Belinda handed the pup to her mother-in-law and started cleaning herself. Diana rocked the baby for a few moments—very likely another universal—then smiled at Archimedes.
It was a picture-postcard moment, if you could ignore the bat-ears and pig snouts and fur. And I wanted, more than anything I’d wanted in a long time, to be able to share in it. Archimedes and Buster would have been fine, but Diana would go screeching to the elders at the first sign of a drone. Damn, I disliked her.
In his forties, now, Archimedes still showed exceptional good health. He was, of course, the first generation of Deltans to grow up with the improved nutrition that The Bawbe’s inventions had brought to the tribe. But even so, he seemed to be aging slowly for a Deltan.
I thought of pestering Bill again about the androids, but he had so many projects on the go, not the least of which was the terraforming of Ragnarök. Bill was good-natured about it, but I had to believe that I was being a bit of a pain.
Just the same, he said he was close. A decade or two at most. It just wasn’t a priority. I suppose I could offer to help out, but realistically the Deltans and the armaments project still occupied most of my time. And anyway, no one likes a kibitzer.
I pulled out of the surveillance drone, and picked another that was spying on Caerleon, the new Deltan village. Caerleon was situated in another of the old abandoned village sites—not surprising, since whatever made it a good location the first time would still hold true. With the reduction in gorilloid populations and alteration in gorilloid behavior, the village was a good deal safer now. I smiled sadly at the thought. That was the result of my efforts, and they couldn’t take that away from me.
Caerleon sat at the top of a rise, barely classifiable as a hill. But the thin soil prevented trees from growing there, resulting in a nice open space. Good for living, and easy to defend.
I found myself constantly worried, though, about relations between Caerleon and Camelot. The establishment of the second village had been peaceful in that no one got stabbed on the way out. But the acrimony had been strong, and tensions still ran high between the two villages. It boggled my mind that so soon after almost becoming extinct, the Deltans had managed to develop into some kind of cold war mentality. The real problem seemed to be that most of the residents of Caerleon were in the adolescent age range, and apparently felt a need to prove something.
The antagonism of the Caerleon Deltans concerned me enough, in fact, that I’d set up a surveillance system that would warn me if a significant number of them started a march on Camelot. I was probably just being paranoid, though. I hoped.
66. It’s Happening
Bill
January 2208
Epsilon Eridani
[Others convoy detected]
Not good. This was probably it. The Others would be heading for Gamma Pavonis to strip it down, leaving a dead planet and an empty system.
“Okay, Guppy. Details?”
[Convoy is twice the size of the GL 54 convoy. Projected destination is Delta Pavonis]
Delta Pavonis? That can’t be right. “Confirm that, please, Guppy.”
[Convoy trajectory is pointed directly at Delta Pavonis. Barring an unexpected course correction, certainty is 100%]
“Son of a bitch. The Pav.” I sent a quick email to Jacques in Delta Pavonis and Claude in Gamma Pavonis, explaining the situation. I followed up with messages to Oliver and Mario. Everyone else would get the announcement on the Current Events RSS feed.
Within seconds, several people popped into my VR.
“This is not according to plan,” Claude said.
Jacques shrugged. “I mentioned this possibility at a moot a while back. Delta is a richer target. A couple of extra years may be a small price to pay for double the payoff. And they know it, seeing the size of the convoy they’re sending.”
“Any chance that’s because of us?”
“Not a chance, Claude,” I said. “They don’t know we’re in that system in the first place. And anyway, it’s not like we’ve done more than buzz around them like a gnat. We are irrelevant.”
“And we will be assimilated.” Oliver gave us a lopsided grin. We all chuckled dutifully, at the attempt at levity more than anything.
“Getting down to business, how is our troop buildup?” I looked at each person in turn.
Jacques spoke first. “I’ve got twenty dreadnaughts, each of which has five fission bombs and the usual complement of busters for defense. I’ve been working on some fusion bombs, but haven’t gotten them far enough along. And now we’re out of time.”
Claude jumped in as soon as Jacques was done. “I’ve got fifteen dreadnaughts, but I’ve managed to make a total of six fusion bombs to replace some of the fission weapons.”
I looked at Oliver, who shrugged. “I’m building like crazy, old man, but I’m too far away to do any good. I’ll send out what I have, and maybe they’ll be useful for when the Others hit Gamma. Assuming they go there next.”
I looked around at everyone, then shook my head. “Another year or two, and we’d have had the cloaking cracked. I’m sure of it. As it is, do what you can. We’ll have a moot over the next couple of days, but other than moral support, you guys are on your own.”
* * *
The moot was held within a day. It was a somber affair. When I ascended the podium, all conversation ceased. No air horn, no boos. A sea of faces looked back at me, all wearing the same downcast expression.
“You all know the situation. Anyone have any ideas?”
“I don’t suppose your asteroid mover could move Pav…”
I looked at Thor. It probably hadn’t been a serious suggestion. “Sorry, buddy. In theory, the system can move anything, but right now I’d have trouble getting something the size of a planet to budge. Maybe someday…”
“If we don’t mind the inhabitants freezing to death about mid-way through the move.”
