1n1REzE

Peter Watts 222 Blindsight
doesn't necessarily connote high intelligence."
"I know what splinter skills are, Robert. I just think you're
wrong."
"Prove it."
So she gave up on geometry and told the scramblers that one
plus one equaled two. Evidently they knew that already: ten
minutes later they were predicting ten-digit prime numbers on
demand.
She showed them a sequence of two-dimensional shapes; they
picked the next one in the series from a menu of subtly-different
alternatives. She denied them multiple choice, showed them the
beginning of a whole new sequence and taught them to draw on the
touch-sensitive interface with the tips of their arms. They finished
that series in precise freehand, rendered a chain of logical
descendants ending with a figure that led inexorably back to the
starting point.
"These aren't drones." James's voice caught in her throat.
"This is all just crunching," Cunningham said. "Millions of
computer programs do it without ever waking up."
"They're intelligent, Robert. They're smarter than us. Maybe
they're smarter than Jukka. And we're—why can't you just admit
it"
I could see it all over her: Isaac would have admitted it.
"Because they don't have the circuitry," Cunningham insisted.
"How could—"
"I don't know how!" she cried. "That's your job! All I know is
that I'm torturing beings that can think rings around us..."
"Not for much longer, at least. Once you figure out the language
—"
She shook her head. "Robert, I haven't a clue about the
language. We've been at it for—for hours, haven't we The Gang's
all here, language databases four thousand years thick, all the latest
linguistic algorithms. And we know exactly what they're saying,
we're watching every possible way they could be saying it. Right
down to the Angstrom."
"Precisely. So—"
"I've got nothing.
I know they're talking through pigment