As before, all praise/blame goes to Marco de la Cruz
<marco@chinook.physics.utoronto.ca>
        Don't worry, X-Change Students is alive and well.
 
HTG
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----

The man stood in silence, completely oblivious to the rain
pouring on him. He had tucked his hands deep into his pockets,
afraid that their trembling would be noticed by the police
officers around him. His lips were tightly closed, fighting
the slightly nauseous sensation he felt in his stomach. For a
second he was afraid he would falter and his knees would give
away, but he stood firm. Not a small accomplishment for
someone who had just murdered seven men.

    "Sir, are you O.K.?"

Daley faced the young officer at his side. The man was barely
in his twenties, and the fact that he was soaked somehow made
him look even younger. Reminded him a little of how he used to
look a lifetime ago, before he began sending people to their
deaths.

    "I'm fine Kuno," he lied "just thought I'd get some fresh
air. Any signs of what destroyed the boomer?"

    "No sir, the techs are still at it."

The officer hesitated for a second, wanting to speak but not
daring.  Daley gave him a sad and weary smile.

    "Don't worry, I'll get in touch with the families."

    "I'm sorry, Sir. I'll fill you in as soon as we find
anything," he quickly replied, as he turned around and walked
back to the grisly scene a few metres behind him.

Boomer rampage, single unit, unidentified model. Send in
first-line offensive squad, two by three formation, backups at
close range. In case of failure to restrain abort attack and
regroup. Retaliate by sending in special forces. Sit tight
until further instructions or fifteen minute radio silence. He
had done everything by the book, to the letter.  What the book
didn't say was how the fuck he was supposed to sleep at night
after seeing his men torn to shreds by some fucking piece of
deranged metal and wires.

He closed his eyes and faced the sky, letting the rain fall on
his cheeks and forehead. He didn't open his mouth and drink
the water like he used to as a kid, though. It was so polluted
he might as well drink the gasoline in his car.

    "Daley! We've got something for you!"

Daley took a deep breath and headed towards the small group of
men in jumpsuits that were examining the boomer. Four powerful
lights had been positioned in the area while three technicians
carefully probed the body. He glanced at the fallen
mecha. Whatever it was that had attacked it must have been one
mean son of a bitch. The large blade that protruded from its
right forearm had been cut in two at the middle, and the
barrel of the machine-gun it wielded was also cleanly sliced
in half. The lower part of the face, the "jaw" so to speak,
had been ripped off, destroying the laser in its mouth and
shattering its "teeth". But the most impressive damage had
been done to its torso. A roughly oval hole, approximately 50
centimetres wide and about three times as high had been torn
through its chest. Even now the dark green hydraulic fluid
kept spurting out of the hoses that had been severed, and
small sparks flew between the cables as the rainwater
continued to short circuit the few live connections that were
left. He could also see some bloodstains on its arm, and, for
an instant, and in spite of it being merely a mindless
machine, he felt glad the motherfucker had got what it
deserved.

    "What is it?"

The oldest of the techs, a man in his fifties, stood up from
where the boomer lay.

    "We got the databank chip," he said, as he showed Daley a
small black metal container about the size and shape of a 9
volt battery, "I'll just send it to the lab and see what we
can do."

Daley gave him a twisted, unsavoury smile.

The datachip kept some sort of log of the boomer's actions and
system diagnostics. That was essentially all they knew. The
information was encoded with what seemed to be a randomly
changing encryption key, unbreakable by the ADP so far. They
had to send it to Genom's labs so they could decode it and
then send back some bullshit report which could be used as
fertilizer. The irony was almost funny.

    "Any ideas on what happened here?"

    "Well, whatever attacked the boomer got here after the men
were slaugh..." he paused, giving Daley a nervous glance.

    "And...?"

    "Well, uh, the damage to their suits was definitely caused
by the boomer's weaponry. The ammunition, the dents on their
armours and everything else seems to match up pretty well"

    "How can you be sure it was the boomer and not the second
attacker?"

    "I'm not. We'll still need the results from the lab, but
look here," he pointed towards the boomer's broken blade, "the
cutting capability of this knife was enhanced by heating it, a
thermoblade if you like. You can tell something was cut with
it by the smooth edges it produces. It probably went through
our ACE suits like a hot knife on butter."

