Heaven's River

by Dennis E. Taylor

  Bridget shot past me, then glided to a gradual stop. She turned and repeated her actions.

  Marcus bumped me then spoke over the universal intercom. “She’s very methodical, testing maneuvers one at a time.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Hey,” Bridget said. “I'm swimmin’ here!”

  “There’s a pod that hangs around this area because of the spillover from some of the aquaculture. I figure we’ll go join them for a while, and you can see what it's like to swim with the natives.”

  Marcus swam off, clearly knowing where he was going. I glanced at Bridget and we turn to follow.

  Over the next few minutes Marcus gradually increased his pace. I had a brief bit of trouble at one point, sort of like when you change from a jog to a sprint, and I couldn't get the new rhythm. But by letting go and allowing the autonomous systems to take over, I was able to correct. After that I kept up with Marcus with no effort.

  “We’re going just about flat-out, for a dolphin,” he said. “We’ll have to slow down before we get to the pod, or they'll think were running from something. We don't want to start a mobbing.”

  “That's not part of the autonomous systems though, right?” Bridget asked.

  “Correct. There are some things you just have to learn through study,” Marcus replied. “How’s your swimming?”

  “Fine, thanks. I feel a lot less concerned about that aspect of things. The Manny’s systems seem to be highly competent at mimicking natural reflexes.”

  Marcus didn't reply, but he did an exuberant barrel roll. I did a barrel roll of my own, then found I’d overshot and had to complete a second one. Some things apparently did require practice.

  Marcus slowed down and began taking a more circular path. Probably we were getting close to the pod and he didn't want to charge straight at them. Even at a lower speed, I could see that being a challenge. Within a minute, we slid up to a pod of the native version of dolphins. 15 individuals, including three juveniles, slowly swam through the water nabbing, small swimmers and scraps of plants or animals. They didn't appear to be very choosy, presumably most things were edible in this world ocean. On the other hand, I used to own a dog that regularly ate dog poo, so… who knew?

  The adults in the pod turned and began circling us, more in a curious than aggressive manner, fortunately. They were making noises, and my translator rendered them as “What? Who? Friends? Marcus friend!”

  That last one was interesting. Apparently, their proto-language included tags for individuals, which the translator converted to Marcus' name.

  Marcus said, “Friends. Marcus friend.” That appeared to be enough. The pod did one more circuit, then went back to feeding. One of the juveniles came over briefly, bumped Bridget, then went back to its - uh, his – mother.

  “That was cute,” I said.

  “Not so sure,” Marcus replied. “That one is approaching puberty, he might've been checking out your wife.”

  “That’s it, he’s sushi.”

  Bridget laughed, did a quick barrel roll, then purposed into the air. She came down with a splash. That seemed to trigger the entire group, and soon everyone was leaping and splashing. The game lasted about 10 minutes, after which we all floated on the surface for a short time pumping air through our bladders. Then it was back to feeding.

  “Not a bad life,” I said. “Might get a little boring after a while.”

  “The big predators mostly avoid the mat, Howard. We've made our feelings clear enough about their attempts to radar farms, and they've gotten the message. If you want excitement, swim about a mile farther away from the mat. Krakens don't know the difference between a real dolphin and a Manny, and I can tell you from experience, that getting eaten is not fun.”

  “I'll give that a pass thanks. There's a limit to what I'll do for research.”

  “I understand you have some kind of a training program going on?” Bridget said, changing the subject.

  “More of a selective breeding thing. Dolphins that have more facility with communications and comprehension get a fish treat. Better fed Dolphins have more and healthier offspring. See where I'm going?”

  “You’re breeding them for intelligence.”

  Marcus did another barrel-roll. “Uplifting by non-invasive means.”

  I found myself simultaneously fascinated and a little shocked. “Have you discussed this?

  “Some. By and large, people don't see a problem. The dolphins aren't a threat or competition, and on balance I think it would benefit them. And let's face it, Howard: Poseidon’s citizenry doesn't have any tolerance for a central authority, given our history.”

