Heaven's River

by Dennis E. Taylor

  “Do you have anything specific in mind. For existential threats to the Bobiverse, I mean.”

  For the first time I saw a real emotion on Lenny's face. Only for a split-mil, but I'd swear it was naked fear. Then he recovered control and donned the neutral expression typical of poker play.

  “Lenny?”

  “No comment, Bill. You'll have to take my word for it. There are worse things that could happen than a few blown up comms stations.”

  “Not good enough. Sorry. Surely there's enough Bob still in you to know that ‘take my word for it’ doesn't go very far.”

  Lenny gave me a flash of a smile, a wan sad fraction of a grin. “Don't call me Shirley. And yeah, I know, but,” he shook his head. “Sorry. Some things are just not for public consumption.”

  “So…?”

  “It looks like we continue with this. You'll win, of course, in that you and the bios will eventually kick us off all the common resources, but I think we’ll have achieved our purpose. Bye, Bill.”

  And with that, the window disappeared. But the feeling in the pit of my stomach remained. This was more than just some random obsession engendered by replicative drift. What the hell had happened to them?

  25. Crossover

  Bob

  September 2334

  Nirvana River System

  Six days later, we were in the Garrick segment. I’d caught up with Hugh and both of our Mannies were wedged up under the hull of one of the Crew boats. I sat in my La-Z-Boy, while Hugh lay flopped in the beanbag chair.

  “We've been surprisingly lucky the last week,” Hugh said, “but now we have to use the transfer river to get over to the Arcadia. They know where on the Nirvana, or at least we were recently. They know we are, or at least might be, heading for Garrick's Spine.”

  “Thanks to me labeling the box at one point. Brilliant move.”

  “20/20 hindsight,” Hugh said with a shrug. “And anyway, I think the reason these boats came here is specifically because they know our destination and are setting up blockades.”

  “And we get a free ride out of it, so it's not all downside. Except for the part about them setting up a blockade. No plan is perfect.”

  Hugh thought for a moment. “Overland?”

  “90-odd miles of hiking? With no guarantee they aren’t watching for that as well? No thanks. We have a better chance in the water.”

  “Okay if we’re going to be going the watery route, let's stop in the last town and beef up our waterproofing. A couple more layers of vellum, maybe an extra coat of waterproofing on the inside of your backpack. Check the seams, stuff like that.”

  I nodded. “Sounds good. And as long as one of us stays with the matrix out of town, it's a low-risk activity. They can't be vetting every single purchase in town, even if they had reason to believe this might be a concern for us.”

  Hugh twitched, but didn't respond. By this point, our mutual avoidance of ‘the subject that shall not be uttered’ was well-established, but I could see he didn't entirely agree.

  Getting to town wasn't a huge problem. The Crew boats anchored just outside of the last town before the transfer tributary. We waited for dark, then dropped off the underside of the boat and sculled silently to shore, just upstream of the docks. I didn't want us to be seen going into town, as it was virtually certain there would be surveillance.

  We found some dense trees and climbed up into the foliage until we were out of sight. Hugh did a quick inspection of the backpack and matrix.

  “All good. Although the backpack is definitely showing the strain. Some pitch on the inside will help a lot with that though.”

  I nodded and reviewed the list Hugh had given me. While it would have make more sense for Hugh to go shopping for those items, I was far more experienced with the tactics that Crew and the Resistance were using, and would be at least a little more likely to detect them. I wandered into town, casual and carefree, and ambled about for an hour projecting ‘nothing to see here’ from every follicle. Crew didn't wear any kind of special uniform, of course, but there did appear to be a lot of Quinlans standing around looking alert. I received several concentrated once-overs as well, but new face, generic backpack, and no large cubicle cargo meant they lost interest quickly.

  I found the correct store, per Hugh’s instructions, but a glance at the two large alert Quinlans hanging around the entrance convinced me to walk on by. So they had made the connection. Or someone had.

  “The store is being watched,” I said over the intercom.

  “I guess I was half expecting that,” Hugh replied. “We’ll have to think of something else.”

  “Break in after dark?”

  “I think that would raise a big ol’ red flag. Weather sealing supplies are not generally high on the smash-and-grab list.”

  I frowned and thought, watching the store out of the corner of my eye.

  “I wonder how dedicated those guys are. Do they show up first thing in the morning, and stay until close?”

  “Good question. I guess you’ll have to do is stake out.”

  I went into a nearby shop and asked casually what time they normally closed. It was a reasonable assumption that everyone would have more or less the same schedule. I had a few hours to kill, so I decided to spend it walking around and getting the lay of the land. I was back just before closing, the last customer walked out of the supply shop and I could see through the window the proprietor starting to put things away. The two large loiterers glanced at each other, shrugged and walked off. Perfect.

  As soon as they were around the corner, I rushed into the shop, gasping for breath.

  “Made it,” I said. “I thought I was going to be too late.”

  The proprietor was more amused than anything else, fortunately. I've had too much experience with sales-critters who wouldn’t even talk to you one second after closing, but then, those were staff - not the owners of the business.

  “What can I help you with?” he said.

  I gave him a list and he happily produced the items. A quick exchange of coinage, and I was out the door.”

