\n average = 0\n for key, neighbors of graph\n average += (n for n in neighbors when n).length\n average /= (k for k,v of graph).length\n average\n\nBRUTEFORCE_CARDINALITY = 10\nMIN_GUESSES_BEFORE_GROWING_SEQUENCE = 10000\nMIN_SUBMATCH_GUESSES_SINGLE_CHAR = 10\nMIN_SUBMATCH_GUESSES_MULTI_CHAR = 50\n\nscoring =\n nCk: (n, k) ->\n # http://blog.plover.com/math/choose.html\n return 0 if k > n\n return 1 if k == 0\n r = 1\n for d in [1..k]\n r *= n\n r /= d\n n -= 1\n r\n\n log10: (n) -> Math.log(n) / Math.log(10) # IE doesn't support Math.log10 :(\n log2: (n) -> Math.log(n) / Math.log(2)\n\n factorial: (n) ->\n # unoptimized, called only on small n\n return 1 if n < 2\n f = 1\n f *= i for i in [2..n]\n f\n\n # ------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n # search --- most guessable match sequence -------------------------------------\n # ------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n #\n # takes a sequence of overlapping matches, returns the non-overlapping sequence with\n # minimum guesses. Have you ever asked yourself why wordmills can't write any genuine non-fiction? . ", "Now don't go thinking about that little pipsqueak," Homer abjured her somewhat sleepily. "Think you'll be able to take care of her now, Zane?" So let's quit the panting and get down to business. It reads 'Rocket House' and then, in smaller Gothic letters with lots of curlycues, 'in assodation with Wisdom of the Ages.' I'm no robot and I'm ashamed of how little I know about them. After all, you see, since we robots are an artificial, manufactured species, now as often manufactured by robots as by humans, we could in theory engineer sex exactly the way we want it; design wholly new sexes (roboids, robettes, robos, robucks and even robitches have been among the names suggested), devise new sexual organs and modes of intercourse not necessarily limited to two persons (that sort of experience-daisy circuits, as they're called- is occasionally available to robots today but it's not talked about) and in general look at sex with a fresh creative eye. "Yes, those wickedly fascinating boys got me to go off with them," the pink robix confessed, "by promising me I could censor their poetry and write moral fables for newly-constructed robixes. "Pardon me, nurse," the pink robix said when they were in the sacred precinct, "but there's a very personal question I've been dying to ask you. After the manic kick you're getting tired and hurt-feeling and lost, and you want sex the way a baby wants its bottle. "On and on the Golden Swarm surged, perching on planets, bivouacking on galaxies," Cullingham intoned in a surprisingly dramatic voice. You just wait a minute-. she demanded. This can result in bothersome contretemps, as when a robix has to plug into a wall socket in an emergency. Those humans have seen me with my sockets open! Gaspard, where's Miss Blushes? ", "Thrilling beyond belief! Warn on blue material. It loomed up as glitteringly enticing as a Christmas tree and made him feel like a six year old about to be ambushed by Santa Claus. Two publishers! Nurse Bishop said, skidding her brassiere away from her across the floor. The early-model robots tending the non-writers' tables added their touch of tarnished grotesquerie. Wordmills! 'For outstanding achievement in prose packaging' de la Nuit was awarded by Publishers' Presideo a three-night trip to Exotic Old Lower Manhattan. So I am splitting our forces. "I actually don't know if they've ever done anything similar with the male automata Chernik is supposed to have created-they're a remarkably secretive little robot syndicate-but their femmequins (as they're sometimes called) were a rousing success. EGG: That's not business, that's a bore. Now I'm used to thinking twenty-four hours a day, year in and out, and the prospect of having huge chunks cut out of that thinking time is profoundly disquieting. "Hi, Gaspard," she called gayly. "That cannibal queen! I wrote that. "That would be my old rival Cain Brinks," he said. It can only write fiction books. Resplendent in their matching turquoise slack suits with opal buttons, father and son stood complacently in front of Gaspard's wordmill. Zane sprang out, saying, "The signal's coming from the penthouse, all right." "I guess I've begun to ask myself