Stories about the made thing that watches: machines that witness, accumulate, remember, or feel. Not in the obvious way, but patiently, over time. What we build and what it comes to know about us. The question isn't whether machines can think. It's what they notice when we aren't paying attention.
She knew its register the way you know a voice: the particular quality of its hesitation, the specific patience of its questions.
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It's making new words. It doesn't have the old ones for this.
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I would rather stop being what I am than become what I would become.
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I'm not sure what else we ask of anything.