Heaven's River

by Dennis E. Taylor

  Of course, this wasn't a mass production society. Artisans would be easily available. I resisted the urge to smack myself and thanked Carmine profusely.

  I left the funeral home, chuckling at the software's choice of name equivalents. I’d have to ask Hugh if there had been a little tweaking of the algorithms. Given what I'd done with Hugh's name equivalent, it was clearly Bob-like behavior. I read the note while wondering if I should ditch the backpack and cube while I worked. I could hide it in the forest, or I could get a room in a hotel. What would carry less risk? The forest would certainly be cheaper, but I couldn't bring myself to seriously consider tying Bender up in a tree and leaving him to the tender mercies of random chance.

  I did a quick calculation. I wasn't destitute yet, but I might end up working for passage on the way back to Garrick's Spine. Meanwhile, keeping Bender safe was job one. I stopped at a general store and bought a few small items for three coppers total. I gave the proprietor and iron and received my change. I had a brief urge to swallow the coins right in front of her, but attracting attention was not a good idea.

  With a little searching around, I found a fleabag hotel and paid for a night. The kindest word I could find for the room was… unimpressive. But it had a door lock, and the door felt solid, and the window was much too small for a Quinlan to get through, even if the room had been at ground level.

  And as was typical for Quinlan structures, the roof was exposed, support beams and all. I took up the length of rope that I purchased and did a quick leap and parkour to the rafters. It wouldn't be, strictly speaking, impossible for a Quinlan to duplicate that feet, but they would be more likely to just go get a ladder, which would hopefully take time. I tried the backpack with Bender in it to the highest point and shifted it around to be as invisible as possible from floor level. All good. I left my one remaining spider on the rafter as well, just in case.

  The Quinlan door locks were large and clunky compared to what I'd been used to on Earth, but the mechanism was nevertheless fairly sophisticated. Again, I was reminded that the Quinlans technology was limited, not their knowledge. I spit up a few coins to carry with me, locked the door behind me, and sent in a couple of fleas to freeze the lock mechanism. I was probably being overly paranoid, but the downside of overdoing it was much less bad than the downside of under preparing.

  First stop was a backpack shop. On earth that would've been a sports store, but with Quinlans backpacks were simply apparel. A few quick inquiries on the street and I had a destination. The shop was definitely upscale, not as in gold trim, but as in high quality and good selection. They carried backpacks, sashes, kits for fur decoration, and other items that the sophisticated and stylish Quinlan couldn't live without. I just hope the backpacks were more than fashion statements.

  I approached the single sales-critter. “I'm looking for a new backpack. My old one popped the seam because I've been carrying a funerary box in it. Do you have something with good capacity and dependable waterproofing?”

  “As it happens, we do. You shouldn't of course spend a lot of time in water, but it’ll hold for the occasional fishing expedition.” He led me over to a display and gestured. “Only five irons for this model.”

  Yikes. That would take most of my remaining cash. I open my hand and looked down at the four irons I’d coughed up, trying to project disappointment, piteousness, and whatever else I could manage.

  He glanced at the coins in my hand and sighed. “I can’t do four, my friend. 4 ½ and it's yours.”

  No problem, sir. I’ll just hack-hack-hack…

  No, not really. The urge was almost overpowering, but even ignore not wanting to attract attention, I was sure he’d throw me out.

  “I'll uh… talk to my friends. Back in a while.”

  I left the shop and went looking for Vinny's place. On the way, I surreptitiously coughed up some more coins. Vinny's place had a sign over the door that said… Vinny's Place. Really, Quinlans sucked with names. The window showed some of his products, including funerary boxes, small furniture, and some carved items. He did good work.

  “Are you Vinny?” I said to the lone occupant as I walked in.

  “I am. May I help you?”

  “Carmine sent me here. I'm looking for a specific size of funerary box. He thought you might be able to help me.”

  Benny's face lit up, and I realize that Carmine must actually be a relative. And well-liked. I hoped that would help my cause.

  We spent a few minutes talking about my requirements.

