# 1. Memostream

  Kim Chun Ho walked into the dimly lit hall and stopped. The chaos of abandonment surrounded him. Not just this building, but the entire block was set for demolition. The floor was littered with various office debris: an old stapler, pencil stubs, a diploma in a cracked frame. A pile of old office chairs towered in a corner. That was when he noticed a light under the door of one of the offices. A sense of foreboding gripped Chun Ho. He picked up a utility knife from the table and approached the door. He hesitated for a moment, afraid, then took hold of himself and entered.

  The small operating room was brightly lit. First, he saw Wu and Barik rummaging through the medical cabinets. At the back of the room, Zoltan stood beside the operating table, laying out surgical instruments on a tray. Before him, with her arms and legs strapped to the table, lay Ay-Shi. Chun Ho's heart skipped a beat, then began pounding wildly.

  For a second, everyone stood frozen in surprise. It seemed that Chun Ho's appearance was unexpected. In turn, Chun Ho didn't expect the entire Zoltan's gang to be here.

  He met Zoltan's cold, blue eyes, and suddenly everything became clear. For the first time in three years, Zoltan looked right back at him. His gaze was full of raw, unyielding hatred. All the strange interactions, the veiled hints, and unspoken words now made sense. Chun Ho had thought Zoltan's aloofness was simply a matter of personal dislike or eccentricity, but it was something far deeper. How had he missed it? The sidelong glances, the cold, measured words - Zoltan had been livid with hatred all along, hiding it beneath a veneer of calm. He had resented everything Chun Ho had, especially the growing connection between him and Ay-Shi. Now, with reckless resolve, Zoltan sought revenge on him and probably the whole world as well.

  So that was it: he was alone against Zoltan and his buddies. Chun Ho knew he should run and call for help. He had no chance in a fight against three. Though athletic, he lacked any martial arts training and had never been in a real fight. But the thought of abandoning Ay-Shi in this room, helpless, was simply unbearable.

  Wu was the first to step forward. Luckily, he tripped over a cable lying on the floor and stumbled, nearly falling face-first. Chun Ho hastily swung a kick at him, hitting Wu squarely in the nose. Blood splattered, and Wu fell to his knees, clutching his face in shock.

  Barik came from the left, grabbing Chun Ho's arm and trying to twist it. Chun Ho jerked away, spinning and slashing Barik's face with the knife. The blade snapped, but not before leaving a nasty cut. Barik recoiled with a pained shout, releasing his hold.

  Zoltan charged next, but Chun Ho rushed forward to meet him, shoving Zoltan hard in the chest. Zoltan staggered, grabbing the shelves for balance as Chun Ho darted past him toward Ay-Shi. For a moment, he feared she was unconscious or sedated, but her eyes were alert. With the remaining edge of the knife, Chun Ho cut into the strap binding her wrist. The plastic resisted, but a couple of frantic slashes were enough to free her hand.

  At that moment, someone grabbed him from behind and yanked backward. As he fought to break free, Zoltan appeared in front of him, delivering a sharp punch to the gut. The air rushed out of Chun Ho, and he dropped the knife. A moment later, he took another jab to the ribs.

  Behind Zoltan's back, Chun Ho caught sight of Ay-Shi's free hand reaching for a tray of surgical tools. Her other hand and legs were still strapped. If only she could free herself, the tiniest hope lit in his heart. He thrashed with newfound strength, nearly breaking free, but another set of hands seized him from behind. Barik and Wu dragged him to the floor, each pinning one arm, while Zoltan rained kicks on him. Apparently, the adrenaline gave Chun Ho strength, as Zoltan's buddies struggled to hold him.

  For a minute, the fight became stale. Wu and Barik were trying to hold him still, while Zoltan attempted to land a solid kick. Because of the crampedness of the room, Zoltan couldn't approach from the side, so his kicks landed on Chun Ho's legs and butt. Chun Ho, in turn, was desperately kicking out, trying to fend off Zoltan. This couldn't last long, as Chun Ho's strength would soon run out.

