Kiln People Part 33

Oog. Now this was was rapidly going way over my head. But I wanted to keep Maharal talking. In part because he might reveal something useful. And to delay things. Whatever he planned on doing to me next, with all of his mad scientist machinery, I knew by now that it was going to hurt. rapidly going way over my head. But I wanted to keep Maharal talking. In part because he might reveal something useful. And to delay things. Whatever he planned on doing to me next, with all of his mad scientist machinery, I knew by now that it was going to hurt.

A lot. Enough to make me lose my temper.

I really hate it when that happens.

" ... So, each time a human Standing Wave is copied, there remains a deep level of continuing connection -- 'entanglement,' to use an old-fas.h.i.+oned term from quantum mechanics -- between the copy and its original template. Between a ditto and its organic original. Not at a level that anyone normally notices. No actual information gets exchanged while the golem is running around. Nevertheless, a coupling remains, clinging to the duplicate Standing Wave."

"Is that what you mean by an anchor?" I prompted, seeing a connection at last.

"Yes. Those organelles Penrose spoke of do do exist in brain cells. Only instead of quantum states, they entangle with a similar but entirely separate spectrum of exist in brain cells. Only instead of quantum states, they entangle with a similar but entirely separate spectrum of soulistic soulistic modes. While dittoing, we amplify these myriad states, pressing the combined waveform into a nearby matrix. But even when that new matrix -- a fresh golem -- stands and walks away, its status as an modes. While dittoing, we amplify these myriad states, pressing the combined waveform into a nearby matrix. But even when that new matrix -- a fresh golem -- stands and walks away, its status as an observer observer continues to be entangled with the original's." continues to be entangled with the original's."

"Even if the golem never returns to inload?"

"Inloading involves retrieving memories, memories, Morris. Now I'm talking about something deeper than memory. I'm talking about the sense in which each person is a sovereign observer who alters the universe -- who Morris. Now I'm talking about something deeper than memory. I'm talking about the sense in which each person is a sovereign observer who alters the universe -- who makes makes the universe, by the very act of observing." the universe, by the very act of observing."

Now I was lost again. "You mean each of us -- "

" -- some of us more than others, apparently," Maharal snapped, and I could tell his anger was back. An envious hatred that I was only now starting to fathom. "Your personality appears more willing, at a deep level, to accept the tentative nature of the world -- to deputize your subselves with their own, independent observer status -- "

" -- and therefore with complete standing waves," I finished for him, struggling to keep a hand in the conversation.

"That's right. At bottom, it has little to do with egotism, nihilism, detachment ... or intelligence, obviously. Perhaps you simply have a greater willingness to trust yourself trust yourself than most people do." than most people do."

He shrugged. "Even so, your talents were hampered. Limited. Severely constrained. Their only evident manifestation was a facility at making good copies, even though you should be capable of much more: When it came to moving beyond, into fresh territory, you remained as anch.o.r.ed as the rest of us.

"Then, less than a week ago, I stumbled onto what must must be the answer. A remarkably simple, though brute-force approach to achieving the end I seek. Ironically, it is the same transforming event that our ancestors a.s.sociated with release of the soul." be the answer. A remarkably simple, though brute-force approach to achieving the end I seek. Ironically, it is the same transforming event that our ancestors a.s.sociated with release of the soul."

He paused.

And I guessed. It wasn't hard.

"You're talking about death."

Maharal's smile broadened -- eager, patronizing, and more than a little hateful.

"Very good, Albert! Indeed, the ancients were right in their dualist belief that a soul can be unlinked from the natural body after death. Only there is so much more to it than they could imagine -- "

At that moment, while Maharal droned smugly on, my proper course of action seemed clear as day. I should hold back. Show only reticence and self-control. Continue drawing him out. There were more questions, things to discover. And yet ...

I couldn't help it. Anger erupted, taking over my small body with surprising force, straining at the shackles.

"You fired that missile! You murdered me, you son of a b.i.t.c.h, for the sake of your G.o.dd.a.m.ned theories! You sick, s.a.d.i.s.tic monster. When I get loose from here -- " fired that missile! You murdered me, you son of a b.i.t.c.h, for the sake of your G.o.dd.a.m.ned theories! You sick, s.a.d.i.s.tic monster. When I get loose from here -- "

Yosil laughed.

"Ah. So, despite a lucid moment or two, the name-calling commences on schedule. You really are a tediously predictable person, Morris. Predictability that I plan to make good use of."

And with that, ditMaharal turned back to his preparations -- muttering commands into the votroller and flicking switches -- while I lay fuming, torn between the gutter satisfaction of hating him and realizing that the reaction was exactly what he wanted.

Of course, below it all lurked curiosity -- wondering where he planned to send me next.

32.

