Heaven's River

by Dennis E. Taylor

  I grunted, but otherwise didn't respond. It wasn't me climbing the stairs after all.

  This part of the operation turned out to be fairly tedious, like trekking through a dungeon that was all corridor. Of course, something could always jump out of a hidden alcove, which made for a strange combination of stress and boredom. We passed doors to several other levels on the way up, but finally all the drones were at the top of the stairs. As Gandalf described it, the door opened into the foyer of the transit station on the inside surface of the megastructure. In better times, this was where the inhabitants would have come to travel to the outer shell, and then outside the topopolis. There was some indication in the scans that this was also a transit stop for some kind of internal transit system. Unfortunately, there were only so many milliseconds in a day, and that investigation had been back-burnered.

  “So, here's where it gets complicated,” Gandalf said.

  “And what we been doing up ‘till now?” I asked.

  “Two problems.” Gandalf brought up some subsidiary windows to illustrate. “First, the foyer has cameras. Second, there are sensors on the external doors. Third, if management wanted to keep the natives out of the station, this is where the security would be concentrated, both inside and outside. So, we can't use the front door.”

  “I assume you have an alternative?”

  He grinned at me. “Big bucks, remember? We’re going to tunnel out.”

  “Tunnel? Like the Great Escape?”

  “Well, it's not like we haven't been cutting into things right and left, and the Snarks use that weird ceramic carbon fiber material everywhere that we’d use concrete on Earth. Which works out for us, since it yields to a plasma cutter with very little argument.”

  “So after all this high-tech spy stuff, we're going to dig our way out like rats.”

  “You gotta know when to go low-tech, Bob.” Garfield pulled up a schematic of the station and pointed to a spot. “Here. This will come out just under ground level, so we can cover it up once we’re through.”

  “Outside surveillance?”

  “That's not a problem. There are cameras covering the entrance, but not so much the back and sides.”

  “Then let's do this.”

  Cutting through the wall then digging up to ground level was tedious but mostly uneventful. We surprised a representative of the local wildlife when the roamer popped out of the ground. The animal - some kind of deer analog I think - jumped straight back about 10 feet, then bounded away with a panicked bleating.

  “Time to start spying,” Gandalf said.

  He sent a command to the drones and several of them popped open their cargo doors. Out came little spy drones: a combination of tech from my spying on the Deltans and Jacques spying on the Pav. Improvements in technology, including but not limited to the Casimir power sources, meant that the modern version of the spy drone was no bigger than a sparrow. Add in the camouflage system, and we were confident we'd avoid discovery by the natives. These drones would, among other tasks, try to supplement the Skippies’ scans with some good old-fashioned eavesdropping.

  Discovery by the mysterious to populace controller was another thing to consider. Is was safe bet that the habitat included surveillance of some kind, if only to watch for maintenance issues. Add to that the fact that the natives were actively kept to a largely pre-industrial level, which could necessitate some kind of surveillance system anyway. How the technology limits would be enforced was an important question. We didn’t accidentally want to get caught in a purge of some kind.

  “Spy drones are on their way,” Garfield commented. “Now we wait.”

  12. Expedition Prep

  Bob

  November 2333

  Outskirts, Eta Leporos

  The spy drones had multiple duties, so they'd be busy for a while. In addition to finding a way to eavesdrop on the Snarks and learn their language, the drones would be doing biological surveys, and surveys of the towns and infrastructure. The drones had been given a search algorithm by the Skippies, which according to them would help to gather the required raw data in a more efficient manner. I didn't necessarily distrust them, but I'd nevertheless rigged a hardware monitor into the drones. It would be completely undetectable unless you knew the access protocols and keys. Bill’s paranoia seemed to have colored my experiences with the Bobiverse in general.

  There was plenty to do, meanwhile. We had enough basic info to start on fabricating an alpha version of the Snark Mannies. Details could be filled in once the Skippies finished their biological survey. And there was still the question of getting Bridget involved, at least for consulting on the Snark biology.