  “No kidding.”

  Marcus had been one of the key figures in the overthrow of the previous totalitarian government. What they had now was more like independent city-states. It seemed very ancient Greece, but it worked.

  “Guys, the pod is acting funny.”

  Marcus and I turned at Bridget's comment. The Dolphins had become completely quiet, and in fact were barely moving their tails enough to stay in place. They also appeared to all be looking down. I rolled enough to be able to point an eye downward. Sliding slowly through the water below us was a Leviathan. I remembered from my reading that they grew about the size of a Boeing 747. This one seemed much bigger, but that might've just been me freaking out.

  “Didn't you say they stayed away from the mats?”

  “On average,” Marcus replied. “This one seems to have developed some bad habits. I’ll message perimeter security. Meanwhile, let’s just emulate the dolphins and not attract its attention.”

  “There's a plan.”

  Vaguely cuttlefish-shaped, the Leviathan had four tentacles that it used to grab prey from below or above the water. They’d taken out a significant number of humans in the first year on Poseidon, before the colonists figured out how to keep them away. Perhaps this one was just passing through - it didn't vary its heading or speed, and was soon lost in the watery distance. The Dolphins started to swim around once again, although they remained more subdued than previously.

  “That was fun,” Bridget said.

  After another hour Bridget announced she was satisfied. We squeaked goodbye to the pod, and headed back to Moody Port. Docking the Mannies took only moments, and then we were back in Marcus's VR.

  “Did you get what you needed?” he asked.

  “Yes, I think so,” Bridget replied. “I've noted some things that are important to allow for in our research, but generally speaking, I don't think the physical aspects of being aquatic are going to be an issue. If we can adapt to being dolphins, we can adapt to being oversized beavers.”

  “Are you going to be working with the dolphins over the long-term?” I said.

  Marcus nodded. “I’ve kind of picked a vocation, I think. I've noticed that Bobs in general seem to eventually gravitate toward some kind of endeavor and then stick with it. Like the group trying to design and breed an intelligent airborne species on New Home.”

  “Wow, I haven't heard of that one.” I grinned and shook my head. “Well, as long as someone doesn't get the idea of raising the elder gods or something.”

  “That would play havoc with your humanism, wouldn't it?” Bridget stood. “Time to go. Thanks for your help Marcus. Let’s go, Lovecraft.”

  14. Council of War

  Bob

  April 2334

  Virt

  It was an even fuller house today. I had the leaders of the support team as well as the expeditionary members. Bill, Will, Garfield, Bridget, Gandalf, Hugh and Locutus all sat according to individual preference, in La-Z-Boys, beanbag chairs, or wing backs. I’d given in and expanded the library floor space. It was a bit jarring to see everything just that little bit farther away.

  “Things are going well, relatively,” I said. “No major hiccups.”

  At this point Locutus held up a hand.

  I sighed. “Something happen since I talked to you this morning? Manny construction in trouble?
”

  “No, nothing that dramatic. Just something that occurred to me: we need to field-test the Mannies, but there is no actual field where you are, if you get my drift.”

  “Oh for god’s sake,” Garfield muttered.

  I grinned at him. “Isn’t it always the little things that bite you?” I scanned the group. “So okay, the steam-Borg have the Mannies ready, but we have no way to test them in a realistic environment. In the past, we've always had a planet for testing. And if something went wrong, we could just do a fix and re-release. In this case, once the androids are in-country, we're stuck with them.

  “We could use the Quinlan home planet,” Garfield suggested.

  “Absolutely not,” Bridget replied. “We don't know everything that went into the destruction of the homeworld. Can we call it Quinn?” We all nodded, and she continued. “The Quinlans had some kind of conflict or multiple conflicts that ended up killing off everything on the planet. Nukes and orbital bombardment are obvious because they leave evidence, but with the used biological warfare as well? Imagine us picking something up on the Mannies and then transporting to Heaven’s River. By definition it would be virulent and hard to kill.”

