In those days, the population of Silicon Valley—more specifically, San Francisco—had the highest density of mata of anywhere in the world. If I was to be successful anywhere, it was here.

We managed to find a team of supporters, humans and mata working side by side. We released statements to the press, held rallies, attended debates. I downloaded information about how to present myself and speak compellingly. We went door to door and handed out pamphlets on street corners. We ran ads on holovision and in the daily digest downloads.

My polling numbers rose but came to a plateau around 30 percent. It was higher than I had dared to hope for in anything more than fantasy, but they were far, far from winning numbers.

Alexia and I had to move three times that year—once due to rampant vandalism, once due to targeted burglary, and once due to repeated death threats. We did manage to get the police to take an interest in that, but even they were hesitant to help us.

Many of the snide remarks and threats I received had nothing to do with my campaign and everything to do with our personal lives being thrust into the public eye—that is, the fact that Alexia and I shared a home. We might have found our own apartments, but pouring all of our funds into the campaign, we couldn't afford to.

Besides, by this time, I couldn't imagine living away from her. We spent every waking hour working together. And the thought of greeting the sunlight of each day or the darkness of the night, the joy of victory or the despair of defeat, without Alexia by my side, was like the thought of ripping every wire and chip from my head with a pair of pliers. I hope, by some miracle, you learn what that dependence is like: that strange mix of restlessness and peace, fear and joy, uneasiness and comfort.

Day by day, it became clearer and clearer that my popularity had peaked. My opponent's negative ads played on the deepest of human fears, until everywhere I went, I heard people whispering, sneering, even pointing and laughing.

In later interviews, I attempted to reason that humans and mata are not so different. This backfired in ways I never could have expected. One afternoon, I passed a mother and child on the street. Upon catching my eye, the mother scooped her child into her arms. As she hurried away, I heard the child whispering something to the effect of, "Isn't he the one that wants to turn everyone into robots?"

When Johnny Tompkins reached out to Alexia and invited me onto his talk show, we celebrated our big break with our team by studying up and practicing the entire day before the interview. I even slept that night. Alexia ran me through a few final drills backstage, then I was on the air.

I willed myself to settle into the oversized cushy chair in the studio across from Johnny. I was used to the cameras and lights by this point, and the studio audience didn't bother me. I knew how to sit, where to place my hands, the exact required cadence of my voice, the angle at which to tilt my head at precisely what times, measured down to the nanosecond. There was something about the lift of his eyebrows, something about the energy in his handshake, that unsettled me and put me on my guard.

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"So, Noah," Johnny began, "I understand that you've reached higher polling numbers than any other maton in the history of politics."

"That's correct, Johnny." I allowed just the tiniest hint of a smile to play with the corners of my eyes—neither so much or so little as to seem conceited.

He smiled and nodded, as if impressed. "And yet you're so unhuman. So unlike the rest of us. Take compassion, for instance. Isn't it true that mata have no physical ability to feel compassion?"

I had fielded this one many times. "That's simply not true. Thanks to human programming, we do feel strongly for the welfare of humans. And we've designed our own programming for dealing with each other."

"So you're saying you're just following your programming. You don't really feel compassion."

An intentional attack. I shifted my posture accordingly. "What I'm saying is that we feel exactly the compassion for humans that humans wanted us to feel, and the compassion for mata that mata wanted us to feel."

Johnny nodded, eyebrows raised as if in sarcasm. "Can you give an example of that compassion for humans?"

I cleared my throat. "Well, one example would be my stance on homelessness in our city. I feel a great deal of sympathy for people who—"

"Ah, I see what you're saying now. Humans can't deal with their problems on their own, so we need you to come in and fix our messes."

A decades-old accusation, but it stung. "I believe that humans created mata for a reason. We need each other to build a better future for all of us."

Johnny leaned forward in his chair. "And what about the rumor that you coerced the humans on your campaign team under threat to their families?"

My team had been slaving away for my cause for weeks at this point. My heartbeat pounded in my ears. "The members of my team believe in my platform. You're free to speak to any of them, as publicly or privately as you like."

"Oh, I'd love to." He turned around to face the camera. "I believe your lovely campaign manager, Alexia Waters, is backstage with us today? Alexia, be a doll and join us?"

My throat froze. We hadn't rehearsed for this.

Alexia tiptoed out from behind the curtains, prompting weak applause from the studio audience. She stood in an awkward position beside my chair and gave a hesitant wave to the cameras.

"Thanks for joining us, Alexia." Johnny folded his hands on his lap and leaned towards her. "Now, tell me honestly. Do you think it would be right for a maton to govern our city?"

"Absolutely, if that maton is Noah 8-2633-20. He cares more about human issues than anyone I've ever met, he applies himself fully to everything he does, and he would serve as an outstanding mayor of this city."

Johnny turned to the studio audience, flashed an enormous grin. "There you have it, folks. Straight from the mouth of the woman who's sleeping with a maton."

Those are the words I have to pretend he said, or my cranial chips will shut down for as long as a week at a time.

All I remember from that day was the studio swirling and pulsing in red and black hues all around me, and the echoes of laughter from the audience, and the sick, satisfied smile on Johnny's face that I could not allow to go on any longer.

I leapt up from my seat, and my fist swung and connected with his jaw, and Johnny fell from his chair and lay unmoving on the floor of the studio.

I didn't hear the audience's response, or Alexia's, for that matter. I fell to my knees, and the world spun, turning black.

I'd harmed a human.

I harmed a human.

HARMED A HUMAN.

HUMAN.

HUMAN.

HUMAN.