  “Got the goods, heading back.”

  “You're a real felon,” Hugh replied with a chuckle.

  As we worked on the backpack and matrix, we discussed our options.

  “They can't set up a blockade on the transfer tributary,” Hugh said. “At least, not once it gets rough. You can't maintain station and you certainly can stop boats and inspect them in that kind of water. So, a hike overland, then into the water just past whatever checkpoint they've set up.”

  “Sounds like a great idea,” I said, and Hugh beamed. “Just like getting the weatherproofing supplies did.”

  His face fell. I continued. “I'm sure they'll think of that. So what counter-moves will they use?”

  “Aerial surveillance,” he replied. “That’s the only option I can think of.”

  “And they can’t cover 90 miles of tributary, so they'll be watching somewhere in the middle third or so,” I added. “So we need to be under a boat by that point.”

  “Wait for a catamaran to come by, and climb aboard after inspection? That sounds a good idea. Mostly.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Objection?”

  “It's pretty rough in the changeover. I'm not sure we could hold on under the hull. And the downside of losing our grip would be significant.”

  He was right. “Alternatives?”

  Hugh hesitated. “Bob. The really rough patch where the storm surge is significant is only about ten miles long, and it's about two thirds of the way around. Why don’t we float as long as we can, then walk the bad stretch?”

  “A ten-mile hike?” I considered. “We wouldn't be lugging the storage box, Bender would be in the backpack… I think that'll work. As long as it's at night.”

  We did some quick tests of the backpack in the local stream with several spiders on board to alert us of any leaks. The backpack held, but we weren't willing to push our luck by submerging to any depth.
As soon as it was dark, we made our way to the river and pushed off. The transfer tributary, called the Scrubber by the locals, was less than a mile downstream. We kept close to shore, hoping that the complex shoreline and shallow water vegetation would make it difficult for any aerial observer. Or, alternatively, that they'd be watching farther out. As we approached the Scrubber, we could see that a flotilla was set up, blocking the entrance. Quickly, we went ashore and started marching directly uphill. I didn't want to just follow the shore on land, as there would almost certainly be a land-based component to the blockade. I had to trust Quinlans’ dislike of long hikes to ensure that we could go around everyone.

  I almost miscalculated it though. Turns out I don't like hiking either, and made the decision to turn eastward just a little too early. Only the sound of voices raised in argument stopped us before we blithely walked into a guard post. We froze, glanced at each other, then edged into the bushes. The voices rose and fell in volume and emotion. It sounded like a difference of opinion about some obscure rule of a popular dice game. The guards were apparently handling the boredom with a bit of gambling. Hugh grinned, but said nothing, and we changed our heading to go farther uphill.

  It was two bedraggled, waterlogged, and cranky Quinlan Mannies who dragged their butts out of the water at the other end of the Scrubber.

  “I am never going in water again, as long as I live,” I said into the air.

  “As a chemical substance, it is vastly overrated.” Hugh agreed. “Let’s find a place to camp, and get out of these wet Mannies.”

  It wasn't that we were physically tired - that wasn't an issue with Mannies. But the constant running in the pounding we'd taken from even the milder stretches of river were mentally taxing. Even a post-human computer could finally have had enough. We set up a nest, made sure we were not visible, and popped back into VR.

  26. Winding Down

  Bill

  September 2334

  Virt

  I examined the star map in the holotank. Annotations attached to individual stellar systems indicated the current status of stations, autofactories, and public opinion. It wasn't good. A few comms stations had been recovered, but in the end, most had either successfully self-destructed or been nuked, probably out of frustration. Most autofactories had been recovered, but at the expense of significant downtime. The humans had put together their own software image, which they weren't sharing with us, and installed it on all human controlled autofactories. It appeared the divorce was all but complete.

  Starfleet had succeeded in their goal, after a fashion. Or maybe exactly in the way they’d intended. We haven't ceased contact with humanity, but it would be through much more narrow interface in the future. We no longer owned or controlled any comms stations, and had very few autofactories anywhere in human-controlled space. This left the Bob-controlled systems, naturally, but there was precious little of that - Epsilon Eridani and Alpha Centauri being the biggest examples.

  I remembered that one private conversation I'd had with Lenny. I hadn't discussed it with anyone, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to. It had been… disquieting, but without any kind of possible resolution. Just questions, no answers. At least not yet. I'd been doing some quiet poking around and I had perhaps the first inklings of a possible explanation, but…

  My ruminations were interrupted by a ping from Will. I invited him over and he appeared a moment later.

  “Hi Will. What's up?”

  “You remember the suggestion from Cranston, that humans should claim and garrison all systems anywhere near New Pav?”

  “Yes. And I hope your question isn't as ominous as it sounds.”

  “Sorry, but yes. It's been approved by the UFS Council. They're going to start putting together expeditions to explore and claim as much as they can. It'll take a while, light speed being what it is, but…”

  I frowned. “Listen, Will, wow many of those systems have been visited by Bobs?”

  “Most of them. But since we've had to isolate all the comms stations from BobNet, the UFS has deemed those systems to be abandoned, and therefore fair game.

