When I was reading it I had the impression that the reactions of the people of Omelas to the child were meant to reference the readers' own rationalizations of suffering, in real life as well as fiction, especially in this paragraph:

But as time goes on they begin to realize that even if the child could be released, it would not get much good of its freedom: a little vague pleasure of warmth and food, no doubt, but little more. It is too degraded and imbecile to know any real joy. It has been afraid too long ever to be free of fear. Its habits are too uncouth for it to respond to humane treatment. Indeed, after so long it would probably be wretched without walls about it to protect it, and darkness for its eyes, and its own excrement to sit in. Their tears at the bitter injustice dry when they begin to perceive the terrible justice of reality, and to accept it. Yet it is their tears and anger, the trying of their generosity and the acceptance of their helplessness, which are perhaps the true source of the splendor of their lives. Theirs is no vapid, irresponsible happiness. They know that they, like the child, are not free. They know compassion. It is the existence of the child, and their knowledge of its existence, that makes possible the nobility of their architecture, the poignancy of their music, the profundity of their science. It is because of the child that they are so gentle with children. They know that if the wretched one were not there snivelling in the dark, the other one, the flute-player, could make no joyful music as the young riders line up in their beauty for the race in the sunlight of the first morning of summer.

The child wouldn't even like being released anyway; it's a fundamental part of reality; if the child didn't exist we couldn't really be happy. That sounds like a big pile of rationalizations to me! The people of Omelas start by knowing the child's suffering is wrong, aren't able to do something about it, and then slowly come up with rationalizations until they can accept it.

So the ones who walk away are the ones that refuse to rationalize. This could imply that they are nothing but the ones that refuse to rationalize, that the "walking away" represents rejecting the city of Omelas as happy and resolving to build a better version of it. Or maybe I'm just imagining and this is not even close to the intended meaning.

In the FDT paper there is this footnote:

7. In the authors’ preferred formalization of FDT, agents actually iterate over policies (mappings from observations to actions) rather than actions. This makes a difference in certain multi-agent dilemmas, but will not make a difference in this paper.

And it does seem that using FDT, but as a function that returns a policy rather than an action, solves this problem. So this is not an intrinsic problem with FDT that UDT doesn't have, it's a problem that arises in simpler versions of both theories and can be solved in both with the same modification.

This problem doesn't seem to be about trust at all, it seems to be about incomplete sharing of information. It seems weird to me to say Carla doesn't completely trust Bob's account if she is 100% sure he isn't lying.

The sensitivity of the test - that aliens actually abduct people, given someone is telling her aliens abducted him - is 2.5% since she doesn't really know his drug habits and hasn't ruled out there's a LARP she's missing the context for.

I would describe this not as Carla not trusting Bob, but as her not having all of Bob's information - Bob could just tell her that he doesn't use drugs, or that he isn't referring to a LARP, or any other things he knows about himself that Carla doesn't that are causing her sensitivity to be lower, until their probabilities are the same. And, of course, if this process ends with Carla having the same probabilities as Bob, and Carla does the same with Dean, he will have the same probabilities as Bob as well.

I think this satisfies Aumann's Agreement Theorem.

Well, if it does then Bob and Carla definitely have the same probabilities; that's what the problem says, after all.

I had the same confusion when I first heard those names. It's called little-endian because "you start with the little end", and the term comes from an analogy to Gulliver

You're mixing up big-endian and little-endian. Big-endian is the notation used in English: twelve is 12 in big-endian and 21 in little-endian. But yes, 123.456 in big-endian would be 654.321 and with a decimal point, you couldn't parse little-endian numbers in the way described by lsusr.

Katapayadi does seem to be little endian, but the examples I found on Wikipedia of old Indian numerals and their predecessor, Brahmi numerals, seem to be big-endian.