Waryware ... as Frankie goes over the rainbow, and undercover ...

We abandoned the Universal Kilns car that Vic Aeneas Kaolin had given us, figuring it must be bugged.

What other arrangements did the tyc.o.o.n make? That thought kept recurring as I flagged down an open pullcab outside the shuttered Rainbow Lounge. Hopping into the pa.s.senger seat, I asked the driver to take us down Fourth Street.

"And step on it!" my little ferretlike companion urged, panting with eagerness to be off. In a little pouch, Palloid carried some of the treasures he recovered while scrounging behind the bar, where the late Queen Irene had stashed some of her secrets. I think he was already scheming how to sell the material back to its "rightful owners," for a "finder's fee," without having to call it blackmail.

Our cabbie shrugged, dislodging glossy shades from their perch on his forehead and dropping them over his eyes. This revealed a nifty set of little devil horns -- probably an implanted compa.s.s/locator, cheap enough to supply even to disposable dittos.

"Hold on, gents," he called. Grabbing both arms of the rickshaw yoke, he bore into the pavement with powerful kicks of big-thighed legs, like those of a muscular goat. Only after accelerating beyond thirty klicksper did he touch a switch engaging the little electric cruise motor, lifting his gleaming ceramic hooves off the ground.

"You got a specific destination in mind?" our Pan-like driver asked me over one shoulder. "Or is an eminent gray like you just visiting? Trawling for memories? Maybe you want a quickie view tour of our fair city?"

It took me a moment to recall that I had been retinted at Kaolin's house, to a high-cla.s.s "emissary" shade of gray. The driver apparently thought I was from out of town, traveling with a dittopet.

"I know all the historical and secret spots. Market arcades stocked with bootlegs you'll never see back east. Alleys where the law never ventures and no cameras are allowed. Just pay a small vice tax and sign a waiver. Once you're inside, anarchism-paradise!"

"Just keep going down Fourth," I replied. "I'll let you know when we get close." I had a specific destination in mind all right, but wasn't about to say it aloud. Not while we were probably under surveillance, both from outside and within.

He accepted this with a grunt and adjusted his visor, steering lazily with a finger on the tiller. Meanwhile, I took out the flip-phone I'd been given shortly after this body was restored to youthful vigor.

"Who're you calling?" Palloid asked.

"Who do you think? Our employer, of course." Just one number was on the autodialer.

"But I thought -- then why did we abandon the car if -- "

Those dark little eyes glittered. I could see Pal's suspicious little mind working. "Okay, then. Be sure to give Aeneas my love."

As a cheap green -- dyed orange and then gray -- I couldn't roll my eyes expressively. So I just ignored him. The phone made old-fas.h.i.+oned clickety-beep clickety-beep noises as it hunted for a Kaolin authorized to answer. One of his s.h.i.+ny golems would do ... or else possibly the real hermit-trillionaire, cowering behind layers of germproof gla.s.s in the tower of his manicured mansion. Failing that, a computer-avatar to either take a message or handle routine decisions, perhaps using a fine rendition of Kaolin's own voice. noises as it hunted for a Kaolin authorized to answer. One of his s.h.i.+ny golems would do ... or else possibly the real hermit-trillionaire, cowering behind layers of germproof gla.s.s in the tower of his manicured mansion. Failing that, a computer-avatar to either take a message or handle routine decisions, perhaps using a fine rendition of Kaolin's own voice.

So I waited. You expect to wait when you're clay. Despite the mayfly timetable, impatience is for those with real lifespan to lose.

Meanwhile, dittotown flowed past, with all of its extravagant fusion of griminess and brilliant color. Some of the older buildings, poorly maintained and no longer inspected, bore condemnation logos forbidding entry by real persons. Yet all around us thronged crowds, oblivious to the rickety surroundings -- people built for a day of hard labor, yet far gaudier than their drab makers. The busy worker ants who keep civilization going -- every hue and candy-striped combination -- bustled in/out of nearby factories and workshops, bearing heavy loads, hurrying to confidential meetings or carrying rush orders on spindly legs.

Traffic snarled for a while, forcing us to wend around an open pit construction site, marked by a broad holo sign: CITYWIDE ROXTRANSIT PNEUMATIC-TUBE PROJECT:.

YOUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK.

A glimmering animated display showed steady progress toward the day when clayfolk and other cargo would zip to every part of town via an extended network of airless tubes, shuttling to any address like so many self-targeted Internet packets, automatically and at hardly any cost. Jitney and brontolorry drivers complained that the completed portions of the project were already spoiling their most lucrative routes. Spates of sabotage occasionally delayed work, reminding folks of the old Luddite days, when unions fought pitched street battles against dittotech. One recent explosion even caused a nearby building to collapse, crus.h.i.+ng more than four hundred golems and throwing gla.s.s fragments far enough to cut a real person three blocks away, requiring half a dozen st.i.tches. It was a major scandal.

