"When did I start to understand?" Ritu continued after a few seconds. "Weeks ago, I overheard my father and Aeneas argue fiercely over whether to announce some new breakthroughs, like extending ditto lifespan. Aeneas called the methods unready and complained how much of Yosil's research aimed at mystical areas like non-h.o.m.ologous imprinting ... "

I made an earnest effort to listen as Ritu's story poured out at last. I was interested, really. But the tunnel felt so stifling and hot ... I couldn't help wondering, were my sweats a symptom of some vile plague, contracted during my brief visit to the germ warfare room? Were superfast pathogens already tearing through my flesh?

I did not not want to think about that! Like Ritu, I sought distraction from helplessness in dialogue. want to think about that! Like Ritu, I sought distraction from helplessness in dialogue.

"Um ... could those quarrels with Aeneas explain why your father went into hiding?"

"I guess so ... but they had always always fought like brothers, ever since Aeneas bought the Bevvisov-Maharal process to animate his movie-effex dolls. The two of them usually calmed down and sorted things out." fought like brothers, ever since Aeneas bought the Bevvisov-Maharal process to animate his movie-effex dolls. The two of them usually calmed down and sorted things out."

"Not this time though," I prompted. "Kaolin -- "

" -- accused Yosil of stealing files and equipment! I could tell Aeneas was furious. Yet he kept his anger bottled, as if Father had some power over him. Something that kept even the chairman of Universal Kilns from interfering, no matter how mad he got."

"Blackmail?" I suggested. "Kaolin's ditto was snooping around your father's house when you and I met there Tuesday evening. Maybe he was looking for evidence to destroy, right after knocking off Yosil -- "

"No." Ritu shook her head. "Before he departed for the last time, I overheard Father tell Aeneas, 'I'm your only hope, so get out of my way 'I'm your only hope, so get out of my way if you haven't the guts to help.' if you haven't the guts to help.' That sounds rather scary, I admit, but not like blackmail. Anyway, I still can't believe Aeneas would murder anyone." That sounds rather scary, I admit, but not like blackmail. Anyway, I still can't believe Aeneas would murder anyone."

"Well, some some Kaolin dit-alike shot at us later that night, on the desert highway." Kaolin dit-alike shot at us later that night, on the desert highway."

As if on cue, several loud bangs resonated where Beta's rear guard still fought off unnamed enemies. Panic reignited in Ritu's eyes ... till she pushed the dread away one more time. In her own way, she was showing real courage.

"I ... thought about that. Aeneas wasn't only worried about my father, you know. He also had a growing obsession about ... Beta. Beta." Ritu spat the word in distaste. "Aeneas spent a fortune on insurance and security, trying to plug Beta's access to UK technologies and material. I guess somehow along the way he must have finally discovered the truth about my other half." She jerked her head toward the nearby guard-golem.

"It would have galled Aeneas to realize that Beta knew everything that I know about the company. He couldn't even prosecute or take revenge without hurting me ... the same Ritu Maharal he always treated like a daughter. Nor could he talk to me about the problem. That would only warn warn Beta, so I was kept out of the loop." Beta, so I was kept out of the loop."

"Even worse," I added, "Kaolin would worry about the possibility that Beta and Yosil Maharal had forged an alliance."

Ritu's head jerked. "The very idea would drive Aeneas crazy."

"Then his golem shot us on the highway because he thought you were Beta," I concluded. "You were were wearing that ditto-disguise. And all this time I thought he had it in for wearing that ditto-disguise. And all this time I thought he had it in for me! me! But then, who shot a missile at my house and -- " But then, who shot a missile at my house and -- "

A far-traveling bullet came zinging by, interrupting as it ricocheted off the ceiling. Ritu winced. For the fourth or fifth time, she tried crouching closer to me. Amid this fracas, the most natural thing would be for us to hold each other. But I edged back, keeping distant, since I might be carrying some foul virus.

The alternative was to keep talking. I tilted my head to fix contact with her eyes.

"What about your father?" I demanded. "What was he doing down here that frightened Kaolin? Why steal golems and arms from the government. And germ warfare agents, for G.o.d's sake!

"Ritu, what is still still going on here, days after he died?" going on here, days after he died?"

My intensity made her draw back. Ritu clamped both hands against her head. Her voice cracked.

"I don't know don't know about any of that!" about any of that!"

Someone else joined in at that point.

"Leave her alone, Morris. You're badgering the wrong me."

It was the wounded battle-golem a.s.signed to guard us, so stolid till now that we had been sheltering behind it like a stone. The square-jawed face looked down, regarding me with barely any expression. Still, I sensed the familiar contempt of my longtime foe. Even knowing, at last, that it was born of neurotic overcompensation didn't help much. I still hated the guy.

