Kiln People

Why keep agitating over a cause that’s long-lost? Because cheap dittos make it easy … an irony that most radicals were much too sober to notice.

So proclaimed the largest ba

Still, they came from a tradition that had saved the world. The tolerance-and-inclusion reflex was strong for good reasons — because it took centuries of pain to acquire. Confused or not, these folk stood on high moral ground.

Not far away, another sign broadcast shining holo letters, expressing a more clearcut demand:

The “open source” movement wanted all of UK’s technologies and trade secrets released to the public, so every garage hobbyist might experiment with new dittoing techniques and wild golem variants, promising a burst of total creativity. Some envision an age when you’ll imprint your Soul Standing Wave into everything around you — your car, your toaster, the walls of your house. Hey, why not each other? To enthusiasts out there — eager, overeducated, and bored — every boundary of self and other was spurious. A small step from being several places at once to being everywhere, all of the time.

Those techno-transcendentalists stayed away from yet another encampment where the denizens had a different complaint altogether — that the world already has too many people in it, without doubling or tripling Earth’s population each day with fresh swarms of temporary consumers. Wearing green robes of the Church of Gaia, they wanted humanity pared way down, not exponentiated. Dittos may not eat or excrete, but they use resources in other ways.

Grunting with delight, Pal nudged my arm and pointed.

A single figure could be seen pacing just outside the big encampment, picketing the picketers!

SELF-RIGHTEOUSNESS IS AN ADDICTIVE DISEASE, GET A LIFE! chided the placard carried by a creature with extremely long, shaggy arms and a head like a jackal’s. Perhaps the ditto’s appearance was some kind of arty, satirical statement. If so, I didn’t get it.

Some people — most people — have way too much time on their hands, I thought.

Once, years ago, this site swarmed with a more pragmatic and far angrier breed of protester. Labor unions, upset over a convulsed job market, stirred up Luddite movements across the globe. Riots surged. Factories burned. Golem-workers were lynched. Governments teetered …

… till overnight, passions ebbed. How do you suppress a technology that lets people do all the things they want to do, all at the same time?

As our van passed into the compound, I glimpsed a final placard, carried by a bearded man who beamed happily as he paced, even though everyone else seemed to avoid him, even with their eyes. His message — in a fine, flowing cursive calligraphy — was one I saw just an hour or two earlier:

You all miss the point.

There’s a next step a’coming …

Gadarene’s bunch bivouacked to one side, separated from the other groups by a gulf of mutual hostility. Instead of sending cheap dittos to this site each day, his followers were real people. Every one of them.

As we pulled up, a dozen or so men and women emerged from big trailers, accompanied by gaggles of youngsters. Their clothing had that look — colorful but inexpensive — evidently purchased on the purple welfare wage.

I’ve met abstainers before, but never in such numbers. So I couldn’t help staring. Here were people who refused to copy themselves. Ever. It felt like gazing at creatures of another age, when fate cruelly forced all men to live cramped lives. Only these folks lived that way deliberately!

On seeing Lum step from the van, members of the flock grumbled threateningly. But Gadarene silenced them with a curt headshake. Instead, he bid two strong youths to hoist Pal from the back. Others hauled the portakiln as we followed him into the biggest trailer.

“I am still not sure I should show you this,” he groused. “It is the work of years.”

Pal stifled a yawn. “Take your time. We’ve got days and days to decide.”

Sarcasm can be effective. Still, I often wondered how my friend managed to live this long.

“How do we know it isn’t already too late?” Lum asked.

“Best guess, the enemy won’t act till nightfall,” I replied. “If it’s a bomb, they’ll want to maximize the flashy visual effects, while minimizing real human casualties.”

“Why?”

“Killing archies tends to really piss folks off,” Pal said. “Property crimes are different. Deregulated. Anyway, conspiracies tend to unravel when you get down to mass murder. Henchmen turn whistle-blower. No, they’ll wait till second shift, with only dittos at work, to produce lots of gaudy dismemberments without criminal culpability.

“Which means there may still be time to act,” Pal concluded, “if you quit stalling and show us what you’ve got.”

Gadarene still squirmed. “Why not ask Lum first? He’s got a tu

“I’ll be using that one.” Pal nodded. “But Mr. Lum’s passage is too small for Albert here … I mean Frankie. Your tu

The big conservative shrugged, giving in at last.

“We dug by hand. It took years.”

“How did you evade seismic detection?” I asked.

“With an active lining. Any sonic or ground wave that hits one side of the sheath is re-radiated on the other. We used a quadrupole grinder at the digging surface, canceling noise beyond a few meters.”

“Clever,” I said. “And how close are you to breaking through?”

Gadarene looked away, avoiding my eyes. He mumbled in a voice almost too low to hear, “We made it … a couple of years ago.”

Pallie guffawed. “Well, that takes it! Such passion, digging like moles to reach the hated enemy. Then nothing! What happened? Lost your nerve?”

If looks could kill … But Pal had already survived worse.

“We couldn’t agree on which action would be … suitable.”

I found myself kind of sympathizing. It’s one thing to labor with a vague/distant goal of punishing the wicked. It’s another to actually do it in ways that edify the world, attract public support, while keeping your precious realhide out of prison. The Gaia Liberation folks learned this the hard way, during their long war against the gene-techs.

“Was that your problem, too?” I asked Lum.

The mancie leader shook his head. “Our shaft took a twisty route, so we just broke through. Anyway, our aims are different. We aim to liberate slaves, not to sabotage their birthplace.”

Pal shrugged. “Well, that explains why it’s happening right now. You both have leaks or spies. Or your digging was detected after all. Either way, someone knows. They’ll use your tu

I didn’t add that Albert, my maker, appeared targeted for the worst baking of all.

Unhappy silence reigned, till Lum spoke up.

“I’m confused. Don’t you two hope to use our tu

“We do.”

“But if the enemy already knows about the tu