She unlocks the wall and lets her eyes roam, seeking unheralded connections. It is a peculiar skill of interface, teasing the machine to unlock a cloud of possible conjunctions, focusing on a given object for just long enough to trigger a deeper evaluation, then skating away along a connection so that it, too, unfolds to reveal its extension in the conceptual space behind the wall. For a moment she holds her breath, watching a single triangle form at the bottom and rove left and up—shark!—then snorts at herself as the lines spiral and twist into a new configuration. Pattern recognition is a liar. No watery god-monster is going to consume her case today.