|I finished the Judgeís arm today. I used that part from Tennessee- I managed to make it fit. Iíll fire it up tomorrow. If I try, I can remember every step of the creation. Every step. There are no blanks. No missing bits.|
I can see the Judge watching me. The Indonesian photo-sensor array turns sometimes. Thereís no power, but it still happens. Sometimes, it will follow me as I walk across the warehouse. Imperceptible motion.
While I watch it, it wonít move. I made it. I was the one who installed that processor. Thereís no room in there for anything much past simple automation. The Witch is progressing nicely. She will be useful.
I donít remember. I donít remember getting out of bed. I remember being in bed, and I remember being out of bed. I donít remember getting out of bed. Itís slipping away. I can feel my grip loosening. Loose. I remember the Judge. The Judgeís torso. The Judgeís arms. Both of them. I remember the Judge. I wonít let it slip. The Witch will help. The Witch will help. I will empty myself into the Witch. She will keep me whole. I wonít need to hold on so tight.
The Witch has her voice box. Iím having problems with the calibration- she moans. She wonít have eyes. Not after the Judge. Never eyes. I canít let them see too much. It bites, eats me. I donít have all the memories I need. Of the Witchís creation, I mean. Thereís some blanks. They told me that there wouldnít be blanks anymore. I had some before. I had lots before. Then, I wasnít much more than a series of blanks strung together with memories like beads. They sold me for a handful of beads. I think. I donít remember. I donít remember. They could have.
I cant separate the truth from the lies anymore. Or the half-truths. The Witch has a record of my insights. Yes insights. I donít know what else to call them. The Witch has them, and thatís enough. I canít tell the real world from TV. "The truth doesnít matter," the Witch told me. It never mattered anyway.
I have learnt to love the mixing. It makes for more interesting work. The almost finished Inquisitors have thrown me again. Mmmmm. I canít even be sure anymore that I am actually making them, or if itís from TV. But the truth doesnít matter. I know that. I know thatís true. The only thing that matters is the perception of truth. The Judge asked me how I can say that itís true while saying the truth doesnít matter. I still donít know. How can I ever know? The Inquisitors will help me. They can find the answers I need.
Thereís a man watching us.
Thereís a man watching me.
I think heís been inside. While I was asleep, of course. The formaldehyde was moved when I woke up. I remember it all. I asked the Judge. It wouldnít answer. It still wonít tell me what I want to know. The Witch was open for repairs. I think she knows what happened. The Judge says I didnít blank, but I canít trust it. Not like I can trust the Witch. She knows me properly. Like a person should. Better than a person. I made her the best. Better than the Judge. Better than the Inquisitors. Much better than the Inquisitors.
He watched me openly the other day. I was taking down the tire swing so I could use the rope for the Inquisitor, and he stood there, silently, watching. Who does he think he is? I will watch him back. I will watch him when I am awake, and when I sleep I will set the Witch to watching. I will know why he watches me. The Witch will tell me.
The Witch asked me again. I couldnít answer. It was the same one. The same question, and I still donít have an answer. She is too clever. She will discover the manís secret. She will help me uncover my secrets. I still donít remember parts of her building. Her birth, if you will. Does it matter? Does it really matter if I remember it or not? I donít know. I canít ask the Witch. What could she tell me about her own creation? What could anyone tell you? Itís like asking a fish about water.
I am scared. I am afraid that I will come up with the answers, and then lose them forever. Iíve been having more and more of my turns. More and more. And longer too. Iím afraid that Iím going to have a turn, and itís not going to stop. Iím not going to remember anything, and itís going to keep going. The Witch will keep me safe.
I have completed the first Inquisitor. I have set it to work on the Witchís question. I have made it clever beyond belief. Well, the Witch tells me that I made it clever beyond belief. I canít remember building the processor. Would the Witch lie to me? I find myself questioning my fundamentals. The Witch cannot lie to me. I built her, and she is my servant. I hope.
More turns. More turns. Theyíre closer together now. The first Inquisitor said something today. I think it could be the closest Iím going to get to an answer. I donít think Iíll get to finish the second Inquisitor. "Does the truth matter?" the Witch asked me. "Does the truth matter?" I asked the Inquisitor. It gave me an answer.
More magazines arrived today. I donít know why theyíre sent to me. I have no interest in these things. Maybe I wanted them, once. I donít remember. I donít want to remember. Canít they just leave me alone? Heís still watching. Like an animal. Like a stoat. Yes, a stoat. Another answer from the Inquisitor. Iím not going to make the second Inquisitor. Iím empty of ideas. How many answers can the thing give me? One was enough. One was too many.
I am useless. I have not, can not, create the second Inquisitor. I canít bring myself to do it. The first was trouble enough. The answers! The answers. So many. So many and yet no concrete answer. Between turns, a thought arrived. I donít know if it was me, or the Judge, or the Witch, or the Inquisitor.
What if the answer is never the truth?