Heaven's River

by Dennis E. Taylor

  I could see some lights downriver that were likely the next town. I hadn't bothered to find out its name, as we were not scheduled to stop there. I felt bad for the crew the Clipper, who had all been good people. Even the volatile captain. The guy who traded shifts with me would certainly not fare well, and when the cops arrived, they'd have to mention me jumping ship or they'd have no excuse for the missing crate.

  Dawn was just starting to come to the eastern sky as I crawled up out of the water into the shoreline weeds. I could make a nest in the tall greenery, but I'd have to make sure it covered me from aerial surveillance as well. Sure as shooting, the Administrator's devices would be on the prowl. I made sure everything was as secure as I could make it, then returned to virt. Hugh was waiting for me and raised a coffee mug in salute. I fell back into my La-Z-Boy with a loud sigh.

  “If it helps, I’m one segment away from you,” Hugh said.

  “It does, a little, but let's face it. Two of us isn't going to be that much more useful than one. We still can’t take on the entire Crew and Resistance armies. We still can’t travel in the water with Bender's matrix, and it will still take forever to go overland.” I could hear the discouragement of my voice but couldn't do anything about it.

  “Look, if nothing else, I still have my full complement of spiders and fleas,” Hugh said. “We might be able to rig something up. I'm about six days away from you, assuming I don't have to sit around waiting for a boat going in the right direction.

  I nodded thoughtfully. “You’ll have to go halfway down the Arcadia before you can get on a connector to loop around to the Nirvana. That'll add to your time.”

  I let the silence stretch for a few mils and opened my mouth to bring up the whole AI thing, and predictably, the rest of the expedition members picked that exact moment to start popping in. Howard was sitting in the video window, with Bridget as well.

  “Where are we at, Bob?” Garfield said.

  “My Manny is in a grass nest with the crate. I put in extra effort to make sure was concealed. I've reduced the Manny’s body temperature in case someone uses infrared for searching. My one spider is out of the box, ready to light saber anyone or anything that gets too close.”

  “I don't think infrared is likely to be a useful tool,” Bridget said. “The whole point of fur is to retain heat. Fur-bearing animals tend to shed heat either through their breath or their feet.”

  “Feet?” Garfield said, disbelief in his voice.

  Bridget nodded. “Hummingbirds would shed heat through their feet and eyes.” She made a sad face. “I’d have loved to see a hummingbird.”

  “True of a lot of animals,” Will replied. “We still have the genetic info from Svalbard. If we ever perfect the tech, we’ll bring them back. You might yet get your wish.”

  Bridget gave him a small smile of acknowledgment, then turned back to me. “Anyway, the Manny puts out almost nothing when resting. You could float downstream and you'd be almost impossible to spot.”

  “Leaving out the small question of Bender.”

  “Look, Bob,” Hugh said, leaning forward. “Your problem has been basically lack of opportunity and time to implement some kind of solution for keeping the matrix dry.”

  “And lack of money,” I interjected.

  He grinned. “Yeah, that too. But I have money. I've been crewing all the way and haven't had to spend anything. Plus, the money my Manny was initially stocked with. You’ve gone to ground, so, other than maybe getting a little farther from the water, you can stay put until I get there. Then we can figure something out.”

  I nodded without comment, and again found my opinion of Hugh shifting. He seemed to be honestly concerned about getting Bender out of Heaven's River. If he was also interested in the AI issue, was that necessarily nefarious? Was I overreacting? Part of the problem was that I didn't want to find out. It was a true to form original Bob problem, a tendency to not want to deal with uncomfortable personal issues. I clearly had no replicative drift in that particular department.

  Hugh’s suggestion about moving away from the water was a good one, and I made a point of doing so that night. Under cover of darkness, with my scent turned off, I hoisted the shipping crate and made my way uphill. I wanted a location where I can see around me but be camouflaged and where I had an escape route if someone approached. Eventually I found a deadfall formed by several trees in their root balls which created a natural kind of cave. Only one problem: it was occupied. Some kind of badger-like animal, with all the accompanying friendly behavior, rushed out and tried to bite me when I came to close.