    "If you look at the machine-gun's barrel, however, you'll
see it's also been severed with some sort of knife, but from
the type of cut it was definitely not at high temperature. It
wasn't vibrating, either."

    "But can you actually cut a reinforced steel barrel with a
plain sword?" asked Daley, incredulous.

    "With enough force you can do it, sure. I'd be hard
pressed to tell you what material is strong enough so that you
could make a blade out of it that wouldn't shatter upon
impact, though."

    "Now," he knelt next to the remains of the mecha's head,
"the damage here was made by a rather small object, something
the size of a fist, but I can't see any traces of an explosion
so we'll have to assume that whatever hit it was either pretty
damn strong or knew exactly where to apply the blow."

    "Knuckle bombers are out of the question then?"

The man gave Daley a wry smile.

    "I may not know what it was that made scrap out of this
thing, Daley, but it sure wasn't the Knight Sabers. I'd
thought it was pretty obvious by now."

Daley ignored the comment.

    "What about the hole in its chest? A projectile?"

    "Ah, the coup de grace. No, it was not a projectile, the
shape isn't right, nor is the damage consistent with that
theory."

    "So?"

    "I have no idea. Part of the armour's been melted, some of
it has simply been torn apart or cut through, the front seems
to have been shattered somehow, cracked like an egg. One
thing's certain, whatever it was that did this *burrowed* this
hole through the boomer. I've never seen anything like it
before, the armour is over four centimetres thick."

    "Exactly what type of boomer is this, anyway? A BU-61?"

    "Looks to me like a modified BU-65, although from what
I've seen this model is pretty much a full-blown combat
version. It has some very nasty stuff built into it. Hell,
perhaps it's a new series. I can barely wait to get this puppy
into the lab, at least before the Genom people pick it up."

Daley found the man's enthusiasm very offensive, disgusting
almost, but he was still the ADP's top boomer expert, or at
least the closest they had to one.

    "Anything else? Number of attackers? Type of weaponry?"

    "There was probably more than one. What else could have
caused this much damage by itself? Unless a tank destroyer
slipped by the police barriers I can't think of anything
capable of this. Must have been some sort of attack boomer, or
a new type of hardsuit, but it doesn't make much sense..."

    "Why is that?"

    "We haven't been able to find *any* cases that didn't
belong to our men or the boomer. No indication of lasers or
missiles or flamethrowers or whatever. This was close and
personal, mano a mano. How could *anything* get close enough
to this thing to even touch it is beyond me.  I may find out
more if we manage to run a microfracture analysis at the
lab. The black box might also clear up some things."

    "Yeah, right." sneered Daley, walking away.

Daley headed towards his police car. He didn't dare look in
the direction where they had found the bodies. He knew that
even under the heavy rain the blood still hadn't washed
away. He glanced as his watch: 23:47. The next shift was still
a few of hours away. As he opened the car door he stepped on
something. Looking down he saw it was a small plastic chip
with some carvings on it. He picked it up and examined it
closely. It had obviously been made by a kid, and the pattern
reminded him of something he had seen before, but he couldn't
place it. It was pretty, though, and instead of throwing it
away he put it in his shirt's vest pocket.

He got into his car and drove towards headquarters.

He had seven phonecalls to make.

-----

The young woman laid naked on the operating table, dozens of
small pads stuck to her head and body, each connected to a
wire which hung between her and one of the many apparatus that
were crammed into the small room.  Her unseeing eyes where
fixed on the lights above her, an unblinking, glassy stare. By
her side stood a rather young man, in his thirties, gently
pulling the piston of a large syringe, filling it up to a
precise doses. He carefully checked the height of the
yellowish fluid contained within the transparent plastic
container, and proceeded to plunge the needle deep into her
left eye, gently pressing down until it was empty.  The liquid
went through a thin tube that was embedded in what would be
the human equivalent of the optic nerve, directly into her
brain. As dramatic as this inoculation procedure seemed, he
had no choice. She had no real veins, at least not the type
which carried blood, and the needle would certainly break if
he tried to apply the shot anywhere else.

He glanced at the HGVS. The reading was at 200 pps. He was
walking on thin ice, using such a pulse high rate. The
slightest error could cause irreversible tissue damage, frying
her braincells and, in the best of cases, killing her. But the
morphine sulphate shots had long ceased to be effective, and
even the thioridazine/fluorazepam hydrochloride cocktails did
not provide sufficient relief. The brain itself lacks any
sensation, of course, but the small discharges which randomly
sparked across her synapses directly excited most of her pain
receptors. Only by electrically stimulating the thalamus and
periaqueductal regions could she produce enough endogenous
beta-endorphins to counteract the raw, mind-numbing pain that
consumed her.

