Bobiverse 2: For We Are Many

by Dennis E. Taylor

  I slowed down as I approached my target coordinates. As I jogged up to the patch of green, I marveled at the smooth feel of the muscles working under the skin. It occurred to me that the VR experience was missing this level of detail. I’d have to correct that. The VR was coming due for a patch release anyway.

  I stopped at the edge of the green. I engaged close-up visual and examined the moss/lichen mix. It had taken some brutally heartless breeding to come up with a mix that could survive in this atmosphere. I’d probably had less than a 1% survival rate on each generation for a while. But the result, in front of me, was justification for all the effort.

  The green area was taking in CO2 and putting out oxygen. Only during the day, granted, but I’d bred it to go into a deep dormancy at night, so it used up virtually no oxygen. The green could double in size every year, given enough available space, and I’d been careful to give the individual plantings enough room to grow. I would continue to start new plantings as well, so within ten years I expected to have half the global land surface covered. And within a decade after that, I should have an oxygen level that humans could tolerate.

  There were still problems with the atmosphere. Too much CO2, not enough nitrogen, far too much methane and other organics. But I had projects on the go to ameliorate those issues as well.

  I had recently seeded some of the seas with different forms of photosynthetic algae. I regretted that these imports would easily out-compete the native life that was just beginning to get a grip, but I knew that it wouldn’t have survived the introduction of Terran sea life anyway. Humanity was still drastically short of available new colonization targets, and that really was my number one priority.

  Within another fifty years, I would have a planet people could walk around on without protection. It was good.

  Meanwhile, Bullwinkle had the place to himself, the only quadruped on an empty planet. The seas hadn’t yet connected into oceans, although I wasn’t more than a couple of years away from that. Until then, I could go anywhere on foot, er, hoof. I picked my next inspection site and hit the gas.

  * * *

  “Okay, that was damned cool!” Garfield closed the recording of the moose session. “Can I try it?”

  “That’s a little personal, don’t you think? You should build your own. Doesn’t have to be a moose, either.”

  “Yeah, I was wondering about that, Bill. Why wouldn’t you just go for a human-analogue? Isn’t that the point?”

  I waved a hand in the general direction of the video window. “Sure, but trying to handle bipedalism would have just cranked up the feedback requirements by an order of magnitude, while reducing the available space for processing hardware. I’ll get there, don’t you doubt it.”

  Garfield nodded and rubbed his chin in thought. “Hmm, I’ve always wanted to fly…”

  * * *

  Ten new Bobs sat around the table, nursing whatever drink they’d ordered. I was now using the pub as my standard VR. I’d gotten tired of the park, and especially the stupid geese.

  I raised a glass to them. “Here’s to taking 82 Eridani back.”

  “Back?” Loki grinned at me. “Did we ever actually have it?”

  “Just roll with it, Loki. This is rhetoric. It doesn’t have to make sense.”

  There were chuckles, and the Bobs raised their glasses in response.

  These Bobs were to be the second strike force for 82 Eridani. Our first attempt had ended up, more or less, as a draw. We’d killed all the Medeiri in that system, as far as we knew, but with only Khan left alive, we couldn’t hold the system against the automated weaponry. This time, two of the members of the attack force would drive cargo vessels—I’d loaded up a number of innovations and a crapton of extra busters. There would be no issue of being outnumbered this time around.

  It wasn’t just a pride thing. Milo had identified not one but two habitable planets, before he was torpedoed. Medeiros, left to himself, would garrison the system in preparation for colonists from a country that didn’t exist anymore. We needed to take it back.

  At Khan’s request, I had loaded his backup into one of the fresh matrices. It seemed this particular branch of the Bob tree liked villains, because he’d immediately named himself Loki. I looked forward to the shenanigans the next time Thor showed up to a Bob-moot.

  I had also loaded Elmer’s backup into one of the new vessels. His first words were the standard Pacino-ism. I could sympathize, I guess. Like Tom Cruise, you keep going back in until you win.

  We talked for a while, knocked back a few more, then it was time to go. They said their goodbyes, popped into their own group VR, and started the journey to 82 Eridani, to clean house.

  * * *

  I raised my arm above my head and pressed the button. Instead of the usual annoying blat, the air horn produced a Dixie melody.

  The crowd of Bobs, who had been preparing to boo me, instead broke into laughter.

  I grinned to the crowd. “Just keeping you on your toes. So, announcements first. I’m sure you’ve heard about Linus and Henry Roberts. Well, Henry is feeling ready to mingle today, so Linus is going to bring him over. Try to be polite, okay?”

  People responded with catcalls and witticisms while I sent a quick ping to Linus. A moment later, he popped into the moot, with Henry beside him.

  The effect was immediate, total silence, as every Bob in the room stared. I grinned at the sight. I knew the feeling from my first meeting with Henry. We could all tell each other apart because of metadata tags, but other than some variations on facial hair, we’d all kept the original features. This was a different face. A non-Bob face.

  Henry looked around. “Well, this is awkward.”

  It was the right thing to say. Everyone laughed, then stepped forward to say hello. I was worried for a moment that Henry would get a panic attack, but he held up.

