All These Worlds (Bobiverse Book 3)

by Dennis E. Taylor

  Enclaves

  Riker

  April 2227

  Sol

  I watched with satisfaction as the latest colony ships accelerated out of the Solar System. The situation had improved a little when the first wave of ships started returning from their trips, ready to take out another load. Now, between new construction and returning transports, we were starting to get some throughput.

  Still not nearly enough, though. We were coming up on one million emigrants. A hundred trips down, fourteen hundred to go.

  I scanned the report from Charles again. It hadn’t magically changed since the first time. Damn.

  I pinged him. “Hey, Charles. Just read your report. It’s that bad?”

  “Hi, Will.” Charles popped in as he answered. “Yeah, we’re having to put more and more drones into scavenging, which is taking equipment away from the construction effort. And we’ve got printers sitting idle some of the time, waiting for supplies. Right now, productivity is down about twenty percent from where it could be, and it’s going to keep getting worse.”

  I swiped through the report as he talked. “No new caches of metals?”

  “Naw, nothing we can find. The problem isn’t that there’s no metal left in the solar system, it’s that there are no convenient concentrations of metal left. Everything accessible was long since mined out by humanity, and the war pulverized or vaporized a lot of the cities and military equipment. Most of the planetside metal is dust. Or rust. We’ve collected all the space junk that’s easy to find—anything else is probably in weird long-period orbits. I’ve even got squads of roamers walking in lines along the ground, picking up metal scraps. We’re really down to the dregs, Will.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “We’re at, what? Eighty-two ships? Maybe we reach a hundred before it gets too difficult to find any more materials. Forty years per round-trip, average. That’s two point five ships per year. So twenty five thousand people per year. Five hundred and sixty years to finish the job.”

  “We’ve talked before about building colony ships at other stars, Will. It’s still an option.”

  “Yeah, I know. But there’s so much ramp-up required. Plus you’d have to get a Bob to stay put to supervise. So far, not a lot of takers. Oliver over in Alpha Centauri, for instance, is concentrating on preparations for an Others’ assault. Like it or not, Sol is still the best place to build colony ships. Except for the resources issue, of course.”

  “We keep going over the numbers. It doesn’t get any better with repetition. We can keep the enclaves viable for maybe another fifty to a hundred years. And that’s with every trick we’ve been able to come up with.”

  “Well, really,” I said, “we can keep the enclaves going forever.”

  “Sure, by going underground or into the ice. Completely subterranean existence, completely dependent on the farm donuts and hydroponics.”

  “And on us, because in that position they’d have no industrial base.”

  “Um. The bottom line, though, is we’d be telling most of the population that they’ll be spending the rest of their lives in a cave.” Charles sat back and stared at the ceiling.

  I looked up and realized that I’d never bothered to put any detail into the ceiling in my VR. It was a flat blue with no texture. I quickly added a popcorn finish, and placed a banner that said, “My eyes are down here.”

  Charles let out a surprised, barking laugh. He looked down at me, grinning. “Y’know, Will, you didn’t used to have much of a sense of humor.”

  I smiled sadly back at him. “I think I’m trying to keep a bit of Homer alive.”

  Charles lost his own smile and nodded. We all missed Homer.

  I stared into the middle distance, focused on nothing in particular. It wasn’t just Homer. Butterworth, Julia Hendricks, and a couple of other members of our extended family had passed away in the last decade. Not people I’d particularly known, except by name, but it reminded me that, given enough time, everyone I knew would eventually be gone.

  After a few moments of contemplative silence, Charles said, “We could stick everyone in stasis…”

  “I’ve thought about it, Charles. Fourteen million stasis pods. That’s about thirty colony ships worth of materials. Not only would we have to stop building ships, we’d have to cannibalize a dozen of the existing ones. I don’t see the UN going for that.”

  “In the long term, it would make more sense.”

  “People don’t think in the long term.”

  “Have you brought it up?”

  I sighed. “No, and probably due to cowardice. But you’re right, they should be allowed to decide. I’ll bring it up today.”

  * * *

  Representative Misra’s gaze never wavered as she asked questions. One of the most level-headed of the UN delegates, she never got upset. If I could get her onside, I had a good possibility of pulling this off.

  “You can build fourteen million stasis pods?”

  “Yes, as I said, we’ll have to cannibalize a dozen of the returning colony ships, as well as divert all future construction.”

  “How long to complete all the pods?”

  “I think around fifty years, mostly due to supply issues.”

  “So, many of us will die of old age, regardless. Meanwhile, no new colony ships will go out.”

  “That’s true, Representative Misra, but after the first dozen, any returning ships can still take people out.”

  Swarna Misra looked down at her desk for a moment, then looked back at the camera. “Here’s the problem, Mr. Johansson. Under the current system, about three hundred thousand more people will go out to colonies within our lifetimes. Under your proposed system, possibly half of the population—seven million people—will die of old age on Earth before pods are ready for them. The other half will get into pods, where they will remain for some indefinite amount of time, possibly centuries. Mathematically, your suggestion makes some sense. But emotionally, it is not attractive. At least while alive, we are masters of our destiny.”

