Clu is a product of surety, of conviction, and written above all else to be certain. He is meant to know or to learn what must be done across all manner of contingencies.
No room for second guesses; it has to be perfect.
And hesitating now would go so badly for the program kicking up jagged tag clouds of misgiving under the steady tracks of his touch. Clu learned in the early days. He knew better than anybody what fear did to miracles.
No time for that now. This is revisions, restoration--gently paring stacks to their bases, sealing off forks that were spooling nowhere, adding a true where false had pushed a bad check and started an endless hunt for reconfirmation, here or there.
No one over his shoulder has to tell him to be careful. He knows just what would suit, and now, now he's free to give it to Rinzler himself.
It doesn't hurt because there's no reason it should, kinetic throughput precise and scalpel clean.
"I've told you before," soft, hazy and secondary to the transfer, to pure will underlying it. There, that'll be beautiful when it's done, when it flowers to its conclusions in Rinzler's code--when he becomes what, just maybe, Clu should have allowed from the start.
"I know it's in there, somewhere...?"
And now it makes sense, the stark terror caught between his best inference and Rinzler's best guess: speaking at all, holding his tongue versus losing his head, and he can hardly consider things like tone, like valence and word choice, off a memory he flatly no longer has.
Long since, with an armful of welling shattered cyan pixels Clu would never, could never, forget--he had done his best to spare Rinzler any recollection of what dying actually felt like. And of why it had almost happened.
"You are my best effort, and of all I've made you are my favorite." All his conviction, warm and sure, input rich and constant as rain. "You are, or you will be, the instrument of everything I've ever worked for."
He doesn't want to let go. But there's no reason not to, or none strong enough to be--correct--and here in this new system there are so many concerned for his program's welfare. He's not the only one with access to the logs.
He could do anything he wanted. Anything at all. His fingertips ache with the urge to try, numb to the hilt with potential.
And Alan-1 would know all about it. Just for a start.
"Trust me, just a little, knowing that you're too valuable to risk."
no subject
No room for second guesses; it has to be perfect.
And hesitating now would go so badly for the program kicking up jagged tag clouds of misgiving under the steady tracks of his touch. Clu learned in the early days. He knew better than anybody what fear did to miracles.
No time for that now. This is revisions, restoration--gently paring stacks to their bases, sealing off forks that were spooling nowhere, adding a true where false had pushed a bad check and started an endless hunt for reconfirmation, here or there.
No one over his shoulder has to tell him to be careful. He knows just what would suit, and now, now he's free to give it to Rinzler himself.
It doesn't hurt because there's no reason it should, kinetic throughput precise and scalpel clean.
"I've told you before," soft, hazy and secondary to the transfer, to pure will underlying it. There, that'll be beautiful when it's done, when it flowers to its conclusions in Rinzler's code--when he becomes what, just maybe, Clu should have allowed from the start.
"I know it's in there, somewhere...?"
And now it makes sense, the stark terror caught between his best inference and Rinzler's best guess: speaking at all, holding his tongue versus losing his head, and he can hardly consider things like tone, like valence and word choice, off a memory he flatly no longer has.
Long since, with an armful of welling shattered cyan pixels Clu would never, could never, forget--he had done his best to spare Rinzler any recollection of what dying actually felt like. And of why it had almost happened.
"You are my best effort, and of all I've made you are my favorite." All his conviction, warm and sure, input rich and constant as rain. "You are, or you will be, the instrument of everything I've ever worked for."
He doesn't want to let go. But there's no reason not to, or none strong enough to be--correct--and here in this new system there are so many concerned for his program's welfare. He's not the only one with access to the logs.
He could do anything he wanted. Anything at all. His fingertips ache with the urge to try, numb to the hilt with potential.
And Alan-1 would know all about it. Just for a start.
"Trust me, just a little, knowing that you're too valuable to risk."