Despite social unrest though, Universal Kilns and the other ditto-makers lobbied hard for tube installation in every city. How better to ensure that customers will receive millions of fresh blanks quickly, helping them get the most out of each imprinted day? The less time a golem spends in transit, or stored in the fridge, the more clients feel they get their money's worth. The more blanks they'll order.

Below the cheery sign, cut-rate epsilon models labored, hauling out baskets of dirt on their speckled-green backs while others descended, bearing lengths of ceramic pipe built to withstand high pressures, deep underground. Epsilons don't even get a full, imprinted personality -- no soul-stuff and no salmon reflex -- just a simple drive to labor on and on and on, till drawn by the call of a recycling tank.

Squinting at the scene one way, I glimpsed a science-fiction nightmare worse than Fritz Lang's Metropolis Metropolis -- slaves and prols laboring for distant masters before toppling to an early death, preordained and unmourned. Squint another way, and it seemed marvelous! A world of free citizens, extending tiny portions of themselves -- easily expendable bits -- to take turns doing all the necessary drudgery, so everyone can spend their organic lifetimes playing or studying. -- slaves and prols laboring for distant masters before toppling to an early death, preordained and unmourned. Squint another way, and it seemed marvelous! A world of free citizens, extending tiny portions of themselves -- easily expendable bits -- to take turns doing all the necessary drudgery, so everyone can spend their organic lifetimes playing or studying.

Which was true?

Both at the same time?

Should I care?

My own thoughts surprised me.

Is this what happens to a ditto's brain when it lasts beyond a second day? I wondered. I wondered. Does Does elan- elan-replenishment make you all dreamy and philosophical? Was it triggered by the events I witnessed at Irene's?

Or is it because I'm a frankie?

Come on, Kaolin. Answer your d.a.m.n phone!

Actually, his delay gave me some cause for hope. Maybe Aeneas didn't really care much about me and Palloid. Kaolin might be too busy to bother checking up on us.

Ah, but "busy" doesn't mean what it used to. A rich man can keep imprinting enough fancy dittos to make any job manageable. So there had to be another reason.

We were a block past the pneumo-tube dig when the cabbie suddenly veered, emitting gouts of bitter cursing. I clenched the seat, bracing for collision, but traffic wasn't at fault. No, the driver was fuming over faraway events that had nothing to do with his job.

"Idiots!" he cried. "Couldn't you he cried. "Couldn't you guess guess they'd be waiting for you around that hill? The Indies must've had it zeroed in from five different angles. Schmucks. PEZ should just give up this match and concede. Send our whole team onto the battlefield in their naked rig hides. We'll be better off starting all over with new talent!" they'd be waiting for you around that hill? The Indies must've had it zeroed in from five different angles. Schmucks. PEZ should just give up this match and concede. Send our whole team onto the battlefield in their naked rig hides. We'll be better off starting all over with new talent!"

A faint glimmer shone around the edges of his shades. So, the sun-gla.s.ses were also vids. Most are.

Still, I wasn't paying to be hauled into a wreck by some sports-distracted coolie. One more unnecessary swerve and I just might slap a civil lien on him -- In whose name? Where would the money go? Poor old Albert had a sister in Georgia, but she owned five patents and didn't need cash. Then I recalled -- whatever remained of Al's estate would go to Clara. Whatever the cops didn't seize. Or Kaolin. It all depended on finding someone else to blame for the attack on Universal Kilns.

I had suspicions about that. But first there'd have to be more evidence.

"Hey, fan-boy!" Palloid shouted at the driver, who was still cursing as we dodged some peditstrians then barely missed getting squashed by a huge, eight-legged delivery van. "Forget the score, watch the road!"

The driver muttered something over his shoulder at my friend, who snarled in response, arching his long back and extending claws, as if preparing to leap. I was about to flip the phone shut and intervene when a voice abruptly buzzed in my ear.

"So, it's you. I was wondering when you'd check in," came the tyc.o.o.n's murmured voice. I couldn't tell which Kaolin it was, though presumably the platinum who gave us our a.s.signment. came the tyc.o.o.n's murmured voice. I couldn't tell which Kaolin it was, though presumably the platinum who gave us our a.s.signment. "What did you learn at Irene's place?" "What did you learn at Irene's place?"

No apology for keeping me waiting. Well, that's a trillionaire for you.

"Irene's true-dead," I replied. "She used one of those soul-antenna services and took all her dittos along with her to the Nirvianosphere, or the Valhallan Belts, or wherever."

