Heaven's River

by Dennis E. Taylor

  I nodded and we went looking for a spot in the tall grass to build a nest.

  23. The Road to Garrick's Spine

  Bob

  September 2334

  Nirvana River System

  We lowered ourselves into the water just after dark, then paddled as quietly as possible out about a third of the width of the river. Since most boats tried for mid-river, it seemed like a good, safe section that would keep us from getting run over. Or spotted. Not that a couple of Quinlans floating quietly with a box would stand out, in the dark. Someone would have to be almost on top of us with a lantern, to have any hope of seeing us. And as Bridget had discussed, we were unlikely to show up on infrared from above, especially with all the much warmer boats around. The downside was that we’d have to go with the current. Pushing the box along would make too much noise and would place a strain on the box that might result in a leak. Hugh had placed two of his spiders in the box as early warning systems. The slightest trace of moisture, and we'd head for shore.

  The trip to Garrick would take almost two weeks. We would have to float past the city's location in the segment, then take a connector tributary around to the Arcadia River, and float back in the opposite direction to Garrick's spine. Meanwhile, the days would be spent on shore, wrapped in tall grass or snuggled under a windfall. If we could find one with no resident badger. Well, I was a plan anyway. I had no confidence that Murphy would suddenly decide to leave us alone.

  The experience was peaceful, mostly. Floating was easy and we could take turns on watch, but I hadn't realized how much variation there was in the course that boats took through the river. I guess they were trying to avoid each other, but it turned out mid-river essentially meant the middle half. I found myself having to skull quietly with my tail to move myself away from approaching vessel several times.

  I told Hugh about it when he came on watch.

  “Not a big deal,” he said. “I'm a little surprised that you are surprised by this. Didn't you ever do a night watch?”

  “Yeah, but I always kept it mid-river.”

  “You were probably putting too much effort into it.”

  I just could see his smile and the darkness. “Still overachieving after 300 years.”

  “Say, which one of us is trying to build god?”

  “Touché. Maybe we should've called it Babel instead.”

  We settled into an awkward silence for a few seconds. It was kind of an elephant-in-the-room situation, and I think neither one of us wanted to open a discussion that couldn't be walked back if things went south. I resolved yet again that I would bring it up once we were safely out of Heaven's River.

  “The box seems to be holding well,” Hugh finally said. “Your turn for a break.”

  I nodded, passed the box to him, and made sure my Manny had a good grip on his. “See you in a couple of hours.” I popped back into VR and ordered a coffee.

  There was a message from Bridget. I settled into my La-Z-Boy, took a sip of coffee, and opened the text file.

  “Hi Bob. I saw your pics of His Badgerness, as you’re calling him. Just wanted to let you know, that's not a badger. Uh, I mean it's not a relative of Quinlans. That's an actual junior - an immature Quinlan. Still pre-sentient. And probably about two years old. Nasty little buggers, aren’t they? My guess is he probably got away from a crèche and has gone totally feral. Humans who've grown up that way have never been able to acclimatize to civilization or even learn proper language. I don't know if it would be the same with a Quinlan, but I suspect it might be. If they go through the equivalent of the evolution of prefrontal synthesis…”

  She went on for a few more paragraphs, becoming increasingly technical. Typical of someone leaving a message, she was talking to herself as much as to me. The takeaway though was that the evolution of a facility for language recursion in human beings required the children be exposed to actual usage by a certain age, or they would never be able to pick it up. Frontal dynamic aphasia, she called it.

  I closed the file and sat back, deep in thought. This could've been a problem back on Quinn, naturally, but it would be much more of a problem on Heaven's River where there was more space, fewer Quinlans, and less pressure to stay together due to a more accommodating environment. I started to compose a reply, then changed my mind. I would wait until the next time we talked. Instead, I pinged Will and received an invitation. I opened a video window and found him working with his garden, about 30 feet away. I realized I was getting a video feed from a roamer. Will probably had my transmission on his heads-up.

  “Still at it?” I said.

  “Yep. These plants won't breed themselves.”

  “Uh…”

  He laughed. “Okay, they would. But I'm trying for specific adaptations.”

  I hesitated for a moment, then blurted out, “Listen, Will, I read your blog. Especially the part about a mini-Bellerophon. Are you really thinking of physically heading out in it? Is it even ready?”

  Will stood straight, and gazed in my direction for a moment with an inscrutable expression. “To be honest, I left the 82 Eridani system a year and a half ago. I'm already well on my way.”

  I let my jaw drop. He hadn’t mentioned this to anyone, as far as I knew.

  “No, I haven't told anyone yet,” he said, reading my mind. “And it doesn't really matter, does it? As a group were still unconsciously in the mindset that you have to be located in whatever system you’re active. But with SCUT, as long as you're on the network, you can be anywhere.”

  “So you'll keep working on the Valhalla terraforming?”

  “Mmm…” Will made a so-so gesture. “I want to get out of politics. So I'm going to have to be perceived as unavailable. I think I’ll have to hand off this project as well. Fortunately, it's far enough along that the Asgard government can take it from here.”

  “And you're going to do this thing with Herschel and Neil?”

