Heaven's River

by Dennis E. Taylor

  A ding indicated that the session was about the start. I set the data window aside and paid attention.

  The chair took the floor and proceeded to read the prepared statement, verbatim. No new info there, and I began to squirm with impatience. Finally, the chair ran down, having contributed nothing that I could detect, and ceded the floor to the representative from Pangaea.

  Representative He stood and glared around. It was showmanship, of course - he was facing a video window the same as the rest of us - but it was well executed. You felt you’d just been examined, judged, and dismissed.

  “I won't belabor the events described in the Pangean statement,” he began. “Suffice to say, blowing up Pangaean property and placing the lives of our citizens in danger is a de facto act of war.” He paused for effect. “We accept the explanation from the Bobiverse about the splinter group known as Starfleet. I will leave for another day the question of whether this is symptomatic of a more general and long-term issue of risk in continuing to have diplomatic and economic relations with what is essentially a separate species - a non-biological species, at that. One who’s capabilities and ultimate goals are not known.”

  Uh-oh. He wasn't just going after Starfleet.

  “We have to this point been unable to reacquire control of the L5 spaceyards. Since the strategic situation can only deteriorate as the enemy consolidates their position, we have decided to take early and decisive action. As I speak a number of tactical nuclear devices have been deployed. By the time we are finished with this discussion, the Pangaean spaceyard autofactory will be no more.”

  Representative He paused to do the sweeping glare thing again. “Doubtless it will have occurred to everyone that this loss, and the loss of our primary commercial autofactory yesterday, will affect our economic outlook. Let me assure you that we have planet-based resources sufficient to replace the space-borne assets within a local year.”

  He now stared straight into the camera - an action that felt it was directed at me.

  “However, we will not forget this event. And there will be consequences.”

  A few more representatives gave speeches, just because they felt they had to. Then the Council held a vote to support Pangaea's use of nukes. It passed.

  The situation at New Home had been a major topic of discussion in the Bobiverse for several solid minutes. This, on top of what had already gone down, meant we were at real risk. Financially, that is. Bobs hadn't been inclined to leave themselves physically vulnerable since the Mat War on Poseidon. A fair number of in-system heaven vessels were actually decoys, nowadays. While Bobs parked themselves way the hell out in the Oort.

  Howard had volunteered to shelter such assets as could be transferred to them. He had a lot of connections and a huge business empire, and owned large swatches of meat-space - more than the bios realized. A frontal assault would not go well for them.

  Finally, the session wound down. With a sigh, I disconnected. My little side project was beginning to look less and less like a casual bit of vanity, and more like a potential endgame.

  It might be time to talk to Neil and Herschel.

  10. Catching the Train

  Bob

  July 2334

  Transit

  I examined the station using telescopic vision. In outward appearance, it was identical to the one outside Garrick's spine. Probably the artwork would be different, but from this distance, I couldn't see the interior.

  I had a decision to make. If Crew and any Resistance double agents used the vacuum monorail, it stood to reason they had to be able to get into the transit station. If they could get in, but the riffraff couldn't, they needed some way to identify themselves.

  I fingered the security pass in my hand. It was all very logical, but even in a human built environment, it wouldn't be a sure thing. Or I could be right with my logic, but this card might not be for transit. Trying to get into the station using a library card would surely be unsuccessful, and probably get me noticed.

  And what about facial recognition? Had they implemented a matching system? Would the system compare my mug with a picture on file, which was probably Natasha's? If so, and I failed the match, which I would, what would happen? Legions of crab-like drones assaulting me? Air horns?

  On the other hand, my alternative was to dig my way into the station the same way, Gandalf and company had dug out, but with only 1-inch roamers. That could take a while. I decided I'd say that option for last.

  I compared my face with Natasha's in my memory, then for completeness compared some other random Quinlan faces. Facial recognition software, at least, the Terran version, didn't do a full recognition the way a person would. The computer match was done by comparing the spatial relation between significant and easily recognizable points on the face, like pupils, ends of the mouth, nostrils, point of the chin, and so forth. This simplified algorithm saved a lot of processing time and was good enough for most purposes.

  A brief survey of my memories of Quinlans identified a similar set of likely key locations on the Quinlan face. How much flexibility did my Manny have in that area? They were built using the same skeletal and muscular design is the biological versions, but the Mannies also had internal repair systems that could be ordered around. Plus, muscles could be flexed in unnatural ways, if necessary. I remembered Will's comment that once the administration had a mug shot of me, I'd never be off their radar. Maybe, just for safety, I should take the time to look into this.

  I sent a quick message to Bill and received a reply almost immediately. “Really busy, Bob. Check with the Borg if you need a quick answer.”

  Hmph. Definitely not what I was looking for. Nevertheless, I forwarded the message to Locutus and received a response within a minute.

  “The design came with editable parameters. Some are fixed at print time, but some are what I suppose we could call mechanical settings. You should have a certain level of adjustability. I’ve attached to specs and instructions.”