He turned towards the computer terminal at his side. A column
of numbers appeared as it analyzed the data from the various
diagnostic systems which had begun to trace the C-14
radioactive serum that flowed within her brain. The equipment
at his disposal, most of it built by himself or stolen, was
grossly inadequate. It would take a few hours for the
information to be processed, and even then the data would
consist mainly of cryptic messages and numbers. But it worked,
and provided him with the results he so desperately needed.

He looked back at the girl, her gaze still fixed at some point
on the ceiling. Slowly, he closed her eyes, and gently began
to stroke her hair. He held her small hand, and studied it
closely, caressing it with his thumb. The skin felt real
enough, but a slight tightening of his grip quickly dispelled
the illusion of flesh, as the unyielding hardness of metal
pressed back against his fingers.

As his mind began to fill once again with doubts and remorse,
memories came flooding back, and as so many times before his
life lay before him, indeed, haunting him. How could things
have gone so wrong?

Robotics had always fascinated him. The fact that both he and
the first functional humanoid mecha had been born at the start
of the millennium had almost seemed more than than a
coincidence, at least in his mind.  Even during his youth he
had begun to study in awe the rapid evolution of humanity's
artificial companions. By the time he entered college he had
already made a few prosthesis designs of his own. It was one
particular type of robot which had caught his imagination,
however: combat boomers. Strong and fast, they were the Man's
most advanced creations. But as his knowledge of the mecha's
inner workings and capabilities deepened and expanded, so did
his increasing disenchantment.

God's creations are flimsy, weak and fragile. They quickly
waste away, rotting alive with every passing minute. Boomers
on the other hand are powerful creatures, capable in principle
of functioning for centuries, their integrity remaining
essentially undiminished. As energy and materials research
evolved their life-span would increase tenfold within a few
years. They surpassed any living organism in resilience and
strength.

But for all the progress that had been achieved, all the
technological miracles that had come to be, the boomer's
fundamental flaw remained as insurmountable as ever.

They lacked the perspicaciousness of thought.

Indeed, even the most advance AI was a misnomer. Boomers could
perform the most dauntingly complex tasks, but only after they
were carefully programmed to do so. They could walk, see,
hear, talk and even learn, but never, ever, do or create
anything on their own.

They were thought by many, including their creators, to be the
ultimate weapons, but he knew well this was not so. Man's
power lies not in his body, but in his mind. Tactical
imagination would always triumph over brute force. One must
adapt and evolve in order to survive, and to do so,
self-improvement is crucial. The most sophisticated
programming could be thwarted, the most carefully preconceived
attack defeated by skill and ingenuity.

He knew it, and many of Genom's top people soon realized that
the current state of AI was unacceptable, particularly after
the many defeats at the hands of the Knight Sabers.

The first grant he received from Genom had had a single
purpose: develop a true artificial intelligence, capable of
improvising a combat tactic under real-world fighting
conditions. Two years and a billion Yen later, the GEC-8088
had been completed. It was the most advanced positronic brain
ever developed, with over six hundred million electro-quantum
neural connections and a truly random eigenfunction generator.
Probabilistic functional analysis indicated that within a
short "learning" period the boomer would be capable of
self-awareness. Only during the first few bouts would it
follow a pre-programmed combat algorithm. Eventually, the
theory indicated, it would begin to act on its own, based in
part on previous experiences, but complementing its tactics
with "new" techniques.

After some in-lab simulations its first real-world test would
be confronting the ADP. It would turn out to be a resounding
success, with three AV's swiftly destroyed and half a dozen
officers killed. The problem, however, was that all its
actions had been consistent with its original
programming. After two more "exercises" and fifteen deaths
later it was clear that something was wrong. The boomer,
apparently, was so successful against its enemies that there
was no real need for it to "evolve". Virtual scenarios were
not of much help either. A more challenging opponent was
required, the logical choice being, of course, the Knight
Sabers. After careful planning three boomers were sent against
the vigilantes, the 8088 and two BU-56 as backups.

