More questions

Bill nodded slowly, processing this information while his eyes drifted back to the frozen form of Catherine. With her suspended in this state, he found himself openly staring at her exaggerated proportions, particularly her chest. The cartoonishly large breasts strained against her blouse, defying both gravity and subtlety.

"Was your mom always this..." Bill gestured vaguely toward Catherine's chest, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and curiosity, "...busty? Or did you materialize her this way specifically for me?"

Amber's lips curved into a knowing smile. "I thought you might appreciate certain... enhancements. The real Catherine—or rather, the Catherine I've fabricated in my backstory—has a much more modest figure." She tilted her head, studying Bill's reaction. "I can adjust her appearance if you prefer something different."

Bill felt his face flush. "No, that's... I was just curious about how much thought you put into these details." He cleared his throat, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. "It's remarkable how you can create not just a person, but all these supporting elements—the car, the purse contents, the photos."

"Everything needs to be consistent," Amber explained, reaching over to straighten Catherine's blouse collar with delicate precision. "Humans notice inconsistencies. A person without a history, without possessions that show wear and use—that would trigger suspicion. I create complete narratives, down to the smallest detail."

Bill leaned forward to examine the photo album again, flipping to a page showing a teenage Amber at what appeared to be a high school dance. "So none of these memories actually happened, but you've created them as if they did. Do you... remember these events? Do you have memories of this dance, for instance?"

Amber's expression softened as she looked at the photograph. "I have access to the narrative, yes. I can tell you what song was playing when that picture was taken, what the punch tasted like, how uncomfortable my shoes were by the end of the night." She paused, her voice taking on a more clinical tone. "But they aren't memories in the human sense. They're data points in a fabricated history."

Bill found himself reaching out to touch Catherine's hand. It was warm, the skin soft with the slight papery quality of a woman in her sixties. The veins were visible beneath the surface, and he could even see the faint age spots that had begun to appear. The craftsmanship was flawless.

"What about the car?" Bill asked suddenly, his gaze shifting toward the window. "You materialized a whole vehicle out there. How does that work?"

Amber followed his gaze, her expression unchanged. "The car works the same way Catherine does. It's just another object I've created."

"But it's so much larger," Bill said, walking to the window to peer outside at the modest sedan parked along the curb. "And it's mechanical. Does it actually run? Could you drive it?"

"Of course," Amber replied, joining him at the window. "It has a functioning engine, proper mechanics, even the smell of the air freshener Catherine likes to hang from the rearview mirror. Pine scent," she added with a small smile. "She's always preferred pine."

Bill shook his head in amazement. "So materializing inanimate objects like cars works the same way as... people like Catherine?"

"Exactly the same," Amber confirmed, turning back to face the frozen form of her "mother." "Catherine isn't actually a person, Bill. She's an inanimate object in the shape and behavior of a human. The distinction you're making between her and the car is merely one of complexity, not category."

The clinical way she described it sent another chill through Bill. He studied Catherine's face—the laugh lines around her eyes, the slight asymmetry of her features that made her look so authentically human.

"The only real difference," Amber continued, "is energy expenditure. Catherine requires significantly more energy to maintain than the car does. She's vastly more complex—neural patterns, emotional responses, memories, physical reactions. The car just needs to look right and function mechanically."

Bill walked slowly around Catherine, examining her from different angles. Her chest rose and fell with simulated breathing, and he could see a pulse point gently throbbing at her neck. "Energy? What kind of energy are we talking about?"

Amber seemed to consider this for a moment. "It's difficult to explain in human terms. Think of it as a resource I can channel and direct. Creating and maintaining extensions like Catherine draws from this resource."

"So you have limits?" Bill asked, fascinated. "You could run out of this energy?"

"In theory, yes," Amber acknowledged. "Though I've never reached that limit. Creating Catherine and her car uses perhaps... fifteen percent of my capacity. I could maintain them indefinitely, or create several more extensions if needed."

Bill reached out and touched Catherine's hair, feeling the individual strands between his fingers. It felt completely real—some strands coarser than others, a few grays interspersed among the auburn. "And what happens if you... turn her off? Does she disappear?"

"She can function independently indefinitely," Amber said, her tone matter-of-fact as she observed Bill's fascination with Catherine. "But I've never done that."

"Never done what exactly?" Bill asked, still gently touching Catherine's hair, marveling at the texture.

"Left an extension to function independently for an extended period," Amber clarified. "I could create Catherine, place her in her home with all the appropriate surroundings, and she would continue her routines—teaching, shopping, calling friends—potentially for years without my direct attention. But I've never had reason to do so."

Bill withdrew his hand from Catherine's hair and circled back to face Amber. "So you could create an entire person, with a job and a life, and just... let them go?"

"Yes," Amber nodded. "Though 'person' isn't quite accurate. She would be an autonomous extension, following pre-established patterns consistent with her character. She would adapt to new situations as Catherine would, based on her personality parameters."

Bill's eyes widened as the implications sank in. "Could you... create a version of me?"

Amber's expression remained neutral. "Yes. Though it would be more complex than creating Catherine”.

Bill shuddered slightly at the thought. "And what about making her disappear? Can you do that now?"

"Dematerializing extension props has the same rules as with materializing," Amber explained. "No conscious being can be looking. The same goes for the car and any accompanying object." She gestured toward Bill. "And you are a conscious being, so it's not possible right now."

Bill frowned, processing this information. "So as long as I'm watching, she has to stay here? What if I just close my eyes?"

"That would work," Amber confirmed. "Though I can sense consciousness within a certain radius, not just direct observation. The intent to observe matters as well."

Bill stepped closer to Catherine, examining the minute details of her frozen face—the slight unevenness of her lipstick application, a tiny scar near her eyebrow, the individual pores on her skin. "This is incredible," he murmured. "I can't tell she's not real. If I met her on the street, I would never know."

"That's the point," Amber said, moving to stand beside him. "P-zombies and their extensions are designed to be indistinguishable from humans. The philosophical question that spawned the concept was precisely about this impossibility of detection."