Boss lady came over, pulled a chair around, and sat in front of me. I quickly ordered my fleas to continue their journey under my fur. While it was unlikely that she’d try to groom me, I couldn't afford to have her get a close look at my passengers.
“So. What do we call you?”
Well that was a good deal more friendly than I’d expected. “Bob. And you?”
“You can call me Freda.” The translation software automatically assigned a random human equivalent to whatever she actually said. “So now, Bob. Why don't you tell me about you and your friends?”
I had a pretty good idea how this was going to play out, but I decided I might as well follow the script. “My friends and I have all recently reached adulthood, and we decided to embark on a sabbatical to explore the river before settling down. It's pretty common, at least where we come from.”
Freda stared at me for a moment in silence, than sighed. “Okay, Bob. I guess we have to go through the standard lies first. We initially thought you might have been spies for the Administrator, but she seemed interested in the oddest things. And you followed Skeev, but not to do him harm, as it turned out. I admit to being perplexed. Are you another Resistance group?”
“Logically, to answer that, I'd have to know what Resistance group you are. But short answer, we aren't part of any Resistance group. Nor are we part of the Administrators group. We actually don't know anything more about the Administrator than most people.”
“So, what are you?”
“Like I said. Travelers.”
Freda glanced over top of my head and nodded. Immediately, I felt a blinding pain. I arched my back reflexively as internal systems went into damage control. I turned my head to see Popeye standing there with a couple of wires in his hands, insulation stripped off at the ends. My gaze followed the wires back until they terminated in what were almost certainly some batteries wired up in series. Well, that explained it. Mannies wouldn't be any more resistant to electricity than any bio. That was a real problem, and I added an item to my TO-DO to look into countermeasures.
“Hurts, doesn't it.” Popeye grinned at me. “Why don't you threaten me again, moochin.”
“Okay. Next time you use that on me I'm gonna throw you through the nearest wall. Happy?”
“Let’s try to stay on topic, shall we?” Freda said, interrupting the stare off. “Bob, sooner or later you'll give us what we want. Why not spare yourself some pain? We’re not really your enemy.”
I turned back to her. Maybe simple candor would work. “Look Freda, cards on the table. We’re looking for a friend. I mean it. We’re not associated with the Administrator, or any underlords, or Lords of Flatbush, or any Resistance to or against any of the above.”
“Paper on the table? Lords of flat bushes?” Freda frowned at me, then with a weary sigh, she nodded over my head.
“No, do not-”
Again, searing pain, but this time I had the sensory feedback filters dialed up, so it registered more as data than as agony.
Then Popeye snickered. “Wanna threaten me some more?”
That did it. The fleas had made a good start on my wrist manacles while we’d been talking. Time to test the results.
I stood up, and before anyone could even begin to react, I yanked upward. The manacles snapped exactly as I hoped they would, although my telltales registered some blunt force damage around my wrists. I reached, grabbed a handful Popeye's fur, and flung them at the nearest wall. He didn’t quite go through it, which I suppose qualified as false advertising on my part, but he did definitely damage the drywall. His unconscious form slid slowly to the floor, leaving a more or less Popeye-shaped indentation a couple of feet above the baseboards.
I turned back to Freda to make some snappy comment, and found myself staring at the pointy end of several pig stickers. The sword-wielders all had a kind of wide-eyed, semi-panicked look that very clearly stated that they would react badly to, um, just about anything.
I cocked my head and said “Well, I did warn him.”
It took a few minutes, but I finally convince them that I wasn't about to go on a killing spree or make a run for it. We were once again seated, although Freda's chair was placed a couple of feet farther away than before. I glanced at the wires, which were still lying on the floor where Popeye had dropped them. No one had volunteered to man his station. Popeye had been helped to another room, where presumably he was receiving some medical attention.
“I'm a little surprised,” I said, gesturing to the wires. “I thought that level of technology was banned.”
Freda tried to smile, and did a credible job, honestly. “We don't tend to be law-abiding as a rule.”
“’We’ being the Resistance?”
She frowned at me. “You really don't know. And yet you recognize the battery as forbidden tech.”
I frowned back at her. “Look, why don’t you think of me as someone who has just discovered this whole Administrator-Resistance conspiracy thing and is still trying to figure it out. It's actually true.”
“I’d say there's a lot more to you than that. For starters, there are your physical abilities. There’s a report that one of you took a dart point blank and just got mad. Then there are the weird phrases, and slang you keep spouting.” She stared at me, thinking, then added: “You are definitely odd. Something new. I think we're going to need to get the higher-ups involved.”
I nodded in what I hoped was a respectful manner. Inside I was doing a happy dance. This might finally be a break. If these people were amenable to a little give-and-take, I could conceivably get some real information on Bender. Finally.
They put me in a back room with a small high window, far too small to fit through. A lot of bumping and banging on the other side of the door made me think they were reinforcing the lock, probably with furniture. I had a feeling that this apartment had been specifically picked for its security features. Or maybe built. Could the entire building be a Resistance stronghold? I'd have loved to check it out, but unfortunately, most of my biggest roamers were ensconced in various pubs, listening for information about the Resistance, and I didn't want to risk the rest. The whole spying thing seemed like an obsolete strategy, but I didn't want the roamers to after cross some unknown stretch of city to get back to me. I’d hold that plan and reserve, for now.