  I gave it a few milliseconds, then brought everyone back to order with a short blat from the air-horn.

  “The other major item, for those who haven’t already heard, is that the second 82 Eridani Expedition, with Loki leading, has shipped out. We are on our way to kick some Medeiros butt.”

  When the cheering had died down, I continued. “And the last item is to remind you about the regular Scrub baseball games. Come one, come all. You all know why I’m doing this. It’s up to you whether you want to participate.”

  I turned and glared at Garfield. “And for the anonymous troll who put a call for a hockey league on today’s agenda, No!”

  Garfield grinned back at me as the crowd broke up in laughter.

  35. Sales Call

  Howard

  September 2192

  Vulcan

  Bridget and I watched as Butterworth took a careful sip. He held the glass away from his face and looked at it. Damn, he had one of the best poker faces I’d ever seen. And possibly a cast-iron throat. He might as well have been drinking water for all the reaction he showed.

  “Well?” Bridget leaned forward. I took a second to grin at her impatience. For me, this was an interesting project, and a chance to do a favor for the colonel. For Bridget, this was an actual potential source of extra income. We Bobs might not have a use for capitalism, but in the human realm, money still made the world go around.

  Butterworth glanced at Bridget and then looked at me in the video screen. “It’s actually not bad. It’s definitely Irish whiskey. And since the Jameson has run out, I’ve been feeling the lack.”

  “So this would be a saleable item?” Bridget hovered like a dog waiting for a treat.

  “Absolutely. You know we’ve already got several beer manufacturers and a couple of small wineries going. This is the first hard liquor, though, that doesn’t qualify as a public hazard.”

  Bridget turned towards my image on the tablet and grinned. Looked like we were in business.

  Butterworth waved the empty glass. “If I wasn’t in a position where it would create a perceived conflict, I
’d suggest partnering up. However, I guess I will have to settle for being a customer.”

  Bridget took the hint and refilled his glass, then hers. I popped up a cognac and raised it in a toast.

  * * *

  Bridget started to laugh with her mouth full, then had to grab a napkin. We were having dinner at The Shaded Green, one of the better restaurants in Landing. Okay, one of the only restaurants in Landing. And by we, I mean her. I was looking out through her tablet, which was propped up on the other end of the table. I’d set up a matching virtual meal of my own. Not bad, actually. Turned out I could cook.

  “So Cranston out-and-out forbade you to sell liquor into FAITH territory?” She rolled her eyes, and put down the napkin.

  “Yep. It seems the ultra-religious don’t approve of strong drink. Who knew?”

  “So we have to write off that entire market?”

  I gave her a disbelieving look. “Of course not. We just have to find a local distributor. Prohibition has never worked, anywhere.” I grinned. “And strangely, there’s always demand.”

  “How’s the potato crop coming along?” Bridget took a bite of her bronto steak and leaned forward on her elbows.

  “Well, I’ve been growing potatoes for more than a year now.” I waved a hand dismissively. “This crop is only different in that it’s not part of the commons. And it’s going fine. We’ll have vodka for sale within six months.”

  “I’ve always wanted to be a bad influence.” Bridget laughed. “Now I’m a liquor baron. Baroness.”

  I raised my glass to her. In honor of the occasion, I was drinking virtual whiskey instead of cognac. “Here’s to us, kid.”

  Bridget raised her own glass and drank. She put it down and said, “So you never answered my question.”

  “Which?”

  “Is this a business dinner or a date?”

  “Yes.”

  She smiled back at me. Damn, that was some smile.

  36. Asteroid Movers

  Bill

  March 2187

  Epsilon Eridani

  “I’m feeling pretty smug right now.” I grinned at Garfield. He tried for maybe a millisecond to look unimpressed, but no one was fooled.

  Right there in front of us, the asteroid mover was altering the approach vector of one of our icebergs. The difference in this case was that no part of the mover was touching the berg. The mover segments were spaced evenly around the center of gravity of the asteroid, held in place by individual SURGE drives. And the assembly as a whole generated another SURGE field that affected the entire asteroid.

  The interactions were complex, and we’d had a few experimental failures. But this one had passed all tests, and today was the first live field trial. Everything was well within specs, and the changing path of the berg was right in the groove.

  Finally, Garfield said, “And, done. Shutdown.”

  “Excellent. Wait sixty seconds to make sure there’s no drift, then collect the drive segments.”

  Garfield nodded to me. A minute later, twenty individual saucer-shaped drive segments left their self-imposed positions around the berg, linked up like a stack of plates, and went to station-keeping relative to Gar and myself.

  In the video window, the berg fell neatly into an approach that would skim the atmosphere of Ragnarök. At the proper moment, a series of explosions would convert it to ice cubes, which would all melt and fall as rain over the next few weeks. Textbook.

  I looked down at the large crater on Ragnarök which served as a permanent reminder of the iceberg that I’d missed. Yep. A lot of energy stored up in a chunk of matter coming in at orbital speeds, and being ice instead of rock hadn’t helped as much as you’d expect. A new sea was slowly forming in the crater, which I had named Bullseye.

