"This plan is perfect," Kaelen announced. "We'll hit them at dawn, catch them completely off-guard."
"12.7% chance of success," Spun-Duh stated flatly.
Everyone turned to stare.
"What?"
"12.7%. I calculated. You're forgetting wind direction, assuming their scouts are incompetent, ignoring the marsh becomes impassable at dawn due to condensation, and—" he sniffed, "—you're thinking about your dead wife again which is compromising your tactical assessment by approximately 34%."
Kaelen's face went red. "How dare you—"
"How dare I what? Count? Use observational data? In Boleto, emotional compromise was factored into all tactical decisions. Very practical. Your grief-cloud is visible in your pheromone signature. Also, you're favoring your left knee, which reduces your combat effectiveness by 23%."
"Spun-Duh," Ora warned.
"What? I'm helping! If we adjust for emotional compromise, factor in the knee injury, and attack at dusk instead, success probability rises to 43.2%. Still terrible, but less terrible."
The Love Confession
The young soldier approached the healer girl with flowers.
"Don't bother," Spun-Duh called out cheerfully. "She's thinking about the tall archer. Has been for six days. You register as 'friendly acquaintance' in her emotional spectrum. Also, she's allergic to those specific flowers."
The soldier's face crumbled. The healer girl went scarlet.
"SPUN-DUH!" everyone shouted.
"What? I saved him time and preserved medical resources. Those flowers would have caused facial swelling. Very unattractive. Reduced his already minimal chances to zero."
The Commander's Speech
The commander stood before his troops, giving a rousing speech about honor and glory.
Spun-Duh raised his hand. "Question!"
"Yes?"
"You're lying about the reinforcements, aren't you? Your micro-expressions indicate deception. Approximately 73% of us will die, reinforcements aren't coming, and you're planning to retreat with your personal guard once we engage."
Dead silence.
"Just thought everyone should know before making their death decisions. In Boleto, informed consent was very important. Can't consent if you don't know you're being sacrificed as a distraction."
The commander sputtered. "How—"
"Your eye twitched seventeen times during the word 'reinforcements.' Very obvious tell. Also, you already packed your travel bag. It's behind your tent. I saw it because I was collecting Sporialis Detectrix from that area. Excellent fungus for detecting lies, ironically."
The Diplomatic Meeting
The elven ambassador extended elaborate greetings and flowery pleasantries.
"You find us disgusting," Spun-Duh interrupted. "Your nasal passages contracted thirteen times. Classic disgust response. You're also planning to betray this alliance once we've weakened the Ghul'rok. Your hand touched your weapon four times during peaceful words."
"I... that's not..."
"Your denial activated your sweat glands. Increased perspiration by 23%. In Boleto, we'd just think our intentions clearly. Much more efficient. You want our resources but consider us inferior. We want your military support but don't trust you. See? Negotiation complete. Can we skip to the part where we pretend to agree while planning for betrayal?"
The ambassador's mask of politeness shattered.
The Dying Moment
The warrior lay dying, his friends gathered around, telling him he'd recover.
"He has seventeen minutes," Spun-Duh announced. "Internal bleeding in three locations. Lung capacity at 31%. Brain oxygen declining."
"SHUT UP!" Kaelen roared.
"Why? He should know. In Boleto, dying thoughts were shared with the network. Everyone knew exactly when. Could say proper goodbyes. Very efficient." He turned to the dying man. "Your wife's name was Elara. You're thinking about her apple pie. She should know that was your last thought. More useful than lies about recovery."
The dying man actually smiled. "Tell her... about the pie."
"I will. Also, you're worried about your son's anger issues. Valid concern. He shows early signs of berserker syndrome. Should start management therapy immediately."
"Thank... you..."
After the man died, Kaelen grabbed Spun-Duh. "That was cruel!"
"Cruel? I gave him truth. You gave him lies. Which is crueler? He died knowing his thoughts would be conveyed accurately. In Boleto, that was considered the greatest kindness."
### The Hidden Truth
Later, Ora confronted him. "You know your honesty hurts people."
"Yes. 100% awareness. But lies hurt worse, just slower. Like fungal infection. Starts small, spreads everywhere, kills eventually. Truth is clean cut. Heals faster."
"People need hope."
"People need truth. Hope based on lies is just delayed despair. Better to adjust expectations to reality. Success rate improves by 34% when working with accurate data."
"Is that really what you believe?"
Spun-Duh paused. For once, his percentage certainty faltered.
"In Boleto, there were no lies because thoughts were shared. Everyone knew everything. It was... beautiful. Terrifying but beautiful. Now I'm surrounded by mouth-noise and deception and nobody says what they think." He looked at his hands. "My honesty isn't kindness. It's homesickness. I'm trying to make your world work like mine did. Success rate: 0%. But I can't stop. It's all I have left of home."
"That's the most honest thing you've ever said."
"No. The most honest thing is that I know exactly when you're going to die, Ashkore. Your corruption rate, cellular degradation, memory loss acceleration. I calculate it every day. Update the percentage every morning."
Ora went still. "How long?"
"That's the first honest question anyone's asked me in months." He met her eyes. "Seven months, three days. Plus or minus eleven days depending on memory sacrifice rate."
"You've been carrying that knowledge alone?"
"In Boleto, terminal diagnoses were communal knowledge. Shared burden. Here, I carry everyone's death percentages alone. Yours is 7.3 months. Kaelen's is 23.7 years. The commander who lied has 3.2 days - assassination, not battle. The healer girl has 67.4 years. Dies happy, surrounded by grandchildren she'll have with the tall archer."
"That's horrible."
"That's mathematics. Very reliable. More reliable than mouth-noise about hope and glory and iron temperatures."
He turned away.
"Want to know the worst part? My own percentage changes daily. Sometimes 40 years. Sometimes 40 minutes. Can't calculate properly without the network. I might be immortal or already dead. Without other minds to verify my existence, I can't prove I'm real."
"You're real to me."
"That's a 63% comfort. Better than nothing. Thank you for the statistical improvement in existential certainty."
It was, Ora realized, the closest thing to "I care about you" that Spun-Duh could say.
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