Kiln People

by David Brin

  “No, around here.” The platinum ditto motioned toward the house, with an upward emphasis.

  “Oh, you mean upstairs. Your real …”

  “My lifestyle has been ridiculed by carping fools for over a decade. But since that close call with the germ rockets, thousands have sought my advice. I’m thinking of starting a new line of business.”

  “Helping people to cut themselves off from the world?” Clara asked.

  “You could put it that way. No offense, Major, but your mission to restore public confidence is doomed. Our near escape from Yosil’s mad effort to liberate souls revealed a key truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “Humanity’s vaunted technology now threatens us with annihilation.”

  “It always has. So?”

  “We’ve been shaken from our complacency. Organic flesh is vulnerable, as you should know better than most!” Kaolin jabbed a finger at me. Where an organic might have flushed, his ditto cast an angry glow, revealing a fine pattern of speckles that I quickly recognized.

  He’s been replenished. Often.

  The flush also highlighted a scar where ditKaolin’s shoulder met his neck. Repair spackle, dyed to match his skin. Dang, I thought, remembering when that injury was made. Two weeks ago. Over a dozen life-times.

  I can’t stop watching Wammaker through this tiny eye in my paw!

  Odd. Albert always found her voodoo charm repulsive. But my tastes seem shifted by … this body Pal provided! Among all the high-energy built-ins, he must have slipped something kinky as a practical joke. Thanks loads, Pal.

  Well, I know a remedy. Think of it as having something in common with Gadarene!

  Okay, I’m cured. Mental note to self: Don’t let anyone talk you into wearing the body of a weasel, ever again.

  Our host regained his composure, and sighed. “Sometimes I wish Yosil and Bevvisov never showed up at my studio, offering to give souls to my animated dolls.”

  “You’re kidding.” Clara glanced at our surroundings, paid for by the industry spawned that day.

  “Am I? Since helping usher in a Golem Age, I’ve seen how new things get misused when they’re shared with the masses. From printing to cybernetics to bioengineering, every new medium becomes a conduit for pornography and callousness toward the human form.”

  Didn’t he say the same thing, last time I was here? Another of Kaolin’s characteristic memory lapses. “Each of those tech-revolutions also unleashed unparalleled criticism and creativity,” Clara answered.

  “Along with social upheaval, alienation—”

  “And empathy. New ways to know different, races, genders, species—”

  “Ditexperience junkies and rox-potatoes—”

  “Inventors of new sports, new art forms and explorations.” She laughed. “Every step in human progress challenges us, Vic. Some wallow in excess. Others fearfully reject change. And a surprising number combine the new with verve and common sense, rising beyond all expectations.”

  “Progress? Is that what you’d call events in Yosil’s secret lab?”

  I joined in. “You said the key word: ‘secret.’ Maharal tried to shortcut the way science uses criticism to avoid error, with near-catastrophic results. But the actual problems he was working on — long-range dittoing, non-homologous imprinting …”

  “Mythologies! My friend was obsessed, guilt-ridden, demented from trying experimental processes on himself.”

  “Some top minds in soulistics think he was onto—”

  “Ravings!”

  “Well, something blasted those ditto ‘mirrors’ and left realAlbert in this state. Beta and Ritu believed in their father, enough to join forces at the end—”

  “All right.” ditKaolin waved a hand. “Assume it’s true! Yosil discovered a vast plane of hyper-reality, running parallel to all we know. A soulscape. Then it means we’re in trouble worse than all the bombs and bugs and eco-calamities of a generation ago. Because now our fate won’t be in the hands of elites or the benighted masses.

  “It will be decided by an angry God.”

  Being real, Wammaker and Gadarene arrived here in a black limo, believing no one could see inside. Another conspirator came disguised as a red-striped security guard. Two were shipped in canisters and thawed. All for a risky/urgent meeting with one goal, to get their stories straight!

  Only then Clara and Gumby/Albert appeared, interrupting and dragging their host away. It’s got them nervous. The awkward allies fidget, mostly avoiding each other.