  I was working on the Manny design when I ping from Bridget. She and I didn't hang around together, so this was unlikely to be just out of the blue. I suspected someone might have said something to someone. I sent an accept, and a moment later she popped in.

  Bridget spent a few mils looking around my library. “I very much approve. Howard had a library motif for a while, but never this many books. Are they real?”

  “All of them, right down to content,” I said. “I've raided every human database I can find. BobNet contains the sum of human and Pav written knowledge.”

  “It's great to have a hobby.” Bridget hesitated, then launched right into what she was really here for. “Bob I'd like a position on the Snark exploration op, when it's ready.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean, I'm a biologist, and I've lots of experi- wait, what?”

  I grinned at her. “Honestly, I was trying to figure out how to bring it up. I was planning to take the coward's way out and talk to Howard.”

  “I am simultaneously offended and gratified,” she replied. “Still, results are what counts. I see you're working on Mannies. How much work to do a female version?”

  “Ah. Snark sexual dimorphism is minimal. Females have a slightly larger head, but it's probably mostly by pheromones, so not much.”

  “Good. Bill tells me you have the Skippies doing the survey. You trust them?”

  I raised an eyebrow that comment. My earlier conversation with Bill about the subject was an intra-Bob kind of thing. To have a third party concerned about the Bob variance put a whole new level of significance on the problem.

  “Why in particular do you ask, Bridget?”

  “Oh, they haven't started chanting ‘one of us, one of us’ or something equally nefarious. It's just that they really aren't Bobs anymore. It would be less unsettling if they changed their appearance like the Borg cosplayers, but they still look like Howard. Or a pod person version of him.”

  “You’ve watched Invasion of the Body Snatchers?”

  “Bob, I’m married to Howard. What do you suppose we watch on movie nights? Wuthering Heights?”

  I laughed and she smiled in return, and I was reminded once again what Howard saw in her. Among many other things. I shook off the moment with some effort and changed the subject.

  “The Skippies originally figured a couple of weeks at most to get a complete picture of the local Snark culture, which we are almost at the end of. We all acknowledge that there may be regional differences with over a billion miles of potential spread, but we’ll deal with that, if and when.”

  “Accents, or even different languages, cultural drift, nationalism… I get it. Depends how long they've been cooped up in there too.”

  “Not long, I -”

  Bill popped in at that moment. “Bridget, hey! Has Bob managed to convince you to come on the expedition?

  Bridget gave me a smile and eye roll, then replied to Bill. “Yes, he has. Took a lot of work.”

  “Horse pucky.”

  Bridget laughed, then turned back to me. “You were saying?”

  “Oh. Based on our survey of the Snarks home planet, residual radioactivity, and number of forest fire tracks, we figure it became unlivable somewhere around a few hundred years ago. I'm not sure what that means in Snark generations.”

  Bridget nod
ded and glanced at Bill.

  It occurred to me the Bill was here for something, so I tilted my head at him in a silent invitation to speak.

  “Right,” Bill said. “I came in for something. The Skippies delivered a preliminary report. Mostly ecosystems and general survey. They’re still having a slow go of it on the language and cultural stuff, although they did give me a couple of things. The natives call themselves ‘Quinlans’. At least, that's the closest phonetic rendition. And the topopolis is called Heaven’s River.”

  “Cool. Okay then, the Snarks are now officially Quinlans.”

  “Have they compiled a detailed report on biology?” Bridget asked.

  “Hugh gave me some general notes and said he'll have a formal report for us within 48 hours.

  “Hugh?” Bridget asked. “I thought the Skippies all use numeric designations.”

  “I guess there's still some Bob there, because they are pretty easy-going about it. They'll use nicknames when dealing with the rest of us.”

  I turned to Bill. “Have you talked to Will yet?”

  “Yep, he's okay with a plan. So: me, you, Garfield, and Bridget, with Will as backup.”