  I tended to be a live and let live kind of person, but I'd been running for too long and I was getting decidedly short tempered about it. I reacted on instinct, the same kind of reflex you get of the dog lunges for your leg. I jumped back and as the animal continued to charge, I hauled off and kicked it.

  “Yipe!” said the badger, as it sailed over the deadfall, and “Ow, fuck!” said I, and “Oh, shit!” said my internal monitors, or something to that effect. Bottom line though, my kicking leg seized up. I gaped at the unusual, and certainly unhealthy angle of my knee, then turned to the heavens and used every English, Pav, Quinlan, and Deltans swear word that I had ever saved up for just such an occasion. I don't think any of the underbrush actually burst into flames, but it was a close thing.

  Eventually, when I found myself circling around into the third repetition, I let it wind down and began to hop my one-legged way into my new home. There were enough branches and sticks available to make a defensive array of stakes, in case the badger tried to come back and dispute ownership. However, any question of escape was gone until I could affect repairs, and that with a severely reduced complement of fleas. Most of the work would be done by the nanites, but the fleas would've sped up the process. I hoped it was just a case of straightening out some bent components, and not something worse.

  “You blew out your knee?” Bill exclaimed, incredulous. He gave me the hairy eyeball from his video window. “What you now, an athlete?”

  I chuckled ruefully in reply. “Yeah, in the international sport of badger-kicking. If it helps, I put him right between the uprights.”

  “Uh-huh,” Bill said. “How much damage?”

  “It’ll be repaired by the time Hugh gets here, as long as no one else comes a searching. I'll be okay, but right now if anyone finds me, I'm screwed.”

  “Bob, you should really be cloning yourself. Get those other Mannies back in the game.”

  “To what end, Bill? They’re thousands of miles away. I’ve already stripped them of most of their money and devices, and even with five Mannies, we couldn't take on a horde of Crew. Plus, I think it’s more important to get more surveillance drones built before more matrices.

  “But you've got Bender now.”

  “For the moment. But if I lose him, we need to be able to find him again. And even if I don't, it sure would be great to have eyes on my surroundings with SUDDAR so I can see approaching pursuers and such.”

  “Ah. Fair enough.” Bill was silent for a moment. “I’ve been playing with the idea of going in the opposite direction. Build a few more Mannies, stock them with a ton of dough, and just buy a boat to come get you.”

  I laughed “That’s thinking big. And a couple of weeks ago, it probably would've worked. But I’ll bet you anything that all infrastructure is being closely watched now. If not by the Administrator, then by the Resistance. You'd be spotted as soon as you tried to gain entry.”

  “Yep. My thoughts too.” Bill sighed. “No matter how we parse this, it's essentially down to a simple case of broken field running. You’re trying to get past them, and they’re trying to stop you. There doesn't appear to be any way to finesse it.”

  “What I don't know,” I said, “is whether they know where we're trying to get to. Have they identified Garrick's Spine as our point of origin? Do they have video archives, or is the fact that it's the closest connection to the outside enough to make it a prime
candidate?”

  “True. If they figured that out, they'll just create a huge court on around Garrick that a mouse couldn't sneak through.”

  “I did write it on my crate’s tag…” I mused.

  “An obvious ploy, if you wanted to plant a red herring,” Bill replied. “They’ll consider it is a possibility, but they won't buy it.”

  With that cheery thought, Bill waived and signed off. I put my hands behind my head and stretched while I considered what he’d said.

  Bill was right. This was just going to get harder as we got closer to the finish line.

