Heaven's River

by Dennis E. Taylor

  Hmm… but where can you go where everybody knows you’re… no, but close. Liquor loosens lips. Or muzzles, or beaks, or haora as the Quinlans called their cake-holes. So where would I find a pub and/or boozery?

  I went up to the first person was holding still. “Excuse me. Is there a tavern nearby?”

  “Yes, my brother-in-law owns the Growling Guppy, down that lane. Turn right at the house with the red door, you'll see it. Tell them Gren sent you.”

  I nodded my thanks and set off in the indicated direction. I was pretty sure that Gren got a kickback of some kind, and I didn't begrudge him. I might even get a break on the first beer. Brother-in-law wasn't quite the right translation for the relationship, I knew. The Quinlans had a complicated family system, but I got the impression that Gran and his pub owning mate were on pretty close terms.

  I arrived at the establishment in short order. It was, as advertised, easy to pick out. An outside patio with long benches and tables featured a lot of Quinlans holding beer steins. It seemed every hour was happy hour for Quinlans. Was swimming while under the influence of felony?

  I sidled up to the bar and signaled for attention. To the barkeep I said, “Gren tells me I can get a beer here?” The barkeep eye me closely, probably checking his memory. Then he grabbed a Stein, filled it, and set it down.

  “First one’s one copper. After that, two coppers.”

  I pulled out the appropriate coin, set it on the bar, and grabbed my beer. I had a bad feeling this was not going to compare favorably with Howard's red ales. Well, I could always turn off my taste buds.

  I scanned the tables. I was looking for a spot where I was potentially within earshot of several conversations. I needed to have a much better picture of the society before I'd be ready to dive in and strike up a conversation, especially after last time. I plunked my butt down on a bench and hunched over my Stein, trying to look like it was the center of my universe. Then I turned up my audio gain and relaxed into creepy eavesdropper mode.

  “… can't believe that Jenny wants to bring that fish-entrail-brained looser into the family.”

  “… so he says to me, Barro, he says, I got a right mind to...”

  “That's just too funny, that guy really thought…”

  “… claims to have been Scattered twice, I mean, what are the chances…”

  Wait. Scattered? There was that word. The Skippies haven't been able to nail it down, beyond that it was something bad. This could be important. I filtered out the other conversations.

  First voice. “Probably a troublemaker. You can get caught up in a Scattering once by chance, but twice, no. Skeev had to be involved in whatever was going on.”

  Second voice. “So if he starts up to same shenanigans here, our whole town could end up Scattered.”

  Third voice. “But that’s not fair! Why would we all suffer-”

  First voice. “Fair isn’t part of the Administrator's vocabulary, youngling. If they decide we've contravened the limits, they will act.”

  Third voice. “How do we stop that from happening?”

  First voice. “We can't stop the Administrator, but we can present Skeev from brewing more trouble and causing a Scattering in our home.”

  Second voice. “Wat do you have in mind, Arro?”

  “Talk to him? Make him listen to reason?”

  A laugh from first voice. “Sure, that’ll work. Or maybe he just ends up as fish food.”

  Second voice. “I'm in.”

  Third voice. “I’ve never killed anyone, but I can lose my family. I’m in.”

  First voice. “Good, people. So, we’ll invite him here for a beer or dinner to discuss things. Get him a little tipsy, make him think were on his side, then invite him to my place and take care of business.” A pause. “You guys have to be convincing though. He has to believe we’re ready to buy into his crazy ideas.”

  I turned a casual eye in the direction of the voices. Two Quinlans were nodding, as a third Quinlan glared at both of them in turn. Those were my marks.

  Their conversation drifted off in the more mundane subjects without shedding any more light on Skeev’s sins, or the nature of the Administrator - I could hear the capital letter when I said it. Literally, The Quinlan language included an inflection to indicate proper names. I listened for a while longer until I'd finished my… um beverage? It was every bit as bad as I'd expected. But no other interesting conversations offered themselves.