  “Um, good point.” Garfield sat back, embarrassed.

  “Still, we can’t afford to not test the Mannies,” Bill said.

  “Look, it's not quite as good, but we can at least test the design. We send one or two Mannies down to Quinn and just leave them there when were done. It'll set our schedule back, having to fab a couple of replacements, but it'll be much faster with the second batch, and if we find an issue, we can fix all of them.”

  Locutus sat forward, showing enthusiasm. “We can sense some maintenance equipment down with them, including a small printer, so we can perform any fixes on the planetside Mannies as well. That way we’re always testing the current version.

  We all looked at each other, smiling. It was an excellent solution.

  “And as a bonus, it might settle some questions about Quinlan history.”

  “Good.” I turned my attention to Gandalf. “Now, how about gaining entry?”

  Gandalf blew out his cheeks. “Um, good news and bad news.”

  “Great,” Garfield grumbled.

  “The good news is we have a plan. The bad news is it will carry some risks. Not only of getting caught, but also of getting grounds to a pulp.”

  “Even more great.” Garfield sat back and crossed his arms, looking aggrieved.

  “We can’t activate the spin-transfer system, that's the bottom line. There’s no way to do that without alerting the powers that be. It's just too tightly bound to internal control systems.”

  “That's not terribly surprising,” Bill said. “Do you have an alternative?”

  “Yeah, but you're not going to like it.”

  “I already don't like it.”

  Gandalf flashed a quick smile. “The collection bins in our mining drones are just big enough to fit one Quinlan Manning at a time-”

  “No, no way,” Garfield interrupted. “You cannot be serious.”

  “Sorry, but yes. We’ll ferry the Mannies in the same way we ferried the spy drones in, except one is a time. Like I said, look at the bright side: you won't all be at risk at the same time. It decreases the chances of losing the entire expedition.”

  “While increasing the chances of losing one member,” Garfield interrupted. “I don't like it.”

  “No one does, Garfield. But we haven't come up with anything that isn't even riskier in one way or another. I assume that getting discovered by the topopolis administration is a nonstarter?”

  Nods around the coffee table confirmed the statement.

  “Then by definition, risk of equipment loss is less critical. So, we examined a number of alternatives, and this is the least risky.”

  “Was is the risk of damaging the topopolis itself, if we screw up?” I asked.

  “Negligible,” Bill replied before Gandalf could. “You have to think of the relative masses. If you’re jogging and you run into a mosquito, how much damage do you take?”

  “I hate mosquitoes.”

  “As do we all, even out to 20th generation,” Bill replied. “I doubt that'll ever change, as mosquitoes have no redeeming features. But to my point, the drone and Manny would get slapped onto the inner surface of the outer shell hard enough to leave a crater and not much else. That inner shell though, is tough. It has to be.”

  “You've tested it?”

  “We originally reconstructed the material from scans. There's some truly ingenious layering involved. It's about 50% stronger, pound-for-pound, than our hull material. And that stuff is wicked strong.” Bill nodded emphatically to reinforce his statement.

  “Huh. Okay.” I thought for a moment. “Can we bring in a spare Manny?”

  “Expedition needs to be four,” Bridget said. “That's the most typical number for young Quinlans going on a sabbatical.”

  “Yeah, I'm not clear on that part,” Will said. “Sabbatical?”

  “It's not the right English word, but it's the closest we can come. Young Quinlans just around adulthood often leave their home city, usually in a group of four, called a sabbat, to see the world and possibly find a new place to settle. Then they’d start a new town, or they might just join an existing one. My guess is that the behavior evolved to keep the gene pool diverse. It's generally mostly males that do this, although females are common enough that no one would be surprised if one of the group is female.”

  “So, no one will be curious about a female alone with three males?”