Beta spoke in a deep-gravelly voice, but with the same snide tone.

"As you suspect, we did have an arrangement, Yosil and I. He slipped me a limitless supply of specialty golem blanks, straight from Research, with all sorts of great features like pixelated skin that can change color patterns on command."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. Yosil helped ship them directly into Ritu's supply fridge while I worked from inside, to ensure she never examined her blanks closely. Together, we made it seem that a number of her dittos were doing exactly what she wanted them to do, minimizing her worries and suspicions. It was a big help in my operations and worked well ... till just a short time ago."

"And what did Maharal get in return?"

"I taught him the fine art of evasion! How to dodge and weave and evade the World Eye. My underworld contacts were a big help. It became sort of a father-and-son pastime." The ditto winked at Ritu, who shuddered and turned away, so Beta turned the knowing smile toward me.

"I suspect Dad always wanted a boy," he said.

Sibling cruelty can be disgusting. So is destructive self-hatred. This lay somewhere viciously in between.

"I have to admit," Beta went on, "that she put up quite a fight the last few weeks. Ever since learning about me, she stopped imprinting and killed every Beta that approached her for inloading. I was running out of delay-release versions!"

"The decaying ditto that I found in a Dumpster behind the house -- "

"Bang." Beta used a finger to mime a pistol firing. "Ritu terminated it. Then she grabbed Dad's makeup kit in the house and disguised herself to look just like that gray, hoping the pretense would let her come south with you and ... " Beta shook his head. "Well, I have to admit her forcefulness surprised me. I was only able to interfere a little, from inside. Good for you, Alpha!"

"How touching," I answered for Ritu, who looked too angry for speech. "So Father liked you best. Is that why you're fighting your way into good old Dad's sanctuary right now?"

Before Beta could answer, something clicked in my thoughts.

"The lab isn't isn't dormant, guarded by leftover robot sentries. Somebody's inside, right now, planning to use stolen germ weapons in some grisly scheme. Is it Yosil's murderer? Are you breaking in to avenge your father?" dormant, guarded by leftover robot sentries. Somebody's inside, right now, planning to use stolen germ weapons in some grisly scheme. Is it Yosil's murderer? Are you breaking in to avenge your father?"

Beta paused, then acknowledged, "In a manner of speaking, Morris. But as long as buried truths are coming out, you might as well know" -- he nodded toward Ritu -- "that we have more in common with our father than you'd ever imagine."

Ritu blinked, looking directly at the golem for the first time. "You mean -- "

"I mean that a genius like his could never be contained within a single personality, or confined to one human brain. In Yosil, the divisions were less explicit. Still -- "

I let out a grunt of realization, recalling some bad movied plots Ritu and I'd discussed during our desert trek. How many focused on the same old nightmare, couched in contemporary terms -- the fear of being conquered by your own creation, by your own darker half? In Ritu, technology brought an inner nightmare to life, amplifying an irksome personality trait into a fully reified arch criminal.

How much further might the same syndrome go, if unleashed by a virtuoso?

"Then Maharal -- "

Before I could finish, a shrill whistle echoed down the corridor. Beta grunted with satisfaction. "It's about time!" The big war-ditto stood up awkwardly, favoring a gravely wounded left side, motioning for Ritu and me to follow. "The way is clear ahead."

When Ritu shivered, the golem soothed.

"Picture it as a family reunion. Let's go see what Father has become."

56.

Top of the Line ... as green doughboy tries to rise ...

There weren't any glowbulbs in the crude staircase and I had no way to judge the time spent dragging up one rough step then another, hauled along by a single good arm and a half-functional leg, leaving bits of me crumbling along the way. The ascent seemed measureless except for rhythmic throbs each time my battered form heaved upward. I counted one hundred and forty of these pulses. A hundred and forty opportunities to relax into darkness forever -- till the utter blackness around me started to give way.

Attenuated light slid down the stairs, tentatively liquid in quality, actually cheering me a bit. It's hard to feel completely hopeless during that special moment when you first catch sight of dawn.

It was was daybreak, I soon verified, pouring through a rough cut in the far wall of a modest room that was nearly filled by a bulky machine. Crawling nearer, I saw a funnel-track slanting toward the narrow window. A rugged frame held more than a dozen slender tubes bearing dorsal and pectoral fins, as if to maneuver with agility through water or air. daybreak, I soon verified, pouring through a rough cut in the far wall of a modest room that was nearly filled by a bulky machine. Crawling nearer, I saw a funnel-track slanting toward the narrow window. A rugged frame held more than a dozen slender tubes bearing dorsal and pectoral fins, as if to maneuver with agility through water or air.