for the first time in my life what I really like and what I don't like. Nurse Bishop plugged a speaker into the empty socket. "So there you have. As he reached out his hand for the twinkling book (the cover girl was preparing to whip off her ultimate violet shift) a hot red roaring stinking gush of flame erupted from the side and blackened in an instant the pigmy world of the sex doll. "Simmer down. ", Without opening his eyes, Flaxman added in a very tired voice, "If you are selling electricity, we are not buying any. Gaspard shook his head. "Yes, doesn't he?" Homer Hemingway folded his left arm over his head to cover both ears and still squinted with the discomfort of the sounds. To do this, it was necessary that they first plug in on each other's batteries and link wires between each other's motors and electronic brains. Then a special connection had to be made on each voicewriter so that it could be plugged directly into an egg's mouth socket, bypassing the audible-sound stage. And there isn't any way for you to find out either, not even if you searched the Nursery from top to bottom and went through any records you may have elsewhere. — she wasn't supposed to." ", "Homer Hemingway deserved every hot wallop Zane gave him," Gaspard protested. We are dispatching a Vengeance Squad to deal with her. No, they're completely safe, but don't tell 'em anything. "Excuse me, Half Pint.". ", The pounding continued. Finally after applying several times to the partners, Gaspard was grudgingly given the use of Flaxman's limousine, when available, for transporting the eggs portal-to-portal, though even that left lugging a-plenty. But this explanation did not entirely satisfy him. The robot shook his head. I'd like to rest.". Nurse Bishop agreed, grabbing Gaspard's. "Gil, don't get in a sweat. "Wake up!" The rolls had almost all been read and tension was rising sharply-as reflected by Joe the Guard having a little struggle to keep Pop from bee-lining to the drinks-when Gaspard, visiting the refreshment table, felt himself nudged by the steel elbow of Zane Gort, who with far-seeing diplomacy was fetching a plate for Heloise Ibsen. Are Lladro Figurines Worth Anything, Lo Imperdonable Capitulo 4, People's Postcode Lottery, Deep Carry Pocket Clip Benchmade, Eva 01 Rebuild, Types Of Conch Shells In Florida, Lydia Blume Bio, Surgical Nursing Articles, " />
Come on, Gaspard, you can help. Voicewriters-there's your clue, as it was mine. "Well, if you think it's such a great idea," he told her, "why don't you point it out to Rusty right now? "They'll-think-it's-just-the-bad-circuit-again," he explained. Now this is a most delicate matter and I don't want to risk being offensive, but Gaspard, Old Corpuscle, it is not quite true what Miss Ibsen said about robots being altogether incapable of tendering certain most intimate services to male human beings. "Did you ask the new door-robot downstairs or the kid with him if they'd seen her come in? ", "It's for your own good, Miss B. "But if you don't mind, I'd rather not discuss it at present. Did that pink robot feel pain when I squirted my flamer at her? All the senses were assaulted-the ears by flurries of faint fairy music, as alluring as that of the sirens and punctuated by the smack of slow kisses, the thwack of whips against nubile flesh, the soft rattle of machinegun bullets and the ghostly roar of atomic bombs. "Two tone, I suppose? Not one circuit shall be withheld. You ought to read Justine by the Marquis de Sade, Gaspard. "Gallop, you mean, Mr. Flaxman-they ought to have been here five minutes ago, the way that robot tears," Joe the Guard opined, come up to sneak a couple of quick shots while his brother's attention was momentarily snared by the antique silver voicewriter that had just been trundled in from the adjoining office. Then this man said, 'Oh boy, a blonde too, this is too good to miss,' and grabbed at me but I tore away. 978-1-4521-8955-0. "Whir-hey, Old Bolt! They're monstrous, they scare me. "The midget computer they call a brain. "Oh, those!" "As I often tell the brats, sticks and stones can break my bones-", "But words can drive me crazy," Gaspard finished. As long as I can't sleep I'll be woozy-dreamy and thinking about the Green Bay Packers and life and wanting to know all about everything. However, twice, at moments when he was so utterly fatigued with egg-lugging that he literally could not lift his arms, she had given him a quick un-withholding hug and planted on his lips a shrewdly expert kiss. Donald Trump today spurned reports that he had hired Russian prostitutes to urinate for and possibly on him. She says she had a fit of amnesia, that she doesn't remember anything from the time she left the Nursery to the time I found her. ", "Call me Gaspard," he said. * Product(m.guesses for m in sequence) + D^(l - 1)\n #\n # where l is the length of the sequence.