The creature—the copy —stared at the ceiling. Sometimes it blinked. Sometimes it made that soft "Ah" sound.

She blinked. Her mouth opened and closed. A single, guttural sound emerged: "Ah."

But the grief was a hollow pit, and the promise of the machine was a roaring fire. He overrode the warning.

He placed a standard "Base Organic Matrix" cartridge into the "Feedstock" slot—a vat-grown slurry of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and trace minerals. He pressed .