“If it comes to that,” Kal responded, “you’re a wild card, and something the Council can’t control or interdict. At minimum, you’ll be a distraction. At best, you’ll be able to cause them significant stress.”
“Well, I always wanted to be a pain in the ass,” I replied.
“Mission accomplished.” Gina grinned at me. “But you’re also a public figure, and easy to track. We’ll have to be careful about what you’re seen doing.”
“Hmm.” I scratched my chin in thought. “There are a couple of things I can do about that, Gina. Let me work on it. And the public activity can be used as a red herring.” I grinned at her. “See, now you’ve got me doing it. Spies-R-Us. Jeez.”
We talked for a few more minutes, then ended the call. I sat back and stared into space, pondering my options. Like most nerds, I didn’t take naturally to intrigue and double-cross. But I could see some simple strategies that would make things a little more difficult for anyone trying to track me. Not to mention an opportunity to make my pet project relevant.
It might be time for a personal appearance. I leaned forward and placed a call to Howard.
Attitude
Howard
November 2217
Vulcan
I sat, slowly sipping my coffee, and watched the people go by. The mall was busy all the time, it seemed. But then, Landing didn’t have a whole lot of shopping malls. Okay, one. Original Bob had never had time for people-watching, and wouldn’t have been caught dead sitting around, doing nothing. Being immortal apparently put a different spin on things.
Clothing shops, electronics shops, specialty shops selling things like bath products; it all made me feel both at home and nostalgic for home. The familiarity kept bumping up against the simple fact that I was seventeen light-years from Sol, in a solar system that was originally the home of Mr. Spock. And on a planet that was destroyed in the movie reboot, but who’s counting?
Still, there was something about sitting at a table drinking coffee that made it all seem, well, mundane.
Bridget would be along soon. I’d elected to wait for her here rather than tag along to the office and be underfoot. Meanwhile, I was enjoying the sensation of being just some random Joe.
On my way now.
I smiled as I read the text in my heads-up. We’d made a point of not planning anything specific today. Lunch, walking around, no big deal.
Bridget showed up just as I finished the coffee. I stood, and we exchanged a quick kiss. She gave my hand a squeeze then sat down.
“I’m starved. Want to try the food court for lunch?”
“Food court?” My eyebrows rose. “A liquor baroness should have more refined tastes. Let’s splurge. How about the BrontoBurger? Or we could go for actual food.”
Bridget gave me the evil eye. “I happen to like bronto burgers, I’ll have you know.”
“Brontos, it is,” I declared. I stood, offered her my arm. Smiling, she stood and took it, doing a small curtsey.
As we aimed ourselves in the general direction of the desired eatery, I heard a comment from a few tables away. “Make sure you hold hands with mommy.” The comment was offered sotto voce, and may not have been intended for us to overhear, but the speaker, a zit-faced teenager, had miscalculated.
I dug in my heels and turned to glare at him, and Bridget put her other hand on my arm. “Howard, really? Consider the source.”
I looked at the twerp, who was grinning back at me. About 140 pounds soaking wet. Against an android with several times the reaction speed and strength of a human being. Not really a fair fight. I made a point of looking him up and down, then I laughed and turned away. I hoped he got the message.
Bridget, meanwhile, was dragging me by the hand. “Food. This way.”
“Right you are. Let us go forth and dine on the flesh of the alien bronto-like thing.”
We exchanged smiles and continued on our way, but the encounter bugged me. Bridget was now in her late fifties, biologically—the time spent in stasis during the voyage didn’t count. I, on the other hand, was built to look like Original Bob at thirty-one—his age when he died in a Las Vegas intersection. The mommy comment was, unfortunately, mathematically plausible.
But there was no way I would let Bridget be subjected to that kind of crap a second time.
* * *
Age hadn’t dulled Bridget’s appetite at all. She dove into her burger and fries as enthusiastically as any teenager. I ate at a more refined pace, enjoying the flavor but not needing the sustenance. Technically, it was a waste of food, but I did this so seldom, it hardly seemed worth worrying about.