  What mix of bribery, blackmail, idealism, and self-interest binds them? Even a brief try to theorize hurts the brain inside this little skull.

  Enough. Away!

  Attaching a tiny transducer to the window, I go back to climbing the sun-drenched wall. Slither a bit. Dig in diamond claws. Hunker while my pixelated back resembles stone. Check the way ahead for traps and sensors.

  Then slither up some more

  Across the meadow I glimpsed Pal and realAlbert unfolding a gold and red kite, laughing as the wind filled its gull wings. It leaped, a symbol of soaring innocence. Innocent in fact, since it carried no weapons or instruments. Nothing that a vigilant securityman could worry about. Just a kite. Alluring.

  It even caught the eye of ditKaolin, who smiled slightly, then shook his head with an expression of poignant regret. “I should be the one flying kites. In fact, I’m planning to retire soon.”

  “You surprise me, sir,” Clara said.

  “Why? Don’t I deserve a rest? Anyway, I’ve long felt uncomfortable with this world I helped create, where people blithely talk of ‘copying souls.’ Only now it’s grown far worse than mere effrontery of jargon. Before, only a few kooks blathered about soul-amplification. Now, inspired by Yosil, enthusiasts and mystics and techno-hobbyists have all started experimenting on their own, by the thousands, millions, chattering about using science to become gods.”

  Clara mused. “Mormons have always believed that people have the potential to—” But she stopped when I shook my head. Our little spy-golem should be getting into position about now. We had spent enough time on chitchat.

  “Vic Kaolin, please. We know your plans to retire have nothing to do with respect for religion. May I suggest another reason?”

  The platinum golem blinked. “Go on.”

  “It’s the world’s oldest story. The same obsession drove the ruler of that ancient terracotta army you admire. You shared it with Yosil Maharal, differing only in details.

  “You don’t want to die, Vic Kaolin.

  “You want to live forever.”

  From the laboratory-hospital in the basement all the way to a rooftop sanctuary that no living outsider has seen in years, the mansion is a nested puzzle. If money and power could defend secrets against a modern age, this is the place.

  My climb reaches a slate attic where I must angle a bit and change my skin reflectance. Stopping by a dormer window, I peer in at rows of cooler units built for holding ditto blanks. Most now stand empty, their ready lights turned off. Only a dozen look active, with contents ready to bake and release.

  Yup, I thought, turning to resume my climb. Damn that distraction, wasting time by staring at the maestra! I’m running late.

  “Who does want to die?” asked the platinum copy of Aeneas Kaolin. “We all fight to live, at all costs.”

  “Not all costs.”

  “Okay. But what’s your point? That I seal myself away as an organic hermit, interacting with the world by telepresence and ditto? Are you comparing a fastidious lifestyle — which hurts no one — to Yosil’s willingness to sacrifice millions for some mystical transcendence?”

  I shook my head. “No comparison. You’re more pragmatic and subtle. Though your plans suffered recent setbacks, they aren’t dashed. If your former allies proved erratic, you’ll replace them with others, less brilliant but more easily controlled.”

  His expression was blank as a robot’s. “Go on.”

  “Take that gray Albert who
carried the bomb to Universal. He thought he was looking for hidden technologies. And there were! A whole series of breakthroughs from Project Zoroaster. First, golem-replenishment—”

  “Which had worrying side effects, so I held back from announcing it. There’s nothing sinister. In fact—”

  “In fact, you use the process yourself.”

  “It’s obvious? Well, maybe I’m just trying to get the most out of these expensive shiny dolls.” ditKaolin chuckled dryly. “Aren’t most rich hermits penny-pinchers?”

  “You’ve been reboosting this one for weeks.”

  “It shows?” Kaolin feigned a vain look in a nearby mirror. “All right, my aim is to test the process.” He raised a jittering hand. “No doubt you’ve noticed the shaking.”

  What I noticed — with growing respect — was his multilayered cover story. Peel one level back, and he slid easily to another.

  “And memory lapses?”

  “Another unpleasant side effect you should watch for, Morris. Call it one last sacrifice for my customers.”

