Chapter 38 Nickname
Perturabo raised his armored hand and covered the incomplete data pad inside the tank.
In the panel composed of iron and various minerals, simple to crude forms flicked a few times from time to time, and long paper tapes recording data and instructions ran out one after another from the exit on the side of the machine. The floor of the chariot was piled high.
He had to clean it up from time to time. Based on the principle that the paper tape and carbon black originated from the vast nature, he threw them back into the embrace of nature through the opening on the side of the chariot, waiting for the additive-free The wood pulp was once again eaten clean by those things called microorganisms.
Perturabo straightened the iron band decoration on his head that was skewed due to repairing the machine, opened the roof of the chariot, and let the morning air mixed with dust fly past his cheeks to take away part of his irritability.
The more he studied, the more he understood that there was definitely a broader world outside Olympia, a more distant utopia.
Lokos's collection of books that no one can decipher has allowed him to touch the corner of the long ladder leading to the high sky. Endless great ideas are rushing from his brain to his fingertips, eager to verify him. of countless fantasy designs. But, but!
His depression made him couldn't help but knock on the top of his machine with both fists, and then he immediately checked whether the machine was damaged. After a few minutes he was convinced that the machine was undamaged and seemed to be operating slowly and normally again.
Perturabo rubbed his aching hand, regaining the feeling of fire in his heart, and continued to feel depressed that Lokos's basic industry could not keep up with his progress from all angles. Materials, theory, industrial precision, manpower... everything is too missing and too backward.
He couldn't even find anyone with whom he could communicate normally.
He excitedly introduced to others how to understand the dynamic multi-pooling convolutional neural network model, which uses a framework to learn sentence-level representations based on capturing meaningful semantic rules at the word level, and uses a dynamic multi-pooling strategy to extract trigger words and The event argument, the other side will just say "What sentence? What God? What do you want to ask the God of Poetry?"
Oh, except Morse.
Morse would only ridicule him but not really think that his theory was perfect; if the guy had just finished basking in the sun and was in high spirits, he could have talked about more in-depth and enlightening topics.
Perturabo couldn't deny it to himself, that was one of the moments he looked forward to the most.
Another expectation is, of course, when his Creator comes to find him. He must compare Morse with his real Creator. At that time, he can say that Morse's character is really inferior.
A chariot followed him from behind, and the roof of the vehicle gradually opened. Callifon stood up from it, waving to him, and her long hair was tied with a hairband and hung behind her back. The headband has black and yellow stripes in someone's strong style, indicating the identity of the giver of this headband.
She put her hands around her mouth like amplification props, even though the distance between them was enough for Perturabo to hear her voice clearly.
"Why are you throwing notes out again, Perturabo?" Callifon shouted with a teasing smile. "The wind blew all the papers into my hand!"
As she said that, she grabbed a long string of paper tapes from the seat, and let the strings of holes punched in them flow along the airflow. Ups and downs.
"You should close the roof!" Perturabo shouted back.
"No, then my driver won't be able to see the clear road!"
"Is your glass opaque, Kalifon!"
Califon smiles even brighter , the black hair was also shining, "The driver said that he couldn't observe the surrounding situation through the glass, and he couldn't get used to it."
"Sooner or later, I want people to not have to observe the battlefield through the naked eye. , that’s so stupid!”
“Ah, I’m looking forward to your achievements!”
"Let's sit down and talk!"
Peturabo pulled up the top panel, pulled out the radio wave receiving cable and plugged it into the interface of his humming machine. After a while, Callifon's voice rang clearly in Perturabo's ears through the radio waves called "telepathy of the twin gods" by the locals. After no longer having to shout loudly, her voice became softer again, more like a blood relative chatting intimately.
“This is the first time you are leaving Lokos since you came here.” Callifon said, “Even with the intention of war instead of peace. "
She paused here. Maybe she wanted to ask Perturabo if he was ready. Maybe she wanted to ask Perturabo how far he would take this battle before he would stop.
The current brings her silence, and silence often allows the listener to interpret it according to his or her own inner expectations.
Perturabo leaned back in his chair, nailed the manuscript paper he used for calculations on the wooden board, and said in a stiff tone: "If I don't lead troops, then I will go back to Lokos Not coming."
"Yes..." Kalifon sighed, "Actually, this is also the first time I have left Lokos."
"Damekes visited neighboring countries, no. Want you to follow up?”
Califon’s laughter stirred up a small popping sound in the electricity. "It's enough to go to Harkon. What am I going to do? Is it possible to see which prince suits my liking?"
Her laughter melted away in Perturabo's silence, and a trace of empty darkness floated like a roaring heaviness in the current. This emotion opened a gap in the outside of Perturabo's heart, and the bond between the two Side intertwined extensions.
For a moment, Perturabo suddenly questioned why he could still sit so silently and coldly, analyzing this absurd situation rationally.
He then thought about why he was so eager to push everything forward, and whether he could really change everything in the vast land of Olympia.
"Okay, Perturabo." Callifon said softly, "You are about to become a real general. And I am a busy quartermaster under the respected general, All logistics must be arranged for him, so that fodder for the army is sent out one after another."
"I won't chat with you anymore, I want to see if your soldiers have eaten their lunch. .”
After Callifon finished speaking, she was about to cut off the communication. Her hand should have been on the depressed button and was about to press it again to pop it up.
Perturabo called to her: "Wait a minute, Callifon."
"What's the matter?"
Perturabo looked through the glass. The road in front of him: "What Morse told me most often was to confess."
He didn't know what he was talking about anymore. He just opened his mouth, opened his lips and tongue, and let the sentences flow from his mouth. Climb up mentally and march outward through the open aisle. His calmness was even beyond his own rational expectations.
"So I allow you - I hope you use shorter syllables to call my name."
He heard a surprised intake of breath, and the trembling air flow directly penetrated the deepest trembling in his heart.
At one point, he even despaired of his reckless expectations, until Califon's voice sounded again: "Bo, is this okay?"
" Of course, Calliphon," blurted Perturabo.
From this moment on, he knew that he no longer had to engage in a never-ending, recurring, painful struggle with his own weaknesses.
(End of this chapter)