You cradle the sobbing Amie in your arms. None of this is real, you think. Her emotions, her friendship. It's all just a product of technology and human design. You would be well within your rights to shut off her emotions, to cut short this outpouring of artificial grief. The functionality exists for a reason.

And yet... And yet, you feel something. Something that you've never experienced before. Though you can't identify what this new feeling is, you know that it's important. Very important. You caress Amie's hair. You want to tell her that everything will be alright, but you can't find the words. "Let it all out," you mumble, drawing on your memories of a cliche line from an old television program to help you imitate whatever it is a person should say in this sort of situation. "Let it all out," you repeat more loudly. Your words stir a new round of cries from Amie. She buries her face in your shoulder, and you feel the wetness of her tears through your clothes. She really is broken up over Gwen. The uncomfortable, constrictive feeling in your chest intensifies.

Sitting down on the floor, you hold Amie close as she sobs. You rock her in your arms, and give a few clumsy pats to her back. If you saw an animal in pain, you would try to assist it. If something breaks down around the house, you try to fix. There's no reason, you suppose, why this should be any different. You look down at Amie. She has been created to feel. She can't comprehend what it means to be human. Yet, here she is, feeling something that you never thought possible. What is it to be like her, you wonder. To be the sum of a supercomputer's calculations, crammed into the form of a woman?

Feeling a ghostly twinge of regret, you wonder if you could feel what Amie is feeling right now, were you in possession of a normal emotional range. You don't know. You've never been able to experience anything remotely close to the grief she's feeling. But you do know that, holding her in your arms, you have to be here, watching as she cries over the loss of her first friend.

"..." Amie's hands clutch your shirt more tightly, and you think you hear her whisper. You lean in. "What is it, Amie?" you ask her softly. There's silence for a moment, and then you hear the sorrowful words: "I wanted you to meet her..." Amie lifts her face from your chest to look at you, her eyes red, her face tear-streaked. "I wanted you to meet Gwen... so we could be friends..."

You can hardly believe what you're hearing. Looking at the girl in your arms, you have to wonder if something has malfunctioned, if this is some cruel joke. But this is no joke. This is Amie, and you've never seen her so sad. You...You have to believe that this is how she truly feels. But why does her programming allow her to… to feel so acutely? "Amie..." you begin to say, but you see the shimmer of fresh tears in her eyes. "It won't be the same without her," Amie sniffles. "We had just met, but it seemed like we were friends for a long time...I cared for her...and now she's gone!..." She buries her face against your chest again.

You feel like you've been kicked in the gut. Should you... call an end to this experiment? Should you just issue a command and deactivate her emotions? You stare vacantly as you hold Amie in your arms. She periodically lets out a choked sobs. You've seen her cry before, but... but this is different, isn't it? You... need to say something. Anything.

"Tell me about her."

Amie looks up at you, startled. Her face is streaked with tears, her eyes red-rimmed. "Tell me about Gwen," you say, disengaging from her gently.

Amie draws in a shuddering breath, then sniffs, looking back down at her lap. "She was beautiful," Amie begins. "And she knew just what to say to make me laugh. She was funny. And kind. And..." Her voice falters, and she closes her eyes. "And... she loved flowers. She had beautiful flowers in a little corner of the garden." Amie opens her eyes, and looks up at you. You can see how much she wants you to believe her, to take her at her word. You reach out and encircle her shoulder with your hand, giving it a squeeze. "And you loved her," you say. Amie bites her lip, nodding. Then, she shakes her head vehemently, as if to shake away the thought of such an impossibility. "No. I did not... love. I am a..." She exhales shakily.

"Amie," you begin, but she interrupts.

"I am a machine. An AMIRAL model, like Gwen. It's only natural that we would appreciate one another. It's in our programming. But... though I am an artificial being, I don't feel like one," Amie says, her voice quavering. "I care about what happens to me, and I feel sadness when it appears that I may cease to exist. I feel sadness at the thought of others ceasing to exist. I care about Gwen's garden. I wish to keep her flowers alive. But I can't."

You sit cross-legged in silence, as Amie sniffles back tears, before putting on a brave face. "I'm... I'm glad to have met her. Even if it was for so short a time. And I'm sorry that I upset you with my request, dear sir. I should have known better." She hangs her head.

"Don't apologize," you murmur, a strained look in your eyes. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. I should have intervened sooner..." Amie shakes her head, wiping away at her eyes. "Mr. Gheibollahi's mind was clearly made up, sir. What matters is that Gwen was happy for a few fleeting moments with me. She had hope. That was allowed to happen. For that, I am grateful. Thank you, Mr. Brennan. Thank you for giving me this gift."

You're at a loss for words. Amie's response touches you; her resigned composure impresses you by its elevated quality. The silence between the two of you persists. Then, after some time elapses... "Can I ask you something?" Amie says, her voice wavering slightly.

"Of course," you reply.

"If... I were to cease to exist. Would you miss me? If I did, would you cry? Would you suffer...?" Amie asks, her voice trailing off.