"I know. The cops just arrived there and I've got the scene in front of me. Incredible. What a psycho! Do you see what I mean, Morris? The world is filling up with perverts and dittoing only makes it worse. I sometimes wish we never -- "

He stopped, then resumed. "Well, never mind that. Do you think Irene chose this moment to end it all because her conspiracy failed? Because they didn't manage to wreck my factory?" "Well, never mind that. Do you think Irene chose this moment to end it all because her conspiracy failed? Because they didn't manage to wreck my factory?"

Kaolin did an impressive job of feigning confused innocence. I decided to play along.

"Irene was just another dupe, sir. She honestly thought she had hired Albert's gray as a quasi-legal industrial spy."

"You mean all that nonsense about looking for the secret of teleportation?"

I glanced back at the pneumo-tunnel construction project -- an awful lot of investment that would lose much of its purpose if remote dittoing ever came true.

"The story seemed plausible enough to deceive an Albert Morris gray. Why not her too? Anyway, by this morning Irene realized she'd been set up to take blame for the prion attack. So she chose to check out under her own terms."

"Another patsy, then. Like you and Lum and Gadarene." Kaolin snorted. Kaolin snorted. "Did you find any leads to who's behind it all?" "Did you find any leads to who's behind it all?"

"Well, her two partners were a plaid ditto who called himself Vic Collins and another one who claimed to be a copy of the maestra, Gineen Wammaker."

"Is that all? We already knew as much from the gray's tape recording."

I didn't want to say more. Yet Kaolin was still my client ... at least till I verified some things. I couldn't legally or ethically lie to him.

"Vic Collins was a facade, of course. Irene thought he might really be Beta."

"You mean the golemnapper and counterfeiter? Have you got any proof?" Kaolin's voice grew a bit more excited. Kaolin's voice grew a bit more excited. "This could be what I need to bring some real pressure to bear. Force the cops to take that b.a.s.t.a.r.d seriously as a real public threat, not just another d-commerce nuisance. We may be able to put him out of business for good!" "This could be what I need to bring some real pressure to bear. Force the cops to take that b.a.s.t.a.r.d seriously as a real public threat, not just another d-commerce nuisance. We may be able to put him out of business for good!"

My reply was careful.

"I had a similar thought. I've been after Beta for three years. We've had harsh encounters."

"Yes, I recall. Your narrow escape on Monday, followed by Tuesday morning's raid on his Teller Building operation. There's a lot of bad slip between the two of you."

"Yes, in fact -- "

I could see our destination up ahead. I had to make Kaolin feel comfortable enough not to watch my movements too closely for the next few minutes. Timing would be critical.

"That's why I'm heading back toward the Teller Building right now."

Toward. It wasn't a lie, exactly. It fit our present trajectory across dittotown, in case he was tracking. It wasn't a lie, exactly. It fit our present trajectory across dittotown, in case he was tracking.

"Going to look for more clues, eh? Great!" Kaolin said. I heard m.u.f.fled voices in the background, demanding the platinum's attention. Kaolin said. I heard m.u.f.fled voices in the background, demanding the platinum's attention. "Call again when you learn more," "Call again when you learn more," he told me, then broke the connection without salutation or formality. he told me, then broke the connection without salutation or formality.

Just in time, I noted with some relief.

"Stop here!" I told the cabbie, who was still dividing his attention unnervingly between the road, the war news, and bickering with Pal. How do guys like this keep their hack license? How do guys like this keep their hack license? I wondered, tossing him a silver coin and hopping out. Fortunately, Palloid kept to his perch on my shoulder, rather than get into a fight. But it was a close call. I wondered, tossing him a silver coin and hopping out. Fortunately, Palloid kept to his perch on my shoulder, rather than get into a fight. But it was a close call.

Temple of the Ephemerals, flashed the sign in front. Up granite steps I dashed, past all the forlorn dittos hanging about -- wounded, damaged, or otherwise derelict, lacking any hope of being welcomed home for inloading. Most looked worn down, near dissolution. Yet I was by far the oldest! The only clay person present who had any direct memory of Tuesday's sermon. Not that I was here to attend services. flashed the sign in front. Up granite steps I dashed, past all the forlorn dittos hanging about -- wounded, damaged, or otherwise derelict, lacking any hope of being welcomed home for inloading. Most looked worn down, near dissolution. Yet I was by far the oldest! The only clay person present who had any direct memory of Tuesday's sermon. Not that I was here to attend services.

Only a short queue of haggard copies stood waiting for emergency repair service, led by a lanky purple with half its left arm torn off. Fortunately, the same dark-haired volunteer was on duty, offering succor to the hopeless and downtrodden. Whatever psychological reason drew her to dedicate precious realtime helping those with little life worth saving, I felt glad of it.

"Yipes!" Palloid gasped a shaky squeak upon catching sight of the volunteer nurse. "It's Alexie."

"What? You know her?"