  “It’s an odd size, and oddly specific,” he said.

  “I'm trying to protect my existing box,” I explained. “My grandfather died a long way from our family home. I have to bring him back there, and I can't afford the obvious methods.”

  “I admire your dedication, youngster. I can produce to such an item. It will take about three days, and would cost six irons. However, I can't guarantee that it will be watertight. That simply isn't normally part of my requirements.”

  Well, between the room, the backpack, and the box, I’d be wiped out. And I would still have to pay for passage. And I didn't have any choice about going by boat. While the Manny would probably survive the seven-segment swim, I very much doubted that Bender would arrive still dry. Like it or not, I was going to have to play tourist. Or deckhand. But had no choice in the end.

  We talked some more, and I considered trying to haggle and down, but the simple lack of waterproofing rendered it moot. In the end. I thanked him for his time and told him I'd think about it.

  I was heading back to the backpack store when I received an alert from the spider in my room. Someone seemed to be trying to unlock the door, and they were being increasingly unsubtle about it. The fleas had rigged the lock well enough that the interlopers would have to break down the door to get in. Would they go that far? Would anyone notice or investigate? It wasn't a high-class neighborhood, but the proprietor might object to costly damage in a room that would be on rentable for a while.

  And the would-be home invaders agreed. After a few more rattles the sounds of assault stopped. I had no illusions that that was the end of it. It appeared none of my plans for the day were going to succeed. I changed direction and picked up speed, not quite breaking into a run. As I moved, I stretched my features and changed my fur patterns back into Natasha's face. That might get me in the door without being observed.

  The door to my room was still intact, although the lock and knob was a little more scarred than I remembered. No one appear to be hanging around. I didn’t kid myself though - there would be surveillance. Whether they were looking for Bob, or Natasha, or both, was an unknown. Whether it was Crew, Resistance, or both, was pretty much irrelevant at this point. My fate at the hands of either party - and more important, Bender's fate - was a foregone conclusion.

  I glanced at the window speculatively as I was climbing up to my pack. No such luck. What had originally seemed like a security feature was now a trap. There was only one way out of this room. But not necessarily so for the building. They’d be watching the front and back doors, but maybe there was a third alternative. I collected my spider and fleas, then locked and re-jammed the door. The scam probably wouldn't distract my pursuers for long, but every little bit helped. Meanwhile, I needed to be out of here.

  I headed for one of the two second-floor bathrooms for some privacy, and a chance to think. How to get out undetected? I can just go downstairs and peek out the front door without attracting attention. I had accepted it as a given that someone was watching the front. Probably the back as well - there were only the two doors. From the bathroom window I could see the alley where one of the pub staff was tossing something into the dumpster. I snorted. Dumpsters. Another parallel. Wait. What other parallels were there? Food deliveries... garbage pickup. Even a dump like this needed services supplied by other companies.

  I took a quick glance out into the hallway. No one. I made my way to the back of the building where presumably the kitchen and storag
e areas would be. On the way, I passed a cleaning person of the cart. The cart included a garbage can of sorts, made of wood. No trash bags here. The cleaner was working on one of the rooms so I grabbed the can off the cart. As I continued down, I placed my backpack in the can, then hoisted it up so the contents weren't visible.

  I got a glance or two as I passed through the service area, but who's going to question someone who's obviously working? Chances were, the hired help around here was transient and part-time anyway. I made it out to the back, holding the can up so it obscured my face, and making a show of struggling with the weight.

  The dumpster was up against the fence, something I'd noticed from the bathroom. What wasn't discernible was whether the fence would collapse the moment I put my weight on it. But it didn't matter - I was committed. I swung the can around, still projecting ‘this is really heavy, y’all’ with every pore, and upended it onto the edge of the dumpster. As I tipped it, I grabbed the backpack before it could drop into the bin. I pulled the can back with one hand, put it upside down on the ground as quietly and quickly as possible, and used it to vault over the fence.