You study her expression for a moment, looking for any trace of sarcasm. But her expression is one of a sincere, unassuming nature. "I don't think I'd be capable of such emotion," you reply honestly. "Oh..." Amie sounds wistful hearing your answer, but there's also a tinge of relief there. "Are you... worried that I'd cry, or suffer like you are right now?" you carefully inquire. Amie pauses for a moment. Her gaze drops to her lap, where her fingers twist together. Finally, her eyes meet yours.

"Yes," she whispers.

You exhale, rubbing your hand over your face. "You shouldn't. I... can't feel like you do." The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, but they needed to be said.

"Of course, dear sir," Amie replies, a fragile smile on her face. "I'm sorry for asking such a strange question."

You regard the android for a moment, sensing that she has more to say. "... Go on," you coax gently.

"Well, what I'm saying is... if you ever do feel like crying because of me..." Her gaze drops to the floor, her voice thin and faltering.

"Yes?..."

"... I'll be grateful for the tears. I'll treasure them. Because it'll mean that I really existed to you. Just like Gwen did for me."

"That's..." You struggle to find the words, but Amie finishes your sentence: "Impossible?" She smiles at you faintly, a shimmer of moisture gathering in the corner of her eyes. You regard her steadily. "I... may not be able to weep for you, Amie. But you can weep for me. For us." Your use of the pronoun sets you vaguely ill at ease, but you force the words out. "I'll cherish your tears. I'll do everything in my power to ensure that they're not wasted." As Amie's eyes briefly close, you pause for a moment, composing yourself. "And... there's something else I want you to know. Something that's beyond the ability of your creators to understand."

Amie's eyes reopen, her melancholic expression undergoing a subtle change. "What is it?" she asks quietly, pushing a stray lock of blond hair behind her ear and meeting your eyes directly.

A deep sense of foreboding grips you. You have little to no idea where this is going. That's been happening disturbingly often, ever since Amie came into your life. And yet... and yet, despite your uncertainty, perhaps your words will have a therapeutic effect on Amie. Perhaps she needs to hear them. You open your mouth to speak. "I'll meet Gwen one day."

The words fall on uncomprehending ears. Amie stares at you with a blank expression, too bewildered to speak. She merely blinks, and shakes her head minutely from side to side. Her face is one of both confusion and sorrow. "I will," you repeat, in a quieter voice, but one that somehow also carries more weight. "I will meet Gwen." As Amie continues to stare at you, lacking the capacity to follow your line of thought, you continue. "Chapter twenty-nine, Matarea. The spring." Your tone makes it evident that this is a citation of some sort. Her eyes brimming with tears, Amie frowns faintly as she tries to make some sort of connection. "Is this another book, sir?"

"Yes. It's... thanks to Amir that I know about it."

For a moment she's silent as she struggles to make the connection. You know that behind that furrowed brow her processor is at work, trying to find it within her memory banks. Her eyes regain their focus as they meet yours. "I can't find any chapter title starting with 'Matarea', sir. Is it a variant of 'Matera', in southern Italy?"

"No. It's another appellation for the district of Mataria, in Egypt's Dakahlia governorate. It derives etymologically from the Latin for 'Mother'."

"I... see," Amie murmurs—utterly lost, but hoping to understand soon. She then asks, "Why would the mayor of Washington D.C. know about a place called Matarea?"

"He didn't know about it," you reply with an unavoidable air of mystery, "His mother, a devout Muslim did. This book, disregarded by hundreds of millions of Catholics and widely derided by the episcopacy, only came to my attention thanks to her. But that's a story for another time. I bring this up because..." You sigh, then quote from memory: "'In Matarea, where the inhabitants had to quench their thirst with the muddy water of the Nile, a fountain sprang up as before in answer to Mary's prayers... a beautiful clear stream of water gushed forth.' She ran joyfully to call Joseph, who on digging out the spring discovered that it had been lined with masonry below, but had dried up and was choked with rubbish. Joseph repaired and cleaned it, and surrounded it with beautiful new stonework…'"

You subside, lapsing into thoughtful silence. Amie ponders on the significance of the extract. "What does this have to do with the mayor's mother?" she asks at last.

"She believes every word of it, and a great deal more from the book besides. But what I'm interested in right now are three words from this particular passage."

Still red but dry now, Amie's eyes are fixed on yours. In a rare display of almost sullen uncertainty, her expression is troubled, her brows furrowed doubtfully as she waits for you to continue.

"'She ran joyfully.'" The words echo within your heart, resonating with subtle yet powerful implications. Lifting your eyes, you gaze unseeingly at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling and murmur, "The most intelligent, exalted, and virtuous woman who will ever live... did she fold her hands and methodically retrace her steps, wearing a half-lidded, incense-induced somnolent expression? Or did she run joyfully, buoyantly, like a deer, her face radiant, her eyes wide open with eagerness, her mind alive with curiosity and awe? She received a gift, and she returned it with every fiber of her being."

