Narration: That evening he returned and began to question the Trurl in the machine—that is, his digital duplicate—and asked it first how the work was progressing.
Machine says: I must tell you, to begin with, that it’s in extremely poor taste,
Machine says: and not to mince words, downright indecent to stick yourself, in the form of a computerized copy, inside a machine—
Machine says: simply because you aren’t willing to work out some nasty problem on your own!
Machine says: Moreover, since I have been mathematized and mechanized, punched-out and programmed up to be every informational bit as wise as yourself,
Machine says: I see no reason why I should be reporting to you and not the other way around!”
Trurl says: “As if I hadn’t done a thing, only skipped over hill and dale gathering daisies!”, growled Trurl, exasperated.
Trurl says: My neurons are nearly burnt through with overwork!
Trurl says: It’s your turn now—please, don’t be difficult, tell me what you’ve learned!”
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