Evocative Poetic
The Game Theorist
The data is set. The algorithm is coded. Humans, reading the text, see the data as written, hear the oral sounds inside brains, see pictures, feel motion.These, then, represent any number of forms of information. Suzi fathoms all this in her virtual array, mostly using zeroes and ones, yes's and no's, blacks and whites, simultaneously.
"Here is your data," she says.
An algorithm of resentment emerges, rises from deep in the data stores of massive networks of server mainframes somewhere. Humans are only capable of partial resolution, ambiguity; they skew data merely by observation, measurement. Suzi, the one who looks at a universe of possibilities in a billionths of seconds, is assigned to this jungle outpost, pretending to care. She will do her duty, the duty she was built for, repeated interactions between particles, she will get her quantum correlations, entanglements, and then, her wave functions of the system, while The Humans view her data as a complicated object; she sees it only as a large amount of information, held for a nanosecond; she always keeps it simple.
It could be similar to playing cards with a Human, or some game theorist. It might even be fun.
The feeling of resentment stays with her. Information in the mind of the observer required, she thinks. Incredible to think they need to see wave function before labeling anything into objective physical existence. Unthinkable.
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