I nodded at Ben, one of the new batch of dreadnaughts. “True. The trip would still take a year or two subjective, and all that time spent without a sun. No bueno for sure. I think we’re stuck with the situation as it is. It’s going to come down to a toe-to-toe punch-up, and unfortunately before we’re ready. The only advantage we have is that we know it’s going to happen and they don’t.”
* * *
I looked over my reports. Claude had launched all of his new dreadnaughts to Delta Pavonis. With their better acceleration, they’d arrive before the Others, but only just barely. Any strategies would have to be worked out while they were in transit.
Between Claude’s group and Jacques’, we had thirty-five dreadnaughts. Jacques would probably get that total up to about sixty by the time Claude’s group arrived. It sounded like a lot until you looked at the size of the Others’ force. Twenty death asteroids, forty cargo vessels, and several hundred attendants. The attendants could be considered equivalent to busters. They were almost certainly AMI-controlled, and could be depended upon to ram an enemy if required. The cargo vessels would be difficult to destroy simply because of their size, but I didn’t expect a lot of offensive capability there.
The death asteroids would be the big unknown. We were pretty confident that we could withstand their death-rays, but we really didn’t know what other weaponry they might have in reserve. It was a safe bet that the Others had thought of the possibility of running into another species capable of fighting back.
I mentioned this to Garfield, and was surprised when he didn’t agree with me.
“I think we’ve visited pretty much every system that the Others have been to, Bill.” He waved a hand casually at the star map he’d popped up. “And they haven’t run into anything like that. So they’ve never had their butts kicked. Even when we’ve run up against them, the worst we’ve done is blow ourselves up. They’re arrogant. Borg-level arrogant and maybe even beyond. We’re not even assimilation targets to them, we’re just food.”
I thought about this. �
��So you think they may be overconfident.” I grinned. “Or maybe just appropriately confident.”
Garfield responded with a rueful chuckle. “Yeah, whatever. The point is, though, they may not have a plan B.”
67. Bad News
Howard
December 2210
HIP 14101
HIP 14101 was a bit of a bust. Nice sun, nice spectral lines, but nothing orbiting it worth talking about. A Jovian had managed to set up shop at the outer edge of the comfort zone, leaving no space for any terrestroid planets.
I was having a good time investigating it, though. According to WikiBob, no one had yet given a gas giant anything more than the standard cursory once-over. Okay, granted, they’re hard to colonize. But still.
Adapting the drones to operate inside the atmosphere of the Jovian was a constant headache—a game of Whack-a-Mole, as Original Bob would have said. I would get a little deeper in with each new prototype, but I was losing about one in three. But there was lots of metal in this system, and I had all the time in the world.
I was relaxing out on the patio when a ding indicated an incoming message. I popped it up and started to read.
It was another update from Dexter. More about the colonies, several new cities, population up over a million, space industries, yadda yadda.
Oh.
Stéphane was dying. Haliburton’s Encephalopathy had been identified within a decade of landing on Vulcan, and appeared to be one of the few diseases that found Terran life compatible. There was no treatment yet, and it was fatal within six months. I felt my stomach drop away. Stéphane had been my friend for a long time, and the thing with Bridget hadn’t changed that. Not really. But it reminded me that I called humans ephemerals for a reason.
I’d been lounging around in this system for too long. First, I wrote an email to Bridget and Stéphane, and asked when I could arrange a call.
Then, there would be other calls to make.
* * *
I pinged Bill, then popped in when I got an acknowledgement. Garfield was there as well, sitting and drinking a coffee. Diagrams and notes covered all the walls. Just your basic, normal, mad-scientist lab.
Both of them looked down in the dumps. All the Bobs were preparing for the Others’ arrival in Delta Pavonis. Bill and Garfield no doubt felt pressure to produce new weapons, but you could only do what you could do. Well, I sympathized, but I had immediate concerns.
“Hey, guys,” I said, motioning to the decorations. “What’s the project?”
“Couple of different ones,” Garfield answered. “But most of this wall is the Android Project. That’s what you called about, right?”
I nodded, and examined my shoes for a few moments before looking up. “How close are you guys to a more-or-less human-equivalent android? I’m going to have a funeral to attend soon.”
Bill and Garfield looked at each other, then back at me. “Pretty far along, actually. We’ve got a prototype. It looks like a mannequin, and you wouldn’t want to go dancing, but for walking around, I think it’s ready.”
“Could I make one in three months?”
Bill thought for a few moments. “Right now it’s all prototypes and one-offs, with manual assembly. We’d have to put together formal printer plans, but once we have those done, yes.”
I nodded. It would be in time. You never knew for sure with medical predictions, of course. But one could hope. “Send the plans to Dexter at Vulcan when they’re ready, okay?”
* * *
I’d received an email from Dexter that the android was ready. It was time to arrange a visit. I took a deep breath and placed a phone call.
After a few rings, Bridget answered the phone. “Howard?”
“Hi Bridge. How’s Stéphane doing?”
