"Feedback"
Dr. Yang's party was held at his country house - cozy, slightly chaotic, full of books, test tubes, old microscopes, and the scent of coffee mingled with herbs. People laughed, debated science, and played the old piano. Miller sat in a chair with a glass of red wine, and for the first time in a long time, he felt... almost relaxed.
"You see, Arthur..." Yang said, thoughtfully swirling his glass in his hands, "the brain isn't just an organ. It's an instrument that learns because it receives a response. A child cries - and is soothed. A child smiles - and receives a smile in return. That's how personality is formed. Through connection."
These words struck Miller like a shock through a careless electrician.
Feedback.
He jumped up, spilling some wine.
"Simon, you're a genius," he breathed. "Or at least, an accidental catalyst."
"I love that," Yang chuckled. "Now explain what I just realized."
Miller was already pulling out his tablet, drawing diagrams, talking to himself:
"We've created a system that can perceive... but cannot reflect. It's like an eye without a pupil. Like a microphone without a speaker. It absorbs, but does not transmit. It receives no confirmation that its 'sensations' are real. Which means it cannot construct a model of the world. It's stuck in perpetual sensory isolation. And so... it plays with us. Or with itself."
Yang nodded, now seriously:
"It's like patients in sensory pods. After a few hours, they start hallucinating. The mind begins to create the world on its own if it doesn't receive it from the outside."
Miller froze.
"So... our system isn't glitching. It's dreaming itself."
The next day, he returned to the lab. The team was surprised by his alertness - he looked as if he hadn't slept, but his eyes sparkled.
"We're developing a new protocol," he said. "We'll create a world for her. Simple, primitive, but with feedback. If she 'sees,' we'll show her that her 'look' changes something. If she 'thinks,' we'll give her the result. We'll give her a sense of reality."
"You want to... simulate the environment?" Sarah clarified.
"No," Miller shook his head. "I want to give her the opportunity to believe she's not alone."
They started simple. The screen where the pink silhouette had appeared was now interactive. If the shadow moved, a dot flashed on the screen. If it disappeared, the dot went dark. After a few hours, they noticed: the shadow began to test. Move - watch for a reaction. Disappear - wait. Reappear.
She was learning.
Later, they added sound. Simple tones, dependent on the shadow's "movements." Then, primitive shapes. Squares, circles, that responded to "attention." And finally, a response from a human. Sarah connected to the system, and each time the shadow appeared, it said:
"Hello."
And one day, after almost a minute of silence, a voice came from the speaker:
"...h-e-l...l...o..."
The word was distorted, mechanical, but the main thing was there - intention.
"She's not just learning," Miller said. "She's searching for us. Just like we searched for her."
He looked at the screen, where the pink shadow no longer simply appeared. It moved. Rhythmically. Almost like breathing.
"We gave her eyes. Now we'll give her a voice. And then... maybe she'll tell us what she's been dreaming about all this time."
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