“In this case, we think this might be a semi-aquatic species, like beavers or otters. How will that affect their attitudes?”
Bill shrugged without comment. I was really sure I was right, but we wouldn't know until we figured out how to get in.
I grinned at the traditional catcalls and jeers as Bill try to get control of the moot. I noted though, several pockets of Bobs that weren't participating in the ribaldry. This included a half dozen or so Bobs dressed up as Borg, as well as other groups are mostly still look like the original Bob. This reticence seemed uncharacteristic for Bobs, although I thought the Borg might be just trying to stay in character.
As I looked around, I realized that there was a certain amount of miscellaneous cosplay going. Nothing really out there - at least not yet, I admitted to myself. As replicative drift continued, I expected individuals would become bolder.
Bill seem to have sufficiently dampened the flames of rebellion, and he began to talk. Well, shout.
“Okay people, we have an update on the snarks. I think you'll find this all interesting. We’ll also be asking for help from anyone who cares to volunteer. There are some technical hurdles that could use some dog piling.” He waited for the anatomical suggestions from the audience to peter out, then turned and gestured to me.
I climbed the podium to more shouted suggestions, and grinned at the sea of faces. Those of you who were around for the others reveal will feel a bit of déjà vu, I think, but in this case we aren't at war, so that's a plus.” I waited for the razzing to subside. “So first, here's a native Snark.” I auto-piloted through the presentation of the megastructure residence while mentally reviewing the upcoming second part of my presentation. As usual, the Bobs were respectful and quiet when interesting information was being presented. Then came the second part.
I started with an overview of the topopolis, during which you could've heard a pin drop. I followed with close-up rotation scans, and ended with blueprints of the megastructure entrance mechanisms. As I finished, and my voice petered out, there was a moment of silence, an in-drawn collective breath, then… pandemonium.
Bill laughed out loud as he jumped up onto the podium. Nothing got Bobs excited like interesting new stuff. And nothing felt better than a bunch of excited enthusiastic Bobs. Even the Borg cosplayers were jumping up and down.
“So here's what we need,” I said, when the hubbub had died down. “We need a group to work on plans for getting into the megastructure without revealing ourselves. We need a group to work on android design for Snarks, based on the scans we have, to be improved on once we get close-up scans. We need a group to continue to scan the megastructure to see if there are variations in either engineering of the structure itself, or the placement, or technological level of the inhabitants, or any other variations you might find. It's a billion freaking miles of structure, so the more the merrier. And as an ongoing project, we’ll want people to help decipher the language and culture.”
And… more pandemonium.
I glanced surreptitiously at the group that Bill had identified as Starfleet. To a man, they were silent. With dour expressions on their faces.
“We’re in business,” Bill said. More volunteers than available positions. The Skippies have agreed to do language analysis, as you'd hoped. The hardware group that was working on giant robot spaceships has already dropped their project in favor of the android design. Interestingly, the Borg wanted in, too. I think there’s something about androids that tickles their fancy. And there’s a D&D obsessed group, calls themselves Gamers, that wants to work on the breaking in thing.”
“Why?” I asked, frowning.
“Don’t ask me. By about 20th gen or so, individual motivation stops being predictable, even when they're still mostly Bobs.”
“So, Starfleet didn't squawk.”
“I don't think they saw any point. Even if they could've gotten a word in edgewise, they wouldn’t have accomplished anything except getting themselves shouted down. But,” Bill hesitated, frowned, and gazed at me intently. “That doesn't mean they're just going to fold. Original Bob wouldn't have, so we have to keep our guard up.”
At that moment, Garfield popped into my library. “Hey Bill. Bob.” He signaled Jeeves for a coffee, grabbed Spike, and sat down with the cat in his lap. Spike, as usual, was purring before Garfield even started patting her. I couldn’t help smiling. Original Spike had been like that. The exact opposite of a standoffish snobby cat. I remembered all the times she would climb me as I sat at my computer, then drape herself across the back of my neck. I’d left that last habit out of the cat’s AI. It had literally been a bit of a pain in the neck.
Garfield was excited about something.
“What?” I said.
“Well, we've agreed we will have to be more careful than Jacques was about the drones. The Pav were truly 18th to 19th century equivalent. If they'd seen something, they would've just assumed it was just a bird. The Snarks may have technological age knowledge, even if they don't have the actual tech, for whatever reason.”
“Also,” Bill interjected, “even if the common folk don't have tech, whoever is still running the topopolis certainly will.”
“You think it's still being actively staffed?” I asked, frowning.
“Hard to see how it couldn't be. Imagine people walking out of the nuclear power plant for a couple of days.”
“Or any other similar operation,” Garfield said.
“I remember life after people, thanks.”
Bill shrugged, unwilling to be offended.
“Anyway, the topopolis is still apparently running like clockwork, so it's being maintained and managed. I guess they could've just handed it over to an AI…”
“I can’t see that happening. An intelligent species wouldn’t just hand over responsibility like that.”
Garfield retorted, “You're anthropomorphizing. You know original Bob's view on this. Aliens will still act rationally within the bounds of their environment and biology.”
