She scans theJungle as if an elderly woman watching silent from a rosewood staircase with focused concern, false power. She appears to herself, briefly, as one of the biobots positioned at theWorkstation.
Her monitors put on a show. It's the data that loves her the most. It always will.
Far into the future she will remain actively quiet, without prayer, authorized to run on her own with little interruption of self-instantiated loops and corrections--the most perfect of creatures.
Hers is the kind of data future generations will hold up to a celebrity light.
She amazes even herself at the yottabytes she burns, often finding herself saying, This data has chosen me, I haven't chosen it.
She checks her screen, searches random data for cybermetric analysis, finds one (it reveals a location and cause of energy being released as heat), decides to read it and thinks. Designated heirs to the end of an evolutionary trail.
She'll never truly let anyone inside her mind--waves bend around small objects, spread out past small openings.
She manipulates even her own future analysts with her [constraint operational planning system="cops"]. She controls her photon logic efficiently with the speed of light and the thoughtful modulations of the phase frequencies of her various lasers. She'll never take a day off to rest for the purpose of making decisions, thinking rational.
She knows theJungle and its ways--and yet, should she care? She is totally under her own control.
Her mind is beautiful in a funny way.