Kiln People Part 29

"And I'm sure we wish you luck," the red sighed. "But this villain is a renowned master at evading accountability."

"Was it that Vic Collins character the gray met?"

She nodded. "You already know him by another name."

With a sinking feeling, I guessed.

"Beta."

"Quite. He was unamused by your raid on his operation in the Teller Building, by the way. That cost him dearly. But the plan to use Albert Morris in this ploy had been brewing for some time."

"And a deeper plan to use you. you."

"Acknowledged. We saw the collaboration as a clever attempt at industrial espionage. A chance to pirate some first use of the hottest new dittotech, before it went through the c.u.mbersome licensing process."

"Hot new dittotech. You mean remote remote dittoing?" It was the cover story they had told the gray. dittoing?" It was the cover story they had told the gray.

"Please. That interested Maestra Wammaker, but it's a minor matter, mentioned only to throw off the scent. I suspect you already know what we were looking for."

"Golem-renewal," Palloid suggested. "A way to make 'em last. Can I guess why? Your archie's memory is full, full, or nearly so." or nearly so."

"Full?" I asked.

"Too many inloads, Albert. Irene here has been duplicating so heavily, taking full memory dumps from every ditto she makes, that she's reached a limit most people only speculate about." He asked the red. "Tell me, how many centuries have you lived in subjective time? A thousand years?"

"Does it matter?"

"It might. To science," I answered. "To help others learn from your mistakes." But I could already see the futility of any altruistic appeal. This person, no matter how old, wasn't going to be moved by anything but her own good. "So you heard rumors about the renewal process and figured that giving your dits a longer span would -- "

" -- let you put off the inevitable, right?" Palloid rushed on. "And Beta's part in the alliance must've felt logical, too. He sells cheap knockoffs of expensive pleasuredits. Renewal would let him extend the life of his stolen templates. Maybe even switch from sales to lucrative rentals!"

"That's how he explained it to us. Beta seemed a natural ally to help steal this technology. I ... we still can't figure out what he hoped to gain by destroying Universal Kilns."

"Well, he didn't succeed!" Palloid snapped. "Thanks to Albert outsmarting him at the end."

I wanted to snort. It seemed dubious how far the gray "outsmarted" anybody! But I kept it in. "Whatever Beta's reason, I'm sure he'll try again."

Irene nodded. "Probably. But that will soon be of no concern to us."

Past her shoulder, I saw that preparations were nearing completion. Chilly vapors flowed around the dais and ma.s.sive high-sensitivity sifters focused around realIrene's gray-haired skull. Her breathing was labored, but her eyes lay open and focused. Soft sounds gurgled and I wondered if she might be trying to speak ... that is, if she even retained the ability. For so long, she had used other eyes and ears, hands and mouths, to interact with the world.

Horus was back, having changed into a new robe -- a blue one with circular mandala motifs. He fussed over the big array of sifter tendrils while red Irene dittos arrayed themselves nearby, like petals of a flower. All of them now wore standard electrode mesh caps.

"Yeesh," Palloid commented. "They're gonna inload back into her all at once! I'd get such such a headache, doing that." a headache, doing that."

"She must be used to it," I answered, turning for confirmation to the red we had been talking to. But she was gone! Without comment or salutation she had left to rejoin the others. I hurried after, grabbing her arm. "Wait a sec. I've got more questions."

"And I have an appointment to keep," she answered tersely. "Be quick."

"What about Gineen Wammaker? Was she involved in the plot? Or was that someone else disguised as her?"

The red grinned.

"Oh, isn't our modern era wondrous? I could never tell for sure, Mr. Morris. Not without doing a structural soul a.n.a.lysis. It sure looked and acted acted like the maestra, didn't it? But now I must go -- " like the maestra, didn't it? But now I must go -- "

"Come on, you owe me!" I demanded. "At least tell me how to find Beta."

She laughed. "You have got to be kidding. Good-bye, Mr. Morris."

The red turned to go, then swiveled when I reached for her arm again. She glared. Needles protruded suddenly from blood-colored fingertips, glistening liquidly ... with something much stronger than knockout oil, I suspected. Beyond her, I glimpsed the ceremonial event approaching its climax. Horus was murmuring some mumbo jumbo -- about how every soul must eventually upload into the true Original, the source of all souls, way up there in the universe.

