A thousand miles away the Analyst was watching a series of monitors. Drones were circling so high above the Curmudgeon’s forest that they might as well be satellites. Satellites were peering so intensely at the area they might as well be drones.
The Analyst furred his brow. Was “Operation Deplorable” working? He had at his disposal tremendous computing power with which to predict behavioral outcomes. They were brimming with statistical models that were tailored to a multitude of scenarios. Strangely this scenario had been dealt with in the past. Perhaps too often as of late, thought the Analyst. Sadly, all of the game theory for which computers happily swapped bits and bytes were constructed on the premise of a rational person. Would the assumption hold? He peered at his monitors and waited.
The Curmudgeon was fuzzy, as watched from a tiny (essentially invisible) drone circling several thousand feet above ground elevation, but the thing he was building was clearly visible. Crushed reeds made a clear contrast in the swamp. Sticks and logs made it clearer.
“Letters?” The analyst mused.
Thermal arrays and LIDAR sensors highlighted the Curmudgeon’s progress. Clearly, he was writing something. What a loon!
“I. T.” The Analyst read.
There was a brief bit of confusion as the Curmudgeon paced back and forth in the reeds but didn’t crush any or lay down contrasting materials. After a minute the Analyst figured it out.
“A space.” The analyst concluded. This was followed by more letters: “I. S.” Another space. Then “O. N.”
The Analyst’s eyes narrowed. “It is on.”
What the hell? The Analyst sipped Mountain Dew and waited.
More letters emerged. He hunched forward.
“M. O. T. H. E. R. F. U. C…”
Operation Deplorable had failed!
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