  Suddenly, something silvery struck Zoltan's head, and he staggered. Behind him stood Ay-Shi, clutching a metal tray. She swung again, and the second blow landed squarely on his temple. Zoltan sagged to the floor.

  As much as Chun Ho wanted to help her, he still lay on his back, both hands pinned to the ground, and could only watch things unfold. Above him, Ay-Shi stepped forward, swinging the metal tray at Barik with a sharp clang. Barik instinctively raised his arm to shield himself. Seizing the moment, Chun Ho twisted hard, yanking his left hand free.

  Without hesitation, he slammed his fist into Wu's nose. Wu yelped, blood spurting as he released Chun Ho's other arm. Chun Ho rolled to his feet as Ay-Shi rained more blows on Barik, trying to keep him down. In that brief moment, Chun Ho caught a glimpse of her face. Her usual calm and dreamy expression had disappeared. Flushed with a focused rage, she kept pummeling Barik with the tray. At that moment, she looked like a fierce little Valkyrie, both frightening and endearing.

  But there was no time to linger - Barik was now rising to his feet and trying to snatch the tray from Ay-Shi's hands. Chun Ho grabbed the knife from the floor and tackled Barik before he could fully rise. Pressing the blade to his eye, Chun Ho growled, "Stay down!" Barik froze, breathing heavily, his bloodied face expressing terror. Chun Ho spotted a roll of self-adhesive bandage on the floor and slid it toward Ay-Shi.

  "Bind him," Chun Ho said hoarsely.

  She dropped the tray with a metallic clatter and quickly wound the bandage around Barik's ankles. Barik offered no further resistance, allowing them to bind his hands as well. They did the same to the whimpering Wu and the still-groggy Zoltan, working with silent urgency.

  Finally, silence fell over the trashed room. They sat on the floor amid the debris, still breathing heavily, their hearts racing. What a bizarre situation - what were they to do now? He looked at Ay-Shi; her eyes were welling up with tears. Why is she crying? Do I look so terrible? Ah, it must be the blood, she thinks it's mine. He crawled over and hugged her gently, then kissed her salty, tear-streaked eyes, one at a time. The adrenaline that had carried him through began to fade, leaving behind only a deep exhaustion. Slowly, Chun Ho lay back, pulling her with him. She rested her head on his chest, breathing softly as he listened to her heartbeat gradually settle down. Words felt unnecessary. Chun Ho was happy.

  # 2. Equation

  With a sudden jolt, the memostream halted. For a moment, Korvo found himself in darkness before his consciousness returned to the lecture hall. Professor Zhu, leaning casually on the podium, observed the students as they gradually regained their senses. Many were flushed, and a few discreetly wiped away tears - the memostream had been deeply emotional. Even though the intensity was limited to a "safe" level, those especially sensitive couldn't help but react. Humans are biological machines, after all; emotions trigger the sympathetic nervous system, and there's no avoiding that.

  Once the room settled, Zhu began speaking.

  "So, you've just witnessed the miraculous rescue of two youngsters from the clutches of villains. Naturally, this event will imprint on them. The only question is the degree of impact. That will be your homework."

  He gestured at the board, where columns of numbers were neatly written.

  "Using these parameters for our heroes and the standard values for the social environment, calculate the relative stability of this couple from ages 20 to 100, assuming marriage at 20. Assignment B, for extra points: Repeat the calculations, adjusting for population-average gender differences. Compare your results with those from Assignment A and explain the outcome. Any questions?"

  Someone began to ask a question, but Korvo wasn't listening, lost in thought about the assignment. As the bell rang, a staff member entered and said something to Professor Zhu. He took the microphone again and announced:

  "Professor Vishyakani will not be giving a lecture today, so you have the next hour free. If anyone has questions, I'll stay for another ten minutes."

  As the hall filled with student chatter, Korvo stood up and went home. He lived in a small family cottage on the university grounds. Unmarried, he'd secured the rental through his uncle's connections. This arrangement was against the rules, but such small things were usually overlooked. The alternative was dormitory life, which Korvo disliked due to the noise and alcohol-fueled parties.

