Kiln People Part 41

Just one thing to do, then. Run for the edge while I still can! Some pa.s.serby may see me splat. With any luck, they'll grab the film spool, and perhaps my head, hoping for a finder's fee. My pellet code would lead to Albert ... or Clara ... ...

It was a d.a.m.n thin hope, but all I could muster as voices converged inside the stairhouse less than a meter away. Bullets smacked from nearly all directions now, encroaching on my narrow umbra of shelter, splattering me with sharp slivers.

I gathered my legs, preparing to spring for the precipice -- -- then stopped stopped as a new sound arose, burgeoning from nothing to noisy in seconds. as a new sound arose, burgeoning from nothing to noisy in seconds.

A groaning whine of engines.

The battle-dit who had been shooting at me turned around, stared, then lost his grip with a cry.

A new shape rose to take his place. Compact, sleek, and powerful -- a blue and white coupe with downthrusting engines at three corners and a logo in jaunty letters that spelled HARLEY along the nose.

The trim skycycle turned as its cowling opened, revealing a figure who waved insouciantly, his beige spiral motif resembling that of a spinning propeller.

Beta, I thought. I thought. So that's where you vanished during the fighting! So that's where you vanished during the fighting!

Grinning, my erstwhile nemesis offered a small s.p.a.ce behind the pilot seat. "Well, Morris? Coming?"

Believe it or not, I hesitated for a split instant, wondering if the pavement might be a better bet.

Then, dodging bullets all the way, I ran hard to dive for the sanctuary offered by my longtime foe.

43.

Kidnapped by Ditsies ... as realAlbert gets carried away ...

Picture the inimitable Fay Wray, wriggling vainly in the adamant grasp of King Kong. That's how I must've looked as the giant golem hauled me from the underground storage area under its one remaining arm. I gave up prying uselessly at the behemoth and tried instead to gain calm ... to slow my pounding heart and chill the hormones surging through my veins. It wasn't easy.

A caveman, in danger, never wondered, Am I real enough to matter? Am I real enough to matter? But I often do. If the answer is, But I often do. If the answer is, Not really Not really, I can greet death with an aplomb that only heroes used to know. But if the answer is yes, fear multiplies! Right at that moment I could taste bile surging from my gut. Having seen my house and garden burn, I had no wish to make Clara grieve for me twice.

"Where ... are you taking me?" I asked, catching my breath. The monster barely acknowledged with a low grunt. A conversationalist. He also stank, stank, from some kind of spoilage either before or during imprinting. from some kind of spoilage either before or during imprinting.

Moving away from the wall, with its row of locked storage cabinets, he carried me through the enormous storage room past shelves piled endlessly with tools and equipment ... all the kinds of stuff you might need if, say, a few dozen important VIPs wanted to take shelter underground from some nuclear-bio-cyber-ceramo calamity up at the surface, forever. We were nearly at the door leading out of the storeroom when a drumming sound arrived from the hall outside. My captor paused in his tracks.

He listened. I listened. It sounded like marching footsteps.

Something more than dumb grunts stirred in the monster's head. Making a decision, he stepped to one side, shifting into shadows before a procession of clay soldiers trooped into view.

They entered in a column, one after another, wearing army camouflage colors and still glowing from the autokiln. Golems -- big ones -- dressed and equipped for battle.

Did someone activate one of the reserve units? To look for me me perhaps? I felt tempted to shout and wave, in case they included a Clara. perhaps? I felt tempted to shout and wave, in case they included a Clara.

Only I didn't see her among them.

You learn to look for signs ... a certain carriage or bearing or maybe a sashay of the hips. I've been able to pick out Clara, on the flickering image of a battlefield sportscam, amid a squad of mud-encrusted quadrupeds covered with refractory plates of stegasauroid armor. Mere costumery doesn't matter. Something in the way she moves, I guess.

No, she wasn't in this bunch. In fact, they all moved pretty much the same, swaggering in a manner that seemed as brash as hers, only more arrogant. And maybe a bit mean. There was was a sense of familiarity, without being able to pin it down. a sense of familiarity, without being able to pin it down.

I didn't shout. The troop of thirty or so combat golems pa.s.sed by, heading deeper into the storage room, toward the place where I was standing before the monster abducted me. And for the first time, I wondered, was the thing actually trying to help help me? me?

Soon I heard sounds of tearing metal! My captor moved out from the shadows, far enough for us to glimpse the demolition of several wall cabinets! War-dittos attacked them, ripping off doors and tossing the contents aside, searching ... searching ...

... till one let out a cry. The back of one cabinet split open with a loud hiss hiss, exposing blank emptiness where a stone wall was legally supposed to be.

I knew it!

