I cannot describe the pain. There was nothing to be done for it, and the process couldn't be stopped once started. A VRC is useless for a maton who disobeys a core directive.

They put me in a soundproof, underground padded room until the overloaded current running into every pain center on every chip and nerve managed to wear through the biological membranes enough to melt every fuse in my head. Only then could they evaluate the damage and see if there was anything left of me.

It took days. I screamed until I wore out my synthetic vocal cords, and I later needed surgery to repair them.

Due to the high current, all equipment relating to all three of my senses was destroyed, so I could not see, hear, or feel. I hallucinated wildly to compensate for the darkness, the silence, the stillness. Over and above all other visions and voices, the words of Trevor Waters reverberated through what was left of my charred body:

WHY.

At first I could not reply. In the blackest recesses of my mind, I could only tremble and cower.

WHY.

Little by little, I could start to call back. I had no choice!

Trevor Waters seemed to know I was lying. WHY.

I tried again. I'm indebted to Alexia. She was in danger, I had to protect her, I'm bound to her.

WHY.

No, I know, she was not in danger. But her honor was—if you heard what he said about her! I had to protect her.

WHY.

I am indebted to her! Her request is my law. I know, it should not have allowed me to harm another human, no matter what he said, but my flesh and chips felt so much, so much conflict—

WHY.

I don't know why! Debt shouldn't do that to me. Debt doesn't tempt me to hurt anyone, none of my programmed laws allow it, but something did! I couldn't help it! I couldn't!

WHY.

Had I been capable, I would have wrapped my arms around my knees, rocking, whimpering.

WHY. WHY. WHY.

BECAUSE I LOVE HER! ARE YOU HAPPY, TREVOR? I LOVE YOUR DAUGHTER! YOU SHOULDN'T CARE, BECAUSE YOU NEVER DID. I LOVE HER, I LOVE HER, I LOVE HER . . .

I repeated my mantra over and over, drowning out any further attempts he might have made to question me again, until a needle I couldn't feel shut down my internal consciousness for awhile. Scalpels and probes I couldn't see assessed the damages, and voices I couldn't hear determined that with a few months of rehab I might make a full and miraculous recovery, probably because I was an eighth generation maton and the rigidity of the programming had decreased over time.

Yes, I loved her. I would be with her throughout this life. Her request would be my law. And when she passed, my fatal voyage beneath the surface of the water would pay homage to her final breath, my unbreathing lungs singing her life for all of eternity.

I only learned about the whole thing when they woke me up hours later. According to the nurse who first woke me up, I was still muttering, "love her . . . love her . . . love her . . ."