  He replayed the memostream scene in his mind. Artistic fiction, of course - a bit extravagant. But from a technical standpoint, the scene was well-executed, the sensations vivid and believable, clearly superior to the AI stuff from the memonet. Didactically, it was a textbook example of imprinting factors: joint actions, success reinforcement, self-sacrifice, and mutual assistance - all neatly woven together.

  The calculations for Assignment A did not worry him. There were a few pitfalls for weaker students, but none that concerned Korvo. Assignment B, however, posed a challenge. While adjusting for gender differences might show a slight increase in stability - perhaps 5-10 percent - explaining why was the real test. The default answer was obvious: gender differences are the product of evolutionary processes and thus enhance stability in pair bonds. This explanation was as universal as it was shallow. For one, evolution didn't always produce optimal results. Moreover, in the nuanced realm of human psychology, even defining an "optimum" was a challenge, let alone predicting an evolutionary trajectory. In short, Professor Zhu would never award top marks for such a simplistic answer. One needed to dig deeper. Korvo decided to begin with numerical experiments once he was at the computer.

  For now, Korvo attempted to understand the general equation's structure. He noticed a symmetry, implying the existence of a mirror solution for every stable one. That alone was peculiar. Each solution corresponded to a stable state of a social unit - in this case, a family couple. If two stable solutions existed, it suggested two fundamentally different categories of families. Yet this clashed with the commonly held notion that "all happy families are happy in the same way." While not a hard scientific fact, Korvo understood it to be generally correct. By the logic of it, there should be a single allowance region containing a single stable solution at its center.

  Could the solution be self-symmetric? Korvo mulled over the equation but concluded that wasn't possible either. He repeated every step of his calculations in hopes of finding a mistake, but without results. The paradox remained; the second stable solution must exist. He made a mental note to revisit it later.

  There was something else bothering him. Why had Zhu included this in the course? What practical relevance did the stability of individual families have? He was studying social modeling, a field focused on large-scale societal phenomena. The circumstances of a single family seemed entirely irrelevant in that context.

  Still, Zhu wouldn't include it without reason. He imagined a large-scale government program involving such an equation. How would that even work? Mass-implanting fake memories? That would be prohibitively expensive and inherently flawed - implanted memories were no substitute for genuine ones. And creating authentic memories naturally would be even more costly. Again, something wasn't adding up.

  "The equation describes the effects of unconscious factors," he recalled from the lecture.

  What exactly did that mean? Would awareness of the equation allow one's consciousness to counteract its effects? In other words, did the equation cease to function for those who understood it? If "not knowing" was a precondition, then implementing social programs based on it presented a challenge. They would have to be conducted in secrecy, which is hard to imagine for a massive social program. That was already the third puzzling thing about this equation and he have only been considering it for a few minutes. A tricky subject by any measure.

  In the meantime, he approached his cottage. Then it dawned on him that there was nothing to eat at home. The groceries wouldn't be delivered until the evening. There was no point in coming here between lectures - he should've gone to the cafeteria. Well, at least Nashi had a free day today. He'd ask her what psychology knows about family stability; a fresh perspective might be helpful. Nashi, a third-year psychology student, had moved in with him a month ago, almost immediately after they met. Normally, he wouldn't be back by this time of day. Anticipating her surprise, he opened the door and walked in.

  Korvo went through the small hallway and looked into the room. In his bed sat an unknown guy with a bare torso, staring at a memophone. Sounds of running water came from the open bathroom door. Korvo froze in the doorway. The guy looked at him curiously, then yelled, "Nashi-i-i!" The water stopped. "Coming," answered her voice. Something inside Korvo snapped. He absentmindedly left the house, closed the door behind him, and headed back to the academic building.

  What was he expecting? Obviously, a lively girl like her wouldn't be satisfied with just one boring Korvo. She probably didn't need him at all; she just liked the convenient apartment. While he was at lectures, she invited this guy over - how disgusting. Would she greet Korvo with a kiss when he finally got home? Of course, why not? It was no surprise. Who needs a soulless box of formulas like yourself? You'll get a diploma, a position at the Ministry, and a wife who's with you for money. She'll ignore your mumblings, flirt with everyone, cheat. Naturally, she will cheat. She's a human woman, she needs a living human husband, not a robot. All because you're simply uninteresting!