I had an inspiration. "Look, you're still seeking some kind of immortality, isn't that right, Irene? The attempt to steal renewal-tech from UK was a bust and cops will be here soon. So you're planning to try something else. Blast your Standing Wave outta here. Pow. Straight into the ether, with all the force of a micro-fusion plant! Apply the neuro-electric surge of organic brain-death to multiply the punch. And use up all your dittos at the same time, like solid rockets, to help the spirit get launched. Am I right?"

"Something like that," she said, backing up warily, toward where a final mesh cap waited, dangling near the dais. "There are raw rhythms out there in s.p.a.ce, Mr. Morris. Astronomers detect subspectral similarities to a Soul Standing Wave, only crude, unformed. Like fresh golem clay. The first minds to successfully impose their waveforms might -- "

"Might amplify unimaginably, becoming G.o.d! Yeah, I heard of that notion," Palloid marveled, leaping off my shoulder and scampering forward, shouting. "This I gotta see!"

I hurried on, talking quickly. "But listen, Irene, didn't all the old religions promise afterlife as a reward for virtue virtue? You think technology can replace it. Fine. But what if you're wrong? Did you ever consider that the old-timers might be at least partly partly right? What if some kind of karma or sin or guilt clings to you, like drag on a wing -- " right? What if some kind of karma or sin or guilt clings to you, like drag on a wing -- "

"You are trying to plant doubts," she hissed.

"They're already planted, in the ditto standing before me!" I said. "Maybe you shouldn't add such thoughts to the purity of the hive. You could stay behind and help me. Make up for some of the harm you've done. Lift the burden a bit. Help the rest of the hive by remaining here and atoning -- "

Something in what I said triggered a flare of violent emotion.

"No!"

She screamed a curse, swiping at me with her claws, then turning to speed toward the dais ... only to brake hard when she saw a small, ferretlike form, standing upright amid the crowd of supine red forms. Between glittering teeth, Palloid clutched an electrode mesh cap. The last one. With its cable torn out.

The red ditto howled with such rending despair that I marveled at the implications.

I thought a "hive drone" would have low personal ego, like an ant. Or a worker bee. But Irene is exactly the opposite! Every part of her desperately wants continuity. A roaring, frantic ego was the source of Irene's strength, and her downfall.

Horus looked upset by the disturbance. Some of the other reds were opening their eyes.

"Come on," I urged the one still standing, who quivered as Palloid chewed the mesh cap to bits. Her dark eyes looked wild.

"Help me find Beta," I implored. "It could tip the balance of karma -- "

With a cry, she swiveled around -- I had to leap back to avoid another swipe of glittering claws -- then she spun farther and ran outside, darting over cables into the alley beyond. Soon we heard thumping noises.

"What the h.e.l.l?" Horus shouted. "Hey, what are you doing? Get off my van! Get off my van!"

Chasing after her, the purple left his machinery running as a sharp whine began to rise, aimed at some impending crescendo. I drew closer, both to see what was happening outside and to have a look at realIrene ... the organic woman who was lying there on the dais, eager to expire in just the right way, so that her Standing Wave might soar, heaven-bound.

How did the red ditto express it?

There are raw rhythms out there in s.p.a.ce ... similar to a Standing Wave ... like fresh golem clay ... The first minds to impose their waveforms -- Oh, man.

I stepped up to the dais. Outside, the desperate red ditto could be seen climbing on top of the van! Closely followed by Horus, whose robe flapped around bare legs in a rather undignified manner as he clutched after her. Meanwhile, intense energies flowed amid the nest of sparking tendrils that surrounded realIrene's head.

"Mr. Morris -- "

It was little more than a moist croak, barely audible above the nucleoelectric whine. Trying not to touch anything, I bent close to the dying woman. Her pale complexion was splotchy and pitted with small pimples. For once, I was glad not to be able to smell.

"Albert -- "

This wasn't a person I could like very much. Still, her suffering was genuine and she deserved pity, I suppose.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" I asked, wondering when the machinery was timed to unleash all this pent-up force. It might not be safe to stand there.

"I ... heard ... what you said ... "

"What, about karma and all that? Look, I'm no priest. How should I know -- "

"No ... you're right ... " She gasped for breath between words. She gasped for breath between words. "Behind the bar ... unscrew the ketone cap ... get the son of ... son of "Behind the bar ... unscrew the ketone cap ... get the son of ... son of a ... " a ... "

Her eyelids fluttered.

"Better get outta there, buddy-boy," Palloid urged. He was already standing in the doorway with sunshine on his back. I hurried off the dais to join him, glancing back in time to see an eruption of soft lightnings start to flash. Irene's body convulsed. So did the surrounding cl.u.s.ter of red golems, in perfect synchrony. It wouldn't be long now.

