Kiln People

“Because the law says only organics are people!” I exclaimed. “To make it work, your customers have to become hermits, like you, allowing no one near enough to check flesh. And it could look awfully suspicious if more than a few turned recluse at the same time. That limits your market, except—”

Clara hurried in. “Except for the recent frenzy over those plague missiles that Maharal so nearly launched. All of a sudden, life seems perilous again. Any day, without warning, the air may be filled with nasty viruses. Justification enough for scores of wealthy old eccentrics to order shiny new reflective domes built atop their mansions, swearing to venture forth only in clay … blaming the dangerous world when, in fact, they’re preparing for the pragmatists’ version of life after death. Where you can actually take it with you.”

The face in the holo display stared at Clara, then back at me.

“This is the most astonishing scenario I ever … What proof can you—”

I laughed.

“Why none at all. Yet. But the scheme counts on two fickle elements, money and secrecy. What about the heirs who stand to lose if Gramps never dies? Some will gladly pay for a real investigation and—”

Clara gasped, staring at nothing. “What is it?” I asked.

Her jaw hardened. She turned and glared at Aeneas Kaolin. “We had better not learn those missiles were your idea … sir. Cleverly arranged, in order to set up this very situation.”

Her tone chilled my ersatz spine. And it rocked our host, who paled as he raised both hands.

“The … the missiles surprised me as much as anyone, I swear it! I — I’m just taking advantage … the mood of fear … to do a little business.

“Again, where’s the harm?”

A great knot seemed to let go where my intestines would be, if I had them. Our new speculation, drawn impulsively from the ruined story we had been so sure of, was on target! In the end, it wasn’t logic that pi

“We’ll see,” she told the nervous hermit, keeping her momentum.

“I promise, you’ll have every chance to prove your i

73

Riding the Wheel

The kite, fluttering and swooping against the sky, is beautiful. Isn’t it? Like so much in the world. A big part of why you can’t let go.

Yosil was right about the “anchor” effect. You’ll never do all the ambitious things that he pla

Still, you understand something that he didn’t.

Nature is necessary.

Without a gritty, paradox-free level of reality, bound by implacable physical laws, rich complexity could never emerge. Only fierce selection on an enormous scale could produce human beings — so competent at tooth-and-claw, yet rising to dream far beyond, to qualities like art, love, and soul.

But evolution clings! Your body yearns for the tingle of fair wind, the sting of rain, the luscious scent and taste of food, the fight-flight rush of adrenaline.

The rub-slap-tickle of a happy lover.

The music of laughter.

You who make the world by observing it — causing the probability amplitudes of stars to collapse and whole galaxies to reify, just by looking at them — you remain wedded to cause-effect because it offers hope! Hope that evolution will play fair. (Though it hasn’t yet.) Hope that you may win, no matter how unlikely it seems. (Because you are descended from generations of wi

Hope to stay alive, though death always waits.

You know it better than others. For you’ve seen the barren soulscape, where just a few billion algae-colonists struggle at the shoreline, clinging till the very last moment. Then, leaping for a moment’s glory like salmon plunging upstream, they try to achieve some goal beyond reckoning — something religions hint at, the way sketches on a cave wall once flickered by torchlight, almost coming alive.

Yes, every flicker that launched itself has failed, so far. But falling back, they left impressions. There, in dust.

And impressions last.

So, what will you do? Cut loose and try for higher ground? Without the stored energy that Yosil tried to gather, your chances will be slim. His calculations were good, even if his soul was warped.

Stay here, then? Half in one world and half elsewhere? Share a bed with Clara and the far-more-human version of your former self … the Albert variant who changes bodies, living from day to day?

It could work. But is it fair?

Or will you try something else? Something creative. Something never seen … at least in this cosmos.

The odds seem low. But then, it’s all in the trying, right?

For creatures rising out of flesh or mud, that’s all there’s ever been.

74

Impressionism

Departing the veranda of Aeneas Kaolin’s stone mansion, Clara and I wandered down the back steps, through a rose garden and past an elaborate dovecote, all the way to the grassy verge where Pal and realAlbert flew their kite.

As expected, they had drawn attention — not from the security staff, but people living in an enclave of small houses that lay tucked behind the hill, built for servants and their families. A crowd of children stared, or ran shouting excitedly.

Even today, there’s something about a well-handled kite.

Pal was clearly having a ball, controlling it from his medchair. Though golems give him access to the world, I never saw any of them provide such simple joy. Causing the wing panels to warp just right, he sent it swooping, climbing, then diving in mock attacks that drew delighted shrieks from kids and their parents.

All except one pair of adults who seemed less happy. They kept chivvying at three boys, trying to herd them back toward the small faux neighborhood. I sensed a glaring mea

Turning to the platinum ditKaolin, who still accompanied us after his original signed off, I asked, “Are those the heirs?”

Grim-faced, the ditto nodded. “Nephews. Sons of a half sister who died three years ago.”

This truth had been part of the price Clara and I demanded.

“Do they know?” ditKaolin shook his head. “Their mother left me … left Aeneas … with full legal authority. You ca

Clara sighed. “Well, for now just remember that we know. We’ll be watching.”

“Of that I’m sure.”

The golem’s voice lacked any hint of resentment or resignation. I might have felt better if it had.

It took a while to collect Pal and realAlbert and the little spy-ferret, leaving the kite behind in the hands of some kids.

I thought about our “victory” during the limo ride back. Despite having cornered the great Kaolin and extracted the truth, I didn’t feel especially elated. Maybe long ago, before the Big Deregulation, we might have nailed him for all sorts of criminal offenses — from fraud to blackmail to extortion. But those were all civil torts now and most of his victims were happily bought off.

The most we could do was make him pay some more. And put crimps in the worst parts of his plan.

For one thing, the scattered team from Project Zoroaster would be recombined, along with outside critics, under the auspices of a neutral foundation. The aim: to release those new technologies in the least unsettling sequence, not the most disruptive. Though in truth, much of Kaolin’s social war seemed unavoidable. We were due for interesting times.