Of course, my satisfaction was mixed. This showed I was a still a pretty good private eye. It also meant I was an idiot for not calling the authorities before! Now ...

Now?

I wondered as the big golem shifted me under its good arm and headed the other way, out of the storage room, into the hall.

ThHhHhHhHhH-mmmmmph!

Behind us, I heard laser and phase-maser fire! Low, menacing hums followed by the rapid pops and cracks of spalling rock ... and the splat splat of warm, moist clay hitting some wall. The battle-dits must have encountered something inside the tunnel. Defenses. Strong ones. of warm, moist clay hitting some wall. The battle-dits must have encountered something inside the tunnel. Defenses. Strong ones.

And you were going to just charge on through. Fool, I chided myself. I chided myself.

If only I could make that call! But the chador was gone. Anyway, the big monster was carrying me in the opposite direction, down a long hallway toward the fresh smell of newly baked souls.

We entered a chamber containing deluxe freezers and kilns -- the kind used by elites, equipped with the highest quality Standing Wave sifters. More stuff for the gummint cream to use if they ever had to hide down here while the rest of us were getting snuffed out, far above. Several freezers gaped open, with their contents recently looted. A high-speed kiln hissed, the machinery chugging through final warmdown after having just processed a large batch -- presumably the pack of warriors I just saw. The ones now fighting their way into a tunnel under Urraca Mesa.

But where was the archetype source, the archie? The one who did the imprinting? Clearly, this was not the military police at work. I tried to look around for the copier machine itself. We rounded a corner.

From my position, pinned under that giant arm, I caught a blurry glimpse. One figure lay stretched out on the original platten of the copier, while a second shape bent over, holding some ominous instrument.

The big golem who was carrying me let out a bellow and charged!

The standing figure turned, grabbing for a weapon -- but the three of us crashed together before the pistol came to bear, tumbling in a pile.

"My" golem needed its arm in order to fight the thick-limbed soldier-dit, so I rolled free, scooting away as fast as I could, then scrambling to my feet while rubbing my bruised rib cage. The battle surged as two monstrous roxes pounded each other, rolling back and forth amid horrendous roars!

Real people first, I thought, remembering lessons from school. I hurried to the figure who lay supine on the platten ... and gasped to find I thought, remembering lessons from school. I hurried to the figure who lay supine on the platten ... and gasped to find Ritu Maharal! Ritu Maharal! She lay there, conscious -- you have to be, in order to make decent copies -- but her eyes didn't track at first as I tugged at the cruel straps holding her down. She lay there, conscious -- you have to be, in order to make decent copies -- but her eyes didn't track at first as I tugged at the cruel straps holding her down.

"Al ... " she choked. "Al -- bert ... !"

"What b.a.s.t.a.r.d did this to you!" I cursed, hating whoever it was. Involuntary copying -- soul-stealing -- is an especially nasty kind of rape. As soon as the straps were loose, I hauled her off the table and to a far corner, as far as possible from the battling t.i.tans. She clung to me hard, burying her head in my shoulder, sobbing as her warm skin shivered.

"I'm here. It'll be okay," I a.s.sured, not sure the promise could be kept. Eyeing possible ways to exit the room as "my" one-armed monster battled the other big golem. The one who had been tightening Ritu's straps, preparing to -- I glanced at the floor where an implement lay fallen from that ditto's fingers. Not some torture device but a med-sprayer, med-sprayer, filled with some purple concoction. I wondered ... could appearances be deceiving. What if this was only a doctor, trying to help Ritu? filled with some purple concoction. I wondered ... could appearances be deceiving. What if this was only a doctor, trying to help Ritu?

The fallen laser clattered across the floor, kicked to and fro as the giants bellowed, strained, and tore at each other. Should I try to grab the weapon? Not easy, amid those heaving limbs. And suppose I did manage to recover the weapon. Should I shoot the first ditto, or the second?

As Ritu quivered in my arms, the issue was settled with a double crack crack of finality. Both of the struggling war-golems suddenly shuddered and went still. of finality. Both of the struggling war-golems suddenly shuddered and went still.

"Well, I'll be a ... "

It took a moment to disentangle poor, disheveled Ritu and guide her back, taking a few steps toward the two bodies, already starting to smolder on the floor. I approached cautiously, though she tried to hold me back, till I could see them clearly on the ground, beyond the imprinting tables.

My captor -- the rox with one arm -- lay atop the other one, apparently lifeless.

The one beneath, who had been standing over Ritu preparing to inject either medicine or poison, lay with its neck twisted at a creepy angle. But a spark remained. The eyes glittered, staring directly into mine, beckoning.

Against my better judgment -- and Ritu's frantic tugging -- I approached.