  “Yep. And then keep going.”

  I blew out a breath. “I’m shocked and surprised, but also a little jealous.”

  “Well I'll still be around in the Bobiverse for a long long time, Bob.”

  “Can you take another passenger?”

  Will gave me the side eye. “Seriously?”

  “Not sure yet. I'll think about it.”

  Hugh and I managed to keep to our plan for eight days with no glitches. But somewhere along the line, we must've slipped up somehow. Or maybe we were just unlucky.

  It was the middle of the night and I was off watch, sitting in my library, when I got a call from Hugh.

  “Bob, I think we have a problem.”

  I popped immediately back into my Manny.

  “What?”

  To maintain silence, we continued to communicate over the intercom.

  “For boats converging on us. That seems unlikely to be a coincidence.”

  “Can we dodge them?”

  “If we didn't have Bender, we could just run underwater. With the box having to stay on the surface, I don't see how. Especially if they have aerial support.”

  I examined the darkness above us. “Probably some kind of night flyer. That means that even if we get away, they'll be watching for this strategy in the future.”

  “True, but let's deal with the current situation right now.”

  I took a moment to evaluate the four approaching boats. “We might be able to sow some confusion with this many pursuers.”

  Hugh did his own survey, then added “We could also use the Millennium Falcon maneuver.”

  “We’d also need a distraction.”

  “I can handle that. I'll take the box, you take Bender. I've already got my spiders cutting open the case.”

  “You’ll have to submerge Bender, at least for a few moments. I sure hope the vellum is water tight.”

  “Me too, but I don't think we have a choice. I can also stuff the matrix into your pack, just for a little additional safety.”

  I nodded, just as the cover on the shipping case
released with a slight pop. Hugh rummaged in the box while I held it steady. The boats grew steadily closer, but they were still too far away to see us. I was sure they were navigating by dead reckoning and instructions from someone. I still couldn't see anything in the air above us. Hopefully the surveillance was too high to see clearly what we were doing, and once you was submerged, he would be invisible.

  Hugh disappeared under the waves with hardly a ripple, leaving me with the transport case, I jammed the lid back on and began to noisily swim away, sacrificing everything for speed. I wasn't going to do a straight run though, I wanted to create as much confusion as I could and keep their attention on me. Accordingly, I turned between ships again and again, trying to lead them into each other.

  We played a kind of warped game of tag for almost a minute before our pursuers did the obvious thing. A number of splashes indicated that Quinlans were going into the water to take me down to take me down.

  “You set?”

  “Set,” Hugh replied.

  “Go.”

  Abandoning my prior strategy, I undertook a straight-line retreat, making for the nearest shoreline as fast as I could manage. With the case balanced on my stomach, I was at a disadvantage. On the other hand, I was normally able to swim twice as fast as a biological Quinlan. It was close, but I made it to shore with a lead measured in seconds. The boats had to heave to rather than run aground, but I could hear individual Quinlans hopping onto land just behind me. Now it was a foot race, and I was forced to run upright while my pursuers could go down on all fours. But again, it was biological versus machine. It would come down to who overheated first. Here though, I had another advantage: night vision.

  It was still dark, and although they might be able to track me from the air, they certainly couldn't pursue me at full speed. In two minutes, I was into the trees. I was well ahead of my pursuers and there was no way they'd find me in the dark. At least not without help. And that help would now have to come into the trees to find me. I cast around hurriedly for a rock, but in this artificial environment, random loose rocks would be few and far between. Nothing else presented itself. A piece of wood wouldn't do unless it was in the form of the spear. Then I had an idea. I quickly spit up an iron piece. About the size of a silver dollar, but twice as heavy, it would make an excellent missile in the right…

  Movement above. A shadow resolved itself into a bird about the size of a crow. It had landed on a branch, and was moving through the tree trying to get farther into the cops without flying blind. I measured the distance, cocked an arm, and let fly. Computer senses combined with machinery capable of supplying a force with milligram precision put the iron piece right through the chest of the spy device. The bird went over backward without a squawk and landed with a thump. I spared a moment to verify what I already knew it: it had spilled gears and electronics, rather than blood and guts.

  I had to move fast if they had another spy drone in reserve, it would try to take up the search from the last known position which was… here. I picked up the case and ran farther into the forest.

  “How’s it going, Hugh?”

  “Good. I'm attached to the underside of one of the catamaran hulls, above the waterline. Bender seems okay. At least, the flea in the backpack hasn't reported any moisture. No one has come looking, so either they didn't realize there were two of us, or they only care about the one with the case. I'm hoping it's the former.”

  “You stay put until you can get off without being spotted. Then I’ll meet up. Meanwhile, I need to figure out how to ditch this case without them finding it. As long as they’re looking for a Quinlan with a transport case, they won't be looking for a Quinlan with a big cubicle backpack, or a Quinlan with no backpack.

  “My backpack is in the box,” Hugh said. “I left it there when I grabbed yours, and now you have all my money.”

  “Ah, gotcha.”

