts-subredditissä, mutta koska vähän innostuin ja muokkasin ja pidensin, ajattelin julkaista sen myös täällä - jos edes siksi, etten ole julkaissut mitään varmaan vuoteen! Tämä sisältää kirjoitusvirheitä, mutta editoin ne pois sitten joskus postauksen sisältä. Tämä on myös kielellisesti osittain tönkkö esitys, mutta sitä on kehittyminen.

Foreword: This was originally a submission to a prompt from /r/WritingPrompts, but since I got a bit excited and extended it, I decided to publish it here too. If you spot a typo or an expression that sounds weird for English, let me know! As you may have noticed, I'm not a native English speaker, so any help you want to provibe is deeply appreciated.

--

This here is a retelling of the events, starting from my youth, that led to some confirmations about an unpopular hypothesis regarding the slave race. I have left this account for the generations that come after to find, in case the consensus shifts in favor of my viewpoint, or in case it may prove otherwise useful. In it I will try to provide a brief insight into why I grew to adopt my view in the first place, as well as how I came to my conclusions.

I was raised by my mother along with my siblings in a home that more accurately could have been described as a castle. I remember the high halls being covered in exquisite art, the seats in the many living rooms all being as big as royal thrones, and the food being fresh, nourishing, and plenty. The slow slave-race provided for our every need and every whim. As kids we often played with the servants, and although our mother disapproved, we thought it was great fun.
    As a youngster, when the time came, I along with one of my brothers were shipped off to take care of our own estate. In our new home already resided a middle aged gentleman who had been taking care of the household and the resident slaves. He was glad to have some company, since he had been living there for years all on his own, with only the dull-minded attendants as very silent companions. He taught us how to behave elegantly, as was appropriate for our esteem. He taught us to hunt in the vast forests that opened up behind our new home, and he taught us how to appropriately handle the slaves when the need arose.
    They were quite well trained already by our mentor, so we were taught about positive reinforcement and how to communicate our needs to the race of idiots. Sometimes, when we wanted done something that was difficult to get across, we tried speaking to the slaves - not like we spoke to each other, of course, they couldn't possibly comprehend the intricacy of language - but like we would talk to small children, like our mother had spoken to us when we were still struggling to even learn to walk. Sometimes they seemed to get this light of understanding in their proportionately small eyes, and they would comply with our request, but at least as many other times they would just stare and mumble. The slaves weren't perfect, but they were easy to train to do the simple stuff, so almost every household had them.
    At times they needed to be shown discipline. For example, when one of them would forget to start the meal, or would go outside at night, get lost, and not return before the next day. And because their much heavier build than ours, they would sometimes unwittingly hurt us while giving us our afternoon massage. On these occasions, we were taught the appropriate punishments. We would slap them and curse at them, deny them our signs of affection, and on one particularly crude offense - I cannot recall specifically what that was, since it has been quite some time since the transgression occurred - our mentor took us in his tow, went to the offending slave's sleeping chamber and proceeded to urinate on the slave's bed. We were quite young, and shocked, but as we grew older, we realised that the punishment was indeed necessary to keep the dullards in line.

    Our lives were filled with activities suitable for gentlemen of noble blood in their veins. One of them was not the pondering of the slaves' intelligence. It wasn't a taboo, per se, there just was very little interest in such a subject. I, however, were, and still am, quite intrigued by them. When we reached the age of adulthood, and our mentor became our peer, no longer holding any power over our activities and pursuits, I dedicated most of my free time to the study of those clumsy, slow beasts that roamed our halls.
    I observed them, mostly on their spare time from their duties, when they tended to group together, and noticed that they seemed to display some social behaviours. They would huddle close to each other, like they were seeking comfort, and just stare into the artificial fire places built for them to keep warm. They were mysterious creatures, I was sure of that, as I was beginning my study of how far their understanding went.
    My theories lay on the history of the race. In the dawn of time and our civilization, the slaves were just wild animals. We had tamed them, and taking advantage of our superior intelligence, made them our servants. Our history did not include any instances of rebellion in the thousands of years of their servitude, so it was a widely accepted fact that they were merely biological machines without independent thought. This was accompanied by the assumption that,  left to their own devices, they would not create an independent culture - they would propably just waste away and die. They were considered even lower and dumber than prey animals, which had their seasonal rituals and social order, and when captivated, tried to escape. Because the servants lacked these properties, they had to be extremely unindependent, and definitely "soulless", as the more religiously leaning experts would like to put it.  I had set my mind to disproving that fact, if at all possible. Every scientist needs their hypothesis, and this was to be mine, my life's work, as fruitless as it seemed.