My good eye glimpsed ominous cutla.s.s-shaped symbols marking the sleek forward tips; still realization came slowly.

Missiles, I thought, fighting expiration fatigue. I thought, fighting expiration fatigue. Stacked in an automatic launching system. Stacked in an automatic launching system.

And ... I further noted when a row of electronic displays came alight ... I further noted when a row of electronic displays came alight ...

And the machinery just turned on.

57.

Bosons in the Circuit ... or the importance of being Emet ...

As I grow larger, as knowledge floods into me, I grow more appreciative of the grand vision that drew my tormentor to this place and hour. Yet the closer he came to greatness in recent months, the more it intimidated poor Yosil Maharal. No wonder, for he stood alone atop a vaulting arch that had been built across the millennia by humanity's greatest minds, each of them battling darkness in his or her own way, against all odds.

The struggle went slowly at first, with more false starts than progress. After all, what could primitive women and men accomplish, what secrets could they pierce without fire or electricity, lacking biochemistry or soulistics? Sensing there must be something something more to life than tooth and claw, the earliest sages focused on their one precocious gift -- a capacity for more to life than tooth and claw, the earliest sages focused on their one precocious gift -- a capacity for words. words. Words of persuasion, illusion, or magical power. Words that preached love and moral improvement. Words of supplicating prayer. Call it magic or call it faith. Well endowed with hope -- or wishful thinking -- but little else, they imagined that words alone would suffice, if uttered sincerely enough, in proper incantations, accompanying pure thoughts and deeds. Words of persuasion, illusion, or magical power. Words that preached love and moral improvement. Words of supplicating prayer. Call it magic or call it faith. Well endowed with hope -- or wishful thinking -- but little else, they imagined that words alone would suffice, if uttered sincerely enough, in proper incantations, accompanying pure thoughts and deeds.

Later successors, unbaring the splendor of mathematics, supposed that that was the key. From Pythagorean harmonies and numerological puzzles like Kabbalah to elegant superstring theories, math seemed to be G.o.d's own language, the code He used to write creation's plan. Like quantum mechanics -- the elegant sorting of aloof fermions and gregarious bosons -- all the proud equations added to a growing edifice. They were foundations, gorgeously true. was the key. From Pythagorean harmonies and numerological puzzles like Kabbalah to elegant superstring theories, math seemed to be G.o.d's own language, the code He used to write creation's plan. Like quantum mechanics -- the elegant sorting of aloof fermions and gregarious bosons -- all the proud equations added to a growing edifice. They were foundations, gorgeously true.

But not enough. For the stars we yearned to touch remained much too far away. Math and physics could only measure the vast gulf, not cross it.

Same with the vaunted digital realm. Computers briefly tantalized, hinting that software models might prove better than reality. Enthusiasts promised new-improved minds, telepathic perception, even transcendent power. But cyberstuff fell short of opening grand portals. It became another useful tool set, just another incremental brick in the arch.

Back in Grandma's time, biology biology was the queen science. Decipher the genome, the proteome, and their subtle interplay with phenotype! Solve ecology's riddle and achieve sustainability in nature! These were attainments every bit as vital as harnessing flame or kicking the habit of all-out war. was the queen science. Decipher the genome, the proteome, and their subtle interplay with phenotype! Solve ecology's riddle and achieve sustainability in nature! These were attainments every bit as vital as harnessing flame or kicking the habit of all-out war.

Yet where were answers to the truly deep deep questions? questions?

Religion promised those, though always in vague terms, while retreating from one line in the sand to the next. Don't look past this boundary, Don't look past this boundary, they told Galileo, then Hutton, Darwin, Von Neumann, and Crick, always retreating with great dignity before the latest scientific advance, then drawing the next holy perimeter at the shadowy rim of knowledge. they told Galileo, then Hutton, Darwin, Von Neumann, and Crick, always retreating with great dignity before the latest scientific advance, then drawing the next holy perimeter at the shadowy rim of knowledge.

From here on is G.o.d's domain, where only faith will take us. Though you may have penetrated the secrets of matter and time, made life in a test tube, even covered Earth with thronging duplicates, man will never infiltrate the realm of the immortal soul.

Only now we're crossing that line, Yosil and I, armed not with virtue but skill, utilizing every insight gathered by h.o.m.o technologicus h.o.m.o technologicus during ten thousand years of painful struggle against nescient darkness. during ten thousand years of painful struggle against nescient darkness.