“Which doesn't mean they'll act like humans, or make human-”
“Okay, kitties,” I interjected. “Let’s save this convo for when we know more. Garfield, do your D&D guys have a way in?”
“Well, a highly theoretical one. We want to see if we can attach a cloaked drone to a Boogen without it noticing. If so, we can piggyback in.”
“We could be waiting forever.”
“No, some of the surveillance guys found an entrance that's heavily used.”
“Only one? Across a billion miles of topopolis?”
“No, of course not,” Garfield frowned at me. “There are three on each strand, for a total of nine like this one. But the others appear to be much less busy, and more specialized. I think only the one is being kept at full operating capacity for system patrols.”
“That seems odd,” Bill said.
“Not really,” Garfield replied. “All the work’s been done. The system has been cleared. It's all routine patrols, now. I imagine the patrols are all scheduled, so they do shift changes or whatever, when the entrance revolves around to their side.”
Bill shrugged and didn't argue the point. “Is the traffic flow predictable?”
“Yes. It wasn't obvious at first. There are regular arrivals and departures that masked the scheduled stuff, but eventually we extracted the periodic events from the noise. We just wait for one of the scheduled shift changes, and we should be good.”
“And we’ll have contingency plans?”
Garfield smiled. “Standard practice. Ever since Hal and the others, a dead man switch has been de rigueur in the Bobiverse.”
“I don't want to be too destructive.”
“Thermite in all the right places,” Garfield replied. “Just enough to melt the drone, without continuing down like alien acid blood.”
“Well, I guess we’re set.” I set back and tented my fingertips. “Excellent.”
9. Group Building
Bob
August 23
33
Virt
I looked around at the crowd in my library, uncertain if I should expand my floor space for the occasion. This was enough people to make my VR hardware sweat a little.
“Okay everyone,” I said in a loud voice, “let's get started. Everyone knows me, Bill, Will, and Garfield. Guys, these are the people who volunteered their time, and/or their group’s time, to help out with the expedition planning. I figured we’d all ‘ought to get together and formalize things.”
I motioned to my left to a Bob with a floppy conical hat perched on his lap. “This is Gandalf, representing the Gamer group. They volunteered to come up with a plan for getting some drones into the megastructure, and later to get some androids in.”
“Preferably without setting off alarms,” Gandalf said with a grin.
“That would indeed be preferable. Are you still leaning toward the hitch-a-ride plan?”
Gandalf nodded. “Nothing better has presented itself.”
I gave him an amused snort in reply, then motioned to the next person, who was wearing a gray nondescript coverall. “This is Hugh, representing the Skip- uh, Singularity Project.” I paused, unsure if I just committed a social blunder.
“It's okay, Bob. We know we're referred to as Skippies. No one's offended.”
“Uh, okay. Hugh represents the Skippies, who are engaged in trying to build a super-AI.”
“Wait,” Garfield interrupted. “I thought the Skippies went to numeric designations instead of names.”
“To be more accurate, we've moved away from audio speech in favor of packetized communication,” Hugh said. “Think of it like converting to sign language as a primary communications medium. Our names are semantically equivalent to IP addresses.”
“Wow,” said Garfield.
“But for day-to-day with other Bobs, I go by Hugh.”
“So, you guys are against this expedition?” Bill asked. “I understood the Skippies disapproved of relations with biologicals.”
Hugh shook his head. “Not in the same way as Starfleet, if that's what you mean. Those guys are wacko. It isn’t an immoral thing with us, we just think that interfacing with bios is inherently limiting.”
“Well sure, we operate on different time scales. But what's the problem?”
Hugh grimaced. “Look, Bill, guys, we - all the Bobs, that is - are what's known as a speed super intelligence. We can, and do, operate at a much higher processing rate than humans. The problem is that we continue to accommodate them. Every time we slow down to interface with them, all the time we spend adapting to their history, timescale, schedules, is wasted time. It also sets psychological constraints on us. If we just let go completely, we could, as a species, experience centuries of internal life for every month of objective time.”
The rest of us exchanged glances. “It's not completely wrong,” I said, “but it assumes that we have a goal of some kind with sufficient motivation to mandate cutting off contact with humans. There really isn't any such schedule or deadline.
“No, there isn't. Like I said, we’re not wackos. But the inefficiencies… it's like taking the long way to and from work every day because you don't feel motivated to figure out the most direct route. You waste a lot of time that could have been put to better use.”
I shrugged. “Okay, I don't disagree. I just question your priorities.”
“Hold on,” Garfield cut in. “You said it wasn’t an immoral thing with you. Does that mean you think it is was Starfleet?
“Yeah. At least on the surface.” Hugh paused and returned Garfield's gaze. “Those guys aren’t Bobs anymore. Somewhere back in their ancestry, someone got a double dose of drift in something, or maybe there's some PTSD from the last common ancestor's personal timeline, maybe from the Others war. Whatever the reason, they’ve become obsessive about it. It's not an intellectual stance, it's almost VEHEMENT-like.”
“Well that’s not worrying or anything.”
