In the end, words are all that survive us. - Jay Lake

Because, really, what else is there? Life is years of sheer, endless boredom punctuated by bouts of the mildly interesting. Not much to do, not much to believe in. Just eat, sleep, shit, breathe, breed, grow old and die.

No, Horn replied. I am a seeker of wisdom. The old man squinted, taking in Horn's scars, motley head of fire-scarred hair, and ropy muscles. Looks like you haven't found it yet, or you'd have learned to stay out of trouble.

Nothing ever built could truly match the pattern-recognition and free associative skills of human (or post-human) wetware collectively known as “hunches.” Strong AIs could approximate that uniquely biological skill through a combination of brute force and deeply clever circuit design, but even then, the spark of inspiration did not flow so well.