One matter remains to settle before the adventure can begin.

Which of us will carry ... and which will ride?

Oh, there is another issue.

Can such a bold endeavor properly commence, if it begins with a terrible crime?

ditYosil pulls the pendulum aside now, preparing to climb aboard and launch his final dittobody into the glazier, right between the mirrors. No more nervous yammering about philosophy and metaphysics -- I can sense the ba.s.so drumbeat of fear in his Standing Wave, so shuddering that it robs the poor gray's power of speech. A fear like realYosil must have felt on Monday, when he saw things getting out of hand, with no way to avoid paying the ultimate price of hubris.

A fear intensified by pressing events, as the last mechanical defenders fall before that army in the tunnel ...

... and instruments show ditYosil at last that something's gone wrong with his precious plan. The glazier readings aren't what he imagined they'd be at this point. He may finally suspect that I'm still here, not erased at all but riding the tsunami! Growing mightier by the second.

The pendulum is aimed to slice right through the glazier, at its very heart. Suddenly I realize -- this will hurt. this will hurt. In fact, it could be worse than anything I endured as an organic, or dittoing one copy at a time. In fact, it could be worse than anything I endured as an organic, or dittoing one copy at a time.

I can see how it's supposed to work ... how ditYosil's inner fire may spark the glazier's heightened energies, seeding his own imprint with each pa.s.s, like rolling a cylinder seal over and over again in soft clay. Despite everything that's gone wrong with his plan -- despite my lingering presence -- it just might work. He may succeed in taking over, wiping me out!

Or else, we may cancel each other, leaving behind a wild, self-feeding beam of spiritual essence that could burst out of here unguided, like an all-consuming storm. A psychlone ...

I didn't think that anything could still frighten me. I was wrong.

Right now all I want is to go back. Return to the sere beauty of the soulscape. Contemplate again those virgin territories, more vast than any unexplored continent, more promising than a galaxy, though as-yet barely colonized by a mere few billion minuscule algae flecks along the sh.o.r.e -- flecks who barely suspect their own latent destiny.

Especially one cl.u.s.ter of unsuspecting algae -- a few million -- who've been targeted for a special fate, to make the ultimate sacrifice. Like hand-servants accompanying a Babylonian monarch to his tomb, their supporting role is to die, offering their soul-energies, contributing potency to the glazier beam, propelling the Standing Wave to new levels.

Ancients would have called this "necromancy," drawing magical force from the mysterious power of death itself. However named, it will be a ghastly crime ...

... and I've almost reconciled myself to it. All those waning embers that I witnessed earlier -- dying human souls striving at their very last moments to fly free, then guttering out, falling to leave ashen impressions on the barren plain -- this will make their dashed hopes worthwhile, right?

After gazing across the Continent of Immortal Will, beckoned by its wealth of possibilities, how seriously should I worry about a few doomed algae on the sh.o.r.e?

Except -- Except that one of those tiny flickers has begun to annoy me, like a stone in my shoe. Like a pebble in my saddle. The soulscape doesn't count distance in meters, but affinity, and this spark was too close to notice, clinging to me like a shadow. Only now do I turn to examine the irritation and discover that ...

... it's me!

Or rather, it's the living, breathing Albert Morris -- source of the Standing Wave that I've amplified profoundly. I can sense him sneaking closer in physical s.p.a.ce, filled with all those old organic fears, drives, and sympathies. Nervous and yet dogged as ever, so near we might actually touch.

How could this happen? ditYosil claimed to have killed Morris with a stolen missile! Death of the body should release the anchor, liberating the soul. I saw news reports -- the burning house and garden -- yet he survived. ditYosil claimed to have killed Morris with a stolen missile! Death of the body should release the anchor, liberating the soul. I saw news reports -- the burning house and garden -- yet he survived.

This must be why my personality never succ.u.mbed to erasure! The wave kept reimprinting somehow, from the original source, till it grew self-sustaining.

That's great. I'm glad to be here. But now what? Will Albert's presence interfere? Will his biotic anchor pin the glazier to "reality" when the crucial moment comes to fly free?

Yosil's ghost has finished strapping himself in. With enemy soldier-dits breaking down the final door, he can't procrastinate anymore. Preparing to let the pendulum fly, he gathers nerve for a vocal command.

"Initiate final stage!" he shouts to a control computer. "Launch the rockets!"

So. Preparing for battle, I can feel rea.s.sured. Whatever is about to happen to the city isn't my fault. The ma.s.s murder of so many won't be my my doing. Their karma can't affect me. doing. Their karma can't affect me.