  My new home was a superior-quality highly-coveted residence. I knew this because the former owner tried several times to take it back. The stakes did their job of keeping him at bay, and we generally ended up snarling at each other from opposite sides of the barrier for several minutes. After the exchange of pleasantries, the enraged critter would leave, but I could always hear him pacing around the deadfall, growling what were undoubtedly badger-ish curses.

  Eventually he settled on a compromise of sorts. I'd set up my barrier as close to the center of the deadfall as possible, to minimize the area that I might have to defend. This left a good deal of the entrance tunnel available for what turned out to be a siege. Mr. Badger set up shop just on the other side of the stakes, padding his nest with leaves and fur, with the occasional snarl when I displayed too much interest. After that, he came and went, usually returning with his lunch dangling from his mouth to eat in my presence. Perhaps he thought was taunting me. I was fine with that. After all, I'd taken his home, so I figured I should cut him some slack.

  I took some close-up images of them with the intention of forwarding them to Bridget. On close inspection, he looked more like a small ornery Quinlan than anything else. I wondered if he might be related to the natives the way chimps were related to humans. Meanwhile, internal repairs continued. The injury turned out to be a minor issue, in that no complicated machinery was damaged. But I had bent the skeleton just below the knee, so the nanites had to soften and re-form the carbon fiber structure. It was a slow job, and required me to hold still. Meanwhile, His Badgerness seemed none the worse for his short career as a football. Stupid badger.

  On the third day though, I detected the noise of something approaching. No, several somethings, and all speaking Quinlan. A search party. I couldn't make out actual words, but it was a fair bet they were looking for me. This was confirmed, more or less, a few minutes later.

  A Furl hopped into the entrance to the deadfall and paused. I crouched down, trying to become one with the leaves and dirt and darkness. The furl turned its head this way and that, then hopped farther into the tunnel, and snap became badger lunch. His Badgerness played with the corpse for a few moments, but he appeared confused by the very un-yummy pile of gears and electronics. After sniffing it a few times, he pushed the pile aside with evident disgust.

  There was an exchange of words outside, followed by a Quinlan face being poked into the entrance. Wow. Big mistake. Having recently ceded one home to one Quinlan, His Badgerness was not prepared to experience a second such loss. He launched himself at the face, which disappeared with a cry of dismay. A few seconds of yelling and snarling followed, accompanied by lots of running around and things being knocked about. Then His Badgerness stomped back into his den, turned, and settled down with his butt toward me. It was probably an editorial comment, but I was too pleased with the events to be offended. This deadfall had just been solidly established as a place where no quarry could possibly be hiding.

  Rapidly receding voices and the occasional laugh confirmed this. I wished I’d had some food for my cranky roommate. He’d earned it. The burning question though, was whether or not that would be the only search party.

  When the badger left in his next hunting expedition, I sent my spider over the line to inspect the pile of fake furl. The spider confirmed that there was no power and no electrical activity, so I had him drag the corpse back to me. The up-close inspection was… interesting. Quinlan technology was definitely ahead of ours in some aspects, particularly that of fusion power generation and computer systems. The power plant was a marvel of miniaturization. And if the Casimir systems weren't so innately superior, we’d have stolen this tech in a cold second. I couldn’t even make heads or tails of the computer system. There were definitely some optoelectronic components, but they were only for interfacing. The core was… weird. I instructed the spider to take it apart and catalog the results. Bill would love this.

  “Hey Bob.”

  “Hi Hugh. Getting close?”

  “Pretty sure. The description sounds about right. This would've been easier if you'd gotten that town name.”

  “Yeah, rub it in. Once you get to shore, you should be able to pick up the radio telemetry from my spider.”

  “Great. 15 minutes or so.”

  Having Hugh around, even in anticipation, gave me a huge emotional boost. More than I can honestly justify. It wasn't clear what two Mannies could do that one Manny couldn't.

  Hugh detected my spider as soon as he came out of the water, and begin zeroing in on me. I did a quick check of my leg. Definitely fixed, so I wouldn’t be holding us up. Finally, I heard approaching footsteps, and seconds later a soft voice.

