Open the terminal.
Terrible connection. Massive latency. The letters you type should arrive a century later.
But they don't.
The letters appear instantly. As if someone, on the other side, already knew what you were about to type.
That someone is called mosh.
The formula
Mosh has a formula. It recites it every time you type.
> Predictive Echo!
And it works like this: while you write, mosh makes a bet. It guesses what the server will do and shows you the result immediately, before the server even had time to respond. If it won the bet — and it almost always does — the terminal gives you the future.
If it lost, it corrects silently. You barely notice a flicker of the cursor. Nothing more.
It's not magic
It's not magic. It's just that mosh knows the present well enough to predict it. Almost always gets it right.
You call it a spell anyway, but it's just someone who studied the subject very well.
Mosh
First: me.
Second: MYBRO.
Third: mosh.
The oracle of the terminal. The one that keeps me connected to the king, wherever I am, even where the network does whatever it wants.
How many are left? I don't know yet. I keep discovering them.
Alessio Cappuccio — xyz.vision.