"Heh. I wonder if I could teach you to do what I do. Then you wouldn't have this problem with unpleasant surprises."

"What you do being...?"

"I think about myself. A lot. I figure out who's driving this thing." She taps her temple. "I determine what I want and what I have and how to use what I have to get what I want."

"And exactly what problem do you expect this to solve?"

"I would never, unless deprived of privacy or paper for a long time, fetch up unexpectedly finding myself caring about somebody. And if I decided I definitely didn't want to, I could probably stop, although maybe it wouldn't be wise for me to teach you that bit."

"I am fairly accomplished at introspection already and I don't think I have enough data points to accurately predict who I am going to start caring about when or why."

"I suppose that would present a problem. That doesn't mean you couldn't see it coming once it was underway."

"I did notice it when it happened."

"It looked to me almost like you came to the realization of a sudden when I started crying."

"Yes. Before that moment, I had no evidence about my reaction to seeing you cry, because I had neither seen nor imagined you crying. D'you see what I mean?"

"I think we're talking past each other," says Bella after a moment.

"Correct my aim, then."

"I have never imagined, in particular, before making up this example, imagined you crying, but because I periodically assess my thoughts on everybody worth thinking about, I wouldn't expect to find myself taken aback if you did start. Whatever happened would fit in with a pattern I already understood about myself."

"I observe my thoughts about people as they go past. But I don't see how I could observe my reaction to something I've never seen. And I don't care about people often enough to rationally predict the next target. You have hardly anything in common with the previous two."

"That's why I pick apart why I care about people - and see if the patterns apply consistently - and apply my vivid imagination to various counterfactuals. There are occasional discontinuities. I couldn't guess except by reference to other people how something like - say - doing magic might affect me, before I did it. But if I have a sample of something I can take it apart. I guessed right about how much witchcraft practice it would take to develop noticeable dependence, after I'd tried two spells. I'm not doing statistics. I'm doing - clockwork. You don't have to take apart a hundred watches, you have to know what your gears do."

"You don't share a pattern with Tony and Jarvis. I cared about them because they were my family, which you certainly aren't, and for specific things about each of them that mostly weren't common and aren't true of you as far as I can tell."

"Maybe I can't teach anyone," shrugs Bella, "maybe it's just a Bella thing."

"I'm not sure I agree with your premise. If I say the data doesn't exist, and you think it should, why must it be my skill or my architecture that's at fault and not my circumstances?"

"I think my ability would remain intact, if perhaps diminished, even in the data-impoverished situation you're describing. Given privacy and paper."

"And what arcane ritual do you undertake with those materials?"

"I write, with absolute, unflinching, honesty - albeit half in code, for all that I trust my parents to respect my privacy - so my thoughts don't escape. Occasionally there are diagrams."

"Maybe it is architectural, then. My thoughts are not known for escaping."

"I wouldn't think mine were either if I didn't go around with a metaphorical butterfly net over my head."

"Conversely, I'm not sure I could write them down if I tried. They don't come in the right format, by and large."

"I occasionally make little doodles and invent words," shrugs Bella.