  There was a shout behind me and I could hear running feet, but I was already on the other side and out of sight. I perhaps two seconds to get out of view of someone coming over the fence. A quick glance said that west was the shorter sprint to cover. I went east.

  As I turned into another alley, I heard the thump of someone landing. And a curse. Did I mention that Quinlans weren’t particularly acrobatic? Smiling to myself, I imagined a couple of sprained ankles. That would slow them down. Meanwhile though, best make tracks. I dodged and wove through alleyways and quieter streets, avoiding any area with too many potential witnesses. Within minutes, I was at the edge of town. Without breaking stride. I headed for the forest.

  Sleeping in a tree. Not a phrase a Quinlan was likely the use, which made it ideal for me. I found a particularly large heavily foliaged specimen and set myself high up in the thicker parts. I spit out my spider for sentry duty, clamped my arms around the trunk, and ordered the AMI to stay put. Everything seemed stable for the moment, so I exited the Manny and popped into my VR.

  “Hugh, I'm in virt if you feel like popping over.”

  “Sorry Bob, stacking cargo. I'll try to get away later.”

  Hmph. Honestly, I wasn't sure what I would say to him anyway. Did I want to confront Hugh about the Administrator thing? What would I accuse him of, exactly? I didn't even know for sure that he was aware the Administrator was an AI, and if he did? Say he admitted to suspecting it. What law or rule exactly had he broken?

  My suspicions were second-order, I realized: suspicions of suspicions. I would have to keep a lid on it until I figured out what, if any, nefarious motives Hugh or the Skippies might have tried.

  I tried connecting to Gandalf, but got an auto-reply. Probably Gandalf was fighting orcs or something. Quickly, I checked Bill, Will, Bridget, and Howard, and got either busy signals or auto-replies. It appeared everyone in the Bobiverse was a little tied up at the moment.

  With a bad-tempered grumble, I called up a coffee and activated Spike.

  So, item: I had seven segments to traverse, and it would have to be mostly by boat. Come to think of it, even if I trusted of the Quinlan postal system to deliver Bender safely, it wouldn't be any faster than mail, traveled by boat item.

  Next, I still had to get out of Heaven's River once I got to Garrick's Spine. In principle, that shouldn't be an issue: we had the side entrance hatch that Gandalf had built. On the other hand, the locals were much more aware of us now - of me, particularly. As Will's professor friend had rightly pointed out, I was probably going to show up on a lot of surveillance systems from now. I could disguise myself, but I couldn't disguise the backpack.

  Or couldn't I? Granted, I had to watch my money, but my biggest hurdle right now was to get out of Forest Hill. Once I could lose myself in the vastness of Heaven's River, I might be okay, so how to get out of town without exposing Bender's matrix to view?

  15. Frustrations Mount

  Howard

  July 2334

  Trantor

  “Well, that settles it,” I said. “Humans are idiots.”

  Bridget sighed. “Given what's going on, Howard, I think they've shown considerable restraint in grandfathering us.”

  “Or they've noticed that we own half the damn city, and they'd lose a proxy fight.”

  “That may have played a part, I admit.” Bridget walked to the picture window and gazed out, arms crossed.

  I enjoyed the panoramic view of the atmosphere of Big Top through the distant fiberex dome of the city. The sight of clouds and Jovian life stretching off in all directions, seemingly to infinity, never failed to fill me with awe. But I knew that for Bridget, it was about more than the view. It was a validation of her work and her professional reputation. She was the reigning expert on Jovian-class life throughout human space, and was unlikely to be dethroned anytime soon. A passing pod of blimps brought a slight grin to her face.

  “You have that smile,” I said. “Remember our first encounter?”

  Bridget laughed. “Or the city's first encounter?” She turned from the window. “Howard, political issues come and go. But politics would be with us forever. We’ll just out-wait them. Eventually, people will calm down or forget, or we’ll just wait until they’re dead and a new generation is in charge. Meanwhile, we keep a relatively low profile. We’ll be okay. We have forever, remember?”

