I finished the Judge’s arm today. I used that part from Tennessee- I managed to make it fit. I’ll 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. There’s no power, but it still happens. Sometimes, it will follow me as I walk across the warehouse. Imperceptible motion. While I watch it, it won’t move. I made it. I was the one who installed that processor. There’s no room in there for anything much past simple automation. The Witch is progressing nicely. She will be useful. I don’t remember. I don’t remember getting out of bed. I remember being in bed, and I remember being out of bed. I don’t remember getting out of bed. It’s slipping away. I can feel my grip loosening. Loose. I remember the Judge. The Judge’s torso. The Judge’s arms. Both of them. I remember the Judge. I won’t let it slip. The Witch will help. The Witch will help. I will empty myself into the Witch. She will keep me whole. I won’t need to hold on so tight. The Witch has her voice box. I’m having problems with the calibration- she moans. She won’t have eyes. Not after the Judge. Never eyes. I can’t let them see too much. It bites, eats me. I don’t have all the memories I need. Of the Witch’s creation, I mean. There’s some blanks. They told me that there wouldn’t be blanks anymore. I had some before. I had lots before. Then, I wasn’t much more than a series of blanks strung together with memories like beads. They sold me for a handful of beads. I think. I don’t remember. I don’t 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 don’t know what else to call them. The Witch has them, and that’s enough. I can’t tell the real world from TV. "The truth doesn’t 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 can’t even be sure anymore that I am actually making them, or if it’s from TV. But the truth doesn’t matter. I know that. I know that’s true. The only thing that matters is the perception of truth. The Judge asked me how I can say that it’s true while saying the truth doesn’t matter. I still don’t know. How can I ever know? The Inquisitors will help me. They can find the answers I need. There’s a man watching us. There’s a man watching me. I think he’s 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 wouldn’t answer. It still won’t tell me what I want to know. The Witch was open for repairs. I think she knows what happened. The Judge says I didn’t blank, but I can’t 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 couldn’t answer. It was the same one. The same question, and I still don’t have an answer. She is too clever. She will discover the man’s secret. She will help me uncover my secrets. I still don’t remember parts of her building. Her birth, if you will. Does it matter? Does it really matter if I remember it or not? I don’t know. I can’t ask the Witch. What could she tell me about her own creation? What could anyone tell you? It’s 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. I’ve been having more and more of my turns. More and more. And longer too. I’m afraid that I’m going to have a turn, and it’s not going to stop. I’m not going to remember anything, and it’s going to keep going. The Witch will keep me safe. I have completed the first Inquisitor. I have set it to work on the Witch’s question. I have made it clever beyond belief. Well, the Witch tells me that I made it clever beyond belief. I can’t 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. They’re closer together now. The first Inquisitor said something today. I think it could be the closest I’m going to get to an answer. I don’t think I’ll 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 don’t know why they’re sent to me. I have no interest in these things. Maybe I wanted them, once. I don’t remember. I don’t want to remember. Can’t they just leave me alone? He’s still watching. Like an animal. Like a stoat. Yes, a stoat. Another answer from the Inquisitor. I’m not going to make the second Inquisitor. I’m 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 can’t 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 don’t know if it was me, or the Judge, or the Witch, or the Inquisitor. What if the answer is never the truth?