  “You guys discover anything?” I said over the intercom. I hoped I'd kept the triumph of my voice.

  “No, but it sounds like you have,” Bridget replied, dashing my hopes. “But at least I found a good hotel. Meet at the dock?”

  Everyone signaled their agreement, and I set off for the rendezvous.

  “Okay, Bob. Spill. What you get?” Garfield asked.

  “Let’s get a room and shut down,” I replied. “I'll go over it back in virt.”

  We made our way to the hotel that Bridget had found, negotiated with the proprietor, and in short order, found ourselves in another small bunk room.

  “Someday we should try moving up the social ladder, I'd like room to actually have room to turn around without elbowing someone,” Bill said.

  “Why?” Garfield replied. “We’re just racking the Mannies here. What are you planning on doing?”

  Bill glared at him, but didn't reply. We picked bunks and lay down, then deactivated. I popped into my library and was just settling myself into my La-Z-Boy when the others arrived. Their favorite furniture was ready for them, since this was a long-term project and they'd be here a lot. Jeeves brought beverages, Spike picked a random lap to colonize, and we settled in.

  “Alright, here's what I overheard.” I queued up the conversation from the tavern and played it back. When it was done, there were several milliseconds of silence.

  Garfield was the first to speak. “So, Scattering. Does it chase off the miscreants?”

  “Hmm, it's a little more than that, I think,” Bill said. “There was talk of collateral damage. ‘Our whole town could end up Scattered,’ he said?”

  “So, the administrator, whoever he is…”

  “It,” Bill said, interrupting Garfield. “The speaker definitely used a third person indeterminate, or maybe ‘they’. The Quinlan language doesn't differentiate between singular and plural for this declension.”

  “Okay, whoever they are. They Scatter a town of people who get uppity. How, I wonder…”

  “I wonder what defines ‘uppity’. We have to get to Skeev before the hit squad does their dirty work,” I said, interrupting Bill and Garfield's discussion. “Ideas?”

  “Let’s just be waiting at the tavern,” Bill said.

  “Yum,” I replied. “More swill.”

  I played with my fish soup, trying to pretend I was eating. Bill and Garfield were doing slightly better, and Bridget had talked into it like a native. Biologists, geeze. We were beginning to get worried after several hours of waiting. The barkeep was eyeing us, since we were drinking enough to pay for the seats.

  Garfield had finally had enough. “We need to consider the possibility that they changed their plans. Do we know what other taverns are around this area?”

  Bridget leaned over and poked a neighbor with a finger. “Hey, friend. How many other taverns within walking distance?”

  He turned with a frowned, but his expression changed when he took in her three friends. Apparently deciding on courtesy as a tactic, he mentioned two other locations and gave us general directions.

  I’d given the others a video image of our targets, so Bill and Garfield hurried off to check the other bars. Meanwhile, I bought our neighbor a beer for his trouble, and he became considerably friendlier, if a little perplexed.

  “I’ve got them,” Garfield said. “They’re just leaving the Prancing Pralia. I guess they must have changed plans. We’re lucky we didn't wait any longer.”

  “Stay with them, Gar”, I replied. “We’ve got you on pings, we’ll
get there as soon as we can.”

  Bridget and I leapt up and sprinted for the doors as protestations and curses followed us. A text from Bill indicated he was on the way as well. It was tempting to apply nonbiological levels of speed, but that would've raised questions that would've required us to leave town, and might alert the Administrator if they had a properly functioning intelligence gathering network.

  Garfield waited at the entrance to an alley as we pulled up. Bill was still on his way.

  “Traffic jam,” he said. “I'll be a while longer.”

  “How do you get a traffic jam on a horse and buggy world?” I muttered.

  “Maybe start a riot by peeking in the back of a wagon,” Bridget muttered back.

  “I make ONE mistake…”

  “We can’t wait for Bill,” Garfield said. “They’re significantly ahead of us.”