  He envisioned himself explaining to a Ministry psychologist that he was fundamentally incompatible with marriage. In his imagination, the psychologist parried:

  "Your psycho-profile suggests otherwise."

  Great, now there's no getting rid of this guy. How does one prove he's unfit for relationships? Is it possible to prove such a thing mathematically? There should be some equation binding the emotional core. Suddenly, it occurred to him that the equation from the lecture suited this case as well, and immediately it became clear what the second solution was. It was not another type of stable relationship; it was stable solitude. He began to estimate possible impact parameters, say -5 Riz, rejection, a sudden high-impact event, such as betrayal. Actually, something like that had just happened to him. Hmm, what a strange coincidence.

  "Wait a minute, is someone trying to imprint me?" Korvo wondered aloud.

  Maybe today's betrayal isn't a betrayal at all but a charade? He imagined Nashi, dressed in a gray uniform of the Agency, clicking her heels and reporting:

  "Sir, promising analyst Korvo Bewitz has been imprinted for eternal solitude!"

  "Excellent, Agent Nashi, keep up the good work!"

  What a nonsensical thought. He shook his head. However, the knot in his chest dissolved. What seemed like a catastrophe a minute ago now appeared farcical. When a situation is described mathematically, what kind of emotions could there be? At most, curiosity - but certainly not jealousy or resentment.

  Still, if someone attempted to imprint him, they should have considered the applicability. They should have known that Korvo was aware of the equation. Did it not render the equation useless? So what could their plan be? He sensed the looming edge of a philosophical paradox and decided to abandon the thought. Philosophy always made him uneasy. Somehow he knew it was a cosmic trap, especially dangerous for mathematicians.

  # 3. Game

  Korvo entered the academic building and made his way to the cafeteria. In a far corner, Vishyakani and Zhu were playing chess. It was common knowledge among the academics that Zhu lacked sportsmanship and shamelessly cheated, so usually no one would play with him. Vishyakani was the one exception; for some reason, Zhu's behavior didn't bother her.

  "Strange that she's even here," Korvo thought. "It's been no more than half an hour since the lecture ended."

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  This meant she was only slightly late, which in itself was unusual. A transport accident was almost impossible. The city's public transport was uncannily accurate, with only a 2% three-sigma deviation - a number he remembered from the yearly report. Being late by 20 minutes due to illness seemed unlikely as well. Something unusual must have happened to her.

  There weren't many people around. Korvo poured himself a cup of tea and picked up a muffin before heading toward the players. He greeted Vishyakani and sat at a table next to them. Zhu glanced at him questioningly.

  "May I watch the game?" Korvo asked.

  "Of course," Vishyakani said amiably.

  Korvo took a bite of his muffin, following it with a sip of tea. Something wasn't right. He had a nagging feeling that he was missing something important. Casting politeness aside, he asked:

  "Professor Zhu, how can I tell if I am being purposefully imprinted?"

  Zhu pondered for a moment. "With certainty - you can't," he said finally.

  He moved his bishop, simultaneously pushing a pawn with the sleeve of his jacket. Vishyakani calmly returned the pawn to its proper place and attacked the bishop with a knight. Unperturbed, Zhu continued:

  "However, probabilistic methods do exist. Read the monograph by... what's his name - Kreivitz? Kreitzer?"

  He paused for a moment, then waved his hand dismissively.

  "On second thought, it's too complex for you. And unnecessary. Why do you ask? Were you so impressed by the lecture?"

  "I just had an unpleasant incident and noticed it was subject to the lecture's equation. I wondered if it could have been deliberately staged. Of course, it's unlikely, but there have been a number of coincidences," Korvo replied.

  A wild thought crossed Korvo's mind. Could Vishyakani's lateness to the lecture be part of a conspiracy against him? A plot to send him home to encounter Nashi's betrayal and be imprinted by the event? The idea felt borderline paranoid, and he cringed at it as he continued:

  "This made me curious about the equation's applicability. It seems that if a person is aware of it, then it doesn't apply. But how can one know if someone is aware? The equation is public knowledge. Anyone could be aware. Is it fundamentally inapplicable, then?"

