Clark knows Bruce knows he's talking about brainwashing small alien children, and Bruce knows Clark knows that Bruce knows, but it's very good of Bruce not to say it out loud as Clark tips him a rueful half-smile and nods. In his hesitant but not halting Kryptonian, he directs the computer to pull data from the modules.
There's a lot to clean out. They don't, for instance, need quite this much repetition, and they don't need it delivered pitched at certain kinds of frequencies ostensibly to better implant these lessons in their brains. There is a visual component that they don't have access to, standing on the bridge, that appears to use abstract visual input as more of a hypnotic tool than an education one, but.
There's an alphabet in there somewhere.
They discover, quickly, that more advanced modules begin to differentiate between specialised streams of learning. Different language paths between soldiers, artists, engineers, doctors, architects. Farmers. Not wholly separate lexicons, but different emphases, alternate jargon and concepts relevant to profession. It's disquieting enough that Clark becomes quiet as they work, quiet between issued commands to the computer, suggestions around means of compilation.
Eventually, "You'd have liked my father," a little wry, a little intended to talk around something, away from something. "Or the digitally rendered consciousness of him. I did."
no subject
There's a lot to clean out. They don't, for instance, need quite this much repetition, and they don't need it delivered pitched at certain kinds of frequencies ostensibly to better implant these lessons in their brains. There is a visual component that they don't have access to, standing on the bridge, that appears to use abstract visual input as more of a hypnotic tool than an education one, but.
There's an alphabet in there somewhere.
They discover, quickly, that more advanced modules begin to differentiate between specialised streams of learning. Different language paths between soldiers, artists, engineers, doctors, architects. Farmers. Not wholly separate lexicons, but different emphases, alternate jargon and concepts relevant to profession. It's disquieting enough that Clark becomes quiet as they work, quiet between issued commands to the computer, suggestions around means of compilation.
Eventually, "You'd have liked my father," a little wry, a little intended to talk around something, away from something. "Or the digitally rendered consciousness of him. I did."