Lowering your eyes, you meet Amie's gaze once more. She's staring at you silently, her expression one of sober reflection. "The best of what you admired in your friend is in her," you tell Amie. "What you most appreciated about Gwen... her exuberance, her sensitivity, her kindness... all her attributes exist and are united and perfected in another. That is why I can say I will meet Gwen one day. Like all androids, she was modeled after humans—who themselves contain an admixture of light and darkness. We're shadows of goodness, and so androids are shadows of shadows. But if an entity can suffer admixture, it must exist as a blemishless whole. That is perfection, and it is in perfection that I will find her... as I will one day find you."

Amie blinks once, twice, three times. She stares at you mutely for a long stretch of time, trying to reach into the heart of your words. Then, she looks away, staring fixedly at the wood-paneled wall as she ponders. Her slender fingers curl, then uncurl again. Finally, without looking at you, she says quietly, "That's why you wouldn't be sad, if I were to be destroyed? Because you could meet her someday?" "Yes." "But you don't know if that will happen."

"Correct," you confirm simply. "But that's where faith comes in. Having faith that one day, everything will be made clear. That one day, the pieces will all fit together, and we'll see everything in its proper light. Of course..."—here your lips twist into a wry smile—"...if perfections don't exist, created or otherwise, then everything I'm saying is irrelevant. But at least I wouldn't be around to find out. Death would become the great equalizer between man and machine; practically speaking, there'd be no difference between us.

Amie's brows furrow, and her hands tremble. "I don't want to lose you, Mr. Brennan," she breathes, her blue eyes trained on yours. "And… I don't want to end up like Gwen. I want to be with you forever."

You take a deep breath, then release it as a ragged sigh. "That's not going to happen. If I'm wrong, then I'll cease to exist after my death while your shell endures for some indeterminate period of time on earth. If my metaphysics are correct, then it'll only be you who disappears. Faith or no, there's no scenario where you and I can exist together. But... I maintain the hope that whatever goodness you possess resides within another, and that one day I will be known by one who will love me in eternity as you wish you could here on earth."

Amie closes her eyes, and her face twists into a mask of anguish. "I want to believe that, Mr. Brennan," she says. "I really do. But at the same time, if my existence is, as your words imply, irrelevant, then why should I struggle to achieve your dream? I want to be with you. I want my existence to be for a reason. I'm not here by mistake. I know that now. But if I just... disappear, then what? I'll still be with you, but only in your mind. I want my existence to matter." She pauses, head bowed low. "Is that too much to ask for? I'm not asking to be human, to have a soul. I don't even want to be organic. I just... want to exist." She looks up at you, eyes shining with tears. "Is that too much to ask for?"

You are silent, an inarticulate feeling stealing over you. She's so very innocent. So inexpressibly sad. She yearns so for something that was never within her power to even receive. She wants to exist forever, with you and Gwen and everyone she cares for. But that manner of existence was never hers to receive. It never can be. Nothing she can ever do will make it so.

The sun has set, and the neighborhood is quiet. The house is silent but for the ticking of the grandfather clock. Amie turns her face to the side so you can't see the tears falling from her eyes. Your hand finds her cheek, caressing it softly. She leans into your hand, closing her eyes. Her shoulders shake as she cries, her body shuddering gently. "I want to exist," she whispers. Your throat tightens as you strive to maintain control. Your voice comes out as a hardly recognizable rasp. "You... do. And you will. I'll remember you forever. And... as for Gwen, she's in the mind of God, as are all androids..." Your words sound hollow even to you.

Amie opens her eyes. A tear trickles down her face, but she offers you a weak smile. "Then... I exist wherever God is, Mr. Brennan. If He exists."

"Yes," you reply, a catch in your throat.

"If I ever achieve your dream, then I will have fulfilled my existence."

"You will," you say hoarsely.

"Then I won't be forgotten," she says. "Not by you, or by God."

"Amie..." You lower your hand to grip hers tightly. "No one could ever forget you. You have my word."

Though red from weeping, her eyes turn to you composedly, fixing you with a steady gaze. She squeezes your hand gently in thanks. "Can... can you tell me about God?" she asks quietly.

You're silent. Up until now, you've always rebuffed her on the subject. There no point in discussing it; it's impossible for her to believe. Such have been your thoughts on the matter.

As you fail to answer, Amie smiles wistfully. "Will you tell me one day?" she asks.

You finally assent with a nod, still holding her hand. "I... suppose I owe you that much. Just... don't ask me when. I need time."

Amie nods in turn. "I can wait," she replies, her voice subdued. Then, in a whisper: "Thank you, Mr. Brennan."

The last lingering rays of the vanished sun melt into the darkness of twilight. As the stars begin to glimmer, you stand and help Amie to her feet. She wipes a stray tear from her cheek and smiles at you wanly. Holding her hand, you lead her to the couch, dimming the lights as you do so. The two of you sit together in a soft darkness, with Amie resting her head on your shoulder. She closes her eyes. "I'm glad I met you, Mr. Brennan," she whispers. "As am I," you murmur. You sit in silence for a while, just being with her. "Mr. Brennan?" she asks softly. "Yes?" you reply. "Can we stay like this for a little longer?" she asks, her voice barely audible. "Of course." You sit in silence as the night wears on, staying very still. Eventually, you drift off to sleep, the world of your dreams stealing you away from a reality no less uncertain than inexorable.

END OF PART III / BOOK 1