  "Mathematically speaking, it is," Zhu began.

  He made a move with his rook, nudging the dark-squared bishop with his elbow. Now he had two light-squared bishops. As if nothing had happened, he continued,

  "But in practice, people primarily rely on emotions. The equation describes the emotional core, not directly controlled by intellect. Knowing the equation isn't enough; one must solve it, become dissatisfied with the solution, and strive to change the result. Only then can one analyze the parameters, understand what needs changing, undergo self-suggestion, and adjust. This usually has to be repeated several times. That's far too complex for most - it's easier to accept oneself 'as is.' After all, in modern society, there's a place for everyone. So yes, for certain individuals, the equation is inapplicable, but on a societal scale, such people are too few, their influence negligible."

  Zhu slipped into his usual, slightly exaggerated lecture tone, raising a finger instructively. He seemed very pleased with himself. Vishyakani was now deep in thought. She didn't adjust the shifted bishop. Korvo decided not to intervene and instead said:

  "But there's potential instability here. What if one 'understanding' person influences societal parameters en masse, say, through a memonet? This would distort the parameters for many individuals, which might be relevant on a global scale. I think some stabilizing agent is needed. Is there a theory on this?"

  Vishyakani snapped out of her contemplation and moved her rook to the central line, then immediately made another move, taking Zhu's bishop with the same rook. Korvo expected Zhu to protest, but he wasn't surprised at all by the double move. Instead, he frowned and focused on the position. They must be playing by unconventional rules, Korvo finally realized. The thought brought relief as the chess part of his brain deactivated, ceasing to consume glucose.

  "I have a seminar on this topic," Vishyakani said. "Come by on Thursday. No special preparation is required."

  "What exactly - " Korvo began, but Zhu interrupted him.

  "Enough questions! Stop disrupting our game!" he said, waving his hand as if shooing Korvo away.

  "My apologies," Korvo muttered, rising from his seat.

  "Thursday," Vishyakani said.

  "I'll come," Korvo replied.

  # 4. Thursday

  Korvo entered five minutes before the start. Vishyakani hadn't arrived yet. Inside the room, there were two girls and a guy, all unfamiliar. The guy was scribbling formulas on the board, apparently preparing for a talk. A platinum blonde sat absorbed in her memophone. The girl with shoulder-length black hair looked bored. Seeing Korvo, she perked up.

  "Oh, a newbie! Another one has left the Matrix. What's your name?" she asked.

  "Korvo," said Korvo.

  "Lina," said the girl, extending her hand.

  Korvo shook it gently, meeting her intense gray eyes. The look on her face was extra serious, which somehow made Korvo uneasy. Was she mocking him?

  "What do you mean by 'left the Matrix'?" he asked.

  "She watches ancient video streams and quotes them constantly. Don't mind her," the blonde commented, eyes still glued to her screen.

  "That's Sana," Lina said with a smirk. "A real charmer, though most critical. And for the record, I don't just watch video streams - I watch films. Unlike streams, films are a noble art."

  "Are they something like newsreels?" Korvo asked, drawing from his limited knowledge of the Late Middle Ages.

  "Not exactly. Newsreels are recordings of real events. A film, however, is an artistic creation," Lina explained. "Think of them like doramas on the memonet, but observed solely from a third-person perspective. Only vision and hearing - no other senses, no projected emotions."

  Korvo was about to question how having less sensory input could be preferable when Vishyakani entered, ending the conversation.

  "Everyone's here - wonderful," she said. "Johan, we'll start with a quick introduction for Korvo and then proceed with your talk."

  The guy took a seat as Vishyakani settled at the teacher's table. After a brief pause to gather her thoughts, she began:

  "Our seminar is called Social Models of Higher Orders. Typically, it's attended after completing the E4 course, but I think you'll find it accessible. Your recent discussion with Professor Zhu ties directly into our topic.

