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Like a doomed mirror, my dark reflection abruptly shattered into millions of glittering shards that swirled briefly in front of me. Then, one by one, they rapidly winked out till only a faint stir of air remained.
The Volvo spoke up with the dull voice tones of silicon.
“YOU ASKED TO BE TOLD OF ANY NEWS EVENTS EXCEEDING PRIORITY LEVEL FIVE THAT AFFECT YOUR HOME NEIGHBORHOOD. I AM PICKING UP FLASH REPORTS OF A LEVEL NINE EMERGENCY ON YOUR BLOCK, CENTERED AT YOUR ADDRESS.”
How I envied our ancestors, who were sometimes spared bad tidings for a few hours or days, back in technologically benighted eras when news traveled much slower than light and was cha
“Show me.”
A series of holo images erupted, showing instanews from half a dozen publicams and private voyeur-floaters, programmed to zoom like vultures toward anything unusual, selling their feeds directly to the Net. In this case, the attractive novelty was a conflagration. A house — my house — burning wildly and with such heat that a flame fu
Stu
“Damn,” I muttered, hating whoever had done this. “They burned my garden, too.”
I took the car offbeam and turned around, gu
I
Two copies of me … and several of Pallie. But which copies? The one that disappeared at Kaolin Manor, presumably. And the gray that cut off communication after accepting a closed contract? Whatever job it took, things must have gone sour in a big way.
News began filtering out of UK headquarters. A prion bomb had gone off, but preliminary reports were optimistic. Employees jabbered among themselves about an exceptional stroke of luck. The affected area was small because a brave forklift operator sat on the saboteur at the last moment, quenching the explosion with its huge golembody, limiting the poison’s dispersal.
Great, I thought. But what does it all have to do with me?
I got no answer on Pallie’s phone, or via our secret drop box. Not one of the four dittos I had made Tuesday replied to my ultra-urgent pellet flash. I could only account for one of them — the loyal jetto who stayed at his post, striving until hell plummeted into his lap, converting his damp clay body into drifting ceramic flakes.
I glanced at the privacy screen — the curtain separating me from the car’s passenger cell. Should I dissolve it and inform Ritu’s gray? But surely, as a senior UK employee, she must have already received an alert about something amiss at her company. Or was her project so narrowly focused that she banished all distractions, like news?
Maybe she did know, and preferred to keep the curtain up. Rumors, spreading across the Net, already named me as a likely suspect in the sabotage at Universal Kilns. I debated whether to dissolve the privacy screen from this side and try to explain. Practice my i
Just then a pair of sharp glints caught my eye. Headlights. Reluctantly, I ratcheted down the Volvo’s hell-bent speed … then brought it down some more. Something struck me as wrong about the lights. Their position on the road was odd. Maybe the highway swung a bit to the right, up ahead …
Only it didn’t seem about to. I kept edging rightward, instinctively pla
The other car was close!
Expecting to finally avoid him on the right, I nearly plowed into the other fellow before comprehending the situation in an instant. The imbecile had pulled onto the shoulder on my side, pointing his high beams at oncoming traffic! Only a last-second left swerve took me back onto the road, missing the fool by inches!
The swerve turned into a spin, tires squealing and smoking as the world reeled. I had time to regret a life spent blithely ignoring basic traffic safety rules. No wonder Clara insisted on doing the driving, whenever we went somewhere together. My wonderful, fierce Clara … and no ghost of mine to console her.
I envisioned ending up like Yosil Maharal, crumpled at the bottom of a ditch … till the whirling spin finally ended with the Volvo squat and safe, sitting in the middle of the two-lane highway, shining its twin beams back at the idiot who almost caused a wreck.
A dark figure stepped from the other car, hard to picture amid the glare. I was about to get out too, and have some choice words with the fellow. Then I saw that he carried something long and heavy. Shading my eyes against the dazzle, I watched him raise the bulky, tubelike thing to his shoulder.
“Pulp!” I cursed, slamming into second gear and pounding the accelerator. Instinct urged me to turn the wheel, frantically swerving to flee whatever weapon he was bringing to bear! Only Albert’s forebrain knew better.
Clara explained it to me long ago — a basic military principle.
Sometimes your only hope is to scream defiance, charge ahead; and hope for the best.
Evidently. The tactic sure surprised my attacker, who leaped back, colliding with the hood of his car before trying to steady his aim. I howled, shoving my right foot to the floor, spurring the Volvo’s engine to an emergency-power roar.
In that split instant, amid the glare of two converging sets of headlights, I knew several things at once.
Good lord, it’s Aeneas Kaolin!
And — he’s going to get his shot off before I reach him.
And — no matter what weapon he’s got, I’ll still have the satisfaction of turning his sorry clay ass into pottery shards.
That offered small comfort as a bolt of horrid lightning spewed from Kaolin’s gun, enveloping my car in fireworks. Pain followed right behind.
Still, through the blinding coruscation I got to see the platinum ditto throw both arms up, venting a last-instant wail of spontaneous despair.
PART II
Remember, I beseech thee, that thou hast made me as the clay; and wilt thou bring me unto dust again?