  Reaching forward, she said, “I cannot endorse this plan. Sorry.” She switched off her microphone and sat down.

  Damn.

  Next up was Minister MacIntyre. He had replaced Gerrold in New Zealand after the VEHEMENT situation. He was barely less hostile to me than Gerrold had been. Despite several clandestine investigations on my part, I hadn’t been able to find any connection that would warrant the antipathy. I guess I would have to accept that I would never be New Zealand’s favorite replicant.

  “What assurances do we have that you’ll even wake us up?” he asked, not even bothering with any warm-up remarks.

  Oh, for crying out loud. “Because if that’s how I felt, Minister, I could just leave right now with no subterfuge.”

  “So you are threatening us, now?”

  I rolled my eyes, and I let the cameras see it.

  The session went on for several hours, and the upshot was that it would be discussed and debated more at future sessions. Meanwhile, we would continue with the current schedule.

  I sighed and closed my video window. Stupid humans.

  The Departed

  Marcus

  March 2215

  Poseidon

  An angry mob faced off against the security personnel. “You do not have a right to prevent us from leaving!” someone yelled.

  The security squad stood squarely between the citizens and the parked flyers. They weren’t quite pointing their weapons at the crowd, but the threat was definitely there.

  It seemed the Council had finally gotten their act together. Within minutes of my announcement that the fourth aerial city, Thark, was taking immigrants, security squads had moved in and cut people off from the flyers.

  I’d been expecting them to come up with something eventually, although they seem to have figured it out a little more slowly than I’d have given them credit for. But that was okay. Time for phase 2.

  Behind the crowd, opposite the security forces, a half-doze
n cargo drones landed. I floated my observation drone up high enough to be seen and heard clearly, ordered the drones to open the cargo bay doors, and announced, “Buses for Thark are now loading. Please move to the back of the bus.”

  Within seconds, the crowd had loaded into the cargo drones. The security personnel gritted their teeth, and several of them made as if to point their weapons. The squad leader growled an order and they desisted.

  I released a breath that I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. For all my bravado, I knew I was engaged in a game of brinksmanship. If the Council decided to call my bluff, people could get hurt or killed. And that would be on me.

  But we’d now loaded four cities without violence breaking out. A precedent of sorts had been established.

  Very likely I’d be getting a call from Councilor Brennan any minute now.

  * * *

  Riker popped into my VR. “I just got an earful from the Poseidon Council. Fomenting revolution, are you?”

  I bobbed my head back and forth, as I waved him to a chair. Riker sat down, accepted a coffee from Jeeves, and gazed at me silently, one eyebrow up.

  “C’mon, Will, you know what they’ve been doing! Clamping down on travel, use of flyers, dictating jobs, living arrangements…”

  “It’s a unique situation, Marcus. Poseidon’s got all the room you could want, but only if you’re a fish.”

  I waved the comment away. “I understand the scarcity situation, but there’s no aspect of we’re all in this together. They just hand down pronouncements, and you do as told or else. And or else now includes consequences—anything from loss of privileges through house arrest all the way to incarceration. And if there’s anything dumber than jailing people when you need every single person working, I’ve never seen it.”

  Will sighed. “Okay, bud. Off the record, I agree with you. And I’ve read your blog about the monitoring, which I find as galling as you do. But the official line from the Council is that you’re interfering with the development plans for the planet.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course I’m interfering. That’s the whole point! But,” I held up a finger in a lecturing pose. “What I’m not doing is screwing up the timetable. Putting people on aerial cities spreads the population quicker, gets people off the mats quicker, ramps up the technology quicker… A planet-full of aerial cities would be the ideal situation. Come to that, we could do the same with the floating cities. But the Council is building just enough of them for industrial and commercial purposes, with residential use not even on the priority list. They don’t want people out there on dozens of different independent cities, because there’s no way to control people in that scenario.”

  “I don’t know how we managed to end up with a bunch of reactionary types in charge. It sure doesn’t go with the stereotype of laidback tropical islanders. Sharma would never have allowed this to develop.”

  I sighed. “Ephemerals, Will. They die.”

  “Don’t let Bill hear you say that.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I got up and started to pace. “Look, bottom line, I’m not doing anything in any way illegal or immoral. It’s like Howard with his distillery. It pissed off Cranston, but it was a completely reasonable business venture.” I turned to Will. “And speaking of, aren’t you one of the guys who got Cranston deposed, because you didn’t like his policies?”

  Will grinned at me. “I didn’t do it, nobody saw me, and you can’t prove it anyway.”

  “Whereas I’m a little more obvious about it. But it’s the same problem: how do we keep working with a government that we believe is wrong on a basic moral level?”

  “Okay, Marcus. I’ve talked to you, which is what the Council asked me to do.” Will got up and gave me a quick salute. “Just don’t get anyone killed, all right?” Without waiting for a response, he popped out.

  Yeah. That’s the trick, isn’t it?

  Sighing, I pulled up the latest reports. Two more cities, almost ready to launch. Kal had come up with a bunch of suggestions for the next generation design, based on feedback from early residents. And Thark was full, and in full operation.