“How are the kids?” I asked her, as much to slow down the carnage as out of a desire to know.
Bridget swallowed, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and glared at me. “You’re not fooling me, bucko. You always wait until I have a mouthful.” I grinned, unrepentant, and she continued. “Rosie is…well, you’ve met Rosie, you know what she’s like. She’s entitled to her opinion and you’re entitled to her opinion, as well.”
Bridget took another bite of bronto, frowning as she considered her next words. “I think it’s fair to say she doesn’t like our relationship. It’s not that she dislikes you personally, Howard. No more than she dislikes most people, I mean. But I think she’d prefer me to stay within my species. I’ve tried to talk to her about it, but, you know…”
I grinned at her. “There’s Rosie’s opinion, and then there’s…well, no, actually, there’s just Rosie’s opinion.”
“Yes, like that.” Bridget chuckled. “Well, I wanted my children to be self-reliant. Mission accomplished, I guess.”
“I’ve talked to Howie a couple of times, lately,” I replied, nibbling at my fries. “He’s a little more distant than he used to be, but I was ascribing that to him growing up and losing the hero worship.”
“There’s probably some of that, Howard, but there’s a lot more of Rosie. She won’t give it a rest.”
I shrugged. “Look, Bridget, I’ve made it clear any number of times that you come first. If I create problems for your personal life or your professional life or your family life, I’m gone.”
Bridget put down the pitiful remains of her burger and leaned forward. She looked me straight in the eyes, my cue to shut up and pay attention.
“Howard, my relationships are my business. No one else gets a vote. I loved Stéphane, and I’ve mourned him fully and properly. Now, I enjoy your company. And will continue to do so, despite a bitch of a daughter and some zit-faced mouthy mall-rat. Do you have something you’d like to add?”
“No, dear.” I grinned at her, and she rolled her eyes.
“Fine.” She cleaned up with the napkin and tossed it onto the mangled remains of her meal. “Then let’s go. I promised to get you some better clothes to drape on that android frame of yours.”
“Threatened.”
“What?”
“Threatened to get me better clothes.”
Bridget laughed and grabbed my hand to drag me off. Clothes shopping. Even death apparently wasn’t an escape.
Bushwhacked
Bob
March 2224
Delta Eridani
We hoisted the pigoid carcass up, suspended from spears, doing our best to act oblivious to the other group that we knew were watching us. I checked the monitor windows in my heads-up display. We definitely had a covert audience, and they outnumbered us twelve to six. I couldn’t tell my crew things I shouldn’t know, but I could be prepared in case the others did something unexpected.
As we started our march back to Camelot, I couldn’t help noticing that my crew were really, really terrible actors. Overly loud comments, uttered with exaggerated inflection, would have made a stage director up and quit on the spot.
I needn’t have worried, though. Fred and his gang probably weren’t listening anyway. They stepped out, front and rear, just like last time.
Fred looked at me, standing in lead spot, and smiled his nasty smile.
“Well, Robert. I see you’ve caught my lunch for me. And you don’t have the big guy to protect you today. Why don’t you go ahead and put up a fight, this time? I’d like that.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Well, first, Fred, Donald didn’t need to protect me last time. You’re just not very good. And if it’s a fight you’re looking for, today’s your lucky day.”
And with that, eighteen Camelot hunters, including Donald, stepped out of the bush behind Fred’s gang. The Caerleon group went into a defensive crouch. Several of them tried to inch away and had to be poked with spear tips. In short order, we had them herded into a small group.
Fred sneered at me. “You think this is going to protect you? You won’t always have your friends around, kuzzi.”
“Neither will you, Fred.”
Fred jerked, taken aback. “What?”