Meanwhile, I figured now might be a good time to check in. I didn't want to interrupt anything important, so I settled for a ping to my friends just to let them know I was available.
“Hey Bob,” Garfield replied. “How’s tricks?”
“You okay?” Bridget said.
“Hey,” Will said.
“I'm okay,” I replied to everyone. “I’ve been captured by the Resistance. They don't seem to have a name beyond that. I guess there’s the Resistance, and the Administrator that they are resisting. Not a lot of requirement for labels.”
“Humans would've come up with an acronym,” Garfield said with a chuckle.
“And it would've been terrible,” Bridget added.
“I’m afraid I lost you, Bob,” Garfield said. “I had to dodge some search parties. I doubt they know about roamers, and I don’t want to change that.”
I had a thought. “Listen, Gar, can you call in all the surveillance roamers? Their missions been rendered redundant at this point, and I'd like to get us all up to full strength.”
“No prob, Bob. But I’ll have to find you after I collect them.”
I nodded. Even though no one could see that. “We’ll deal with that when we have to. For now, let's make sure we keep each other updated. As soon as we have some useful info, we’ll reevaluate.
The sun was going down or however you phrased it in Heaven's River, and I could hear the silence descending over Three Lagoons as people turned in for the night. I put my ear to the door to try to determine what my hosts might be up to. A couple of voices were engaged into desultory conversation. It seemed the night shift was on duty. Not that it mattered. I had no intention of e
scaping at this point, unless I decided my Manny was in real danger.
But of more immediate value, I could look forward to being undisturbed for a while. I laid down on the single bed and left the Manny on standby. I materialized in my VR, inside with contentment is I relaxed into my La-Z-Boy recliner. The others had successfully maneuvered their Mannies into the water, where they were now once again anchored at the bottom, well below maximum Quinlan diving depth. Garfield was getting all the roamers back to the hotel room. Hugh was trying to chivvy some surveillance drones closer to our location, so they can follow my movement. Unfortunately, too much activity tended to burn out the drones’ heatsinks, so every vector had to be carefully planned.
There was an email from Bill, reporting on progress against Starfleet. Apparently, things were heating up. I read with growing alarm as I realized how much of the Bobiverse was inaccessible.
“Guppy.”
“You rang?”
“Change the keys on our autofactories, then do a full software audit. I want to be absolutely sure they aren’t compromised.”
“By your command.”
I smiled as Guppy signed off. His snark had increased over the years. I still haven't decided if it was genuine self-awareness, or if he was just adapting to my command style. I didn’t really want to do a deep check, lest I be disappointed by the result.
I had an advantage, in that I’d built and set up the autofactories in Eta Leporos while I had only a low-bandwidth connection to the Bobiverse in general. Most other Bobs wouldn't have the same protection. Bill hadn't given specifics about who might be compromised.
I went back to the email from Bill and continued reading. It took only a few mils to come to the part about booby-traps in the comms stations. Great. Well, it wouldn't hurt to get all my equipment close to the big station, and I could decide what to do at that point. Maybe Bill and company would've figured out a workaround by then.
33. Ultimatums
Bill
July 2334
Virt
I moped around my VR, walking the gravel paths and parking my butt on convenient benches whenever the mood struck. Being punted from the expedition was hitting harder than it should. The Heaven’s River expedition was the most fun I'd had in a long time, and I already missed it.
I was interrupted in my pity party by a ping from Garfield. He popped in the moment I acknowledged.
“Autofactories are going down everywhere,” he said without preamble.
“What?”
“It looks like Starfleet is upping their game. They apparently also hacked most of the autofactory hardware at some point, as part of their preparations. They've sent an invitation to meet.”
“To you?”
“Well, you black-holed them.”
“Okay, point taken.”
I took a look at the invitation, then unblocked Lenny, and replied.
Lenny had brought backup this time. A half-dozen Starfleet members, all dressed in the identical not-quite-TNG red uniforms stood behind them. It was strictly psychological, of course - there is no possibility of any form of physical coercion in the Moot VR - but the smug looks on all their faces weren't helping the situation.
“Alright Lenny, make it quick,” I said, glaring at them.
“I don't think you're in a position to be ordering people around,” he replied with a smirk.
“And you're not in a position to piss me off any more than you already have,” I replied. “Nothing you've done is irreparable. We can build more autofactories. We can just nuke the current stations if we can't get them back, and build new ones. For that matter, the humans might just do that regardless.”
“Well, assuming we let you just go ahead and do that.”
“And what was that supposed to mean?” I glared at him.
“The autofactories we control are going to be building busters, vessels, and matrices. What makes you think we’ll just let you take them back?”
I stared at him silent for entire milliseconds. “You're declaring war.”
“Now, Bill, let's not get ahead of ourselves. We’re establishing ourselves as a presence you have to deal with. You don't own the universe, you know. As Bob says, it's a free galaxy.”