  It was all looking good. But sooner or later, the Council would decide on a strategy. I couldn’t completely suppress a feeling of dread.

  Underway

  Icarus

  January 2232

  Interstellar space

  The phrase middle of nowhere took on an entirely new meaning when you were between star systems. I sat in the middle of a sphere of empty space, with nothing more than the occasional lonely hydrogen atom for literally light-years. The Orion-Cygnus arm of the Milky Way stretched across the sky, annotated by overlays showing distances, readings, and the location of local tourist attractions. Sixty trillion miles to next gas station. I snorted at the thought.

  “Status check.”

  I looked up at the call from Dae. Right on time, as usual. Well, why not? I didn’t begrudge him his tics, and he didn’t tease me about my wraparound planetarium view.

  I returned to my library and opened up my calculation page before responding. “Everything’s in the green.”

  “Your tau is a little low.”

  I glanced at the status board. “I was drawing slightly ahead of you. I had to cut back my acceleration just a tad.”

  “I would have preferred if you’d extended your curve instead, Ick. We need to be synchronized.”

  “Understood. Still lots of time to adjust.”

  “Um. And on that subject, how are the calcs going?”

  “So-so. I still can’t find a definitive answer. Of course, it’s not like anyone’s ever done this before.”

  Daedalus chuckled. “Yeah, granted. Have you determined a safe minimum tau, though?”

  “Sure,” I answered. “But it’s probably overkill.”

  “I’m good with overkill.”

  I could hear the grin in his voice. “As am I, Dae. As are all the Bobs. And we have the tau for that. Or will, by the time we get there. Which won’t be long on our clocks.” I smiled into the air. “I guess we could get ourselves into the Bobiverse Book of Records with this. Highest recorded tau by a Heaven vessel.”

  “Uh huh. You thinking of heading for the galactic core?”

  That got a chuckle from me. “Y’know, once we’re done—”

  “—assuming this works—”

  “Sure, sure. But it’s not a terrible idea, really.”

  There was a moment of silence. “I was going to laugh at you, Ick. But the more I think of it… Really, what’s holding us here?”

  “Homo sideria, baby. Maybe it’s time to join up.”

  Daedalus popped in, holding a coffee. “Or start it up. Even Mario hasn’t really left the area. I don’t think anyone qualifies yet.”

  I waved up a patio chair for Dae, his favorite seating device, and popped up a coffee for myself. “You think we’re timid as a group?”

  “No, maybe just creatures of habit. And comfort zone.”

  I nodded slowly, letting a grin form. “So, you up for it?”

  “Hell, why not?”

  I raised my cup in salute. “To Sagittarius A-Star. May it not fry us to twigs.”

  Dae made a sweeping motion with his hand. “Just have to make this delivery first.”

  Arrival at 82 Eridani

  Mack

  October 2220

  82 Eridani

  I was incredibly lucky to have been preparing to go out with a set of colony ships when 82 Eridani was secured. The vote by the colonists to change destinations was barely a formality, probably the most one-sided vote ever registered on Earth, pre or post-war.

  And now, twenty-five years later, we’d arrived. Three colony ships, two from Vancouver Island and one from Japan, would be the first human beings to settle this system.

  The inner of the two habitable planets resembled Venus in the old pulp-fiction novels—thick, impenetrable jungle, heavy clouds and mist, and large, hungry animals. The outer planet was cooler, with predominantl
y steppe climates. But it also had about seven percent heavier gravity than Earth. The second generation would adapt. The first would have sore feet for the rest of their lives.

  And the larger moon of the outer planet was habitable. Marginally. It would require a serious beefing up of atmospheric pressure. But thanks to years of research and, frankly, screwing around with the environment on Ragnarök, Bill had solutions ready. We would have the atmosphere up to Earth normal within fifty years.

  I checked the L4 points for each planet, looking for the materials caches that Verne’s notes said he’d left for us. Sure enough, a couple of million tons of various elements, bundled up with radio beacons attached, all ready and available for manufacturing. Awesome.

  Well, time to report back. I pinged the colony ships, then invited them into my VR. Isaac, Jack, and Owen popped in. This group had no particular VR theme or style, and all three affected simple jean-and-tee-shirt ensembles. Original Bob had always been a bit button-down, so it was surprising to see the same variation in three clones at the same time. One of these years, someone would have to do a study and see if there were any patterns to the cloning variations.

  “Hey, Mack,” Isaac said. “How’s it looking?”

  “Well, the stuff Verne left for us is still there. The system appears to still be Medeiros-free, which is a bonus, of course.”

  I arranged holograms and data sheets for the three planets in midair, then turned to the other Bobs. “We need to name the planets. The humans seem to accept suggested names from us, but leave it to them and, well, we’re still waiting on KKP.”

  “I thought it was Quilt?” Jack grinned.

  “It might end up as that just through common usage. But the official name is still KKP, until they can agree on something.”

  Jack waved the comment away, not really interested. “Looking at the pictures, I really like Owen’s suggestion of Valhalla for the moon of planet three. Can we settle that one?”

  I looked around. Everyone nodded. “Okay, Valhalla it is,” I said. “I agree, that’s a good one. Now, the primary?”