  Much better. I read the instructions, reviewed my requirements, and sent orders to internal systems. I could feel my face contorting. It wasn't painful, but it felt like something was crawling under my skin, and made me want to dance around yelling ‘gahhh!’.

  In seconds, it was done. I spit up a spider to take a selfie with. Hm. Not perfect, but very likely within the margins of error. I took a figurative deep breath, stood, and marched toward the front door of the transit station, trying to look like I belonged there.

  The main entranceway, a rollup door of barn size, didn't present me with any obvious manner getting in. I was probably on camera by this point, but I doubted that standing and staring was considered a crime. Just off from the side, though, was a normal sized door, probably for maintenance people or whatever, and glory-be: this entrance had one of those flat plates beside it for scanning security cards. It continued to amaze me how totally plebeian and boringly similar most tech turned out to be.

  The moment of truth. I place the card against the plate and deliberately avoided looking around. There was a click, and I pulled the door open. Success! And no crab hordes. I was going have to wing it a little bit as I'd be going where no Bob had gone before, but presumably my every step wasn't being monitored. I walked up to the elevators, pressed the only button, and the door opened with a ding. I entered and pressed the button labeled ‘Transit’.

  After a short ride, the doors opened on a corridor stretching off into the distance. This had very much a public area kind of feeling, and my confidence increased as I progressed. At the end of the corridor, the space opened up to some kind of vestibule, or maybe train platform. On the far wall were a series of evenly-spaced identical doors looking something like airlocks. Between each set of doors was a card reader panel. At a loss as to what else to do, I pressed Natasha's card against one.

  A voice spoke into my ear. “Destination?”

  Okay, moment of truth. “Helep’s Ending.”

  “One moment.” A short pause. “A train will arr
ive in 168 seconds.”

  Holy moly jackpot! A 168 seconds was the English translation. The actual amount quoted was 1 1/2 vex - the Quinlan equivalent to minutes. God I love translators. But the important takeaway was that Helep’s Ending existed, it was on the route listings, and I was going there.

  For the first time since this adventure started, I felt Bender was actually within reach.

  11. The War in Meat-Space

  Will

  July 2334

  UFS Council Session

  I read the message in my heads-up twice, hoping that I'd misunderstood.

  Nope. The Romulus world gov had just preemptively nuked the local space-based autofactories. I supposed after the New Home and Pangaea experiences, they kind of had a point.

  I sighed and ordered the roamers to begin cleaning up my work area. I wasn't going to be getting more work done on this water filter design anytime soon. The roamers would take care of putting everything away, so I walked over to a convenient Adirondack chair and made myself comfortable, then exited my Manny.

  I immediately connected to the UFS Council channel and signed in. As expected, discussion of the nuking was in process - at full volume. Representative Ella Cranston, the granddaughter of my old nemesis, had the floor.

  “-and no, we will not be compensating the Bobiverse for the loss of their assets. Let's not forget where the threat is coming from. In fact, if this becomes an ongoing issue, I will move to demand compensation from the Bobiverse for our losses, both equipment and productivity. We’ve lost billions because of the economic volatility, never mind direct costs. At this time, we are negotiating with our neighbors on Vulcan to pass legislation mandating only human-owned and operated autofactories in the Omicron2 Eridani system.”

  She went on for considerable time, but the upshot was that all Bobiverse equipment in their system would be deactivated or nuked, forthwith. They would be replacing the relay station with their own unit, which we were welcome to use… as paying customers, just like everyone else. Well that was something. The Pangaean colony was talking about cutting us off completely and treating us like an un-trusted foreign power. To be fair, they'd have the worst experience with Starfleet's strategies, so I couldn't blame them.

  A ding indicated a private conference request. It was from representative Ben Hendrix, one of our descendants. That alone made one of my favorite people. The fact that he was conscientious, ethical, and dedicated was just a bonus.

  I pressed accept, and his face came up.

  “Will, the agreement with Vulcan will almost certainly go through. The Bobs are going to be all but tossed out of the system. Is there anything we can do?”

  “It's not that bad, Ben.” I made a calm-down motion with my hand. “The Bobiverse is the single biggest user of the relay stations, since everything we do is via SCUT. Omicomms LLC will no doubt be taking over completely in Omicron2 Eridani, and they want to keep us as a customer, whatever the government mouthpieces are threatening. Plus, we’re a major shareholder, so we could force the issue.”

  Ben smiled and nodded. As the owners of the communications and production systems for many years, the Bobiverse, and accumulated huge wealth in the human economy, almost without trying. It was quite possible in fact, that resentment of that fact was fueling at least some of the glee with which the humans were dismantling things.

  “My real concern,” I continued, “is the talk of restricting Manny use. It’s pointless, as we'd still be able to do business by video call, but it would socially isolate us. I’ve got our lawyers working the human rights angle.”

  “And the government is contesting your right to be considered human,” Ben replied.