  “Good. I'll ping everyone when I get the final report, and will meet here and discuss it.”

  Will was the last to show up. Bridget raised her coffee cup in salute as he popped in. That was a habit she'd picked up for me - well, from Howard. I had it on good authority though that her coffee was espresso level plus, and would dissolve any spoon unlucky enough to be dunked therein.

  Will parked himself in a beanbag chair that I've materialized for him, accepted a Coke from Jeeves, and motioned to me with one hand.

  “So, here it is,” I said waving a sheaf of paper. The report wasn't actually on paper, but it made a good metaphor in virt. “Megastructure layout, ecology, Quinlan culture, language - both written and verbal, customs and taboos… and very little history.”

  “What? Why?”

  Hugh reluctantly admitted the Skippy group that worked on this wasn't sure. He looked like the admission gave them constipation, but the Quinlans just don't seem to talk about it much, and what they do talk about seems to be heavily mythologized. The library they checked out had nothing in the way of objective historical records, so we were still in the dark about that. One more good reason for the expedition.

  Bridget looked up from her copy of the report, which she was perusing on a tablet metaphor. “The Quinlans appear to be a species that evolved on the banks of rivers, like river otters or beavers.”

  “Both of which they resemble,” I interjected.

  “Yes, with a little bit of platypus thrown in,” Bridget said with a smile. “But all their habitations are close to water: either the main rivers, tributaries, feeder rivers, or small lakes. All freshwater, too. I’m not sure how the megastructure maintains that. There must be filtering going on.”

  “There are impellers of some kind, set periodically along the bottom of the river,” Bill said. “That's an efficient way to keep current flowing along a billion-mile-long river that's actually level the whole way. They might also perform a filtering function as well as turning over the water.”

  “We have some information on local flora and fauna, farming and animal husbandry, and so on,” Bridget said. “Sociological stuff is almost nonexistent.”

  “I think the Skippies might have skimped on that aspect a little,” I grinned. “Not very interesting.”

  “So, it would be a learning experience, that's fine.” Bridget sat back and tossed her tablet on a side table. It bounced as if made of Nerf. “Now, about the androids…”

  “Ah. Yes, I think you'll be pleased.” I vanished the report and popped up a schematic in the center of the group, then gestured to Bill to take the floor.

  “Android tech has been improving steadily, thanks to its popularity, and a lot of feedback from you and Howard.” Bill nodded to Bridget. “I think your current Manny's back on Quilt might be a couple of generations behind the bleeding edge, though.” A Quinlan form materialized beside the generic android schematic. “The latest Mannies no longer contain any metal at all. Circuitry, even the SCUT interface, is all quantum bionics and meta-materials. We’ve going to great lengths to make the density of the internals similar to bio physique, so Manny's are no longer ludicrously heavy for their size. And we've introduced a circulatory system that contains fluid indistinguishable from blood. It acts as lubricant, coolant, and transport for repair nanites. We even have digestive systems that will convert food into, uh… quite believable waste products.”

  “Just can't resist the potty jokes, can you,” Will grinned at him.

  “You bet, Number Two.”

  Garfield, Will, and I laughed, while Bridget rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Still not very mature. Nope.”

  “Now, we’re maybe up to the beta version of a Quinlan Manny,” Bill continued. “Translator interface is still in development, and a lot of the reflexes are probably not realistic. Bridget, we’ll need your help to refine that. Space is tight because we are trying to build as much self-repair capability as possible into the units. If something goes wrong in-country, you won't be able to just take it into the shop for repairs.”

  Bridget nodded, her gaze glued to the schematic and supporting windows. “How is it with heat dissipation?”

  “Uh, yeah, not great, with the fur and the short dumpy profile. A human Manny can run full speed all day. A Quinlan Manny will have to stop and cool down. Although in water, they will probably be okay.”

  “Well, we are entering new territory, aren’t we?” Bridget replied with a smile. “I think I'll talk to Marcus though. He’s probably the expert on non-humanoid Mannies these days.”