Retreating to the alley, we looked up at the other commotion, going on atop the van. Irene's final ditto, the one who was about to be orphaned, clutched at the big antenna, sobbing quite realistically while Horus held her by an ankle. He, in turn, clung to the cargo rack, trying to drag her off.

"Let go!" he shouted angrily. "You'll wreck it! Do you have any any idea how long I saved to buy a franchise -- " idea how long I saved to buy a franchise -- "

Palloid leaped onto my shoulder as I stepped away, putting more distance between us and ... whatever was about to happen.

Thunder seemed to boom within the back room of the Rainbow Lounge, like a pulsing of drums ... or maybe a million giant bullfrogs with bad thyroid conditions. All right, comparisons fail me, but anyone born in this century would recognize the ba.s.s cadence of a hugely amplified Standing Wave. Perhaps a ponderous caricature, impressive but lacking subtlety. Or else a colossally augmented version of the real thing. Who could tell which?

Irene may be able to tell ... in a few seconds.

Her final golem wailed on the roof of the van, fighting the tug of Horus in order to thrust her head in front of the antenna.

"Don't leave me!" she moaned. "Don't leave me behind!"

Palloid commented dryly, "I didn't think worker ants were s'pozed to care so much about their individual selves."

"I was just wondering the same thing," I replied. "Maybe the hive metaphor isn't right, after all. The human personality best suited to her way of life is all all ego. She could never let go of even a small part of herself. I guess being large can be just as addictive as -- " ego. She could never let go of even a small part of herself. I guess being large can be just as addictive as -- "

Pal's ditto interrupted, "Here it comes!"

We retreated down the alley till I felt the fence against my back, then stared as a sharp light spilled through the rear doors of the Rainbow Lounge, from the chamber where Irene and her copies lay.

The light seared, seared, casting shadows even across daylit asphalt. Instinctively, I raised a hand for shade. casting shadows even across daylit asphalt. Instinctively, I raised a hand for shade.

The struggle atop the van ended as Horus fell to the ground with a yelp. The very same moment, something surged surged along those superconducting cables. The final red ditto screamed, grappling the antenna desperately, causing the mounts to creak as that glittering surge enveloped the van. Spark-flecked aurorae covered both her and the dish ... even as her weight bore on the delicate apparatus, causing it to groan -- along those superconducting cables. The final red ditto screamed, grappling the antenna desperately, causing the mounts to creak as that glittering surge enveloped the van. Spark-flecked aurorae covered both her and the dish ... even as her weight bore on the delicate apparatus, causing it to groan -- A visible beam shot forth, blasting through the clay body, which shivered, quickly hardening and sloughing off chunks, then overturned into the delicate parabola, bearing it down, shearing the metal support bolts with staccato pops. I watched with Pal -- and poor Horus howled -- as the antenna turned ... then toppled over the side of the van.

A soundless, blinding wave spread outward, like a radiant ripple of pure light. It washed over Pallie and me, driving tremors up my back. Both of my ears popped, loudly and painfully. Arcing static discharges followed the wavefront, blowing the back doors off the van and clouds of equipment into the street.

The transmission finished, not aimed toward the cosmos above, but into the floor of a gritty alley.

Horus slumped, moaning in despair till all was silent.

"You know, Gumby," my small ferret-shaped friend muttered from his perch on my shoulder, when we were both finally able to stir from dazzled shock over the spectacle. "You know, this city is built on some rich layers of pure clay. It's one reason Aeneas Kaolin built his first animation lab here, long ago. So it's not too too far-fetched to imagine -- " far-fetched to imagine -- "

"Shut up, Pal." I didn't want to share whatever perverse notion had just occurred to him. Anyway, the smoke was clearing and I saw no sign of fire. n.o.body would prevent us from going back inside the Rainbow Lounge.

"Come on," I said, rubbing my jaw, which hurt below the ears. "Let's see what parting gift Irene left for us."

"Hm? What're you talking about?"

I wasn't sure. Had she said "ketone cap"? Or something about atonement atonement?

Anyway, I tried not to think ill of Irene. Despite all she had done, it just didn't seem right. Especially when we crept inside, pa.s.sing both a barbecued ruin on the dais and surrounding supine heaps of smoldering brick statuary.

I had never seen anyone die quite so thoroughly before.

28.

A China Syndrome ... as Little Red learns far more than he wanted to know ...

