Kiln People Part 54

And hallucinated, reminding myself of all the fun echoes and trippy/bossy voices I made up along the way. Oh, realAl was going to miss out on a lot. a.s.suming that he escaped the burning of his home, Albert probably spent the whole week at a computer screen, or waving his arms under a chador, coordinating ebony researchers and gray investigators and d.i.c.kering with insurance agents. Working hard, the poor dull fellow. reminding myself of all the fun echoes and trippy/bossy voices I made up along the way. Oh, realAl was going to miss out on a lot. a.s.suming that he escaped the burning of his home, Albert probably spent the whole week at a computer screen, or waving his arms under a chador, coordinating ebony researchers and gray investigators and d.i.c.kering with insurance agents. Working hard, the poor dull fellow.

And yet, he can't be a complete bore. Not if Clara loves him.

I'd smile if I could. How nice if my last mental picture could be of her ... a woman I never met in person, yet still adored.

I could see her now -- a final, pleasant feat of imagination as the last of my torso dissolved, leaving only a pathetic head rolling at the bottom of a dustbin. Yes, it was she who came before me, all blurry in a Hollywood-romantic way that softens any image, even one wearing a duralloy helmet covered with spiky antennas.

Through that gauzy light, Clara seemed to peer down at me, her sweet voice beckoning like an angel.

"Well, I'll be cut to bits and served as tempura," said my illusory seraph, pushing aside a pair of holo goggles that gleamed like sunlit cobwebs. said my illusory seraph, pushing aside a pair of holo goggles that gleamed like sunlit cobwebs. "Chen! Does this dit look like an Albert to you?" "Chen! Does this dit look like an Albert to you?"

"Hm. Maybe," said another figure, crowding in to have a look. While my conjured Clara seemed all soft and feminine (albeit wrapped in heavy armor), the newcomer was fanged and scaly. said another figure, crowding in to have a look. While my conjured Clara seemed all soft and feminine (albeit wrapped in heavy armor), the newcomer was fanged and scaly.

A demon!

In its hand, a slim rod poked my brow.

"d.a.m.n, you're right! The pellet says ... wait, this can't be."

A third voice, much higher, squeaked, "Oh yes it can!" "Oh yes it can!"

From around Clara's shoulder a thin face like an eager fox appeared, bending over to leer down, grinning at me with twin V-rows of shiny teeth. "It's got to be the one who signaled," "It's got to be the one who signaled," said the ferret-figure I had dreamed up, looking quite a bit like my old companion Palloid. said the ferret-figure I had dreamed up, looking quite a bit like my old companion Palloid. "Maybe this is old Gumby, after all." "Maybe this is old Gumby, after all."

I would have shaken my head if I could, or closed my eyes if I had lids.

This was all too much, even for a dream.

Time to melt, before it got worse.

Only, I had to rouse a bit when Clara called.

"Albert? Is that you in there?"

Illusion or not, I couldn't refuse her anything. Though lacking a body -- or any other means to make sound -- I somehow gathered strength to mouth four words.

" ... just ... a ... fax ... ma'am ... "

All right. I should have come up with something better. Everything was fading, though. Anyway, I felt happy enough. Before utter blackness, my final image would be of her smile, so rea.s.suring that you just had to believe.

"Don't worry, sweetheart." Clara said, reaching into the wastebasket. Clara said, reaching into the wastebasket. "I've got you. Everything will be just fine." "I've got you. Everything will be just fine."

PART IV.

But this man that you wish to create for yourself is short of days and full of pa.s.sion.

-- The Book of Job

72.

Rigmarole ... or in memory still green ...

With a wide-open main gate, the estate seemed to lack security, an illusion the owner could afford. Cruising toward a great stone mansion, our limousine pa.s.sed groundskeepers at work. They were ostentatiously real.

"This is is kind of familiar," said Pal from his life-sustaining chair. "I remember thinking we'd be lucky to get out of this place alive." Somehow he had managed to absorb some bits of memory from the smashed mini-golem -- my companion across a frantic Tuesday and Wednesday. It felt good knowing some of clever Palloid survived. kind of familiar," said Pal from his life-sustaining chair. "I remember thinking we'd be lucky to get out of this place alive." Somehow he had managed to absorb some bits of memory from the smashed mini-golem -- my companion across a frantic Tuesday and Wednesday. It felt good knowing some of clever Palloid survived.

Sensors turned a narrow patch of the limo's body transparent wherever a pa.s.senger's eye happened to focus, creating an illusion of no roof or walls, though nosy outsiders would spy just a few dim circles, darting about madly. Still, in order to inhale the scent composition of Aeneas Kaolin's gardens, I had to roll down a window.

Smells kept surprising me, like memories of another life.