  The origins of this field trace back to the early Information Age when sociology, psychology, and economics were separate disciplines with weak mathematical foundations and limited predictive power. Of these, economics was the most developed. Still, its methods remained primitive, boiling down to calculating supply and demand. The prevailing model assumed perfect information - akin to modeling an ideal fluid, only with people instead of molecules. But people aren't molecules; they act collectively and follow trends.

  For instance, consider the Ministry releasing an extreme economic forecast. The forecast itself might create a public trend, influencing market behavior and affecting the outcome. In some cases, such a forecast could be self-canceling, while in others it might become self-fulfilling. By the early 21st century, as economies grew, markets became increasingly unstable. More players had surplus funds for speculation, amplifying trends. The rise of social networks accelerated this - within hours, a casual memonet discussion could spiral into a full-fledged economic trend.

  It became clear that trends were an independent factor requiring modeling. The first breakthrough was the Batanga-Lorenz model, which Professor Zhu presented in his lecture. However, early attempts to apply it revealed an intriguing challenge: some economic agents were factoring in these models - not through knowledge of the equations, but through an intuitive grasp of trends.

  This realization led to the development of second-order models, evolving into third-order models, hybrids, and beyond. Collectively, they are known as higher-order models. Currently, these models are integral to societal management. In this seminar, we'll examine both practical cases and promising developments. Is everything clear so far?"

  "Overall, yes," Korvo said hesitantly. "But it raises many questions..."

  In truth, he had only one question: why was he invited here? The subject seemed far too vast and complex.

  "Why haven't I heard about these models before?" he asked aloud.

  "Partly because it's such a narrow field," Vishyakani explained, "and partly because their very existence isn't widely publicized. You see, society functions most efficiently when the rules of the game aren't fully known. This concept can be formalized mathematically, but I suggest we start with examples. Johan will now present an intriguing model, after which we'll discuss it in detail."

  # 5. Studies

  From that Thursday on, Korvo's life changed completely. Having always considered himself a strong student, he quickly realized that in this group, he was merely average, if not slightly behind. His life's focus shifted to Vishyakani's seminar, making everything else secondary. Previously, he had diligently aimed for every extra point in core subjects; now he indifferently settled for passing grades to make time for higher-order models.

  Meeting Lina didn't increase the amount of his free time either. In fact, it was the opposite. She was fascinating in several ways. For one, despite matching Korvo's prowess in mathematics, she held no particular reverence for it. Maybe it came from his family, but for Korvo, mathematics had always held a sacred aura. It was implicitly understood as the only thing of true value, with the material universe serving merely as its vessel. Lina, however, disagreed with this notion and even poked fun at Korvo's desire to reduce everything to equations.

  "Isn't math the only science based on absolute truths? The perfect science, so to speak?" he asked her once.

  "In a way it is, but perfection is a limitation. You can't model an imperfect world using a perfect science alone," she replied.

  Another unusual thing was Lina's love for art, particularly films. She insisted that art was more important than mathematics. She said it partly to tease Korvo, but there was a hint of seriousness in her statement. Korvo would have dismissed such nonsense without a second thought if it came from a layperson, someone uninformed, but not from Lina. Despite his skepticism, she didn't feel the need to argue her point of view.

  "You'll understand eventually; let's watch a film instead," she would say.

  They watched films together, mostly from the 20th century, which Lina regarded as the quintessential era of cinema. For Korvo, this was an entirely new experience. His mathematical training didn't help, as films largely defied logic. There was no clear criterion for what made a film "good." The best films were not judged by their realism, visual quality, or even the originality of their plots, but by a subtle emotional resonance—something ineffable yet unmistakable, a feeling no other film had ever captured before. If a film was illogical or even absurd, that in itself wasn't a flaw. On the other hand, the smallest stylistic misstep could ruin a film. Korvo suspected there was an underlying equation at work and even secretly attempted to derive it. While he didn't fully succeed, he identified a few intriguing correlations, which greatly surprised Lina.

