“I’ve seen you,” she said, “looking…it’s more than thoughtful. You look sad sometimes.” “A self, created out of mathematics, engineering, material science and all the rest. Out of nowhere. No history—not that I’d want a false one. Nothing before me. Self-aware existence. I’m lucky to have it, but there are times when I think that I ought to know better what to do with it. What it’s for. Sometimes it seems entirely pointless.” I said, “You’re hardly the first to be thinking that.” He turned to Miranda. “I’ve no intention of destroying myself, if that’s your worry.
