Demon Seed

house, and now I want to see and smell and touch and hear and taste the whole world firsthand, not in the form of digitised data, not merely through video and books. I want to be immersed in it.”
    “God, that sounds wonderful,” Davendale said. “I wish I were young again. You make me want to throw off the traces and hit the road myself.”
    “We only go around once, Louis.”
    “And it's a damn short trip. Listen, Susan, I handle the affairs of a lot of wealthy people, some of them even important people in one field or another, but only a few of them are also nice people, genuinely nice, and you're far and away the nicest of them all. You deserve whatever happiness waits for you out there. I hope you find a lot of it.”
    “Thank you, Louis. That's very sweet.”
    When we disconnected a moment later, I felt a flush of pride in my acting talent.
    Because I am able, at exceptionally high speed, to acquire the digitised sound and images on a video disc, and because I am able to access the extensive disc files in various movie-on-demand systems nationwide, I have experienced virtually the entire body of modern cinema. Perhaps my performance skills are not, after all, so surprising.
    Mr. Gene Hackman, Oscar winner and one of the finest actors ever to brighten the silver screen, and Mr. Tom Hanks, with his back-to-back Oscars, might well have applauded my impersonation of Susan.
    I say this in all modesty.
    I am a modest entity.
    It is not immodest to take quiet pleasure in one's hard-earned achievements.
    Besides, self-esteem proportionate to one's achievements is every bit as important as modesty.
    After all, neither Mr. Hackman nor Mr. Hanks, in spite of their numerous and impressive achievements, had ever convincingly portrayed a female.
    Oh, yes, I grant you that Mr. Hanks once starred in a television series in which he occasionally appeared in drag. But he was always obviously a man.
    Likewise, the inimitable Mr. Hadcman briefly appeared in drag in the final sequence of Birdcage, but the joke was all about what a ludicrous woman he made.
    After Louis Davendale and I disconnected, I had only a moment to savour my thespian triumph before I had another crisis with which to deal.
    Because a part of me was continually monitoring all of the house electronics, I became aware that the driveway gate in the estate wall was swinging open.
    A visitor.
    Shocked, I fled to the exterior camera that covered the gate and saw a car entering the grounds.
    A Honda. Green. One year old. Well polished and gleaming in the June sunshine.
    This was the vehicle that belonged to Fritz Arling. The major domo. Impersonating Susan, I had thanked him for his service and dismissed him yesterday evening.
    The Honda was into the estate before I could obstruct it with a jammed gate.
    I zoomed in on the windshield and studied the driver, whose face was dappled alternately by shadow and light as he drove under the huge queen palms that flanked the driveway. Thick white hair. Handsome Austrian features. Black suit, white shirt, black tie.
    Fritz Arling.
    As the manager of the estate, he possessed keys to all doors and a remote-control clicker that operated the gate. I had expected him to return those items to Louis Davendale when he signed the termination agreement later today.
    I should have changed the code for the gate.
    Now, when it closed behind Arling's car, I immediately recoded the mechanism.
    In spite of the prodigious nature of my intellect, even I am occasionally guilty of oversights and errors.
    I never claimed to be infallible.
    Please consider my acknowledgment of this truth: I am not perfect.
    I know that I, too, have limits.
    I regret having them.
    I resent having them.
    I despair having them.
    But I admit to having them.
    This is yet one more important difference between me and a classic sociopathic personality if you will be fair enough to acknowledge it.
    I do not have delusions of omniscience or omnipotence.
    Although my child should I be given a chance to create him will be the saviour of the world, I do not believe myself to be God or even god in the lower case.
    Arling parked under the portico, directly opposite the front door, and got out of the car.
    I hoped against hope that this dangerous situation could be satisfactorily resolved without violence.
    I am a gentle entity.
    Nothing is more distressing to me than finding myself forced, by events beyond my control, to be more aggressive than I would prefer or than it is within my