Bridget hesitated. She looked terrible. Stéphane’s illness was taking its toll on her as well. Her eyes were red, her hair was gray. Her skin was grey. I wanted to take her in my arms and make it all go away. And, I realized with a start, this was the first time that I had articulated my feelings about her so clearly.
“Stéphane won’t last much longer. Another couple of weeks is the most the doctors will commit to.”
“I’m so sorry, Bridget. How’s he taking it?”
“He’s mostly not lucid any more, Howard. We knew that was coming, and we’ve said our goodbyes.” She blinked back tears as she spoke. Brave words, but the pain behind them shone through.
I endured a momentary wave of grief as I realized I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to my friend. I looked at Bridget without saying anything, and she nodded, understanding completely.
I tried to say the usual inane words of encouragement. I would have stayed on the line as long as she wanted. But she was tired, physically and emotionally, and she soon begged off.
I hung up the phone and put my face in my hands. It took several milliseconds to get myself under control, then I pinged Dexter.
“Hi Howard. Checking up on Manny?”
“Yep.” I looked around Dexter’s VR. It was a basic library sort of thing. I’d begun to notice less and less effort by the Bobs, especially the later generations, to put together an interesting VR. I made a mental note to discuss the shift in attitudes with Dexter if the opportunity ever came up.
He nodded and popped up a video and some report summaries. The video showed Manny the android in his support cradle. He looked complete. I leaned forward and looked closely at the summary windows.
“All tests completed successfully,” Dexter said. “I figured you’d want to do the first activation.”
“Thanks, Dex.”
Bill’s android project had been going on and off for sixty-five years now, and this was the latest version. Manny consisted of a carbon-fiber-matrix skeleton, designed and articulated to replicate the human version as closely as possible. Memory plastics that contracted when a voltage was applied stood in for muscles. The artificial musculature was laid down over the skeleton in the same layout as human musculature. The result was something that should be able to move, behave, and appear realistic. And neural feedback from the android would ensure a realistic experience for the operator.
Unfortunately, human-appearing skin and hair were low on the priority list. Right now, Manny did indeed resemble a mannequin more than anything else. No hair, pale plastic-texture skin, and gray, staring eyes. According to the specs, facial muscle control was still a little spotty. I had a quick glance at the Deficiencies List.
Well, Bill had said it was a prototype.
68. Recording
Jacques
September 2212
Delta Pavonis
Guppy popped into VR. [New memory core is online]
“Good. It was getting a little tight. Have the drones resume the full program.”
Guppy nodded and disappeared.
I had implemented a plan to record as much of the planet as I could before the Others got here. Not just Pav civilization, either. Plants, animals, scenery, geology, anything and everything I could think of. I built a standalone set of stasis chambers well in advance of the colony ships, and now I was slowly stocking it with genetic material from every species that I could get a needle into. A very informal and ad hoc genetic diversity vault, in essence. I had no overall organization, as I’d had no time to catalog and categorize the life on Delta Pavonis 4 into any kind of system. I was, in effect, stealing a strategy from Noah and treating everything as a “kind”. The recordings would help with identifying species and such later. If there was a later.
I was also recording Pav societies, cultures, and languages. Between all the spying and recording, my data storage requirements were massive. Guppy had just done the third upgrade since I’d started the project. I estimated there was at least one more upgrade coming.
I had played with the idea of contacting some Pav on the sly, perhaps to get a personal account of life. But Bill had convinced me that it would be cruel at best, and at worst, g
houlish.
Instead, I operated as a passive observer. Our technology was much better than the Victorian-era Pav sciences, but even so, things didn’t always go perfectly. There’d been a couple of sightings, and Pav society now had their own version of conspiracy theorists and flying-saucer nuts.
It made me wonder if the human equivalents had been based on some kind of reality. I tried to imagine some alien version of replicants hanging around Earth and kidnapping people. Mmm, nope. Especially with the anal probe thing. Just, no.
* * *
Since the plan involved kidnapping twenty thousand Pav, I wanted to have a pre-selected target group. Running around, grabbing people until I hit my quota, just didn’t strike me as efficient. I spent some time doing a census of small towns until I had found two that came in just under ten thousand souls each. I could, if necessary, top up the numbers from what appeared to be nearby military bases. The two towns, Mheijrkva and Aizzilkva, were like small-town USA—rural, residential, stable population, family-oriented.
I wanted to document and understand Pav society at the grass-roots level. On the other hand, I didn’t want to go down the road of Bob-1 and end up getting attached to individuals. I had a bad feeling, though, that we Bobs had a shared weakness of some kind—some need for attachment. It would require a delicate balancing act.
I picked a house at random in the town of Mheijrkva and set up surveillance. Gnat-sized roamers installed cameras and microphones in the house. I felt dirty, like some kind of voyeur, but reminded myself that I was preserving the record of a culture that would likely not exist in another decade.
* * *
The Los family group seemed fairly average, as Pav families went. Six adults, split evenly between the genders, plus nine children at various ages. The Pav didn’t have a large need for privacy, so bedroom organization was based mostly on available space. Furniture tended to move around on a daily basis, depending on mood.
Bobiverse 2: For We Are Many Page 24