  37. He’s Gone

  Riker

  August 2176

  Sol

  “Homer’s gone.” Charles popped into my VR, tears in his eyes.

  “Gone where? Left the system?”

  “No, gone. Dead. He overloaded his reactor and blew himself up.” Charles had both hands clamped into fists. He couldn’t lift his eyes to look at me.

  “How old is his most recent back—”

  “He deleted all his backups. Every single one. He left a file for us.” Charles pushed it toward me and turned away.

  Guys;

  I’m sorry to do this to you. I know how it’ll go over. But I can’t live with what was done to me, and with what I’ve done. I have flashbacks, constantly. I can’t forget the feeling of being controlled. It was like being able to feel a tapeworm moving around inside you, and there’s nothing you can do. I’d edit the memory out, if it was possible, but it’s not.

  Please, find the people who are responsible and drop something on them.

  Homer

  I looked at Charles. He was shaking and biting back sobs. Then he blurred as my eyes filled.

  We would grant Homer’s last wish. And it would be no trouble at all.

  38. Following up

  Hal

  May 2188

  Gliese 877

  I was ten months from Gliese 877 when I received Bashful’s final radio transmission. Effectively, I had just watched myself die. It was a freaky feeling, not something I cared to repeat.

  How had Bashful been traced? One possibility was that the Others had intercepted his transmissions, since those would have passed through the system once he was on the far side. Between the encryption we put on all our comms and the lack of any format information, I wasn’t worried about them learning anything, but simply detecting the transmissions wasn’t too much of a stretch.

  I was more concerned about me joining Bashful as the main course. It wouldn’t take much intelligence to decide to follow the direction of the transmission, if that was what they’d keyed on. In that case, there might be an alien armada coming straight down my throat.

  With that thought, I immediately instituted a hard right turn at 10 g. As soon as I was a few light-minutes off the straight line between Gliese 877 and Gliese 54, I fired off a drone along my original vector. At the speed I was still going, the drone wouldn’t need to use its drive. It could operate on minimal systems, drawing just enough power to maintain a maser link with me. I wanted to know if anything was coming.

  I also fired off some commentary and analysis of the situation back to Mario via SCUT. We had to plan for the possibility of them tracing Bashful back to his origin. In principle, if the Others got hold of a space station, they could eventually trace the connection all the way back to Epsilon Eridani. And if they found one that had been upgraded to SCUT, they’d have that, too. If Mario was still back there, manning the station, I suggested that he booby-trap it.

  I sat back in my easy chair and looked out the window, lost in thought. The floor-to-ceiling glass showed a winter scene unbroken by anything man-made. Tall evergreens in the foreground gradually dropped into a tree-filled valley. Snowflakes blurred the view into the distance, while lending a postcard feel to the foreground. In a small breach of reality, my VR world never filled with snow, despite never having spring melts. But hey, what’s the point of obsessive realism?

  I let myself get about thirty light-minutes off the line before turning back toward Gliese 877. The drone would let me know if something approached along my original vector. Unless there was a collision, which frankly would be just fine. The combined kinetic energy of two masses, each going about .75 C or so in opposite directions, would produce a truly impressive light show.

  I sighed and turned to Guppy. “Analysis?”

  [Too many unknowns. If the alien SUDDAR has greater range than ours, they may destroy the drone before it gets close enough to register their approach. Or it may not be big enough to register or to bother with. Or they may not be interested enough to investigate]

  “That’s about what I was thinking. The Others don’t seem to care a lot about other species. Or ecosystems. Or civilizations. Th
ey may actually be very Borg-like in ignoring us until it suits them.”

  Guppy didn’t comment. Version-3 memory capacity or not, he still wasn’t into small talk.

  * * *

  It took a month to close the distance to Gliese 877. I was sure Bashful had thought he was being cautious, but I was ten times more so. I fired off several probes, with orders to rendezvous at coordinates two light-hours away from where I’d be waiting. They’d sit there for a week while I watched for any reaction. Only then would I collect them.

  Things went pretty much according to plan. Mostly. I got to my planned location and waited for the probes to gather at their location. Right on schedule, they coasted up and came to a stop. I transferred all their data over, and settled down for a week of waiting.

  I got through two days’ worth before a flotilla of Others showed up on the probes’ SUDDAR. As hoped, the Others were too far to detect me or for me to detect them directly.

  [Same conformation as last time]

  “Yeah, they seem to be consistent that way. Any indication they’ve detected us?”

  [Negative. Trajectories are focused on the probes]

  “Okay, then. Blow the probes, and let’s get out of here.”

  [Aye. Probe destruction directive sent. Will we wait for SUDDAR confirmation?]

  “Yes, but if the Others show any inclination at all to change course, we’re outta here.”

  Right at the expected time, the probes disappeared from SUDDAR. We turned and put some distance behind us at full 10 g.

  * * *

  After I squirted a status report and all the raw telemetry Mario-ward, I combed through the data myself. We continued to accelerate away from Gliese 877, although I was planning on looping around and approaching from stellar north for another round of spying.

  In the holotank, a picture slowly formed of the inner system. The first interesting tidbit was the outer rocky planet.