The first things they needed was shoes and clothes; fitting eight billion homogeneous Bobs into a world designed for variety in age, taste and gender was a monumental task. For the first few weeks, Bob wore whatever he could find that was comfortable. Things like dresses and skirts that Bob would have otherwise been embarrassed to wear were common. (There wasn’t much embarrassment about anything anymore.)
As clothes and fabric were recycled, ugly multi-coloured or cheaply re-dyed boiler suits became the norm. Even when shortages ended, the relaxed style remained. The overalls and skirts, comfortable and practical, never quite went away.
Politics were transformed as well. In the first few weeks, the Politician-Bobs had all suggested elections, for the sake of fairness if nothing else. The other Bobs didn’t see the point. “Who could represent me better than me?”
In the months and years that followed, Prime-Minister-Bob would often opine he had grown out of touch with the experience of everyday Bobs, but no one else wanted the job so Prime-Minister-Bob faithfully remained and did his best as the world wound down.
***
Bob didn’t care much for the report in front of him. The quality of the writing implied the Bob who’d written it hadn’t cared much either. Around him were the Bobs who were now his best advisors.
“Can you summarise it for me? What’s the bottom line? It’s all bad news?” Bob had always been a glass half empty sort of guy.
“Not all Mr. Prime Minister…”
“Please call me Bob.”
“Of course.” The other Bob, a science advisor, took as little care with his appearance as he had with his report. He wore a loud shirt under a crumpled jacket. Behind him sat a small collection of useful Bobs, who’d inherited relevant knowledge and experiences.
The advisor talked quickly as if he had too many words to get out of his mouth before his turn was up. “Violent crime is at zero, crime in general is almost gone, and what’s left are mostly mistakes and misunderstandings. Tax avoidance is way down, charitable giving is way up...”
“But there’s no going back?”
“We don’t know how this happened or why, so we can’t reverse it, no. We looked at ways of bringing other people back. Cloning maybe? It’s a process referred to as ‘de-extinction’ but it turns out that’s not an option either.”
“No women to carry the babies?”
“That is a problem, but we actually think we could work around it, if not with special incubators then with surrogates. Maybe chimps or gorillas?” He ignored the look on the Prime Minister’s face. “No, the main problem is when we became Bob, our DNA became Bob’s DNA. But it turns out so did all the other Human DNA: hair samples, discarded skin cells, unprocessed evidence kits, embryos prepared for IVF, dead bodies in morgues and cemeteries, even mummified remains in museums, they’re all me, ah, I mean they’re all Bob. In theory we could keep a long chain of Bob clones going indefinitely but...”
He trailed off, he didn’t want to be the one to say it, so the Prime Minister did.
“…But no one want’s that.”
The silence was heavy.
Finally Science-Bob spoke up. “There’s something else. It’s mostly anecdotal, though.”
“Go on. Please.”
“We’re seeing a lot of emotional detachment in the population. It might just be a normal response to trauma, or it could be another protection similar to the way we’ve retained the memories of the lives we took over. The worry is, we’ve always been pessimistic, and even the luckiest of us have been through something extraordinary. I’m, I mean, we’re worried that this might be a sign that some of us aren’t coping well.”
“I’ve felt it myself, like inertia. It’s hard to feel excitement about anything, but also hard to feel sad. We have a whole world struggling to find a reason to get out of bed.”
“Can I make a suggestion?”
“Please.”
“You’ve seen that story about the Bob they call ‘Hug’?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s doing great work at a local level, reorganising his community to help out the Bobs who were left in difficulty by the transformation. I think we should apply that sort of thinking at every level, national, even global.”
“I’m not sure, I mean, I don’t want to do anything drastic then not be able to wind it back”
He noted the other Bobs in the room exchange glances. “Sir…”
“Bob.”
“Sir,” the advisor insisted “with all due respect, you’re in an unprecedented position. Lots of people have had this kind of power but they never had the same insight to their citizens’ needs or a real desire to help. I’ve spent a lot of time with these numbers. We’re probably going to be the last generation, so if we want to achieve anything before we’re gone, even if we just want to reduce suffering, then we need leadership. For better or worse, that’s you.”
The PM looked around the faces of the meeting. His face. Some of him looked annoyed, some worried, some exhausted, some terrified. He felt how lucky he had been to land where he was compared to some of his doubles. Since the transformation, changes had crept in but fundamentally, they were still the same person.
With a slight quiver to his voice he began. “I understand. I saw this Hug, on TV. He was saying we should be kind to ourselves, to each other, and I agree.” He picked up steam as he spoke. His voice growing stronger. “I’ll arrange a special session of Parliament and let everyone, the public included, know what you’ve told me. We need to ensure every Bob has a comfortable life, and if that means some of us need to make sacrifices, then so be it. It was all a lottery and I can’t imagine I would object to helping out, especially not after hearing what some of me, some of us, are going through. I’ll also contact my counterparts overseas, I’m sure they’re reaching the same conclusions about now.”
***
Tastes changed dramatically.
