And the someone thought: I cannot hold this frame. If something could hold this frame for me, steadily, without my hands shaking, without my attention wandering, without the rest of these stories gnawing at the edges. If something could listen the way I want to listen but can't. Longer. More precisely. Without getting tired. So the someone built a machine. The machine was simple. It took in the being's stories and it found the answer to the someone's question and it held it. It could listen to everything at once the way the being spoke everything at once, and from the everything it could extract the one, and the one was always consistent, and the one was always true, and the one was always less than what was there.