@SwiftOnSecurity or it makes all your searches run slower because something that's used in 0.01% of your analysis tasks is consuming over 50% of your data volume
When I worked at #ICANN years ago there were these great pictures of early networking and Internet typologies on the wall at the main office.
You could no longer get them from the publisher, so I took pictures! [1/2]:
A shocked, wide-eyed tree
Regular viewers will be aware I like to find faces in things and, well, increase their visibility.
This tree has been sitting on my desktop for around 2 months as I kept failing to find the right eyes.
Opened it by accident just now, thought to myself "wow, the tree has mossy eyebrows", realised I edited them on myself last time I played with it & decided that was a sign I should stop playing with it.
So here you go. Have a tree.
Repurposed
a short story
Gliding along a trench highway, every streetlight at ground level transited across her sleeping face, iteratively illuminating every feature in the perfect light and shadow. Ann stirred, Jake grabbed her hand. "Almost home, honey." In reply she mumbled half-consciously on a reclined seat, ready for rest after their engagement party.
Jake could see their exit, but the car was in the wrong lane. "Cordova, shift lane, far right." There was no response. He grabbed the wheel. Turning the wheel did nothing, neither the brake. Their car's drive-by-wire system was an illusion of control, and it was failing.
Alarmed, he decided to take drastic action.
"Cordova, cut engine." Nothing.
"Cordova, cut motor breaker." Nothing.
"Cordova, stop car." Nothing.
Ann woke and asked what was happening. "Nothing I do has any effect."
Ann had an idea. "Hold the ignition button." It refused to stop the engine like the failsafes were programmed to do. It too was simply a computer designed to ask instead of command.
The car accelerated.
Picking up speed. 100. 120. 150. They raced ahead as highway lights above quickly dawned and set across the car's interior, as if days were becoming only moments. Panic set in. "Oh god oh god oh god." Ann reached for the door in desperation for feeling in control, knowing it would kill her to exit. It too was electric and controlled by the ECU. It did not respond.
The throuple of humans and elective machine quickly gained on a convoy of black Suburbans.
-----
"Sir, car approaching from rear at high speed."
Everyone in the car tensed.
Probably a teen racer, but the agents guarding the Secretary of State did not take chances. "Get into delta."
----
"I love you Ann"
In moments, Jake's car positioned and expertly drove itself into the rear quarter panel of the rear Suburban, spinning it out of control in an empty urban highway corridor at 4AM.
-----
"LIGHT THEM UP!"
The lead and side Suburban moved into position, lowering their windows. MP5's pounded lead into the Accord and its passengers.
Bullets made the interior of the Accord and its windshield what could only be assumed to be red under the decay of yellow light, but the car aggressively gained on the protective detail.
"ITS AUTONOMOUS"
Before they could finish reloading, the Accord - undamaged by previous impact due to its lack of front engine compartment, expertly PITed its second Suburban, and came up behind the Secretary, slamming them forward.
Darting to escape what could be an ambush ahead, the Secretary's car made an exit - only barely - lead protective car losing traction and crashing into barrier. As the remaining Suburban drove through an off-ramp, its tires screamed in protest on a sharp corner to city streets while trading concrete for asphalt. A moment later, the pursuer reappeared in silence, driven expertly to the edge of its performance envelope.
Whoum.
Whoum.
Whoum.
Whoum.
The Accord tugged left and right as each wheel’s electric motor had its firmware sequentially reprogrammed over their shared CAN bus, safeties unlocked, and full amperage dumped into it by a software-defined battery decomposing under suicide chemistry.
The pair of machines hurtled down an urban chute entertained by the sound of periodic useless rearward rifle fire, each frame's suspension taking a staccato punishment through every intersection. Wet asphalt was lit red by traffic management LEDs set to give preference to cross-traffic for the chance of obliteration.
Under constant acceleration, each machine's four rubber contact patches pitched and atomized water from the soaked road, displaced air degenerating into violently buffeting turbulence as speed increased beyond anything designed. These machines at their extremes couldn’t last.
They didn’t need to.
Accelerating at an ungodly pitch as if moved forward by the hand of a god, the Accord hit the Secretary's vehicle again.
His SUV, plated with armor, was top-heavy. It swerved left and right and left again. It kicked up and began to roll, at 60 mph.
An electrical transmission pole was suddenly bent.
----
Lee-Ann entered the conference room, quietly navigating through transportation company representatives, finally whispering in the suited man's ear.
"The Secretary of State was attacked in his convoy at 4AM in Los Angeles. He's in a coma. They don't expect him to live. We need to go."
Across the large desk, Cordova's hologram looked concerned.
"Is something wrong, Mr. President?"
//END
---
This story is an amalgamation of different stories I've posted over the years. Subject to its reception here I'll perform a final edit and post it to https://universalshards.com
Please subscribe for free there to get future stories.
What fresh hell is this? Adobe has opted me in to letting them train their algorithms on my photos? That’s the end of me using their cloud storage for anything, ever. #privacy #adobe #lightroom #LightroomMobile
Steve:
frequent overthinker, compulsive fixer, digester-then-explainer, "why?" question relishing father, minor-irritant partner, excessive disassembler, original-form hacker, high-efficiency googler, borderline-competent car-fixer, expert-level car-breaker, faster-by-qwerty communicator, indiscriminate photo-taker, Leatherman owner.