Hugh grinned at me. “It was inevitable though sooner or later, and it isn't relevant to this project anyway.”
“So why are you helping?”
Now it was Hugh’s turn to shrug. “Honestly, I just think the topopolis is interesting. And we’ve just brought some new neural net designs online which we need to stress test. The information processing requirements on your project will make good test cases, so win-win.”
“Fair enough.” I cocked my head at Hugh, inviting him to continue or volunteer more commentary. However, he seemed to be done.
I gestured to the next person and grimaced. “This is… Locutus.”
“Seriously?” Garfield said in an incredulous tone.
“Hey, I’d have preferred ‘Hugh’, but it appears to be taken,” said Locutus.
I eyed him. His getup was generally Borg-like, but there was a lot more armor than what I remembered from the TNG episodes. I pointed and said, “Are you sure you’ve got the theme right?”
Locutus flexed, moving the shoulder pads. “Steampunk influence. We’re kind of evolving, you know.”
Garfield rolled his eyes. “Oh geeze.”
“And anyway,” I said to the group, “Locutus and company are part of the design team for the Boogen androids. They're going to be working on the low-level stuff first: autonomous systems, muscle placement and control, and so forth. Which also means they'll need some in-close SUDDAR scans of the natives with a lot more detail than we have so far.”
“Action shots would be good too,” Locutus said. “We want to get the proper walking, running, and swimming mechanics. Imagine putting together a beaver mock-up that bounces around like an otter. Probably wouldn't fool anyone.”
My chuckle was echoed around the table. “We can probably get video clips from the spy drones for that side of things, which is good because we've already got a lot of demands on our SUDDAR scanning schedule. Hugh, how are things going with the vibrating windows idea?”
“Not great. There aren't that many locations where conditions are clean enough for us to be able to pick up usable sounds. The snarks appear to be garrulous in large groups, but much less so in smaller groups. It's like they egg each other on. Unfortunately, large groups make it too hard to isolate anything. Plus, it turns out glass isn't as common as we might've expected.”
“Controlled environment,” Bill said. “They aren’t really outdoors, as such. Plus, having a coat of fur would make them less concerned about temperature swings.”
Hugh considered for a moment. “Speculative, but not unreasonable. I took a close look at some scans as well. It looks like they use oiled paper for window coverings. Way easier to make, but totally unsuitable for what we were attempting. All of which means we'll have to depend on spy drones more than expected.”
Locutus held up a hand. “Hey, listen. What would help us a lot is some input from a biologist, especially one with anatomical expertise. I wasn't sure if I should bring it up, but Bridget, uh, it would be handy. I know she's a little skittish around large groups of Bobs, but…”
I sighed. “I’ll talk to her, Locutus. Anything else?”
Will waved his hand. “I have a line on a guy who was an expert on mega structures. I’ll set up an appointment to talk with him.”
“Was?”
“Well, he's dead.”
“I…” I gave Will the side-eye. “Wait. He's a replicant?”
“Yep. Retired to the Vulcan post-life archology in the Omicron2 Eridani system. Apparently, he turned right around and started lecturing at the university again via Manny. So, I have to fit myself into his schedule.”
“Whatever works.” I looked around the room. “Anything else that needs to be covered?”
There were several shakes of heads, but no responses. “Great. I'll call another general meeting if necessary, but for the most part you can all follow your own schedules. Thanks all.”
Within a few milliseconds everyone and popped out, leaving only Bill. With the load off the VR system, I reactivated Jeeves and accepted a coffee. �
�So, what’s up?”
“Bridget.” Bill hesitated. “Locutus was right to ask about her for consulting, but I want to take it one step further. I'd like to see her on the expedition itself.”
I frowned. “She's got children, Bill. And Howard. I don't know how that would work. She’d have to be away from them for large periods of time.”
“Granted, but they might be able to work something out. Or she might clone.”
“Doubtful.”
“Yeah, I guess. But let's not write off the idea without trying, okay? At least bring it up?”
I nodded. “Will do.”
10. Things are Coming Together
Herschel
September 2333
Interstellar Space
I sat back in my chair, laced my fingers together, and grinned at Neil. “I do love it when a plan comes together.”
“’Plan’ my hairy white butt. We floated an idea.”
“And got bites. It would seem a lot of people on Romulus do not like the political climate.”
“Hardly surprising, Hersch.”
“FAITH never completely went away even if they suffered some, er, PR setbacks.”
“They’re still trying to take over, still trying to drive policy.”
“And still messing things up.”
“Mm-hmm. So, what's the count?”
“Well, someone started a society.” I paused to re-read the email. “Ever Onward, they call it, very high sounding. They have something like 15,000 members.”
“All willing to climb aboard and start a new colony somewhere far away?”
“That's the theory. I'm sure a lot of them are just playing at it, or joining up as a form of protest vote.”
“Are you sure you want to go this way, Hersh?” Neil was frowning, and his tone was more serious than usual.
I decided I should pay attention. “Come on, Neil. We’ve had lots of conversations about the way things have stalled. You’ve agreed with me.”
“Wait, I’ve agreed with you? When did you become the mastermind?”
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