  “Admirable. And the explanation might stand, if replenishment were the only new technology. But there’s dit-to-dit imprinting—”

  “You’re the pioneer in that area, Albert.”

  “Am I? Your technicians hope to learn from my peculiar Standing Wave. But the machinery for high-fidelity transfer seems far advanced. Farshid Lum thinks we’re entering an era when long-lived dittos will pass their memories on to fresh blanks without needing a rig, creating their own sense of personhood—”

  “And millions, maybe a majority, will resist that weird future!” ditKaolin shook his head sadly. “We’ll see a return to the social upheavals a generation ago.”

  “No doubt. Then, to make things worse, there’s remote dittoing. Specialists like Gineen Wammaker see a golden chance to expand markets. Top experts in any field may dominate their professions worldwide, not just in the city where they live. Will that throw the rest of us on the purple wage?”

  Clara sat on the edge of her chair, clearly wanting to poke holes in this argument, but she suppressed the impulse. Good girl. ditKaolin raised his shoulders.

  “All right, Morris. I admit it. I saw these trends, over a year ago, and didn’t like where they’re taking us. So I dragged my feet in bringing them to market.”

  “Frustrating the chief innovator—”

  “—and thus maybe pushing toward mystical pursuits. Dammit. I should never have launched Project Zoroaster in the first place.”

  His sigh was so dolorous and reflective … I hated to spoil such an artful pose.

  “You express ambivalence, Vic Kaolin. Yet the R D workers at Universal got every support, almost to the very moment the technologies were ready. It was only then that you pulled back. And, coincidentally, someone hired an unsuspecting Albert gray to investigate rumors of squelched—”

  “I see where you’re taking this,” he answered with a frown. “Beta and Wammaker and Irene all had reasons to want the new techniques. So did Lum’s Emancipation zealots. None of them had a motive to wreck the Research Division, any more than I did.”

  “Less reason than you, sir.”

  The frown deepened.

  “You imply that I acted on my fears about the coming new age. That I arranged for the bombing as an act of conscience, to safeguard society from destabilizing and possibly immoral technologies?” ditKaolin paused, looking down. “Have you any idea how much I’d sacrifice? The friendships, wealth, position, and power?”

  Clara nodded. “Yes. Though even your enemies would credit you with the valor of strong convictions …

  “… if any of that were true.”

  Here comes the tricky part. A rat’s nest of fibers entangles the roof, surrounding the reflective dome.

  I must extend my claws, far longer than any natural beast, using them as stilts to step carefully over the detector filaments. My belly brushes them, gently as a local breeze.

  The same breeze lofting Albert’s kite, a gorgeous eye-lure, high above the meadow …

  Pay attention now! With my body arched high, the pixelated skin on my back can’t pull off the invisibility trick. Not in all directions at once.

  I’m running late. But hurry is out of the question. Mustn’t overheat.

  Pal couldn’t do this. It’s not a matter of brains (not many in this skull), or guts (Pal has more than anyone), or even soul. Patience is what I bring from Albert.

  Steady now … then quickly, to the silvery dome!

  Across a hilly field, Pal and realAlbert maneuvered their gold and red kite, playing the exquisite toy against rolling white clouds. A pretty distraction.

  My real concern? The little spy-golem we sent climbing the mansion wall was late checking in! This could all turn into a big bluff.

  “Why are there so few of you?” I asked our host. “There used to be dozens of these platinums running around. But now, UK employees see you mostly by telepresence, if at all. What happened to hands-on management?” ditKaolin’s tremor permeated to his voice, stammering angrily. “Enough! I’ve been forbearing with you t-two … but this impudent g-grilling has gone too—”

  He sputtered to a halt as beams of light shot up from a nearby table. Rays swirled, resolving into the figure of an elegant gray-haired man in his hale seventies, wearing a loose white robe. The face, pinkish-brown, matched the platinum’s, but details of crease and wattle were more finely etched. Perfectly imperfect, down to the pores.