  “Yeah. FAITH, all over again. Even if they are calling themselves that anymore.” I frowned. “I don't think they can win that, Ben. Unless they just start ignoring laws and daring us to do anything about it. I think that would take us and them down the road I don't want to speculate on.”

  Ben nodded. “Uh-huh. It would be a constitutional crisis, at minimum.”

  I brought up the volume on Cranston's rants for a moment, then turned it down and smiled. “Looks like her signal-to-noise ratio is dropped to zero. I’m going to keep a low profile on this, unless she and her allies go off the deep end. Keep me updated, okay?”

  Ben nodded again and gave me a wave. I close the conference, signed off the Council session, and sat back. It wasn’t unlikely that any colony government would be able to ban Mannies outright. Lobbyist groups representing the replicant preserve companies, along with rich people who had signed up for replication, would bring a lot of pressure to bear. But the pattern was worrying. Replicant resentment, plus Starfleet War, plus Pav threat, plus all the rumors circulating about the Quinlans, were proving to be too much for the average human citizen. With too many threats from too many directions, Joe Average wanted to circle the wagons. We’d spent 100 years setting up a single galactic government that would provide some safety and stability for all sentiments, and now it was unraveling.

  Ugh. As if I needed reminding of why I hated politics.

  12. Helep’s Ending

  Bob

  July 2334

  Heaven's River

  There was a subtle vibration through the floor, followed a few moments later by one set of doors opening.

  “The train for Helep’s Ending has arrived,” the voice it in my ear. “The train will be leaving in 112 seconds.”

  I walked through the open doorway. A short airlock section ended in another set of doors, which opened into what was presumably my train. Certainly, it had that long tube-like train shape. There were no windows, but there were rows of comfortable-looking seats.

  I glanced over my shoulder and realized that the row of doors at the end of the platform connected to matching doors on the train with two sets of doors leading into each car. Very much like a subway. All in all, it seemed very civilized. I studied the area at the back of the car and realized it held a washroom. The same sign on the door was used in every town in Heaven's River. And a small vendor kiosk. There was a sign on the shuttered window that said “The snack bar is closed until further notice.”

  I was staring at the sign in a state of slightly disbelieving amusement when the train voice said, “Please be seated. Doors will close in 11 seconds. Acceleration we last 336 seconds. After that point, passages may move around the train.”

  I took the nearest seat and settled back. It was comfortable, and included accommodation for the Quinlan tail. There were some controls on the armrest, and speakers in the headrest. Quinlans travel in style! But in principle, a passenger might have to travel up to a half-billion miles in Heaven's River. How would that work?

  “Excuse me, train voice?”

  “May I be of assistance?”

  “How long to Helep’s Ending?”

  “3814 miles.”

  “No.” Okay, granted, I'd phrase that wrong. “How much time will this trip to Helep’s Ending take?”

  “Approximately 6244 seconds, including acceleration and deceleration.”

  About 2200 miles per hour. At that speed, it would take a lifetime to travel around the topopolis.

  “What is the longest trip one could take, in terms of distance?”

  “The edge of the observable universe is approximately 45.7 billion lightyears away.”

  Sigh.

  “What is the longest trip one could take on the Heaven's River train system, in terms of distance.”

  “A trip to Grendel, which is opposite this point on Heaven's River, would be approximately 499,720,000 miles.”

  “How long would that trip take on this train?”

  “You would not take that trip on this train.”

  Grr.

  “How would I take that trip?”

  “You would take an express train equipped with staterooms and sleeping berths.”

  “And how long with the trip take?”

  “Approximately 12 days.”

  “The express
trains travel faster?”

  “Express trains travel on the high-speed trunks and achieve a maximum velocity of 527 miles per second.”

  Interestingly precise speed. I did a quick calculation and realized that such a speed would result in one standard Quinlan g of pseudo-gravity as the train traveled around the topopolis. Except the train would also be cork screwing counter to the rotation of the habitat, which explained the helical track that Professor Gilligan had described. Anyway, at the moment I was on a local run, which would operate at much lower speeds. Well, I had a couple of hours with nothing to do.

  “Which direction is Helep’s Ending?”

  “It is in front of us.”

  I bit back an expletive.

  “Which direction is Helep’s Ending relative to Garrick's spine?”

  “It is sunward.”

  I had to think about that for a moment and check the translation specs. Sunward meant the direction that the artificial sun moved. So… west. According to our conventions.

  “Can you tell me about the area around Helep’s Ending?”

  “Specifics are not available. There is an information kiosk at the station that can provide local details.”

  Uh-huh. Except it was probably closed until further notice. Sadly, the train voice probably only had information directly related to trains and train schedules, and asking all kinds of weird questions might get me flagged.

  “Can you inform me when we're close to arrival?”

  “I was sent a wake-up call for 224 seconds before deceleration. Is that acceptable?”

  “Uh, yes, thank you.”

  Meanwhile, I would put the Manny on standby and have a ‘nap’ which would allow me to get some work done.