  We rushed down the alley in single file. There was no sign of anyone, but there were also no alternative paths unless our subjects had suddenly developed the ability to climb walls. I had a momentary image of spider-beaver in red and blue tights and gave myself a mental slap. Then I heard Garfield chanting “spider-pig, spider-pig” and grinned. Bob is Bob, always and forever.

  As we rounded the corner in hot pursuit several figures leapt out of nowhere and tackled us. Our computer reactions were fast enough for us to realize what was happening, but unfortunately, the Mannies operated in physical reality where inertia was a thing. We couldn’t do more than start to turn in the direction of the attacks before we were all flattened. The old Mannies would've been too heavy to knock over, but the new models had appropriate mass for the subject species, so I found myself on my back looking up at a very angry Quinlan in the middle of bringing a knife down on me.

  It was time to abandon any pretense of being bio. I pushed up faster than the knife was coming down and the Quinlan went airborne with an “oof”. I smacked him on the side of the head as he hit the top of his trajectory and sprang to my feet. If I'd calculated the force properly, he'd be stunned for a minute or two, but not injured. Two more Quinlans flew backward and my friends climbed to their feet. Bridget had been stabbed, fake Manny blood was oozing out of a wound in her shoulder and she looked pissed. I mean, REALLY pissed. I considered for a moment whether I’d have to protect our attackers from her.

  Garfield pointed farther down the alley. “Something going on.” Without waiting for a response, he sprinted in that direction, or well, waddled quickly.

  I examined our erstwhile ambushes. All three were in various stages of stunned, and there was no fight left. “You okay? I said to Bridget.

  She nodded, still scowling. The internal nanites were doing their job, and the blood flow had already stopped. In another minute there would be no sign of the wound, and even the fur would've grown back. We build well in the Bobiverse.

  The sounds of battle drifted back to us from the direction Garfield had disappeared. After a glance to make sure there was no further danger here, I went down on all fours and galloped off after him, Bridget right behind me. When I got to the scene of the excitement, I found Garfield beating one Quinlan using another Quinlan as a bludgeon. It had definite cartoon feel to it, and I stopped dead for a moment to watch. It was also physically impossible for a Quinlan, so there was a good chance that Gar had blown our cover.

  “Ixnay with the Superman act, okay?” I exclaimed.

  Garfield stopped, abashed, and dropped his bludgeon. The other Quinlan keeled over slowly, like an inflated Santa when the blower is turned off.

  “Do you think this was about Skeev?” I asked via intercom.

  Garfield replied out loud. “I think that's who they were attacking.” He motioned with his head. “He took off down that way. He's injured.”

  I nodded and headed in the indicated direction. I found a Quinlan leaning against a wall, trying to block blood flow from multiple wounds. He kept moving his hands from one wound to the next, muttering under his breath. I suspected shock.

  “Skeev?” I asked, and he nodded. I quickly removed my backpack and extracted my first-aid supplies. It was mostly bandages, but that was exactly what he needed. It took only moments to fix him up well enough that he'd at least live to get to a doctor. As I finished up, Garfield and Bridget joined us. I took one of Skeev’s arms and Bridget the other and we hoisted into his feet.

  “Thanks,” he said. “Are you with the Resistance?”

  I opened my mouth to reply just as Skeev’s eyes went wide in surprise. And then I found myself face-down on the ground. I could see out of the corner of my eye Bridget going down as well, with two Quinlans piling on. Yet another individual stepped up, pulled something that looked very much like a handgun, and shot Garfield point blank.

  22. Living in Interesting Times

  Bob

  July 2334

  Galen Town

  Garfield glanced down at his chest, then snarled and grabbed the gun from his attacker. I didn't have time to be surprised - my passengers might have knives. I did an explosive push up and Quinlans went flying. I heard noises that indicated Bridget might be doing the same, so I concentrated on my own problems.

  One of Bridget's attackers landed sort of on me as I was getting to my feet. I grabbed him by a handful of fur and applied a head slap. It seemed to be effective as a combat technique, overall. I just hoped I wasn't giving them concussions or something.