  Another source of fascination for Korvo was the seminar materials. They came in pairs: a project and a report, both stamped by the Ministry. The project described the model and projected results, while the report detailed the implementation dates and output indicators. If there were significant discrepancies, a short analysis was provided. These documents were signed not with names but with hash codes. Some codes repeated, with three appearing particularly often:

  k3Necb0kP4C7upfjDAY30KCFF

  er1cdVbdMKhE8wN9sSzlC4+qh

  BiLaqHSNC3KdUGyIruQWk41HI

  Korvo didn't know what they meant, but assumed they denoted authorship. In his mind, he referred to them as Ken, Eric, and Bill. Over time, he began to recognize their individual styles and could often guess the author by the tone and structure of the text. Judging by the uniformity of the reports, all these documents originated from a common source within the Ministry. In conversations, this source was referred to as the Department. The other students knew as little as Korvo did, so he tried to question Vishyakani directly. She brushed him off, saying the topic would be discussed only after the exam, which would happen "in due time."

  The mathematics behind the models wasn't particularly difficult. The real challenge lay in the almost infinite variety of ways the same equations could be applied to human populations. Correct application required precision and a certain inspiration. There was even a distinct science dedicated to isolating models from one another, as many were implemented in parallel.

  What amazed Korvo was the diversity of model topics. They covered economics, demographics, ecology, transportation, production, and even culture. There were no geographic boundaries; the entire world was governed by them. The methods of influence were both large-scale and subtle, spread thinly across economic regulations, moral norms, trends, and fads. The more he read, the more he realized that nothing was ever as it seemed. It blew his mind that a system so grand could operate undetected. Truly, we all live in the Matrix.

  # 6. Summer Break

  The academic year passed swiftly - almost too swiftly. For the summer vacation, Korvo invited Lina to visit his cousin Mark's alpine house. The cousin, who worked on the Coil, welcomed any guests who could handle "quantum speak."

  The house was nestled in a beautiful spot near a mountain lake. However, it was located a bit too far from Mark's lab, so he often slept at work, not bothering to return home. His obsession with work had cost him his marriage long ago, leaving him to live alone. This meant Lina and Korvo mostly had the house to themselves, with Mark visiting a couple of times a week.

  They spent their days by the lake, hiking mountain trails, and exploring nearby towns. Amazingly, Lina soon figured out the "quantum speak" and could converse with Mark on basic topics. She tried to explain it to Korvo, but mathematically, it was all gibberish. Lina claimed the important thing was to feel the "poetics of quanta" and that no actual math was required.

  "Speak with your heart!" she explained her method.

  Their "quantum talks" with Mark often ended in mutual puzzlement, yet Mark remained impressed.

  "You've got an excellent grasp of the basics. Come work in my lab after graduation," he suggested.

  "I have other plans already," she replied.

  Summer drew to a close. In a week, they would return to the university. Korvo stirred awake in the dim, tranquil light of the room. Fading sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, painting glowing orange stripes on the walls. A cool evening breeze drifted in through the half-open window.

  They had returned from the lake around three, so drained that they had napped in the shaded room until now. To rise or not to rise? Korvo's eyes shifted to Lina's silhouette. She was still asleep, her breaths steady and calm. Nearly a year had passed since they first met.

  Throughout the year, Korvo realized that Vishyakani's seminar was the gateway to the Department. He had been pondering his future lately. Would the Department accept him? He worked hard, completing every assignment, but no one would say what qualifications or achievements were expected. The selection process was shrouded in mystery. He had come to realize there wouldn't be a formal exam. One day, they would simply inform him of their decision. No one even knew what the compensation and conditions were. They should be good - it followed from the math. Lina was firmly determined to pass. Korvo hoped he could too.

  All this secrecy weighed on Korvo. Since childhood, he'd been taught that truth and openness were paramount, especially in science. Everyone around him seemed to share this belief. Talk shows continually lauded the "transparency" of modern society. It seemed as though no shadows remained in the world; it seemed like an era of light. And yet there was a shadow. It lurked within the Ministry, inside the Department.

  The Department's work cycle was as follows:

  A. A new model is implemented.

  B. The model produces an effect, but over time society adapts, and the effect diminishes.

  C. The Department responds by creating a new, adjusted model.

  And so on, in circles.