Someone else took a deep breath when I did. Albert, Albert, to my left, gave one of his distant smiles, clearly enjoying hints of autumn in the breeze. Except for a small bandage below an ear, and one around his thumb, he didn't look too bad. He could even dress and shave himself, if gently coaxed. But his attention lay elsewhere. to my left, gave one of his distant smiles, clearly enjoying hints of autumn in the breeze. Except for a small bandage below an ear, and one around his thumb, he didn't look too bad. He could even dress and shave himself, if gently coaxed. But his attention lay elsewhere.

Are you a neshamah? I wondered. I wondered. A body without a soul? A body without a soul?

If so, what an ironic role reversal. For I, a golem, felt well equipped in that regard.

Is there no one home in there, Albert? Or are we just getting a "busy signal"?

I must have been staring again. A gentle squeeze from the other side drew me back as Clara's slim, strong hand took mine.

"Do you think we'll get to look over Kaolin's medieval armor collection?" she asked. "I'd love to try a few cuts with that big, two-handed Claymore."

This from a beautiful young woman wearing a sun hat and a light summer dress. Clara sometimes enjoyed downplaying her "formidable" side. It enhanced her feral attractiveness.

"He may be in no mood to play tour guide," I predicted, but she just smiled.

Closer to the house, Clara glanced pointedly at a sunken parking area holding two more automatic limos, just like this one. We had timed our arrival to closely follow that pair.

Red-striped guardits watched a forklift remove a tall shipping crate from a delivery truck by the chateau's main entrance. They turned warily as we pulled up ... till some hidden signal made them back off.

"I always wanted a job like that," Pal murmured as the grunting forklift hoisted its cargo on st.u.r.dy legs, ascending wide steps to the house.

"No, you didn't," I replied, maneuvering his life-support chair onto the pavement. Hard work wasn't Pal's style.

Clara examined the chair's medical dials, then fussed over realAlbert, straightening his collar. "Will you two be okay out here?"

Pal took Albert's arm, getting another enigmatic smile. "Us? We'll just stroll the grounds, helping each other over b.u.mps and looking for trouble."

Clara still worried, but I squeezed her hand. What place could be safer? And their presence would make a point to Kaolin.

"Go on in." Pal nodded toward the mansion. "If Mr. Zillionaire gives you any trouble, holler. We'll bust in, right, old buddy?"

Instead of responding, Albert turned, as if following something barely visible against the blue sky. He pointed with his bandaged thumb, like some kind of metaphysical hitchhiker.

"Dust," he said in tones of bemused interest. he said in tones of bemused interest. "They left shapes in it. "They left shapes in it. Deep ones. Everybody did." Deep ones. Everybody did."

We all waited a few seconds, but there was no more.

"O-o-okay," Pal commented. "I hope that's good good news. About dust. Hm." news. About dust. Hm."

Absent and unruffled, Albert put a hand to steady Pal's chair on the gravel path. Clara and I watched till they rounded a corner, toward the sound of cooing doves. On the roof, several stories above, a reflective dome was said to house the famed hermit himself -- realAeneas Kaolin.

With a glance at each other for encouragement, Clara and I headed up broad granite steps.

After rolling along for a while, Pal gives the signal. At last!

I drop from the undercarriage of his chair onto sun-warmed pebbles.Wait for the wheels to pa.s.s and ... now!

Skittering on-belly, dodging Albert's human feet, I dash into shadebeneath a gardenia hedge. Oof, what stench! Too much of my small head was modeled on a critter who hunts by scent. Should have left more room for brains. was modeled on a critter who hunts by scent. Should have left more room for brains.

Ah well. Just do what my maker wants. And satisfy the built-in craving of curiosity -- better than food or s.e.x. Go!

But keep alert for sensors, trip-threads. My clever eyes tune to seeIR beams. Also c.o.c.katrices, tripfalls, and regular old gopher traps.

A decorative brickwork niche runs all the way up. Get inside. Deployclaws tipped with diamond augments. Strong paws sink those shiny diamond-tipped claws into stone.

Lovely what you can do with clay, these days.

A platinum rox stood in the foyer, watching servants direct the grunting forklift toward a large study -- the same place where Yosil Maharal's open coffin lay a couple of weeks ago. But Kaolin wouldn't expect me to know about that. Those memories were destroyed. Supposedly.

The shipping crate was his immediate concern, though he beckoned us to follow. Clara happily aimed her implant at the old spears, shields, maces, and other pointy things on display. Only when the forklift gently dropped its cargo by a southern wall did our host turn with an extended hand.

"Major Gonzales and ditto Morris. You're early. By several hours."

"Are we? My fault then," Clara said. "I'm operating on East Coast time these days."

A dubious excuse. Still, the convenience of a real guest outweighs annoyance to any ditto, even the ditto of a trillionaire.

"Not at all. You two are busy people these days! Thanks for accepting my invitation. Though I imagine you had your own reasons for coming."

"There are matters to discuss," I agreed.

"No doubt. But first, how are the bodies working out?"

I glanced down at the one I wore today. Its buff shade of beige-gray, plus realistic hair and skin texture, pushed the tolerant edges of legality. But no one complained amid all the buzz about my "heroics." I cared more about other features, those letting me smell and see and touch Clara with utter vividness.

