“Hot new dittotech. You mean remote dittoing?” It was the cover story they had told the gray.

“Please. That interested Maestra Wammaker, but it’s a minor matter, mentioned only to throw off the scent. I suspect you already know what we were looking for.”

“Golem-renewal,” Palloid suggested. “A way to make ’em last. Can I guess why? Your archie’s memory is full, or nearly so.”

“Full?” I asked.

“Too many inloads, Albert. Irene here has been duplicating so heavily, taking full memory dumps from every ditto she makes, that she’s reached a limit most people only speculate about.” He asked the red. “Tell me, how many centuries have you lived in subjective time? A thousand years?”

“Does it matter?”

“It might. To science,” I answered. “To help others learn from your mistakes.” But I could already see the futility of any altruistic appeal. This person, no matter how old, wasn’t going to be moved by anything but her own good. “So you heard rumors about the renewal process and figured that giving your dits a longer span would—”

“—let you put off the inevitable, right?” Palloid rushed on. “And Beta’s part in the alliance must’ve felt logical, too. He sells cheap knockoffs of expensive pleasuredits. Renewal would let him extend the life of his stolen templates. Maybe even switch from sales to lucrative rentals!”

“That’s how he explained it to us. Beta seemed a natural ally to help steal this technology. I … we still can’t figure out what he hoped to gain by destroying Universal Kilns.”

“Well, he didn’t succeed!” Palloid snapped. “Thanks to Albert outsmarting him at the end.”

I wanted to snort. It seemed dubious how far the gray “outsmarted” anybody! But I kept it in. “Whatever Beta’s reason, I’m sure he’ll try again.”

Irene nodded. “Probably. But that will soon be of no concern to us.”

Past her shoulder, I saw that preparations were nearing completion. Chilly vapors flowed around the dais and massive high-sensitivity sifters focused around realIrene’s gray-haired skull. Her breathing was labored, but her eyes lay open and focused. Soft sounds gurgled and I wondered if she might be trying to speak … that is, if she even retained the ability. For so long, she had used other eyes and ears, hands and mouths, to interact with the world.

Horus was back, having changed into a new robe — a blue one with circular mandala motifs. He fussed over the big array of sifter tendrils while red Irene dittos arrayed themselves nearby, like petals of a flower. All of them now wore standard electrode mesh caps.

“Yeesh,” Palloid commented. “They’re gonna inload back into her all at once! I’d get such a headache, doing that.”

“She must be used to it,” I answered, turning for confirmation to the red we had been talking to. But she was gone! Without comment or salutation she had left to rejoin the others. I hurried after, grabbing her arm. “Wait a sec. I’ve got more questions.”

“And I have an appointment to keep,” she answered tersely. “Be quick.”

“What about Gineen Wammaker? Was she involved in the plot? Or was that someone else disguised as her?”

The red grinned.

“Oh, isn’t our modern era wondrous? I could never tell for sure, Mr. Morris. Not without doing a structural soul analysis. It sure looked and acted like the maestra, didn’t it? But now I must go—”

“Come on, you owe me!” I demanded. “At least tell me how to find Beta.”

She laughed. “You have got to be kidding. Good-bye, Mr. Morris.”

The red turned to go, then swiveled when I reached for her arm again. She glared. Needles protruded suddenly from blood-colored fingertips, glistening liquidly … with something much stronger than knockout oil, I suspected. Beyond her, I glimpsed the ceremonial event approaching its climax. Horus was murmuring some mumbo jumbo — about how every soul must eventually upload into the true Original, the source of all souls, way up there in the universe.

I had an inspiration. “Look, you’re still seeking some kind of immortality, isn’t that right, Irene? The attempt to steal renewal-tech from UK was a bust and cops will be here soon. So you’re planning to try something else. Blast your Standing Wave outta here. Pow. Straight into the ether, with all the force of a micro-fusion plant! Apply the neuro-electric surge of organic brain-death to multiply the punch. And use up all your dittos at the same time, like solid rockets, to help the spirit get launched. Am I right?”

“Something like that,” she said, backing up warily, toward where a final mesh cap waited, dangling near the dais. “There are raw rhythms out there in space, Mr. Morris. Astronomers detect subspectral similarities to a Soul Standing Wave, only crude, unformed. Like fresh golem clay. The first minds to successfully impose their waveforms might—”

“Might amplify unimaginably, becoming God! Yeah, I heard of that notion,” Palloid marveled, leaping off my shoulder and scampering forward, shouting. “This I gotta see!”

I hurried on, talking quickly. “But listen, Irene, didn’t all the old religions promise afterlife as a reward for virtue? You think technology can replace it. Fine. But what if you’re wrong? Did you ever consider that the old-timers might be at least partly right? What if some kind of karma or sin or guilt clings to you, like drag on a wing—”

“You are trying to plant doubts,” she hissed.

“They’re already planted, in the ditto standing before me!” I said. “Maybe you shouldn’t add such thoughts to the purity of the hive. You could stay behind and help me. Make up for some of the harm you’ve done. Lift the burden a bit. Help the rest of the hive by remaining here and atoning—”

Something in what I said triggered a flare of violent emotion.

“No!”

She screamed a curse, swiping at me with her claws, then turning to speed toward the dais … only to brake hard when she saw a small, ferretlike form, standing upright amid the crowd of supine red forms. Between glittering teeth, Palloid clutched an electrode mesh cap. The last one. With its cable torn out.

The red ditto howled with such rending despair that I marveled at the implications.

I thought a “hive drone” would have low personal ego, like an ant. Or a worker bee. But Irene is exactly the opposite! Every part of her desperately wants continuity. A roaring, frantic ego was the source of Irene’s strength, and her downfall.

Horus looked upset by the disturbance. Some of the other reds were opening their eyes.

“Come on,” I urged the one still standing, who quivered as Palloid chewed the mesh cap to bits. Her dark eyes looked wild.

“Help me find Beta,” I implored. “It could tip the balance of karma—”

With a cry, she swiveled around — I had to leap back to avoid another swipe of glittering claws — then she spun farther and ran outside, darting over cables into the alley beyond. Soon we heard thumping noises.

“What the hell?” Horus shouted. “Hey, what are you doing? Get off my van!”

Chasing after her, the purple left his machinery running as a sharp whine began to rise, aimed at some impending crescendo. I drew closer, both to see what was happening outside and to have a look at realIrene … the organic woman who was lying there on the dais, eager to expire in just the right way, so that her Standing Wave might soar, heaven-bound.

How did the red ditto express it?

There are raw rhythms out there in space … similar to a Standing Wave … like fresh golem clay … The first minds to impose their waveforms -

Oh, man.

I stepped up to the dais. Outside, the desperate red ditto could be seen climbing on top of the van! Closely followed by Horus, whose robe flapped around bare legs in a rather undignified manner as he clutched after her. Meanwhile, intense energies flowed amid the nest of sparking tendrils that surrounded realIrene’s head.