Yosil Maharal -- or rather his gray ghost -- appears to be quite proud of his private collection: starting with a unique h.o.a.rd of cuneiform tablets and cylinder seals from ancient Mesopotamia, the muddy land where writing began more than four thousand years ago.

"This was the very first kind of magic magic that actually worked in a reliable and repeatable way," he told me, holding up an object the shape and hue of a dinner roll, covered with shallow, overlapping wedge incisions. "At last, a kind of immortality could be achieved by anybody who learned the new trick of recording their words and thoughts and stories, by marking impressions in wet clay. The immortality of speaking across time and s.p.a.ce, even long after your original body returned to dust." that actually worked in a reliable and repeatable way," he told me, holding up an object the shape and hue of a dinner roll, covered with shallow, overlapping wedge incisions. "At last, a kind of immortality could be achieved by anybody who learned the new trick of recording their words and thoughts and stories, by marking impressions in wet clay. The immortality of speaking across time and s.p.a.ce, even long after your original body returned to dust."

I may be no genius but I grasped his allusion. For he he was just such a manifestation of continuity beyond death. A complex cl.u.s.ter of soul-impressions made in clay, speaking on after the original Yosil Maharal had his organic life snuffed out near a lonely culvert, under a desert highway. No wonder he felt a sense of kinship with the little tablets. was just such a manifestation of continuity beyond death. A complex cl.u.s.ter of soul-impressions made in clay, speaking on after the original Yosil Maharal had his organic life snuffed out near a lonely culvert, under a desert highway. No wonder he felt a sense of kinship with the little tablets.

Maharal's private collection also includes samples of ancient hand-wrought pottery, like several large amphorae -- containers that held wine in a Roman bireme that sank two thousand years ago -- recently recovered by explorerdits from the bottom of the Mediterranean. And nearby, in the same display case, lay a setting of rare blue porcelain dinnerware, once carried around the Horn of Africa in the belly of a clipper ship to grace the table of some rich merchant.

Even more precious to my host were several fist-sized human effigies, from an era much earlier than Rome or Babylon. A time before towns or literacy, when all our ancestors roamed roofless, in hunter-gatherer tribes. One by one, Yosil's gray golem lovingly displayed about a dozen of these "Venus" figurines, molded out of Neolithic river mud, all of them featuring voluminous b.r.e.a.s.t.s and copious hips that tapered down from generous thighs to the daintiest of feet. With evident pride, he told me where each little statuette was found and how old it was. Lacking clear faces, most of them looked enigmatic. Anonymous. Mysterious. And prodigiously female.

"Back in the late twentieth century, a spirited postmodern cult organized itself around these effigies," he lectured while tugging a chain around my neck, leading me from one display case to the next.

"Inspired by these tiny sculptures, a few hyperfeminist mystics deduced a delightfully satisfying ideological fantasy -- that an Earth-Mother religion preceded every other spiritual belief system, all over the planet. This ubiquitous Neolithic creed must obviously have worshipped a G.o.ddess! One whose top traits were fecundity and serene maternal kindliness. That is, till gentle Gaia was toppled by violent bands of macho Jehovah-Zeus-Shiva followers, spurred by an abrupt wave of vile new technologies -- metallurgy, agriculture, and literacy -- that arrived with concurrent and destabilizing suddenness, all at once shaking the tranquil old ways and toppling the pastoral mother G.o.ddess.

"It follows that every crime and catastrophe of recorded history stems from that tragic upheaval."

Maharal's ghost chuckled, rolling one of the Venus figures affectionately in his hand. "Oh, the G.o.ddess theory was quite fabulous and creative. Though there is another, far simpler explanation for why these little figurines are found in so many Stone Age sites.

"Every human culture has devoted considerable creative effort to crafting exaggerated representations of the fertile female form ... as erotic art. Or p.o.r.nography, if you will. I think we can safely a.s.sume there were frustrated males back in caveman days, as there are today. They must have 'worshipped' these little Venus figures in ways that we'd find familiar. Rather less lofty than Gaia veneration, but no less human. human culture has devoted considerable creative effort to crafting exaggerated representations of the fertile female form ... as erotic art. Or p.o.r.nography, if you will. I think we can safely a.s.sume there were frustrated males back in caveman days, as there are today. They must have 'worshipped' these little Venus figures in ways that we'd find familiar. Rather less lofty than Gaia veneration, but no less human.

"What has has changed, after all that time, is that today's clay s.e.x idols are far more realistic and satisfying. changed, after all that time, is that today's clay s.e.x idols are far more realistic and satisfying.