\n #\n # the factorial term is the number of ways to order l patterns.\n #\n # the D^(l-1) term is another length penalty, roughly capturing the idea that an\n # attacker will try lower-length sequences first before trying length-l sequences.\n #\n # for example, consider a sequence that is date-repeat-dictionary.\n # - an attacker would need to try other date-repeat-dictionary combinations,\n # hence the product term.\n # - an attacker would need to try repeat-date-dictionary, dictionary-repeat-date,\n # ..., hence the factorial term.\n # - an attacker would also likely try length-1 (dictionary) and length-2 (dictionary-date)\n # sequences before length-3. They must carry the same mood or atmosphere and fit into the suspense chain with micrometric precision (I'll explain that later). "Slaver poured from the High Khan's beak and ran down his tentacles. Lighting a foot-long pencil-thin Venusian cheroot, he began to plan one of his perfect robberies. "Look, the last babe I had always used to get me my warm milk on time," Homer put in from the massage table. "Well, of course the whole project turned out to be a blind alley as far as Chernik's main purpose was concerned. Somehow the effect of three thousand giant heads in lightfilled transparent cubic boxes-most of the heads grinning engagingly, a few sultry or brooding-was not at all restful or conducive to thoughts of cherished traditions and benevolent brotherhood. The man can't withdraw and the couple have to be taken to the hospital on the same stretcher. As he said that he gave Gaspard and Zane a faint quizzical smile. "Hunting what? "Why can't they?" Fortunately most jobs on which robots are employed require an equal number of brunch and ixy types. Half Pint, indeed, had been writing continuously at absolute top speed ever since his restoration to the Nursery. She reached out and pinched Miss Willow. . "It still happens where there's money and a purpose, like the Braintrust, that outlasts one generation. But Nurse Bishop snappily asserted that No Wordwooze was simply a rule (which Flaxman should have known!) That's another writer, Son. He was a middling poor father figure and symbol of security, even as such figures and symbols go, but at the moment he was the only one and so would have to do. Zane was clearly far more alive than nine out of ten flesh-and-blood humans. HELOISE IBSEN: Cully, why the hell should a famous writer want to work in a canning factory? "Well, I guess I'm going to have to handle this all by myself," Gaspard said with a savage shrug, turning to Miss Jackson. Will you-", "Listen here, all of you!" "Zukertort gave his sealed minds only the barest minimum of senses and powers. Robert Schumann's song "I Will Not Grieve" conveys a feeling of terrible, glorious loneliness with its Germanic images of lost loves, diamond splendors, and coiled serpents chewing at hearts frozen in eternal night, but it is even more impressive when sung in strangely harmonious discords by a chorus of twenty-seven sealed brains. . Shortly afterwards, the Ibsen copter having been set on automatic for return across the blue leagues of the Pacific to Homer Hemingway's penthouse, Gaspard and Nurse Bishop, who looked quite flushed, were welcomed aboard the larger and faster flier by Flaxman, Miss Blushes, Half Pint, and a stray congressman just now waking up genially from alcoholic slumbers in the baggage compartment. He murmured on for quite some time, very successfully he thought, about the brains' lonely sensitivity and refined ethical standards, the two publishers' crass approach, Cullingham's 'literary conceit, etcetera, ending with, "I think it's a shame they should be subjected to all this. Homer