    Early on, during the first years of my studies, I came upon a discovery that almost made me give up. On a beautiful August morning I was hunting by myself in the woods, and happened upon a path I had never travelled to its end. Since I had nothing better to do that day, I decided to follow it, where ever it might lead, and give the possibility of an adventure a chance. I have to admit, in retrospect, I wasn't quite ready for the adventure I was to face.
    I followed the path for hours, and only once the late morning had turned to early evening did I find its end. I came out of the woods to face a yard, well-kept and decorated with flower beds and small trees. Someone must live here, I thought, and since I had been travelling for the whole day, decided to visit upon the inhabitants, and ask if I could possibly be treated to some food and drink.
    As I approached the door, I was greeted by a young slave that immediately bowed to me. I greeted it with the standard acknowledgement reserved for greeting the slaves, and followed it inside, waiting to meet the occupants of the house. As I traversed the rooms and eventually ended up in the kitchen, I had yet to see one intelligent soul. I traced my steps back, even peeking into the rooms, but indeed, no one was home. No, actually - it suddenly hit me - it seemed that no one lived there. Except for the slaves.
    I came to the crushing conclusion that this house was abandoned, along with the slaves. In absence of their owners, I had hypothesized that the slave race would develop an independent culture not build around ours and our needs, but this discovery seemed to disprove that for good. It was clear nobody had lived in the house at least for years, yet the slaves continued to maintain it, as if the owners were just out for the evening, or perhaps on a vacation. They were acting like mere robots, doing their duties as programmed.
    They offered me drink and food, and I ate what little I could stomach from my shock. Hastily I took my leave, partly because the sun was starting to set and I wanted to be home by dinner time, but mostly because the eerie feeling I got from being in this house, haunted by the ghosts in their flesh machines. As I departed and started walking back to the woods, I turned my head to notice a couple of slaves had come to see me off. I shuddered as I looked at their faces, and, upon closer examination of my own perception's liabilities at the time, most propably imagined it, but as they waved their big, clumsy forelimbs at me for goodbye, they seemed almost... sad.
    That night I didn't sleep well at all. I abandoned my studies for a time and reflected deeply on my experience. It made sense for them to want to serve, if that was what they thought they were supposed to do, but in the absence of servees that want should have vanished. I had no other conclusion to make than that the age old theory of their mindlessness had to be accurate. Could there, in any possible way, be more to it?

My deep academic depression came to an end only by chance, in the form of a breakthrough of sorts. One night I was awoken from my slumber by some wandering thought or other. I wasn't feeling tired anymore, so I got up and wandered the halls until I found the slaves in one of the rooms. They were gathered around a table, feeding. It had never occurred to me that they also ate at night, so I decided to observe them a little, like I had used to. It seemed like they were having a feast - there was more food in front of them than usually, which alone is a really poor measure of a feast, but I didn't think critical thought would really be necessary at this hour. Then I noticed something odd.
    They seemed to be making noises. With very low voices, one or two slaves would vocalise at a time, followed by other, slightly higher voicalizations from the other ones. It seemed to have a pattern, like a... a verbal language of some sort.
    I was awake and alert immediately. How had I not noticed that before? I had heard them making noises, especially as a reaction to punishment, and sometimes as a sign of confusion, but their vocalizations on other occasions I had disregarded as simple sighs or moans. Their voices were so low, silent, and monotonic, everybody had just assumed it couldn't possibly carry necessary amounts of information for voice-based communication.
    But if they had a language, or even a protolanguage, they had a need to interact with other slaves. If they had that, they had to be intelligent. They could not possibly be just programmed machines, since machines don't have a need to communicate with each other. Perhaps the situation I had witnessed on my adventure in the woods was just an odd exception, or perhaps I had misjudged the house's occupancy due to dehydration. Perhaps I had just imagined it all. Nevertheless, all my doubt in my research had vanished with this single observation that trumped the previous one without a question. Later, I found, this observation could have easily been just as illusory as the haunted house, but at least it gave me back my courage.
    I knew I would propably never come to understand their language, if it indeed was that, and not just my sleepy mind's flight of fancy. It was incomprehensible - they used minimal body language and instead made lots of noises, like little children, or some pray animals like birds. But the prospect had opened my mind forever to the possibility that these beings, slow and passive as they were, could not only be intelligent, but also sentient. The thought was, in a word, terrifying.
    Based on the evidence, I had come to the conclusion that, if they indeed were sentient, and they had to be to account for my nightly observation, they had to get out of their servitude something that we could possibly not understand. And if we couldn't understand what it was that they were willing to exchange their freedom for, how could we make sure to provide it?
    By that time I myself had once or twice used the ultimate punishment of urinating on a slave's bed to make a point, and it crossed my mind that these intellectually helpless creatures, if they had a language and were social, could also process it further than just as something they deserved. Would they question our methods? Would they one day decide that they didn't actually need to serve us, that they would want rights? They were, as mentioned, greater in size than we, and though history was yet to record such and incident, could very easily turn against their masters if they had the intelligence for the thought.

I have never brought my concerns to the attention of my brother, or the man who mentored us. I know they would think I was mad to even consider it. But some nights it still keeps me awake, and I wander the halls in the hopes of witnessing more rituals that apparently have escaped the interest of my predecessors and contemporaries. I have rarely succeeded, but every time I have, my fascination with them has grown with my concern. It has become apparent that they most certainly are not mere machines acting without agency. I have even derived some hypotheses about their reasons for serving us, but have yet to prove any of them. I hope that some day I will meet someone with an open enough mind to share my findings with, and perhaps even get the opportunity to spread the word. But in case I never will, I am prepared to take my observations to the grave, and the secret of the slaves shall die with me.


***

Post Script: I was going for "fridge brilliance" (those unfamiliar with the term might want to look it up on TvTropes), but since I can hardly market this as such, I hope you, who read this far, can share with me your thoughts in the comments. I'm trying to see if it works the way I wanted it to, and if not, I consider adding a revealing line.

Jäähyväisteksti: Yritin kirjoittaa fridge brilliance -tekstin (jos et tunne ilmaisua, TVtropes auttaa!), mutta en varsinaisesti voi mainostaa tätä sellaisena, joten olisin todella iloinen, jos kertoisit omat ajatuksesi tästä. Voin jopa tarjota hyvästä kommentista kaljan!

Mietin

Saateteksti: Onpas siitä aikaa kun viimeksi kirjoitin. Mitään uutta ei ole opittu, samat virheet uudestaan, myös samat vanhat teemat, eli sanaleikit ja kaksoismerkitykset. Runon nimi on runon keskimmäinen sana.

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