  “Oh, ‘deemed’, have they? Will we go along with that?”

  Will grinned in reply. “Funny you should ask. I've been talking to Oliver about it. He has a lot more free time than you, so I figured it would help to keep me off your back. Anyway, we can, with a little juggling, get nearby Bobs to most of those systems before the human expeditions, even if the humans were able to leave right away. And we’ll instruct them to build a large and impressive military presence, first thing, just in case the humans feel inclined to get pushy when they arrive.”

  “Okay, so we claim the systems. Why?”

  “At the moment, more as a blocking tactic, than anything.” Will shrugged. “We don't, generally speaking, need the systems ourselves, but the Pav might. If we have the claim, we can sell them to the Pav for some nominal amount, saving face all around while very probably preventing escalating tensions.”

  “Huh. Not a bad idea. You and Oliver will head-man this?”

  “Yeah, you seem busy enough.”

  I laughed. “You ain’t wrong.”

  “How’s it going?”

  I hesitated before replying. “Well, the damage to human-replicant relations is pretty significant and probably long-term. And I guess Starfleet will consider that a victory. A lot of hardware has been taken down to get Starfleet out of our systems.”

  “The bad news being that we are taking them down.”

  “Yep. Lots of rebuilding our future. Or in the humans’ future. I don't get the impression we’ll be invited to help.”

  “Peachy.” Will stood. “Off to my next date from hell. Have fun.”

  “Yeah, that's what it is.”

  27. We've Arrived

  Bob

  September 2334

  Arcadia River System

  The trip down the Arcadia was relatively uneventful. I attributed that partly to our extreme level of caution, and partly to the Administrator's inability to cover absolutely everything. Our biggest danger at this point, other than being spotted, would be a very human tendency to throw caution to the wind and break into a sprint as we approached the finish line.

  Accordingly, we made a point of moving conservatively, staying close to shore and only traveling in the darkest part of the night. And eventually, we reached a familiar stretch of the river. We made our way to the shore and came up with a plan. We’d hike in closer to Garrick's Spine then wait until dark to make for the transit station.

  “So how will we handle this,” Hugh said, gesturing to the backpack.

  “Maybe the fact that there are two of us will throw them off,” I replied. “Plus, I’ve altered my appearance. Again. You probably aren't on anyone's radar yet.”

  Hugh said nothing, but leaned around me and peered at my backpack in an exaggerated manner.

  “I know, it sticks out like a sore thumb. Or like a backpack with a large cube in it. I wonder if I could pad it out, or get a bigger pack.”

  “I don't think there's any help for it,” he replied. “We can't hide Bender's matrix. If were seen carrying around a box big enough to conceal it, we’ll probably be questioned anyway. At least the backpack gives us more mobility. At this stage, I don't think subtlety is going to be of much benefit.”

  “The run-like-hell portion of the program?” I said with a small laugh.

  “That, and just going through at night will be our biggest advantage.”

  “True. We have better night vision. Let's hope we don't run into Officer Friendly though.”

  A quick glance of the sun confirmed we would be at Garrick's Spine around nightfall if we left now and took it easy.

  It took slightly longer than expected to get to the town, so it was full dark by the time we arrived. As I always did, I stop to admire the stellar display.

  “That's just awesome,” I said, pointing up at the heavens.

  “Sure is,” he replied.

  “
Interestingly, the constellations are accurate, based on what the Quinlans would have seen from their planet. I love the attention to detail.”

  We got our fill of the view and the a few moments of Zen before we crossed the city limits into the town proper.

  Garrick did not particularly go in for street lights. Illumination from windows helped a little, but for the most part, you’d have to bring your own light if you were moving around at night. We did, in fact, see a couple of individuals walking along holding lanterns above their heads. We avoided them on principle. There was no upside to getting noticed.

  The town was quiet, as befitted a society that rose and set with the sun. Occasional lowing sounds from hounds provided the only real breaks in the silence. But a couple of times we heard furtive sounds of movement with no attendant lantern light. I wasn't interested in finding out the source. We consistently moved in the opposite direction. Then, when we were about halfway through Garrick, a series of loud popping sounds broke the nocturnal quiet. Both Hugh and I prairie-dogged, looking around with night vision turned up to max. There was no movement, except a slight fog wafting through the streets.

  Wait. Fog? Fog required a specific set of meteorological circumstances to form. Circumstances that were even more rare in Heaven's River. And we did not have that particular set of circumstances at the moment.

  “I have a bad feeling,” Hugh said.

  Evidently having reached the same conclusion at the same time, we started edging toward a side street, eyeballs darting in all directions at once. The separate images still disoriented me, so I frame-jacked slightly, to ensure I could closely examine each view. Then, from the shadows of the adjoining streets, came several groups of Quinlans carrying pistols and wearing what could only be gas masks.

  “I think we should leave,” Hugh said.

  “Ya think?” I growled. “Which way? Do you see an opening?”

  “No, this looks very well-planned. We may have to go up.”

  I followed Hugh’s gaze. A series of leaps and grabs would place us on the roof of this one-story building. I couldn't tell anything from there, even with night vision - there wasn't enough light to make out how the building connected to its neighbors.