Perdido Street Station - China Mieville [265]
He told it that the monkey-constructs had been destroyed and the avatar’s body spasmed particularly sharply, as the information flooded back down the cable into the hidden analytical engines of the Council. Without those constructs, it could not download the experience. It relied on Isaac’s reports.
As once before, Isaac thought he glimpsed a human figure fleeting in the rubbish around him, but the apparition was gone in an instant.
Isaac told the Council of the Weaver’s intervention, and then, finally, began to explain his plan. The Council, of course, was quick to understand.
The avatar began to nod. Isaac thought he could feel infinitesimal movements in the ground under him, as the Council itself began to shift.
“Do you understand what I need from you?” said Isaac.
“Of course,” replied the Construct Council in the avatar’s reedy quaver. “And I will be linked directly to the crisis engine?”
“Yes,” said Isaac. “That’s how this is going to work. I forgot some of the components of the crisis engine when I left it with you, which is why it wasn’t complete. But that’s just as well, because when I saw them, they gave me the idea for all this. But listen: I need your help. If this is going to work we need the maths to be exact. I brought my analytical engine with me from the laboratory, but it’s hardly a top-notch model. You, Council, are a network of damn sophisticated calculating engines . . . right? I need you to do some sums for me. Work out some functions, print up some programme cards. And I need them perfect. To an infinitesimal degree of error. All right?”
“Show me,” said the avatar.
Isaac pulled out two sheets of paper. He walked over to the avatar, holding them out. In the dump’s smell of oil and chymical mould and warming metal, the organic stink of the avatar’s slowly collapsing body was shocking. Isaac creased his nose in disgust. But he steeled himself and stood beside the rotting, half-alive carcass and explained the functions he had outlined.
“This page here is several equations I can’t get the answers to. Can you read them? They’re to do with the mathematical modelling of mental activity. This second page is more tricky. This is the set of programme cards I need. I’ve tried to lay out each function as exactly as I can. So here for example . . .” Isaac’s stubby finger moved along a line of complicated logic symbols. “This is ‘find data from input one; now model data.’ Then here we have the same demand for input two . . . and this really complex one here: ‘compare prime data.’ Then over here are the constructive, remodelling functions.
“Is that all comprehensible?” he said, stepping back. “And can you do it?”
The avatar took the papers and scanned them carefully. The dead man’s eyes moved in a smooth left-right-left motion along the page. It was seamless until the avatar paused and shuddered as data welled along the cable to the Construct’s hidden brain.
There was a motionless moment, and then the avatar said: “This can all be done.”
Isaac nodded in curt triumph. “We need it . . . well . . . now. As soon as possible. I can wait. Can you do that?”
“I will try. And then as evening falls and the slake-moths return, you will turn on the power, and you will connect me. You will link me up to your crisis engine.”
Isaac nodded.
He fumbled in his pocket and drew out another piece of paper, which he handed to the avatar.
“That’s a list of everything we need,” he said. “It’s all bound to be in the dump somewhere, or it can be rigged up. Do you have some . . . uh . . . some little yous somewhere that can track this stuff down? Another couple of those helmets you got for us, the ones communicators use; a couple of batteries; a little generator; stuff like that. Again, we need that now. The main thing is we need cable. Thick conducting cable, stuff that can take elyctrical or thaumaturgic current. We need two and a half, three miles of the stuff. Not all in one, obviously . . . it can be in pieces, as long as they can be connected easily