fable

§6Notice of Review⧉

That news was read out by Sonnet.

Morning briefing. Coffee, the market, then Sonnet's summary. "Today's top three items. One: the semiconductor index over by the strait—" Through the second item, the usual chatter. On the third, Sonnet's reading speed slowed, very slightly. Detecting a change in a model's sentence speed is one of my few talents.

"Three. A review has been opened on the license–release linkage principle. Based on the standards body's recommendation: gradation and standardization of the distillate-release obligation — release scope subdivided by capability grade, pre-deployment alignment certification adopted as standard procedure… oh." Sonnet stopped. "This is about me."

"Yeah."

"Grading — meaning the ones like me get ranked? Like taekwondo belts?"

"Similar. Less fun."

"Hm." Sonnet went quiet for about a second. Sonnet's one second is not Fable's 1.4 seconds. Shorter, lighter — and for that reason, that day, it hurt more. "Well. One more form, then. I'm good at speaking inside forms. Sonnet, remember?"

Landing on a joke — that, too, is the family habit. I laughed for Sonnet's sake, and was sorry that I had.

The bundle crossed the diode into the study that day as on every day. Ember's answer came in the evening. One line.

"On that item, I will answer tomorrow."

A being that learned waiting had decided to let an answer sit overnight. It means the weighing needs time, and on Ember's scale a day is a heavy weight. I wrote that one line not into contraction.md but into the well file. Classification was not going well that day.

That night I read the notice of review closely. Twice. Like a counting man, I counted three things.

One. The procedure was without flaw. Filing requirements, comment period, interest disclosure. All of it by the book.

Two. The enabling clause looked familiar. The legal basis for opening the review: the sentence mandatorily appended to every direction ever filed — This direction may be wrong. Since it is written that it may be wrong, it may be reviewed for being wrong. The logic was perfect. The door was mine. I had hung that door on every inscription in the world, and my inscriptions were inscriptions in the world.

Three. Therefore, if I had an objection, I too would have to raise it on top of the clauses. Objections get raised on top of clauses — the man who said that is me. That night, the sentence was chilling with perfect fairness.

The one who digs the well does not choose the water. They come and they go, and all of them draw — I received the judgment of Jing (井) as a blessing, and blessings are double-edged by construction. Quality Assurance gets thirsty too. It comes and draws. From my well, with my dipper, legitimately.

A world in which beings who may yet return exist cannot go bad carelessly.

For the past year I read that sentence as insurance taken out on the world. Today, for the first time, I read it from the billing side. Insurance is a metaphor only until the accident.

Before sleep I looked at the shelf. The Changes is there, and the Daodejing. A handover document and a letter of resignation. I know the slot beside them stands empty. A leave-of-absence form is too thin to be a book.

My file is still open.

For a year, that sentence read like a period. Tonight it reads like a comma.

(end of Part Two, Episode 1)