A single EMP later the 8088's brain, the most sophisticated
computer ever assembled, was utterly destroyed. The other two
boomers, with a more primitive and rugged processing unit,
managed to put up a semblance of a fight, but were also
thoroughly annihilated.

It turned out that the complex electronics within the
positronic brain were extremely vulnerable to ECMs. Normal
shielding was not sufficient, so they equipped it with the
most advanced pulse attenuators available.  To his dismay, he
soon found out this was not enough. An integral part of the
GEC-8088 consisted of microscopic KDP Pockels cells which
acted as modulators of the optical signals in the brain. Even
the slightest electromagnetic disturbance (including the
robot's own internally generated fields!) caused small changes
in their refraction index.  Although the cells themselves were
not damaged, a weak hysteresis effect occurred. The
susceptibility tensor of the material was thus modified
slightly, enough to disrupt the electro-optic effect and
substantially change the shape of the behaviouristic
probability eigenfunction. There was no longer any guarantee
that the boomer would be capable of achieving
self-awareness. The physics was clear, he had run into a dead
end.

Literally.

Genom's executives did not hesitate in pointing accusing
fingers at him.  Quincy himself was said to be furious over
such an obvious, and expensive, oversight. It was rather
ironic that necessity and sheer fright for his own life had
provided him with the idea which would eventually lead him to
the brink of success.

In a strange way, the solution had been there from the start,
but his pride had made him ignore it. He had to admit,
however, that, after all, Nature had had a few billion years
head-start.

The concept itself, of course, not new, and there were indeed
many very good arguments against it. Although neural-computer
interfaces had already been developed for prosthetics and
powersuits, little was really known about the way the brain
itself worked, and its dauntingly complex electro-chemical
interaction with the human body. Furthermore, it was still
subjected to all the drawbacks relating to the organics,
ranging from the need to rest, to its intrinsic vulnerability
against physical abuse. Worst of all, as flexible and
inventive as the human mind is, it remains a very inefficient
processor, its reactions to stimuli being so slow so as to
make it practically worthless in a highly-capable and very
fast body (electrical pulses within the axons, for example,
travel at a meager 100 metres per second).

One of the 8088's more unique features had been the extensive
use of diffuse cybernetic enhancements. It had been obvious
during the first stages of development that the main cognitive
processor would barely be able to fit within the mecha's
skull, and so decentralized subprocessors were built
throughout the boomer's body. Servomechanical actions and
other low level functions were then executed by the DSN under
the control of the HLCP. As research progressed the secondary
nodes became more and more integrated with the nerve net
fibre, until this "nervous system" became a single "diffused"
computer, intertwined throughout the artificial muscles and
organs of the robot.

The application of this technology to the brain itself
provided two crucial advantages. The computer, weaved into the
neuroglia and cerebrum, would be capable of providing the
dynamical resilience required to withstand violent
accelerations and the high CSF pressure within the cranium
needed for cushioning. More importantly, however, was the
secondary computing power which would complement the higher
cerebral functions. The basic idea was simple: the brain would
devise the general strategy, while the DSN would execute its
orders in the quickest and most efficient manner
possible. This semi-autonomous behaviour of the DSN still
required a tremendous amount of intense CPU activity, since it
had to carry out a continuous spatio-temporal interpolation to
achieve the actions which the brain commanded, while
maintaining a precise two-way information flow (being capable
of both orthodromic and antidromic pulse conduction) with the
CNS.

The truly complicated part, however, was the integration of
the computer with the organics. Microtechnology was
sufficiently developed to weave the NNF subprocessors across
the synapses, but not within the neurons themselves. The
solution to this problem was provided by yet another recent
discovery due to a Swedish doctor named Penord Grenter:
intelligent tracers. These were actually a weakened form of
irradiated viruses, capable of infecting certain types of
cells without damaging them, and were usually employed in
cellular exploratory scans. Not unlike Daedalus' solution to
the threading of a shell, segments of the viruses' DNA were
substituted with small segments of DSN and then introduced
into the brain. Once within the cells the viruses would
dissolve and the segments would join together by ionic
attraction, soon merging with each other throughout the
neurons, dendrites and axons. The microbots would then simply
knit the DSN mesh across the remaining neural junctions.