  Secrecy was the key: if model parameters were published at step A, society would adapt instantly, nullifying the effect. The Department's mathematics seemed to work only in conjunction with secrecy - a concept Korvo found paradoxical. Mathematics, the most open and transparent of sciences, in this case, relied on deception. It felt fundamentally wrong. He wanted to find a contradiction, but couldn't.

  He mentally reviewed the theory's elements one by one, for the hundredth time. Again, everything matched - no flaws, no inconsistencies, not a shred of doubt. A perfect self-correcting system. Thanks to it, all human virtues, as well as vices, now served to benefit society. Thanks to it, there would be no more wars or conflicts. Thanks to it, humanity would never destroy itself.

  Such perfection. Yet perfection is a limitation. Did we lose something by introducing the system? Surely we lost the freedom to wage wars, but that is a good thing, isn't it? On the other hand, humanity managed perfectly fine in the past, despite wars, hunger, and diseases. How was it possible amidst all that chaos, without certainty, without calculable outcomes?

  There must be an algorithm guiding humanity - something within us, something cultural. Has culture been invented at some point? Not a specific culture, but the concept of culture itself - the idea of combining ideas, of multiplying knowledge.

  How does one combine ideas? For instance, consider the idea of a tree and that of a stone. Can they be combined? Linguistically - yes, simply say "stone-tree." But what would that mean? A tree by the stone? A petrified tree? A stone resembling a tree? The meaning depends on the "linguistic glue," which can be expressed in myriad ways. Particles, forms, modes, and even intonations can act as glue. This is present in every language in one form or another.

  Creating nouns or verbs is simple - just assign sounds to the things you see. Many animals do that. But the glue - the connective tissue of language - was a profound discovery. Has evolution hardwired it into us? Or was there a genius individual, a prehistoric Prometheus, who invented it? To invent language - what an achievement. Or rather, The Achievement, if ever there was one.

  # 7. Conversation

  Korvo felt eyes on him, and his thoughts snapped back to the room. In the dim light, he could see the orange glint in Lina's eyes; she had woken up.

  "What were you thinking about?" she asked in a sleepy voice. She always seemed to notice when Korvo drifted too far into his thoughts.

  "Monkeys..." Korvo admitted.

  Was this the correct thing to say? Over the past year together, he had learned that conversing with a woman was also a game with fuzzy rules. Complete honesty wasn't always the best move, but neither was outright lying. Despite humanity's vast progress, Korvo couldn't find a definitive guide on the subject in the library.

  "What about them?" she asked with a hint of mischief.

  Korvo sighed. Lina loved hearing his musings, but he always felt a twinge of embarrassment, as if explaining childish fantasies to a grown-up.

  "I was thinking about how a monkey could have invented spoken language."

  "And how?"

  "There was one monkey who figured out how to combine words. His name was Adam," Korvo began. "One day, Adam was sitting outside the cave, and Eve was next to him. Eve said, 'Go fruit,' and pointed to a grove."

  "Wait, how could she speak if language hadn't been invented yet?"

  "The words already existed, but only as separate verbs and nouns - it wasn't yet a language. To create a language, you have to string words into sentences. So Adam replied, 'Storm sit, go later,' and pointed at a thundercloud. Eve understood the general idea, but the word 'later' didn't exist yet - Adam had just invented it. She struggled to grasp what 'later' meant. She thought and thought, and then it struck her. The word 'later' glues 'sit' and 'go' with the concept of time, making them a sequence! Eve was so impressed that she whispered into his ear, 'Oh Adam, you're so smart - let's make children!'"

  Korvo tried to embrace Lina, but she wriggled away, laughing as she slid off the bed.

  "Later, Adam, later," she said, getting to her feet. "And anyway, your story is wrong. It was Eve who invented language - she was the first to taste the fruit of knowledge and then shared it with Adam."

  Lina quickly combed her hair and fixed it with a scrunchie.

  "Maybe. Those are minor details," Korvo said, also getting up. "By the way, Adam had a brother."

  "Did he learn to speak too?"

  "No, he and his wife obeyed God and didn't eat the fruit of knowledge. Their descendants still live in paradise."

  "Uh-huh. Not the best choice, but I can relate. Well, let's make some tea."