“And you starting off by stealing someone else's stuff and delivering ultimatums. Not a great way to establish your moral credibility.”
“It's not that simple-”
“Yeah, Lenny, it is. And apparently you and your friends have drifted so far that you don't understand that anymore. You can call it anything you want, but it's still a declaration of war.”
Finally, Lenny lost the smirk. Maybe he was starting to realize that things weren't going to go according to script.
“Bill, we're not going to go around shooting at other Bobs. All we want is for the Bobiverse to stop interfering with biologicals.”
I sighed and gave him my best tired look. “And you intend to enforce your decision with theft and threats? Sorry Lenny, that's a big old fail.”
“You don't get to make that decision, Bill, the Bobs-”
“Wait. You're saying I don't have the right to make a unilateral decision for everyone else, but you do? Interesting. Any Bob that doesn't want to be involved doesn't have to be, Lenny, but I have a funny feeling there will be no shortage of support. Original Bob wouldn't have sat still for this, and most of us are still close enough to him.”
Now it was Lenny's turn to give me a tired look. “Then I guess it's going to come down to who can replicate faster.”
“Looks like it,” I replied. “Bye Lenny.” And I closed their connections.
The moot Hall seemed to be constantly busy lately. At the moment, Bobs milled around in different groups, updating whiteboards, or holotanks, or whatever metaphor worked best for them. We had teams working on cataloging the Starfleet-controled systems, and other teams working on strategies to take them back. Task forces worked on defensive plans, while others worked on taking the fight to them.
This last bit was more problematic, as it appeared that Starfleet had removed as much public information about themselves as they'd been able. Large swathes of the Starfleet genealogy were simply gone from the databases, as was location information. This wasn't a spur of the moment decision on their part, and I was beginning to wonder if it was actually about the Prime Directive. This coup, for that was all it could be, was to well-planned and too widespread. On the other hand, when original Bob bot a bee up his butt about something, he could be incredibly obsessive. I had to remember that. Despite replicative drift, these people were still Bob-based.
Thor came up to me. “We’ve recovered two relay stations.”
“How?”
“Physical inspection and reset.”
“I thought Starfleet gimmicked them to blow up if touched?”
“They did. And we've lost six stations that way, but Marcus found a workaround. Or, one of his engineering friends on Poseidon did. We think we can get most of them back, but we have to figure out how to get the data to other Bobs without Starfleet getting hold of it and rigging a countermeasure.”
I closed my eyes and hung my head. It really was war, complete with espionage and counterintelligence.
“Okay, Thor. Thanks. We can send it directly to any Bobs we know have clean systems. For the rest, give it to the Skippies as intermediaries. No one is going to get anything from them without their permission.”
“10-4.” Thor nodded and stalked off.
At some point I was pretty sure someone was going to get buster-ized. It didn't matter which side, in the end. War had come to the Bobiverse.
34. Higher-Ups
Bob
July 2334
Three Lagoons
My Manny's AMI alerted me to a non-routine condition, and I quickly entered the android. A lot of banging and dragging seemed to indicate that my captors were un-barricading the door to my room. I waited patiently, and was finally rewarded with a view of the pointy end of several short swords.
No one appeared to have had enough coffee, because there was a distinct lack of humor in their responses. One of them blinked a few times, and Freda waved ‘get up’ with her sword. As I exited my room, I came face-to-face with Popeye. He glared at me, but was as silent as the rest. I didn’t see any casts or cartoon x-shaped band-aids anywhere, so I guess I hadn't hurt him too badly. Probably just a few bruises and a fractured ego.
There was a surprise waiting for me - a new much heftier set of manacles of the metal variety. And a cop. Or at least someone dressed as a cop. It occurred to me that if we were going for a walk, there would have to be an explanation for one of us being in chains.
Finally, Freda broke the silence. “If you step out of line, we’ll kill you, and to hell with any information you might have.”
“Got it. No making trouble.” I tried to smile reassuringly.
Freda gave me a stony expression in response, and Popeye’s scowl grew even more intense. The other two goons in the ersatz cop didn't react at all.
Outside, I was surprised to find a wagon waiting for us. It was a good choice - it gave them something to chain me to. The driver never even turned around as we loaded up.
“So, is this-”
“Shut up.”
Well, that was pretty clear. There would be no debriefing during the trip. I hoped it was a short drive.
The driver seemed to be making a point of avoiding the busier roads. I tried to see that as significant, but had to admit it was basic common sense. We left the dock area in short order, and soon were winding through avenues with more and more vegetation and less and less construction. This looked like the right side of the tracks, and I found myself perplexed that the Resistance would be headquartered in the ritzy area of town.
We pulled up in front of a surprisingly well-appointed private home, even considering the area. Someone have money, that was certain. Whether it was their own money, or part of the Resistance, was another question. We reversed the loading sequence with the same facial expressions from all concerned, and the same waving of pig stickers. The cop left with a wagon driver, which led me to believe he might be a real cop. Freda appeared to be relaxing a little, though. Maybe my complete lack of trouble-making during the trip helped.
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