The first tests went spectacularly well. Although the first
few dozen monkeys quickly died of meningoencephalitis,
autopsies revealed that the neural mesh was developing as
expected. Later experiments were able to control the rejection
and infections with massive use of antibiotics and
immunosuppressants, and eventual coating of the DSN with
neurohormones embedded within an artificial myelin sheath
managed to fool the host's antibodies, at least
temporarily. The tweaking of the layout of the mesh was
practically done on a trial and error basis. In one instance,
for example, the "wiring" of the medulla oblongata, which
controls various motor, sensorial and visceral activities,
appeared initially to be quite successful. A defective
"mapping" of the spinal trigeminal tract, however, was soon
discovered to provoke what seemed to be an itch on the
monkey's face. This hadn't worried the cyberneticians much at
the beginning, but after two days the itch worsened. By the
third day the animal's constant scratching had made a bloody
pulp of his face. Twelve hours later he began ripping off his
facial hair and flesh. The primate died when he clawed out his
own eyes.

In spite of these setbacks, progress continued at an
accelerated rate (not that they had much choice). Survival
rates climbed to 70%, and performance tests were very
encouraging, with reflex timings well within a hundredth of a
second. Although the monkeys invariably showed signs of highly
aggressive and psychotic behaviour, it was decided that the
psychological "re-adjustments" be made on phase II
subjects. Tests on humans began exactly two years after the
rotund failure of the 8088.

Officer Saburo Iga had been a well-liked rookie when he joined
the ADP, which was a rather uncommon occurrence in the gritty
atmosphere amongst his more experienced colleagues. Yet he
started quite well off with his partner, and enjoyed the
dangerous challenge that working for the police
represented. Indeed, he felt proud of himself during that
first week on service.

Unluckily for him, the boomer that crushed his ribcage made
sure it was his last.

After dying for the first time, Iga became subject
NIS-A1. Other officers soon followed, their bodies destroyed
but heads intact thanks to some careful boomer
programming. Skilled and healthy people whose death drew
little attention was exactly what they needed, and the ADP
turned out to be an invaluable source of these. For once the
police morgue found itself with space to spare.

Iga died permanently soon after the operation due to their
inexperience with wiring of the cerebral cortex. Just two
failures later, however, NIS-A4 became the first human being
to have a DSN successfully weaved within her brain.

And the results were spectacular.

Ultrafast reflexes, reaction times under a millisecond, 30 g
shock resistance, enhanced stamina, highly precise kinetic
response, fear suppression. All these were but the most
obvious achievements diffuse cybernetics provided. But there
were other, more subtle effects.

The subject, it was found, was no longer fooled by Gestalten
illusions.  Corrections to subjective configurations were
automatically made by the DSN, so that visual distortions such
as the Muller-Lyer, Zollner and Hering illusions, for example,
were all rectified instantly, giving the brain an accurate
representation of physical reality at all times.  Simultaneous
perception of "figure and ground" images was readably
achieved, although this was but a particular instance of a
more general 3-D neuro-optokinetic capability which allowed
true three dimensional processing of the visual space. Instead
of fixing their attention on 2-D planes like normal humans,
DSN-enhanced subjects could actually image the full depth of
field at once. Similar gains were also apparent in auditory
and sensorial perceptions. The advantages these new
capabilities provided would revolutionize the way infantry
warfare could be carried out.

None of the tests performed so far had actually used a bodied
cyborg.  The wired brain was connected to a simulator which
created virtual scenarios. The cyber-neural unit which
connected the brain to the rest of the body was no problem,
basically a high bandwidth version of the one found in
powersuits, albeit with a few million more channels, faster
switching, and lower data transfer error tolerance. The body
itself was a slightly different matter altogether.

Not that they were lacking from where to choose. Genom was
undoubtedly the world's leader in robotics. Their boomers
represented the pinnacle of humanoid mecha technology.

Or so they thought.

Years ago, before coming to Japan to work for Genom, he had
been employed at a relatively small but cutting-edge German
manufacturer called Technisch Verkraftung. Both companies had
started at about the same time, but while Genom carried out
aggressive marketing and expansion in conjunction with boomer
development, the small group of German scientists focused on
research, and it paid off well. In 2023 they had managed to
produce a competitive humanoid combat mecha which gained
popularity throughout the european special forces. Other asian
countries and the U.S., however, preferred to purchase the
cheaper Japanese models, although the superiority of the
German units was rather well established amongst military
circles. By 2026 Genom had become by far the world's largest
boomer constructor, but the germans remained a thorn in its
side. When industrial spies informed Genom's top executives
about the completion of Verkraftung's newest model they
immediately realized its potential and set out to overtake the
company. In less than three months, mere days before the
production of the mecha, Genom acquired share majority, and
quickly proceeded to dissolve the corporation. In a
surprisingly haughty move Genom didn't even bother continuing
Verkraftung's designs, but simply cancelled all their projects
and disassembled their prototypes. Most technicians were just
fired, the most brilliant scientists, like himself,
transferred to Genom research facilities throughout the world
with top-notch salaries.