  Bridget's smirked at Garfield. “Quinlan females are slightly larger than males, and have the same teeth and claws, so unwelcome advances would not work out well. Anyway, their mating is seasonal, so it isn't even a question most of the time.”

  “Got it, but what about having a fifth Manny ready, just in case we trash one of the four?”

  “Okay, Bob,” Bridget shrugged. “As Harold always says, you can't be too paranoid.”

  “Fine. Now, Hugh: language and culture.”

  “We've made progress, but no real revelations. Our level of language comprehension is good enough to not be suspicious. There's regional variability, and we haven't cataloged a lot of the colloquialisms sufficiently yet, but thanks to the sabbatical thing, it will probably even out. So, you'll probably always be able to understand the locals. There are some things we haven't been able to get a handle on. Maybe you'll find out more on your travels.”

  Gandalf was waving his hand.

  “You had more?” I asked.

  “Yes. We won't go in through the cargo bay, we’re going to dig a tunnel.”

  “Yeah, it's been discussed, and it seems reasonable, given the Mannies are bigger than spy drones. Why do you bring it up?”

  “Well, we have to start now.”

  “So you'll need minors and roamers immediately.”

  “Yep.”

  I shook my head. “The TO-DO… it burns!”

  15. Functional Testing

  Bob

  May 2334

  Quinn

  The cargo drone settled carefully onto the very dead lawn – or, lawn-like Flora, anyway. Whatever the plant once was, it had been used by the Quinlans as a lawn-equivalent.

  I glanced sideways at Bridget's Manny, an action made easy by the Quinlan form’s very mobile and independently movable eyes. The resulting double image was hard for human minds to handle, but I was figuring out how to pay attention to one eye and ignore the other. It was something the Quinlans did easily and routinely, so it would probably be noticeable if the people in our group never did it. Like a human who never moved his eyes but only swiveled his head.

  Bridget turned and smiled at me as the cargo bay doors started to open. Actually, she performed a beak rubbing motion, which was the Quinlan equivalent. As had been standard procedure since my days on Eden, the Manny operating system converted human expressions into native equivalents, so that we never had to worry ab
out the actual action. Language was handled in a similar manner so we spoke and heard English, including colloquialisms. The OS also chose English name equivalents for local proper names and kept track of which substitutions were used.

  The cargo doors finished opening and we stepped out onto the surface of Quinn. Bridget did a slow and probably unnecessary 360, carefully examining the environment.

  “No obvious damage in this area. Any deaths here would've had to be from less obvious methods. Radiation possibly, or biological. I don't know if there will be anything to dissect.” She glanced at the drone hovering by her shoulder. Part scout, part beast of burden, part courier, it currently held her medical tools in its small hold.

  The city, for city it was, had been built on the shore of a large slow flowing river. Instead of a maze of streets, the metropolis was crisscrossed by canals. The infrastructure had been set up so that the river flow turned over the contents of the canals, but with a mild current. That also meant that a design based on right angles would be suboptimal. The actual shape was more like slightly rounded diamonds, with the long axis along the direction of flow. Even if nothing else had been different, it would've made for a more elegant less utilitarian design than the typical Earth city.

  But in addition, the Quinlans seem to enjoy embellishment for its own sake. Buildings were rarely just simple solid rectangles. We saw cantilevered terraces, elevated walkways between buildings, and even buildings with deliberately engineered gaps through their middles, like the dragon gates in some Hong Kong skyscrapers - although I doubted feng shui was involved. And the windows: Quinlans used both placement of windows and color tints to make the side of every building a piece of art, like giant stained-glass murals.

  “These people loved their art,” I said in a hushed voice.

  “That they did.”

  We walked past one building, and I couldn't help but chuckle. The façade around the entrance had been sculpted into what might be some kind of fairy-tale scene. Unless they actually had a species of giant rodent with a mouth that big, I wasn't sure if I’d want to bring my children to see this montage. But then I reminded myself that people used to read Grimm's fairy tales to children.