  I opened the box and sure enough there was a backpack in it. Compared to the weight of a matrix, that had been negligible. I donned the pack, then closed the case and inspected the area. Some fallen trees could be the beginning of a windfall. Not enough to hide a box, but may be enough to disguise some digging. I quickly pawed open a hole in the ground. Fortunately, I didn't hit shell material before the whole was deep enough, and dropped the case in. I shoved some of the dirt pile over the case and the hole was filled in. I took a few minutes to spread the extra soil around and scatter leaves and moss on the spot. It wasn't perfect, but I need perfect. I just needed good enough. Until they found the box, my pursuers would assume they were looking for a Quinlan carrying a packing crate that contained the magical cube that the Administrator and the Resistance wanted so badly. Once they discovered the empty container, they'd be back to looking for a Quinlan with a bulky backpack, which would put Hugh back in their sites.

  For the moment though, I was just another random traveler. I modified my appearance almost out of habit, then set off westward, the opposite direction to what they'd be expecting. Two hours later with the dawn breaking, I was back in the water and driving flat-out to the east.

  “How are you holding up Hugh?”

  “Okay. No one seems to have thought to look under the boat. I don't think they're really looking for a second fugitive. And the boats are sailing downstream, so I'll stick with them until they change their headings.”

  “Yeah, I figure they're concentrating their efforts on tracking me. Meanwhile, I'm coming up behind you. Are all the boat still together? And can you get a fix on the sun? Your current sun angle will tell me where you are.”

  “Sorry Bob, I don't think I can leave my spot without exposing myself. Keep looking for the boats, and otherwise just head downstream. Right now, I'm going where we want to go anyway.”

  I sighed and signed off. The probability that Hugh’s ride would conveniently keep going east into the Garrick's Spine segment was vanishingly small, which meant we'd be winging it again at some point. There had to be some way of getting the matrix to our destination other than the ones we already tried. The safest transport method for Bender would still be as cargo, either mail or as part of the shipment. But they were inspecting all containers. And all boats as, as Will had pointed out, so we couldn't…

  Well hold on. Would they inspect their own boats? Would they expect me to have the nerve to hitch a ride with them? It might be that Hugh was in the safest possible place right now.

  24. Negotiations

  Bill

  September 2334

  Virt

  “You have a communications request from Lenny.”

  “Seriously?” I could feel my jaw drop. We were winning the war against Starfleet, so maybe - no, winning was the wrong word. We were pushing them back, but in the process, humanity was destroying our assets. Like, taking out not yet necrotic tissue as part of an amputation. I grimaced at the comparison. That was dark for me.

  Guppy of course had treated my expostulation like he did any non-procedural statement: total ignore. He stood at parade rest, patiently waiting for me to say something actionable.

  “Fine, Guppy. Let him in, but firewall him.”

  “Communication is audio-visual only.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  A window popped up with Lenny standing squarely in the middle of it.

  “Lenny.”

  “Bill.”

  I tolerated the stare off for less than half a mil before my impatience got the better of me. “You wanted this palaver, Lenny. Out with it.”

  “He nodded and briefly examined his shoes or something. “We're winning this war, Bill. Time to discuss terms.”

  “You’re wi-? Unbelievable. What drugs are you on? Or have you invented a new definition of winning that means getting your asses kicked?”

  He smirked. “Our intention isn't and has never been to take over stellar systems. Geeze Bill. We want to sever contact with the bios, not end up in charge. Instead, we’re forcing you and the humans to destroy equipment in order to quarantine us, but it quarant
ines you at the same time, so it's a win for us.”

  “Uh-huh. That sounds like redefining winning, to me. What you're doing is inconveniencing us for a year or two. Is that a win for you?”

  “You're just looking at short-term damage, Bill. What makes you think things will go back to same-old-same-old, after this is over?”

  “So why are you negotiating, Lenny? Seems to me if you have the upper hand, this conversation doesn’t make sense.”

  Lenny looked down at his shoes again and sighed. “I know you and the others don't consider us to be Bobs anymore. I don't think you're entirely wrong, for what it's worth, but you reduced it to a false dichotomy: either all Bob or no Bob.” He gazed silently at me for a moment, perhaps gauging my reaction. “We're no more in love with blowing up things and endangering people then you are, but you know as well as I do that you've done exactly that when you felt the cause justified it. Believe me, this is the less destructive option.”

  “Less destructive than what?”

  Lenny opened his mouth a couple of times, trying to find the right words. “Our first plan would've caused more damage overall, let's just leave it at that, okay?”

  “Lenny, what’s causing this? Why are you so set on the Prime Directive?”

  “Don't bother psychoanalyzing me, or us. Regardless of why, it's how we see things. And to answer the obvious next question, this isn't a live-and-let-live situation. Your insistence on continuing to be butt-in-skis affects the rest of the Bobiverse, including us.”

  “How, exactly?”

  “Right this very minute, not a lot. But the Bobiverse is effectively monolithic, at least viewed from the outside. Something goes bad, it'll paint all of us. Just like this war is painting you, from the humans’ point of view.”

  I began to get a glimmer. “So this isn't so much about preventing damage to bios, but more about protecting virt?”

  Lenny bobbed his head back and forth. “The two are not mutually exclusive, but yes, basically.”