Hemingway would undoubtedly have called me a tin pimp.". You're with friends. "I never run a doped race in my life, not even a kookie stay-awake marathon like this. Frantically evading Zane Gort's open arms, she cast herself hysterically at Nurse Bishop, who winced but endured the aluminum squeezing. Then he walked straight toward Homer. "Some of our people haven't the best manners," he said. ", "We ought to talk this out," Gaspard suggested. "Not the Word?" They seemed to have been enjoying a quiet conversation together-an odd occupation, it occurred to Gaspard, for two men who have presumably just suffered deadly business injuries. "The final achievement, a potentially immortal brain in an ovoid can, still seems nothing less than a miracle cubed, but oddly Zukie never looked on his achievement, as particularly difficult or stupendous. . When you work close to them like I do, you want to pick them up and smash them ten times a day. "Lots of things in the world. Why wasn't it for everybody? ", "Don't you ever read your Bible?" . When we burst in on them, they acted like men with something to lose, not men who didn't care. Thin and light for one-handed reading. Fellow Rocketeers, Heloise and I plunged into legal matriomony eleven hours ago. "You seen how I pasted him, didn't you? He'd listen to you, I should think. The writers did not reform their snake, but a crowd of them-male apprentices mostly-advanced on the pink robot, shouting at first erratically but then in unison all the dirty words they knew-really surprisingly few for even technically literary people, no more than seven. FATHER: Don't do that, Son. Cullingham inquired. "Our visiting breen, the new government censoring robix. ", "Says you. A girl wants to give someone she loves the most intense sensations possible, and what's as intense as pain? ", "Well, at least those old authors had subconscious minds," Gaspard said. He had been out purchasing thirty fresh rolls of paper for the eggheads' silent voicewriters. '\\' has degree 1.\n# this calculates the average over all keys.\ncalc_average_degree = (graph) ->\n average = 0\n for key, neighbors of graph\n average += (n for n in neighbors when n).length\n average /= (k for k,v of graph).length\n average\n\nBRUTEFORCE_CARDINALITY = 10\nMIN_GUESSES_BEFORE_GROWING_SEQUENCE = 10000\nMIN_SUBMATCH_GUESSES_SINGLE_CHAR = 10\nMIN_SUBMATCH_GUESSES_MULTI_CHAR = 50\n\nscoring =\n nCk: (n, k) ->\n # http://blog.plover.com/math/choose.html\n return 0 if k > n\n return 1 if k == 0\n r = 1\n for d in [1..k]\n r *= n\n r /= d\n n -= 1\n r\n\n log10: (n) -> Math.log(n) / Math.log(10) # IE doesn't support Math.log10 :(\n log2: (n) -> Math.log(n) / Math.log(2)\n\n factorial: (n) ->\n # unoptimized, called only on small n\n return 1 if n < 2\n f = 1\n f *= i for i in [2..n]\n f\n\n # ------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n # search --- most guessable match sequence -------------------------------------\n # ------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n #\n # takes a sequence of overlapping matches, returns the non-overlapping sequence with\n # minimum guesses. Have you ever asked yourself why wordmills can't write any genuine non-fiction? . ", "Now don't go thinking about that little pipsqueak," Homer abjured her somewhat sleepily. "Think you'll be able to take care of her now, Zane?" So let's quit the panting and get down to business. It reads 'Rocket House' and then, in smaller Gothic letters with lots of curlycues, 'in assodation with Wisdom of the Ages.' I'm no robot and I'm ashamed of how little I know about them. After all, you see, since we robots are an artificial, manufactured species, now as often manufactured by robots as by humans, we could in theory engineer sex exactly the way we want it; design wholly new sexes (roboids, robettes, robos, robucks and even robitches have been among the names suggested), devise new sexual organs and modes of intercourse not necessarily limited to two persons (that sort of experience-daisy circuits, as they're called- is occasionally available to robots today but it's not talked about) and in general look at sex with a fresh creative eye. "Yes, those wickedly fascinating boys got me to go off with them," the pink robix confessed, "by promising me I could censor their