  Bridget and Garfield had taken care of the other Quinlans, Garfield having used the gun as a club. That seemed overly dangerous, but I had enough sense to realize that lecturing him on it at this point probably wouldn't go over well.

  We turned as one to check on Skeev, to find him... nowhere in sight. Some blood drops indicated which way he’d gone, and some of them have been stepped on, so he had company. But were they rescuing him, or kidnapping him?

  Garfield peered back up the alley to the location of our first battle.

  “The first group is still there,” he said, looking kind of out of it, “so this was a different group and only interested in Skeev. This feels like a rescue.”

  Bridget and I checked ourselves for stab wounds. Then Bridget examined Garfield's chest closely. “No bullet wound. Was he shooting blanks?”

  “No, there was definitely an impact,” Garfield replied, “but nothing like a bullet. At least, not like I’d imagine a bullet to feel like. I've got internal nanites checking it out right now.”

  “What the hell are you people up to?” Bill asked over comms.

  “Lots and lots of shenanigans,” Bridget replied. “Not all of our own making.” She motioned to the blood drops on the ground. “Let’s follow them. Maybe we’ll learn something.”

  “I'll follow,” I said. “You guys go around to the street. I think I'll try to get out of the alley as quickly as possible. They need to get Skeev to a doctor, assuming they’re rescuers and not kidnappers.”

  Skeev was still bleeding as the occasional blood splatter plainly showed. It made tracking easier, at least until the blood trail ended at a closed door.

  “What the hell?” I frowned at the door. There was nothing special about it, and the pattern of blood drops didn't seem to indicate any kind of struggle. I tried the door. It was locked and felt solid.

  “Guys, see if you can find the front of the building to the west of my current location,” I said. “Skeev and his companions went in there, I think voluntarily, since the blood trail is clean.”

  “Got it,” Garfield replied.

  It took about two minutes with me standing in the alley looking suspicious as hell. I tried leaning casually against the far wall, but that just made me think of West Side Story, and probably looked even more suspicious, if anyone was watching. At this point, if the Administrator had eyes on this whole fiasco, we were definitely blown. I wondered if some version of drones would come swooping in to grab us.

  “We're here,” Bridget said. “It's a hotel, no way to pin anyone down. They could've just gone straight through and out the
front door.”

  “Shit.”

  This outcome deserved an expletive. We’d lost our first legitimate lead AND attracted attention to ourselves at the same time. No question, the second group of thugs would remember Super-Gar when they recovered their wits, probably the third group as well. Taking a bullet and just getting angry would look very Terminator-like.

  “Time to bug out?”

  “Let's meet at the third pub,” I said. “The Old Gator. Bill, you good?”

  “Yeah, no problem. I'll be there before you guys. Go the long way around. This snarl-up is still a mess.”

  Garfield took a long pull in his beer. I leaned forward and watched for any streams of liquid pouring out of his chest. He caught the direction of my gaze and snorted, almost losing a mouthful.

  We brought Bill up to date on our adventures. I hoisted my own glass as Bill described the traffic jam. It really did sound like someone it just started a fight and it had gone out of control - exactly like what had happened to me. Definitely anger management issues. It would make for an interesting civilization.

  The beer was kind of growing on me - unlike the fish soup. I wondered if I should record a batch for Howard. Maybe he could adapt it for humans, or worst case, we just keep it in the Bobiverse.

  Garfield put his stein down and held out his hand to show a small item. “Flechette. It seems to have the consistency of dried gummy bear. I dipped it in some water and it dissolved a bit. I bet it some kind of drug.”

  “Hm. Unfortunately, our nanites can't do cam analysis.” Bridget poked the item with a finger. “But I imagine you're right. Probably a tranquilizer. If they wanted to kill someone, a bullet would be easier. Or a knife.

  “Where's the gun?” Bill asked.

  Gar made a small head motion. “In my pack. It took a quick look at it. It has a magazine in the handle that feeds flechettes. This one was mostly empty. And an air cylinder for propulsion. It even looks like it could be pumped up to recharge. It's good tech.”