Kiln People

18

Orange You Glad?

It’s not that Pallie can’t make dittos. He’s actually quite gifted, with a flexible self-image that can propel almost any golem-shape, from quadruped to ornithrope to centipede. That rare ability to imprint non-human forms might have let him be an astronaut, ocean prospector, even a bus driver. But Pal’s dittos can’t deal with inaction, amplifying his core restlessness. A ditective should stay patient and focused — say during a long stakeout — but his copies can’t. With great intelligence and imagination, they’ll rationalize any excuse to transform inertia into motion.

It’s why he went in person that night, three years ago, to a rendezvous with treacherous men. Pal’s way of being cautious, I suppose.

So we had to lug his real self along with us in Lum’s van. Pal’s wheelchair slid in back as the mancie leader hopped into the pilot seat. Then, with a devilish grin, Lum offered me shotgun position — a blatant dig at Gadarene, who rumbled ominously. Wanting no trouble between the two reluctant allies, I stepped aside for the big conservative, adding a respectful bow. Anyway, I’d rather ride with Pal, wedged in back between the van’s hull and a battered portakiln.

The oven felt warm when I sat on it. Someone was cooking. Lacking a sense of smell, I couldn’t tell whom.

We set off, merging with traffic. The optically active cerametal hull sensed the direction of my gaze from millisecond to millisecond, automatically transforming a narrow patch from opaque to transparent wherever I happened to be looking, slewing this micro-window about to match my wandering cone of attention. Anyone standing outside the van might see four small dim circles jiggering about, like tiny manic spotlights, one for each occupant, revealing little to outsiders. But to each of us inside, the van appeared made of glass.

Lum caught a nav beam, which sensed four passengers — three of them real — and granted carpool priority, speeding us along. North, toward the hi-tech district, following my hunch about where to find trouble. Fu

Fluids dripped through IV tubing and diagnostic lights winked as I checked Pallie’s medconsole. The unit was pissed off at him for using stimulants, back when he showed off for us at the abandoned scooter park.

“Just like old times, eh?” he said, giving me a wink. “You, Clara, and me, tackling the forces of evil together. Brains, beauty, and physique.”

“Well, that describes Clara. What about you and me?”

He chuckled, flexing a sinewy forearm. “Oh, I wasn’t bad at muscle stuff. But mostly I provided color. Sadly lacking in the modern world.”

“Hey, aren’t I green?”

“Aye, and a lovely faux-viridian shade you are, Gumby. But that’s not what I mean.”

I knew exactly what he meant: the color our grandparents supposedly had, back in the zesty twentieth and early twenty-first, when people took risks every day that few moderns would think of facing with their precious trueflesh. It’s strange how much more priceless life can feel, when you have more of it to grasp.

Me? I had sixteen or so hours left. Not much time for ambition or long-range plans. Might as well spend it all.

I turned to Gadarene, whose attention focused toward a World Eye portal on his lap. “Any luck tracing the gray?”

The big man scowled. “My people have put out a hue and cry. We’re offering top bids for a pix-trace, but the trail’s blank. Nothing since the gray was last seen, at Studio Neo.”

“There won’t be,” I said. “Albert knows how to vanish when he wants to.”

Gadarene flushed. “Then contact your rig. Have him recall the ditto!”

The organo-chauvinist leader appeared frantic. I didn’t want to provoke him. “Sir, we’ve gone over this. That gray is on autonomous mode. It won’t communicate with realAlbert, because that could constitute violation of contract. If the gray is being deceived by experts, they’ll take measures to ensure it stays deceived.”

“I bet the first thing they did to the gray was disable the recall feature in its pellet,” Pallie said, and I added, “They’ll put e-sniffers on Al’s house. Nell will catch on eventually, but it can work for a span. So we can’t contact Morris directly. If the conspirators notice, they may spook or change plans.”

Gadarene muttered, “I still can’t figure it out. What plans?”

“To make us look bad,” said Lum, dropping his normally su

“I’ll bet Universal Kilns is behind this,” Lum continued. “If they can convince the world we’re terrorists, they may get a demarchy writ to eliminate the pickets and demonstrations. No more disclosure lawsuits and net harassment from groups opposing their immoral policies.”

“You mean they’d sabotage themselves, to blame us?”

“Why not? If the stunt generates public sympathy, all the better! It might even throw off those anti-monopoly bills that keep coming up, trying to reverse the Big Deregulation.”

Pal chuckled again.

“What’s so fu

“Oh, I was just thinking about how i

“What do you mean?” Lum asked.

“I mean that you non-violent protestors have been up to your own skulduggery, I bet. Some flashy way to demonstrate your disapproval of Universal Kilns. Moralists can always justify going outside the law when it suits their sense of righteous timing.”

Gadarene frowned sullenly at Pal. Lum said, “That’s different.”

“Is it? Never mind. I’m not interested in ca

“I don’t see why—”

“Because you’re playing out of your league, gentlemen!” I cut in, a bit too loud for a respectful green. But I had caught Pal’s drift and it made sense. “Professionals are at work today, hatching a scheme that’s been long arranging. Right now it doesn’t matter if the secret mastermind is Universal Kilns, or some enemy of theirs. Whatever they’re pla

“But maybe we can help, if you come clean,” Pallie offered. “Don’t tell me you haven’t dreamed and schemed about striking a blow against UK. Tell us, right now, if you’ve done more than dream! Have you been up to something that could be used against you? Something that could pin you to a crime?”

Both men glared at Pal and me — and sideways at each other. I could almost taste their mutual distrust. Their internal struggle for a way out.

Gadarene spoke first; perhaps he was more accustomed to bitter confession.

“We’ve … been digging a tu

Lum stared at his longtime adversary. “You have? Well, imagine that.”

He blinked a few times, then shrugged with a wry chuckle. “We’ve got one, too.”

The triple domes of Universal Kilns HQ shimmered, set afire on their western flanks by a late afternoon sun. I couldn’t help thinking of three giant pearls, planted atop a busy anthill, since those grassy slopes sheltered an even larger industrial plant underground. But with its coat of greenery, the factory looked more like a college campus, placid and unthreatening, rimmed by a deceptively i

To modern citizens, the site was legendary, even Promethean. A cornucopia spilling forth treasures — hardly a cause of ire. But not everyone felt that way. Outside the main gate, beyond a screen of trees, lay a camping ground that was staked out years ago under the Open Dissent Act, when Aeneas Kaolin first moved his corporate headquarters here. Each maverick or radical group with a grievance had its own patch — a cluster of canopies and expando-vans — to marshal demonstrations.