poetry and write moral fables for newly-constructed robixes. "Pardon me, nurse," the pink robix said when they were in the sacred precinct, "but there's a very personal question I've been dying to ask you. After the manic kick you're getting tired and hurt-feeling and lost, and you want sex the way a baby wants its bottle. "On and on the Golden Swarm surged, perching on planets, bivouacking on galaxies," Cullingham intoned in a surprisingly dramatic voice. You just wait a minute-. she demanded. This can result in bothersome contretemps, as when a robix has to plug into a wall socket in an emergency. Those humans have seen me with my sockets open! Gaspard, where's Miss Blushes? ", "Thrilling beyond belief! Warn on blue material. It loomed up as glitteringly enticing as a Christmas tree and made him feel like a six year old about to be ambushed by Santa Claus. Two publishers! Nurse Bishop said, skidding her brassiere away from her across the floor. The early-model robots tending the non-writers' tables added their touch of tarnished grotesquerie. Wordmills! 'For outstanding achievement in prose packaging' de la Nuit was awarded by Publishers' Presideo a three-night trip to Exotic Old Lower Manhattan. So I am splitting our forces. "I actually don't know if they've ever done anything similar with the male automata Chernik is supposed to have created-they're a remarkably secretive little robot syndicate-but their femmequins (as they're sometimes called) were a rousing success. EGG: That's not business, that's a bore. Now I'm used to thinking twenty-four hours a day, year in and out, and the prospect of having huge chunks cut out of that thinking time is profoundly disquieting. "Hi, Gaspard," she called gayly. "That cannibal queen! I wrote that. "That would be my old rival Cain Brinks," he said. It can only write fiction books. Resplendent in their matching turquoise slack suits with opal buttons, father and son stood complacently in front of Gaspard's wordmill. Zane sprang out, saying, "The signal's coming from the penthouse, all right." "I guess I've begun to ask myself for the first time in my life what I really like and what I don't like. Nurse Bishop plugged a speaker into the empty socket. "So there you have. As he reached out his hand for the twinkling book (the cover girl was preparing to whip off her ultimate violet shift) a hot red roaring stinking gush of flame erupted from the side and blackened in an instant the pigmy world of the sex doll. "Simmer down. ", Without opening his eyes, Flaxman added in a very tired voice, "If you are selling electricity, we are not buying any. Gaspard shook his head. "Yes, doesn't he?" Homer Hemingway folded his left arm over his head to cover both ears and still squinted with the discomfort of the sounds. To do this, it was necessary that they first plug in on each other's batteries and link wires between each other's motors and electronic brains. Then a special connection had to be made on each voicewriter so that it could be plugged directly into an egg's mouth socket, bypassing the audible-sound stage. And there isn't any way for you to find out either, not even if you searched the Nursery from top to bottom and went through any records you may have elsewhere. — she wasn't supposed to." ", "Homer Hemingway deserved every hot wallop Zane gave him," Gaspard protested. We are dispatching a Vengeance Squad to deal with her. No, they're completely safe, but don't tell 'em anything. "Excuse me, Half Pint.". ", The pounding continued. Finally after applying several times to the partners, Gaspard was grudgingly given the use of Flaxman's limousine, when available, for transporting the eggs portal-to-portal, though even that left lugging a-plenty. But this explanation did not entirely satisfy him. The robot shook his head. I'd like to rest.". Nurse Bishop agreed, grabbing Gaspard's. "Gil, don't get in a sweat. "Wake up!" The rolls had almost all been read and tension was rising sharply-as reflected by Joe the Guard having a little struggle to keep Pop from bee-lining to the drinks-when Gaspard, visiting the refreshment table, felt himself nudged by the steel elbow of Zane Gort, who with far-seeing diplomacy was fetching a plate for Heloise Ibsen.
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