“Just what I said. I can wait, and I can watch, and eventually you’ll go take a pee or something without your friends covering your ass.” I leaned in close. “And I’ll cut your throat before you even know I’m there.” I turned to the rest of the group. “This goes for all of you. You go to war with us, you’ll be watching your backs the rest of your lives. I never forget. And I never forgive.”
Fred laughed, a short sharp bark. “Nice talk. Nothing behind it, though.”
“Really?” I smiled at him, and before he could react, I jabbed him in the same place as last time. Down he went.
It wasn’t a fair fight, of course. I operated at computer speeds, and I was inhabiting an android body with electronic reflexes and several times the strength of a live Deltan. But a fair fight wasn’t the point. I wanted them to stop stalking Camelot hunting parties. I just needed to make their mortality clear to them.
I looked around at the Caerleon gang. They appeared a lot less defiant, now.
“Today, we’ll let you off with a warning. And without your spears. Next time, it’s going to hurt a lot more.” I signaled to a couple of the guys, and they began collecting spears. Fred’s gang was thoroughly cowed now, and didn’t put up any resistance.
We sent them off, then turned to head back to Camelot.
Donald walked beside me. “Damn, Robert, that was impressive. But I don’t think Fred is that easily dissuaded.”
“You’re right, Donald. But most of his followers will be. People like Fred need followers. I’m hoping this will pull his teeth.”
Donald nodded, then started up a marching chant, and everyone else joined in.
I wished I was as confident as I sounded.
Launch
Bill
January 2223
Epsilon Eridani
Garfield shook his head in awe. “It’s like those cartoon muscle cars when we were a kid—the ones that were all engine.”
The images in the video windows were indeed impressive. Epsilon Eridani 1, now in a completely new orbit around its sun, was surrounded by eight hundred mover plates. Trailing it by a million kilometers or so was one of the larger ex-moons of Epsilon Eridani 3, with a similar array of plates.
It had taken years to not only build all the equipment, but also to figure out how to control the assemblies. Forty supervisor AMIs were dedicated to maintaining and balancing the fields for each planet, in addition to the AMI in each plate.
And overseeing each planet would be my latest clones. They’d named themselves Daedalus and Icarus, which I privately thought was a little pretentious. But hey, it’s a free galaxy.
Garfield looked at me, his face flushed with excitement. “Short-range test complete. There’s a lot of room for error, but at minimum this setup is good for hundreds of Gs.”
I smiled and leaned back in my chair. “I guess we’re about ready, then.” A quick ping to Dae and Ick, and they popped into my VR.
“Okay, guys. Everything checks out. You’re clear that this is a Hail Mary, right?”
The two nodded. Daedalus replied, “Sure, but it’s worth trying. Worst case, we fail, and the Bobs are no worse off.”
“It’s a good opportunity to get some quiet time for some astrophysics work, too,” Icarus added with a smile.
I chuckled in reply. Icky had turned out very similar to me in temperament. Content to leave the exploration and fighting to others, he just wanted to work on his research.
I found myself a little ambivalent about Icarus and Daedalus. Cloning ourselves was always purposeful, of course. But I’d cloned these two for what could turn out to be a suicide mission. It felt unclean, somehow.
They knew exactly what I’d been thinking when I’d made the decision to go ahead. The pair gazed back at me with alert interest, no trace of blame or rancor on their faces. I decided I’d accept their judgment.
I hesitated, looking around the room. This was one of those moments that changed your life forever. Everything was ready to go. Time to fish or cut bait. “Okay, guys. The docking bays are ready for your ships. Connect up, hit the road, and Godspeed.”
Date
Howard
November 2217
Omicron2 Eridani
We walked out of the movie theater, arm in arm. Bridget looked as gorgeous as always. She turned and whispered in my ear, and as usual, my brain turned to mush.
“You look very dignified, Howard. But you really didn’t have to do that.”
I shrugged. Modifying the android’s appearance was a trivial operation. Avoiding a situation that might make Bridget uncomfortable was top priority. My apparent age now matched hers perfectly.