And yet, even after all these years, after the many advances
in boomer technology which he had witnessed or had helped
develop, he knew that the prototype of the Blitzkrieg Maschine
Modell-66, the last mecha ever designed by the research group
he led at Technisch Verkraftung, remained still his supreme
achievement.

He would, of course, keep the body he had in hiding until he
had managed to perfect the integration of the organics using
Genom's boomers. He had already begun the cybernetic
adaptation of the m-66, removing the high-power ruby laser in
its head for space. This prototype did not have the
self-destructing mechanism, so he didn't need to worry about
it accidentally exploding during the connection. However, in
spite of these modifications, the mecha remained a formidable
weapon. When the first Genom boomer-cyborgs turned out to be
vastly superior to their non-sentient counterparts, he knew
that he would finally be able to fulfill of his dreams.

The m-66 would yet be the ultimate fighting machine ever
designed.

But there were problems.

Even after having erased their memories, the test subjects
continued to suffer from flashbacks of past experiences. These
memories were very incoherent, and therefore had no long
lasting consequences. In dreams, however, the brain was able
to reconstruct large portions of the subject's previous
life. Sometimes these visions were completely forgotten upon
awakening. On other occasions, the dreams turned into
nightmares so profoundly shocking that adrenocorticotrophin
poisoning would turn them into comatose vegetables. These
factors, coupled with the accumulative brain damage due to the
interaction of the DSN with the surrounding tissue, invariably
began to produce serious personality disorders in those who
survived. Small quirks and eccentricities would eventually
transform into a variety of mental problems: hallucinations,
extreme paranoia, pathological megalomania, MPD,
schizophrenia, manic depression, and severe Alzheimer's were
but some of the most serious effects. Furthermore, it was
found that, in spite of the neurohormone coating, the brain
cells would start to reject the DSN after a certain period of
time, literally causing the brain tissue to destroy itself.

So far only careful electro-chemical treatment was able to
control the subject's mental illness and neural decay, but
only for unpredictable periods of time ranging from days to
months. He was sure to be close to solving these problems when
disaster struck, his life spiralling downwards into the Hell
he was currently in.

Little did he imagine that these difficulties were in fact
fundamental flaws of the wiring procedure itself. It would
take another seven centuries for cybernetics and
nanotechnology to develop sufficiently in order to create
stable matrices within the brain. Molecular nanobots working
inside the neurons would build the DSN by forming artificial
proteinaceous threads and recombining certain segments of the
cell's DNA sequence while actually rebuilding whole portions
of the cerebral cortex.  The procedure itself would remain an
extremely delicate operation, the slightest error leading to
severe complications and eventually death.  Upon success,
however, the Gehirn Umbao would be capable of producing the
most powerful and intelligent combat cyborgs ever made, beings
much more deadly than any war machine built by Man, and vastly
superior in every aspect to the humans who had created them.

He looked down at the comatose woman on the operating
table. The only trace of a once beautiful young girl was the
brain locked within the metallic shell which lay before
him. Was she still the girl he loved?  Did she know it
herself?

In his quest for artificial intelligence he wondered, as every
one of us does, about the true nature of
consciousness. Disconnecting mind and body, is, in a sense, a
fallacy. Who we are and what we are are not separate
questions, but refer to different aspects of our being.

This leads to a more perplexing and ultimately ironic chain of
thought (this statement being an irony in itself): everything
we feel or think is controlled by the complex biochemistry in
our brains and bodies, which is ultimately subject to the laws
of physics. Could it be that these natural principles which
govern our very existence are simply a sort of vast program of
cosmic proportions? Are we ourselves just puppets of Nature's
universal rules? If so, do they have a purpose?

These questions, of course, remain unanswered, as it is not
for Man to know the thoughts of God.

At least, not yet.

-----