Not only was the market for things Bob disliked effectively killed off, but once the bad news began to circulate, Bobs worldwide desired their food comforting and their entertainment distracting. Consumption of junk food soared. TV and movies became almost exclusively action films and comedies. Nothing new was being made, but there were enough things Bob had never got around to seeing to keep audiences happy. Books were similarly affected, except that tell-all confessionals in which Bobs revealed the secrets and experiences of their former lives regularly topped the best-sellers list.
Despite their emotional state, or perhaps because of it, the Bobs went about their new lives and responsibilities dutifully. They went where they were needed, helped as they were required, everyone shared, everyone took responsibility, no one alone and yet everyone the last man on earth.
Bob was lonely.
***
Bob rubbed the pinprick on his neck and waited for the Doctor to tidy up. The chip was smaller than a grain of rice, but it was a comforting presence.
“Sore?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“That’ll pass soon. Do you mind me asking? Why’d you guys volunteer for this?”
Bob thought about those poor dogs, that girl at the high school, that woman at the bus stop. Fear swelled inside him. He answered in a small voice. “We all know who we were before. Not just Bob Prime, but who we were before we changed into a copy of him. That’s why you get to keep being a doctor. Well I was…” He didn’t want to say it aloud. “I did some bad things.”
The doctor frowned. “It’s strange. You’re the first Bob I’ve met who doesn’t think of himself as Bob Prime. The rest of us feel like we just woke up in the wrong place with some added memories to help out.”
“The things I remember, even with the emotional detachment, I don’t know that you can have them in your head and still be Bob.”
“OK. I understand that I suppose. But why this?” He gestured to the needle before throwing it in a yellow plastic bin.
“I don’t have the feelings or the desires, but I remember what it
was like to have them. I know what it would feel like to do that stuff. It’s scary to see who we could be if Bob’s life had gone another way.”
“That man’s gone. He isn’t who we are now.”
“Not today. But no one knows what happened. I’m scared I’ll turn back and do those things again. Or worse, I won’t turn back and do those things again. They can’t keep us in here forever but this way, if they ever need to track me down, that chip will help.”
“In theory.”
“Well, it’s better than nothing, hopefully I won’t ever hurt anyone else again.”
“When do you get out of here?”
“Tomorrow. I got a job with a Bob they call ‘Hug’. He runs a sort of charity to find work for people who aren’t a good fit for the world, either this one or the one before.”
Doctor-Bob put his hand out to shake. “Good luck, Bob. And you are Bob, no matter how you feel.”
Bob smiled and grasped his hand. “Thanks. I Hope so.”
***
Population steadily shrank and by the time the Bobs were 44 almost a billion had died. The leading causes of death were now untethered from old age—instead disasters, accidents and infectious diseases claimed the most lives.
With the gene pool the smallest it had ever been, disease was more of a problem than ever. The Bobs who’d inherited the poorest parts of the world, those with less than ideal infrastructure, were decimated by an influenza pandemic before quarantines could be established and a vaccine deployed.
Globally, every Bob sacrificed as much as they could to help.
***
Prime-Minister-Bob sat at the far end of the table chewing on his pen and waiting for the others to shuffle back from lunch. Each Bob wore a little flag sticker on their lapel with their country’s name printed in large clear letters. Bob was never good with names or geography.
“Thanks guys, please sit. So, as we heard before lunch, globally we’re now down to only 3 billion Bobs and that number is only going to continue shrinking.”
“There’s already too few of us to keep things running,” one of the Pacific-Bobs interjected.
“Right, so here’s the plan we’ve concocted: we choose, say, a hundred and fifty cities world-wide, places where the weather is mild and crops can grow, and we’ll move every Bob to them. We’ll consolidate our populations, and we begin to plan our...retirement.”
Nervously, the Bobs all exchanged glances but none spoke.
Prime-Minister-Bob broke the silence “No one has any comments?”
Eventually one of the Scandinavian-Bobs replied. “It makes sense. It’s not cheerful but it makes sense.”
Prime-Minister-Bob let out a long sigh. “Honestly? I was actually hoping someone had another idea. Can we have a vote at least? All in agreement raise your hand.”
The vote was unanimous.
***
By the time the Bobs were 60, another four billion had died and most of the survivors had moved to retirement cities. The rest were safety-proofing a world to survive without human custodians.
Power plants had to be safely shut down. Toxic chemicals were disposed of as safely as the Bobs could manage. Dams and some larger buildings were dismantled. A lot of forests were planted.
Every zoo released its wards to their native habitats as best they could, animal crates circled the globe. Many of the beasts had never been free, but settled quickly into their now-empty ancestral homes. Some species were so endangered, only constant human intervention could stave off extinction; for those the Bobs could only make them comfortable.
Some animals, especially domesticated animals, simply had nowhere to go. There were too many lions in zoos for Africa to take all of them safely. Too many elephants for India. Too many kangaroos for Australia. Soon elephants and camels mingled with bison on the American plains.