  “I owe you an apology, Major Gonzales and ditto Morris, for assigning this golem as your host. It’s old and so often replenished, the poor thing isn’t thinking clearly.”

  The shiny ditto started to protest — then shut its mouth and sagged. For all intents and purposes, it was no longer there.

  “Of course I see where you’re going with this line of questioning, ditective. You’ve shown that I did have a motive to sabotage UK — my ethical and social concerns about new golemtechnology. Concerns borne out by recent events.

  “Not that I’m admitting anything. But with a possible motive established, shareholders will act to safeguard their interests. My retirement won’t be voluntary. You can see why I might have acted clandestinely—”

  “Setting up others to take the blame!” Clara accused.

  “Again without confessing, tell me who was harmed. The arch criminal Beta? He’s a figment in the mind of a sick young lady. As for that strange person, Queen Irene, it’s too bad what happened to her. But she chose her own path. One with no exit.”

  Moving closer to the holo image, I wondered — was it artificial? Among all the promises of the so-called Digital Age, one of the best-fulfilled was lifelike simulation in 3-D. High-level computers can fool you in a conversation, especially if a golem provides backup for the hard questions.

  We had a plan to check on that.

  I held up a finger, starting to enumerate. “First you devoted vast resources to Project Zoroaster, urging Yosil and his team forward. But when prototypes were built, you forbade mass production.”

  “I said, I changed my mind.”

  “After moving prototypes here, to your house! Then you tried to have the R D Division destroyed—”

  “I never admitted—”

  “—snaring Wammaker, Gadarene, and Lum, to scatter blame on both those who favor and oppose the new methods!”

  Kaolin’s expression was cold. “A clever plan. If it worked that way.”

  “And it almost did! But for the Maharals. They surprised you, Vic. When you tried pushing Yosil aside, he stole truckloads of equipment and vanished. That could only happen with Beta’s help, so you set out to destroy your ally … only to discover he was linked to Ritu, the assistant who knew your business inside out!

  “The Maharals threw you into panic. You made hasty mistakes.”

  “Like underestimating you, Mr. Morris.”

  I waved that away. “Worse, events under Urraca Mesa drew unwelcome attention. The World Eye is alerted now. Your s
cientists are blabbing like songbirds. So there’s no longer any hope of suppressing the new golemtechnologies. But you do have another option. Is it possible to distract everybody, enough to still have your way?”

  “How would I manage that?”

  “By provoking social war! Give Lum’s emancipators enough new tricks to demand golem-citizenship. Help the maestra transmit ‘hurt-me’ succubus-ivories to every town. Neo-Luddites like Gadarene will denounce all this from pulpits, gaining scads of angry new followers. So long as they all keep their stories straight, everyone profits handsomely!”

  “You make it sound so cynical.”

  “Hence the new role you’ve chosen!” Clara stood up. “Your days at the helm of Universal Kilns are over, but there’s still time to affect style and spin. Cry out about pornography and God and declining morals. Convince half the public that your aims were pure, and they’ll protect you from the other half! Your new businesses will thrive, and nobody will remember all the toys you stashed away in your basement.”

  The holo figure shook his head.

  “I should never have replenished that green. But I was shorthanded and needed somebody to send over to Irene’s.” After a pause, Kaolin smiled. “This is all very clever. But it assumes I had a reason — a goal — worth so much effort, cost, and risk. Why cause turmoil, just to monopolize a few new wrinkles in golemtech?”

  His questioning smile seemed confident. Without proof, all I could do was bluff. Where was our little spy-golem?

  “You had plenty of reason,” I said quite slowly. “Because those new wrinkles, put together just right, add up to a form of immortality. Something you want, Vic Kaolin. Because, in fact, you’re actually—”

  That very moment, my implant lit up.

  Finally!

  Letters began resolving in the focal plane of my left eye, forming a message from the tiny ferret-ditto we had sent scaling the mansion walls. The information I needed to complete my sentence.

  “Because, Vic Kaolin, you are actually—”

  — NOT DEAD.

  Damn. I owe Pal fifty.