  “Bob, I have a concern.” Bridget said to me a few moments later. The others already popped out, and it seems she'd been waiting to talk to me alone.

  “Okay.”

  “This expedition is looking like it could be a long-term thing.”

  “Well yeah, it's pretty much open-ended. We’re not just doing research, we’re also looking for Bender. Or at least, some indication of what happened to him.”

  “We have to stay with our Mannies full time, except when sleeping, right?”

  “Yes, but you can pop out during the sleep cycle, or even just frame-jack for a moment to take care of something. I went years on Eden and never had a problem.”

  “But you don't have children. My kids are human. I have to deal with them in real time, and on the human schedule. Plus there was that movie with the tall blue aliens…?”

  “Avatar?”

  “That's it. Remember the main character left his avatar sleeping, and it almost got run over before he can get back to it?”

  “Oh, yeah. Kind of a downside, I guess.”

  Bridget dropped her gaze, silent for a mil, then sighed. “I guess I have three choices. I can drop out, and I’d never forgive myself. I can simply bite the bullet and go into this full time and do short visits with Howard and the kids when the opportunity presents. Or I can…” She took on a pained expression. “… replicate.”

  “Woah. A Bridget clone? You'd be the first non-Bob to do so.”

  The pained expression grew cloudier. “Well, I'm not particularly concerned about firsts, not in that way, anyway. The thing is…” She hesitated again.

  “Other Bobs?”

  “Yes. Especially the later ones. It feels sometimes that there is this expectation that I should replicate and be everyone's girlfriend. It doesn't work that way.”

  “I know, Bridget. And I'm sure the other replicants do as well, at least on an intellectual level. But they see you with Howard, and you know, the train of thought is hard to resist.”

  “But Howard is not just another Bob. He’s unique. And our experiences together are unique.”

  “Yeah, I know. But original Bob, for all his intelligence, was not all that emotionally self-aware, and the model hasn't improved over time.” I cringed inwardly, thinking of
some of the things I'd learned the hard way about myself, back on Eden.

  “I get it. And I haven't actually been approached or anything. But if I do replicate myself for this expedition, it might be like the floodgates opening in terms of expectation.”

  “Understood. I’ll help in any way I can, as Will, Bill, and Garfield. But it's your decision. We’ll accept whatever you decide, and we could probably get Will to take your place with minimal convincing, although he might have an objection to a female Manny, if you wait until we've already built the units.”

  “Well, there's a rumor…”

  “Still unverified,” I grinned at her. “And they’d have to be reeeealllly late generation. Original Bob had no uncertainties about his gender.”

  She laughed. “It would be pretty cool though, to have another woman in here. And she turned somber. “I’ll think about it and let you know, Bob. Sorry for the headache.

  I had never been to a moot quite this raucous. Officially, the subject under discussion was the Heaven’s River expedition. In reality, Starfleet had come to the moot loaded for bear. They consistently torpedoed any attempt at discussion with points of order and derails of various kinds. Bill showed a lot more patience than I thought Bob was capable of. I was sure I'd of lost it by now. They were actually wearing something that was close to but not quite TNG command uniforms. I guess they wanted to make the point without being out-and-out laughable. A lot of Bob's seem to think they'd failed on that last bit, judging from the derisive comments. At the moment a red uniformed… ‘officer’, was spouting off.

  “You don't know if they purposely decided on this life. That's the point. You're going in, you claim, to see if they’re captives. But you'll do the damage before you know if it's necessary, assuming it's necessary.” Starfleet paused to take a breath. Totally unnecessary in the Bobiverse, but a habit ingrained through 31 years as a human.

  And Bill took the opportunity to jump in. “And you're assuming, prima facia, that we’ll be doing damage. Of course you are, because you consider interacting with them to be damage. Then you point to the interaction as proof of the damage. Circular argument, sorry.”