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this is all neal stephenson's fault, okay
David pulls him another beer, and as the fizz icebergs across his tongue Tee finds himself thinking about what can be hidden in an eyai -- not in their code, not the way he is accustomed to hiding things, but in the eyai themselves. The choc-eggs have a simply defined output for a pattern of input, but what if there was instead a module for adjustable output, a storage space, such that the output would never appear on the code; just the potential for it. The font but not the text itself. You could store anything, under as many layers of meaningless stimuli as you wished, and as long as the input pattern was disguised adequately in the basic psychophysical templates -- easy, and nobody would ever look there for anything as fun as this -- an ignorant third party could grind the carrier into silicon dust before it gave up a single bit of information.
He glances at the girl and thinks oh, the secrets I could store in you. An eyai holding the cipher and -- he smiles at the neatness of it, the abrupt anachronistic chord -- a person holding the key.
~
OOPS. Never let it be said that I am not easily swayed by my current reading material.
Now I'm off to hammer some Bechdel potential into my story, which is surprisingly difficult when it's narrated by a self-absorbed male.

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You know that it's set in the same universe as the Baroque Cycle, right?
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Intriguing. The implications ...
I'm often swayed by my reading materials as well; but it usually works out as there seems to be a close and productive relationship between what I choose to read and what I write.
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