  “Bob?”

  “Here, Hugh. Don't stick your head in, though. My guard-badger has a hair-trigger.”

  Hugh chuckled, then said, “Let’s see if I can draw him out.”

  I listened to shuffling around sounds for a minute or so, then a small piece of wood to sailed into the den. His Badgerness snarled and arched his back. More sticks followed, accompanied by a chant of “here, kuzzy kuzzy kuzzy…”

  Well that was interesting. Had Hugh picked up the Deltan insults from my blogs? Or was he descended from me through Marvin or Luke? In any case, it proved too much for my roommate. With a snarl of rage, the badger launched himself out to deal with his tormentor. Hugh made “whoop” sound and retreated rapidly, but it was enough. I quickly pulled up the stakes, grabbed my crate, and rocketed out of the den, right into the back end of His Badgerness.

  I may not of planned this out as well as intended. The badger jumped straight up and incredibly managed to spin in midair, claws and teeth on full display. I wasn't about to hang around for hugs though. I sprinted off in the opposite direction, one eye on enemy mine. His Badgerness, no dummy, quickly realized that I'd vacated the residence. He shot back into the den, turned, and stood his ground at the entrance, snarling at all and sundry.

  “All yours, buddy. And thanks for the hospitality.” I said to him from a safe distance.

  Hugh was standing about 30 feet away, under a tree. He waved at me and we converged on a midpoint a safe distance from my former home.

  I gave him a fist bump. “Nice to see a friendly face again.”

  Hugh smiled in reply, then gestured toward the deadfall. “Too bad about the wildlife. That might've made a good secret lair to work from.”

  “Hmm, kind of cramped for two people. You said you had a solution to our problem?”

  In response, Hugh took off his backpack and opened the top. He withdrew a bundled package and held it out. “Ceiling pitch. What sailors used patch leaks. We’re going to do a thorough job in your shipping crate. We’ll test it by loading it with rocks and placing it in the water. Then were going to float downstream and night.”

  “Seems risky,” I said.

  “Not so much. I also have,” he pulled out another bundle, “waxed vellum. Useful as waterproof wrapping. And the seam can be sealed by mildly heating it.”

  I must have looked chagrined, because Hugh made a deprecating gesture. “Look, Bob, you been concentrating on keeping Bender safe and not exposing yourself. I've had a lot more freedom to ask questions and investigate possibilities without worrying about the consequences. Don't beat yourself up.”

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. At that moment I felt shame for my suspicions of Hugh and his motivations. If he
was indeed a descendant of Marvin or Luke, then he would remember the bond they had with Bender.

  Finally, I heaved a large sigh. “Okay, buddy. Let’s get this done.”

  We had to build a small fire to soften the pitch, but there was plenty of dried grass that would provide a smokeless flame. Doubtless, there were surveillance devices dedicated to watching for anything burning, given the damage an out-of-control forest fire or grass fire could do. With that in mind, we'd been careful to set up where the overhead cover was significant. And with the aid of some inspired cursing, we were able to coat the interior and exterior of the crate, with enough pitch left over to seal the lid in place once the matrix was ready. Bender went into several layers of waxed vellum, which was sealed with a hot rock. We did some testing on the crate, then sealed Bender into it. Finally, all preparation done, we sat around the remains of our campfire while I stared in semi shock at the shipping crate. The idea that I might finally be near the end of this Marathon was frankly a little stupefying.

  Hugh punched me lightly in the shoulder. “You okay there, bud?”

  “Yeah,” I responded with a sickly grin. “I’ve just gotten so used to running, I'm not sure how I'll adjust to a normal life.”

  “We have normal lives?”

  I answered with a snort, and glanced up at the sky. About three hours until dark. Do we dare take a break?”

  “Maybe alternate watches,” he replied. “Just in case more searchers show up. But let's get more hidden, first.”