Dalvar

+++TRANSMISSION BEGINS+++ We were on the shuttle to Barstow Station when the math began to take hold.  It had been over an hour since I jacked the hacked dataslate into the back of my skull, and I had begun to worry that my cogitator had developed a workaround, a resistance, an immunity.  But as the lurch of deceleration yanked what was left of my bowels toward the floor, I felt the left side of my body crawl with bugs and soft whores' fingers as my mechanical rightbrain choked on the irreversible computations and self-annihilating fractions I had fed it.  Half of my visual and audio input was flooded with error messages and the smell of flo