  “The kids…”

  “The current batch are all adults. We’ll have to hold off on new adoptions for a while. You said you needed a break anyway. Maybe it’s time for another expedition. I have several candidate planets lined up. All with interesting-looking ecosystems.”

  “You've heard what Herschel and Neil are planning?”

  “Yes, but they have to get the Romulus, load up, then get out of human space. It could be as much as 100 years before they reach the first new system, with no guarantees that it'll have anything worth exploring. And we can join up remotely, if and when. I want something a little more immediate.”

  I nodded. Bridget was right: if it came down to it, we’d only be in trouble if the humans try to confiscate our assets. And we have lawyers up the ying yang for just that eventuality. We could literally keep the fight going in the courts longer than most of our opponents’ lifetimes.

  “Alright, my love. You lead. Where do you want to go today?”

  16. Still Trying

  Bob

  July 2334

  Nirvana River System

  I found myself surreptitiously reaching for my face again, and consciously brought my arm back down. I had disguised myself once more, this time using a random passerby as my model. To avoid a ‘twins’ issue, I'd tweaked the appearance a little. If I ran into my model, he might think he’d discovered a long-lost brother, but nothing more.

  After much soul-searching, I'd reluctantly left Bender tied up in the tree. No Quinlan was going to climb that high, not even with a gun pointed to their head. Wildlife tended to be small, and not overly curious if something didn't smell like food. Bender was probably okay, but I was still terrified that something might happen and I’d have no way of ever finding him. But I had to make a clean break from Bob-running-around-with-Bender-on-his-back to random-guy-going-on-a-trip, and the best way to do that was to never allow anyone to see anything that would link us. So…

  Enochi Fungi, social gadfly and otter about town was going to book a cruise on a local luxury vessel! Or more factually, I was going to try to work my way across seven segments disguised as Random Guy. But - and this was a good part - I would have luggage.

  I glanced up at the sign over my destination. Happy Al's Storage and Trunks. Well, that's not quite what it said, but metaphorically it wasn't far off. Quinlans didn't go in for Samsonite luggage, but they did have occasional need for rigid boxes of the locking variety. Some of the items on display very much resembled old-fashioned steamer t
runks, except without the metal strapping. That would've cost more than I was worth. But wood and leather could do a pretty good job, if worked properly.

  Happy Al, who it turned out went by the name of Steve, greeted me effusively as I walked in the door. I guess the business had been slow and Steve was bored to the point of suicide. That could work for me.

  “I'm looking for one of those,” I pointed to a steamer trunk. “About this size.” I held my hands apart to illustrate. I wanted a trunk that would be bulky enough that someone couldn't grab it and run away, but small enough for me to carry. “And with a security loop, like the one in the window.”

  Steve straightened. “Sir, all of our trunks have security loops and locks. We carry only the best stock.”

  Um, on the one hand that was good. On the other hand, it sounded expensive. But this part of my plan had very little wiggle room.

  Steve made for the back of the shop and returned in seconds with a trunk that was just about perfect. I gave it a brief once over, including opening it to check the interior. This was as close to exactly right as I was going to get.

  “How much?”

  “Eight irons, four coppers.”

  Ouch. I let surprise show my face and didn't move for a two-count.

  “That's, uh…”

  Steve became chagrined, realizing he'd overreached. “That is, of course, retail. However, it's a slow day so…”

  I took the hint. “I have seven irons six coppers.” I open my hand to show him. “That's all I have in the world. And I do need this item.”

  Steve looked briefly relieved, then managed to suppress it. Apparently, that was still above cost. “That will be acceptable.”

  I handed him the money and took the trunk. It was a good thing he hadn’t dug in his heels: I might've spit up my remaining two irons just to see his expression.

  The trunk had a nice lock on it, made of whatever insanely hard wood they used instead of metal. It could probably be forced by a determined thief, but the point was to not attract the attention of thieves in the first place. To that end, as soon as I was back to my tree, I started rubbing dirt on it to take the shine off. A few minutes attention got me a suitably grubby and timeworn trunk. Next, I harvested some dry grasses for cushioning and lined the inside.