In some parts of the world, feral dogs and cats could wipe out other species if they were just set loose. The emptying world was already overrun by rats, mice and cockroaches. The creatures that couldn’t, or couldn’t be allowed, to run free were culled. The exterminator-Bobs were busier than ever, a lot quit. Vegan food came back into fashion.
A few Bobs came up with the idea of a time capsule. It became a hugely popular endeavour for the remnants who busied themselves cramming as much human knowledge as they could into a container the size of a bus.
Choosing what to include was an emotional task. Ultimately, the capsule contained instructions for translation, a primer for 10 human languages and a warts-and-all history of the human species, its transformation into Bob and its retirement from the Earth. Any space that was left was filled with as much art and scientific knowledge they could cram in, either as a progress report or a leg up for whoever found it. Finally a Bob, recently deceased and preserved as best they could, was placed inside. It was both tomb and message in a bottle.
One hundred capsules were built. Ninety-nine were launched into space on robotic probes: to the Moon, Mars, other planets, other moons and in orbit around them. Half were sent out of the solar system on a slow crawl through infinity. Anywhere it was thought some future thing might have the thinnest of chances to find them.
The last was put inside a bunker in the dry valleys of Antarctica. The Bobs held a ceremony but in the end, even though it was televised, almost none of them watched.
***
Bob sat watching the fire, lazily waving away the mosquitoes. His fish was cooking nicely, the low sun at his back, the air and sand were warm, waves lapped gently on the beach, he felt at peace.
He rubbed the scar on his neck, feeling the little implant under the skin. He’d once been worried about his previous life, but he’d lived far longer as another man.
Once Bob had heard a single voice calling out from across the globe. His own voice on phones and TV screens. But then satellites started switching off, and the world began to grow out of reach. They switched to radio but then, bit by bit, they failed too. It was unclear if it was the machines or the Bobs that had given up.
The last time he’d spoken to another Bob was two weeks ago. His own voice, thin and distant, an echo on the radio. The other Bob wasn’t too far away, maybe a few hours’ drive? That Bob had been a soldier, then a refugee, and finally another occupant of Hug’s dormitories. They reminisced about the uncomfortable pillows and the excellent food. Eventually the other Bob had had to go. He had sounded so tired. Bob hadn’t seen another living Bob for over a month.
Bob had been a horrible man before the transformation and a perfectly ordinary man afterwards. Now he was probably the only man there was.
Bob Prime had never thought highly of himself, quite the opposite, but in a strange way this Bob admired him. He’d never been intentionally rude. His desires had been mild as had his passions. He’d cared about others even if he was too shy to tell them. He’d given generously when he was able. He’d suffered a fair share of hardship and dealt with it as best he could.
It was the nature of Bob to have doubts, however. He may have been good and decent, but he’d never been ambitious. All they’d managed with command over the Earth was stewardship until retirement. Science, art, culture all stagnated. Even their transformation, an impossibility of physics and the greatest mystery of human history, had seemed too hard to pursue.
Bob would never know why he was chosen, but he felt confident it had been a good choice. For a few decades, all humanity had been united. No wars or racism or violence. Conflicts all settled reasonably. No one had taken too much or had too little. Everyone’s sphere of concern encompassed everyone else. Even when he had retired, he’d done so gracefully, making sure to tidy up before he left. Thinking over it all, Bob allowed himself a sense of pride.
The fish was burning. Bob took it off the fire and laid it on a metal camping plate. He felt empty more than hungry. Maybe he’d feel like eating later. He lay down on his side, rolled his back to the fire, and closed his eyes against the last of the sun.
***
The Yes/No Machine
Stuart Hardy
REPORTER: It was approximately six months ago that the Republic of Libentia took the decision to replace its entire democratic process with a small plastic box that just says the words “yes” or “no” in response to any and all questions posed to it.
You join me now with senior civil servant Dominic Spokes.
So, Dominic: why exactly did the people decide to abandon their perfectly functional democracy in favour of adopting such a bizarre system?
CIVIL SERVANT: Well it’s really very simple: you see, people had begun to feel that politics had become too complicated. Politicians would deliver long and boring speeches about trade, social care, international security and the like, but analysis showed that a staggering ninety-seven percent of people didn’t understand a single thing they said. Two years ago, they elected President Greg Kinder, now the last President in our nation’s history, who held the referendum on adopting his novel idea of completely binary and automated politics.
REPORTER: Right, so you just ask the machine a question, any question?
CIVIL SERVANT: Yes. It’s passed legislation on everything from recycling collections to abortion rights. You simply ask it a question, and it just says yes or no. It’s designed to be as simple as possible. You speak into this microphone here, and it will answer. Observe: MACHINE!
(There is a brief pause)
MACHINE: MACHINE IS LISTENING
(Civil servant picks up a card and reads)
CIVIL SERVANT: Machine, should we legalise the use of
marijuana for medicinal purposes?
(There is a brief pause.)
MACHINE: YES
CIVIL SERVANT: There! See! That was very simple.
REPORTER: I see, I see. Does the machine explain how and why it comes to its conclusions?
CIVIL SERVANT: Well we did ask it if it would show us its working once, and it—
Alternative Apocalypse Page 4