Changing the subject, I said, “That wasn’t bad. There might be a future in this movie theater fad.”
“Yes, civilization has finally reached Vulcan. Next up—discos.”
“No, please, no.”
There wasn’t exactly a booming movie industry, of course. Vulcan was very much a frontier planet, and the economy was still bootstrapping through the basic requirements. We’d be another couple of decades before leisure activities became a major market segment.
But Hollywood, and its various satellite locations and spiritual brethren, had produced thousands of movies of varying quality and popularity. And generally speaking, the holders of the copyrights were many light-years away, and almost certainly quite dead as well. Someone in Landing eventually had the bright idea to open a local theater and play themed double-bills. It was brilliant, as far as I was concerned. And the general population, who had spent most of their previous lives in isolated, claustrophobic enclaves, were taking to the new medium with enthusiasm.
Today’s fare, a couple of zombie movies, had been sold out. The audience was loud, opinionated, and mostly sneeringly amused. But no one left early.
I leaned close. “I feel a hankering for brains. Or sushi.”
Bridget laughed and opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment her phone buzzed. Two seconds later, I received an email. From the coroner’s office.
I read the email in my heads-up display, and stopped dead in my tracks. Bridget looked up from her phone, tears in her eyes. “Oh, Howard, no…”
* * *
“He left this note for you,” Dr. Onagi said. He pushed an envelope across the desk to me. Numbly, feeling like someone else was in control, I picked up the note and opened it. I held it so that Bridget could see.
Howard;
I recently had occasion to visit the doctor, as I’ve been having issues with my memory and cognition. The news was less than pleasing. It would seem that I have a particularly nasty form of neurological degenerative dementia, one that is not curable. The doctor informs me that the process is already significantly advanced.
I’ve contacted a few experts, and I was assured that this issue cannot be corrected in software. Under the circumstances, I don’t see becoming a cognitively impaired replicant as an attractive option.
My one remaining freedom is the ability to choose the manner of my passing.
Howard, you’ve been a good friend over the years. Please don’t think less of me for my decision.
Sincerely,
George Butterworth (Colonel, USE, ret’d.)
Bridget cried silently, tears running down her cheeks. I stared at Dr. Onagi, numb. “How…”
“A neurotoxin. Painless, and quick.”
“Could he still be scanned?”
Dr. Onagi shook his head. “Even if it was medically possible, he had revoked consent.”
I nodded and stood up. “Thank you, Dr. Onagi.”
Bridget dried her eyes, stood, and followed me out of the office.
* * *
We still hadn’t built the capability to cry into Manny the android. Too bad—I would have liked the release. Again. It might be time to bump up the priority on adding the capability, although it would be better if I just had fewer reasons to need it.
We sat on Bridget’s couch, arms wrapped around each other. Bridget had cried herself out. I would catch up as soon as she went to bed and I could return to VR.
“People keep leaving,” I finally said into the silence. Bridget looked up at me and I met her eyes. “I know it’s normal. Your parents die, grandparents, people who’ve been around all your life. Eventually, you die, and that’s that. But when you’re immortal, you’re always on the receiving end. It’s just one hit after another.”
“But you meet new people,” Bridget said.
“And eventually, they leave. After a while, I think you’d get gun-shy.” I smiled at Bridget, a wan smile at best. “I’m less standoffish than most Bobs, as a rule. But in this case, I think the others have the right of it. This gulf exists between immortals and what the Bobs are starting to refer to as ephemerals, for a reason.”
Bridget searched my face. “Do you think of me as an ephemeral?”
“I think you’re the most important thing in the universe. And that’s the problem. Eventually, you’ll die, and I’ll be alone, again.” I sighed and stood. “I’m sorry, Bridget. I’m being a real Dickie Downer, tonight. I think I should leave and let you get some sleep.”
All These Worlds (Bobiverse Book 3) Page 2