One of the eyes winked.

"h.e.l.lo ... Morris," came individual raspy words. "You ... really ... have to stop ... following ... me around like this."

A chill coursed my spine.

"Beta? Great Rava of Prague! What are Great Rava of Prague! What are you you doing here?" doing here?"

A chuckle. Snide and superior. I knew it all too well.

"Oh, Morris ... you can be ... so dense." The effigy of my enemy coughed, spitting slip with an ugly, deathlike glaze. "Why don't you ask her her what ... I'm doing here?" what ... I'm doing here?"

The glittering eyes moved to Ritu.

I glanced up at Yosil Maharal's daughter, who moaned in response.

"Me? Why should I know anything about this monster!" ditBeta coughed again. This time the words came mixed in a chalky death rattle.

"Why indeed ... Betty ... " Then all light vanished from its eyes.

I guess, long ago, there used to be some gratification from having your worst enemy die in front of you. A sense of completion, at least. But Beta and I had done this to each other -- gasped our cryptic last in each other's arms -- so many times that I could only view it now with utter frustration.

"d.a.m.n!" I kicked the one-armed golem on top. The mute one who apparently had been intent on rescuing me and Ritu, all along. "Why'd you have to kill it? I had questions!"

I turned back to Ritu, still shivering in reaction and clearly in no shape to be interrogated.

Just then a nearby autokiln hummed back into active mode, hissing and rumbling.

n.o.body had asked it to, as far as I could tell.

I didn't like the sound.

44.

The Dit and the Pendulum ... as gray combines with red ...

Echoes ... the weird ones from outside ... keep getting stronger, recurring every few minutes. Whenever the big machine triggers another "resonance" mode, I/we pick up hints of something that seems both other other and and familiar. familiar. At once oddly rea.s.suring and strangely terrifying. At once oddly rea.s.suring and strangely terrifying.

Aw, man ... we/I had just started getting used to being combined. A twinned state ... one mind sharing two bodies -- gray and little red -- sloshing back and forth, continuously imprinting each other. Two emulated brains, linked not only by a common soul-template, but the same active Standing Wave, thrumming through the empty s.p.a.ce between us.

A s.p.a.ce where Yosil Maharal's gray ghost is preparing to sit, on a swaying platform that swings back and forth, pa.s.sing between Gray and Little Red at regular intervals.

There's something familiar about the period period of the pendulum ... linked to the pattern of our rhythmic soul-bursts. No coincidence, I bet. of the pendulum ... linked to the pattern of our rhythmic soul-bursts. No coincidence, I bet.

No bet, I feel Little Red agree, from outside my gray skull, feeling no different than any of the many internal voices that a person conjures up, in the course of a day. I feel Little Red agree, from outside my gray skull, feeling no different than any of the many internal voices that a person conjures up, in the course of a day.

Weird.

"You said you were making the perfect copier," I prompt ditMaharal, trying to get him talking. Even his smarmy lecturing beats the dread of waiting. Or maybe I'm just claying for time.

He looks up from his preparations, glancing toward me. Busy, but never too busy to pontificate.

"I call it a 'glazier,' " he says, with evident pride.

"A ... what?"

"G-L-A-Z-I-E-R," he spells. "It stands for G.o.d-Level Amplification by Zeitgeist Intensification and Ego Refraction. Do you like the name?"

"Like it? I -- "

Starting to answer, I feel the latest amplification wave strike, triggering another spasm as I strain against the bindings that hold me down. It's painful, and rife with those strange echoes, but fortunately quick. Actually, I'm kind of getting used to the hits.

I've started noticing something in them other than just agony. Something queerly like music. music.

When the wave ebbs, I can resume answering ditMaharal's question.

"I ... hate it. What ... whatever made you pick such an awful name?"

The golem that a.s.sa.s.sinated its own maker -- and mine -- reacts to my goading by laughing aloud. "Well, I admit there was a touch of whimsy involved. You see, I wanted to make a parallel with -- "

" -- with a laser. laser. I'm not stupid, Maharal." I'm not stupid, Maharal."

He winces in evident surprise.

"And what else have you figured out, Albert?"

"The two of us ... we two Morris dittos ... the gray and red ... we're like the mirrors mirrors at both ends of a laser, is that it? And the important stuff ... whatever's supposed to be at both ends of a laser, is that it? And the important stuff ... whatever's supposed to be amplified amplified ... goes in between." ... goes in between."

"Very good! So you did go to school."

"Kid stuff," I growl. "And don't patronize me. If I'm gonna provide the instrument for making a G.o.d out of you, show some respect." ditYosil's eyes widen for just a moment, then he nods.

"I never quite looked at it that way. So be it, then. Let me explain without patronizing.