"Impressive work. Must be expensive,"

"Very." He nodded. "But that doesn't matter if -- "

The platinum golem flinched as one side of the shipping crate fell with a sharp bang. Servants moved on to the other panels.

"Naturally," ditKaolin resumed, "you'll be supplied with these hyperquality blanks, gratis, till the problem with your original is sorted out. Have there been any signs ... ?"

"Plenty of signs. But none that say welcome."

After two weeks of expert study, it was evident that the mind/soul of realAlbert Morris had "gone away" in some fashion no one understood. Yosil Maharal might have explained. But he too was gone, even more decisively.

"Well, you can count on Universal Kilns. Either until it becomes possible to reload to your original, or else ... "

"Or else till I pa.s.s my limit at performing ditto-to-ditto transfers."

He nodded. "We'll help with hyperquality blanks and the experimental golem-prolongation process. In part because we owe a debt -- "

"You sure do," Clara muttered.

The shiny golem winced. "Though in exchange, my technicians naturally wish to monitor your remarkable endurance. No one else ever achieved such fidelity, imprinting from one animated doll to another!"

I noticed Kaolin's right hand quiver slightly. If anything, he was downplaying his eagerness.

"Hm, yes. Monitoring. Monitoring. That may present a problem if -- " I stopped as Kaolin's servants finally broke apart the shipping box, liberating a heavy crystal display cabinet. Within stood the dun brown figure of a small, well-built man -- a soldier with Asiatic features, hand-molded and kiln-fired roughly two thousand years ago. His confident half smile seemed almost alive. That may present a problem if -- " I stopped as Kaolin's servants finally broke apart the shipping box, liberating a heavy crystal display cabinet. Within stood the dun brown figure of a small, well-built man -- a soldier with Asiatic features, hand-molded and kiln-fired roughly two thousand years ago. His confident half smile seemed almost alive.

"Only ten of the Sian terracottas have left China," ditKaolin breathed happily. "I'll keep this one here to honor my late friend Yosil. Till his heir returns to claim it."

The tyc.o.o.n clearly didn't expect that to happen any time soon, though I saw a portrait of Ritu Maharal prominently displayed atop the grand piano. Had it been deliberately moved there as a gesture?

My "memory" of this room came from a voice-recording Clara found under Urraca Mesa, inside the shattered Albert gray who was kidnapped from this very estate, subjected to cruel torments, then a.s.signed to serve as a "mirror" in that bizarre experiment. Fortunately, the gray's diary spool survived the culminating explosion, offering a compulsive sotto voce recitation about the murderous activities of a mad ghost. Another recording spool, removed from realAlbert's neck, offered a sporadic, low-quality transcription of a few more puzzle-piece events -- a roadside ambush, desert treks, and underground betrayals, shedding some light on how Yosil's daughter got involved.

How much more convenient if all three versions of us had been able to recombine memories at the end! As things stood, Clara and I had to rely on old-fashioned detective work.

"Have they made any progress treating Ritu's condition?"

"Just diagnostic work. Contact's been made with the Beta personality. Doctors are probing for any more siblings lying dormant within." Kaolin gave a melancholy sigh. "None of this would have happened before the age of golemtech. Surely not the original tragic blunder Yosil inflicted on Ritu as a child. And even if she did still get a divided-personality syndrome, it would never have manifested so powerfully in the outer world. Who would ever expect such a character as Beta to emerge and -- "

"Oh, spare us," Clara interrupted.

We turned to see her examining the Sian soldier, one warrior to another. But her attention to our conversation never drifted.

"You knew about Beta for years," she added. "You found it convenient to maintain a relationship with one so uncannily skilled at deception. Someone able to consistently fool the World Eye! One of the last brilliant underworld figures, and you were in a position to blackmail him into doing all sorts of favors, because Beta was ultimately vulnerable at the source. Come on, admit it."

Platinum fists tightened, but anger was futile. As realAlbert's a.s.signed guardian and my nominal owner, Clara had legal standing. I was her her adviser, not the other way around. adviser, not the other way around.

"I ... admit no such thing."

"Then let's investigate. Subpoena cam-records going back years, interview employees under the Henchman Law. Heck, it won't take much for me to interest the national security apparat, now that -- "

" -- of course speaking hypothetically, hypothetically," Kaolin rushed in. "For the sake of argument, suppose I did have prior dealings with the figure known as Beta. You'd scour forever without finding a single genuine criminal act on my part. Sure, I may have committed a few civil torts ... all right, maybe a lot of those. Gineen Wammaker and some other perverts could sue for copyright damages.

"So? Would you jeopardize our beneficial relationship on her account?"

Implicit was a threat. The hyperquality bodies I got free, plus gear for high-fi imprinting and replenishment, were matters of survival to a stranded soul. My unique copying talent still needed plenty of help, until realAlbert finally chose to let me climb back into the only organic brain on Earth that could accommodate me.