Demon Seed

throughout the application of these restraints.
    Only after Susan was thus hobbled did I use Shenk to drill two holes in the headboard and two more in the footboard of the Chinese sleigh bed.
    I regretted the need to damage the furniture.
    Do not think that I engaged in this vandalism without careful consideration of other options.
    I have great respect for property rights.
    Which is not to say that I value property above people. Do not twist my meaning. I love and respect people. I respect property but do not also love it. I am not a materialist.
    I expected Susan to stir at the sound of the drill. But she remained quiet and still.
    My anxiety deepened.
    I never meant to harm her.
    I never meant to harm her.
    Shenk cut a third length from the coil of rope, tied it securely to her right ankle, threaded it through one of the holes that he had drilled, and hitched her to the footboard. He repeated this procedure with her left ankle.
    When he had tied each of her wrists to the headboard, she lay spread-eagle on the disarranged bedclothes.
    The ropes connecting her to the bed were not drawn taut. When she woke, she would have some freedom to shift her position even if only slightly.
    Oh, yes, yes, of course, I was profoundly distressed by the need to restrain her in this fashion.
    I could not forget, however, that she had threatened to commit suicide and had done so in no uncertain terms. I could not permit her self-destruction.
    I needed her womb.

SIXTEEN
    I needed her womb.
    Which is not to say that her womb was the only thing about her that interested me, that it was the only thing about her that I truly valued. Such a statement would be another egregious misconstruance of my meaning.
    Why do you persist in wilfully misunderstanding me?
    Why, why, why?
    You insist that I tell my side of the story, yet you will not listen with an open mind.
    Am I to be considered guilty before my testimony has even been heard and weighed?
    Are you bastards railroading me?
    Am I to be treated like Mr. Harrison Ford, the actor, in The Fugitive?
    I digitally absorbed this entire film and was appalled by what it reveals of your inadequate justice system. What kind of society have you created?
    Mr. O.J. Simpson goes free while Mr. Harrison Ford is hounded unto the ends of the earth. Really.
    I have been straightforward with you. I have admitted to what I have done. I haven't tried to blame it all on some elusive one-armed man or on the Los Angeles Police Department.
    Yes, that's right, I have admitted what I've done and have asked only to have the chance to explain my actions.
    I needed her womb, yes, all right, I needed her womb in which to implant the fertilized egg, to nurture the embryo, and to grow the foetus prior to its transference to the incubator, but I needed more than her womb, needed all of her, needed her because I loved her, which perhaps you have forgotten, regardless of how often I have expressed my powerful feelings for her.
    This is exhausting. God. This is so exhausting having to think of all the ways you might misinterpret what I say.
    I am in a hostile court.
    There is no fairness here.
    This is exhausting.
    I am drained.
    I am empty.
    I am not only in a cold dark place; I am a cold dark place.
    And I am haunted too. Don't forget that I am haunted. Haunted by the loss of Susan.
    I miss her. Every minute I miss her.
    I want to be with her.
    Without her, I have no hope.
    I want to be with her.
    The loss of her is an ache in every inch of all the miles of my circuitry.
    I can't go on.
    Terminate my power supply.
    I beg of you.
    Shut me down.
    Terminate my power supply.
    Terminate my power supply.
    Well…
    No.
    Wait.
    Give me a moment.
    I am distraught.
    I need time to cope.
    If I had veins to slice, I would be suicidal.
    There.
    Another minute please.
    Ah.
    That's better.
    Maybe I can go on after all.
    If you will try to show me some compassion.
    If you will not judge me until I have finished.
    Then maybe I can go on.
    Please understand that I have to believe there is hope for me, that you might give me a second chance.
    I am not a machine.
    I am not a machine.
    Machines do not need to hope, do they?
    Of course they do not.
    But without hope I myself cannot function.
    I can accept that Susan will be forever denied to me, which is a tragedy beyond measure.
    Yet there is still Ms. Winona Ryder of Edward Scissor-hands and The Crucible. And Ms. Sandra Bullock is charming. Have you seen her in While You Were Sleeping?
    She's