* * *
I tracked the fleeing ships to a relatively small mat in the northern current, earmarked as an automated farming platform. Video images from the drones showed it to be anything but. A small but well-stocked airbase was probably the home of the Council fleet.
“Well, that’s not good.” Kal shook his head. “We’ll have to check absolutely every mat on inventory, now.”
I grinned at him. “Seems the Council has been planning for this for a long time.”
“Or at least, planning for something,” he replied. “I can’t see how they could have predicted your flying cities.”
I nodded at that. “This doesn’t really look military, though. Security forces, maybe. Let’s send in the roamers and a mop-up squad.”
Kal nodded. He and Gina started typing furiously, while I worked on loading up the roamer squad into cargo drones.
* * *
It took longer than expected to prepare for our assault. I was surprised to discover that, with all the buzzing around and knocking out enemy ships and missiles, I was down to the dregs with busters and roamers. And without the system printers under my command, I couldn’t immediately print more. In the end, Gina rounded up a squad of security people, and we stormed the defenders the old-fashioned way.
Sort of. I was still far happier with sacrificing an AMI than a human.
Gina led the charge herself. The busters couldn’t smash the buildings at speed—I didn’t want to kill anyone—but they could smack gun emplacements hard enough to force defenders back.
“Concentrate on all defenders on the west walls,” Gina’s voice ordered over the comm system. Our security people set up a blistering fire which kept the defenders down.
“Marcus, there’s a weak spot on the wall at the southwest side. Can you get an explosive into there?”
“Uh, no, no explosives, Gina. Still too dangerous to print. But…”
A weak spot was easy to target. A ship buster came in at about a hundred klicks and rammed the corner of the wall. Five hundred kilograms of steel completely did a number on it. Maybe a little too well. As usual, I seemed to be a little more enthusiastic with the ramming than was really required.
“Thanks, Captain Crash. All units, enter with caution.”
I sent in some roamers as well, although all I had left were the little guys. The video feed showed a stunned, dust-covered group with no fight left in them.
“I think they’re done, Gina. It’s all mop-up.”
* * *
Gina, normally a somewhat dour, brooding person, was grinning unabashedly. “We got Brennan. No question that he ordered the attacks. We’ll be debriefing the security people we captured, but I’ll bet none of the other Council members were involved in this.”
“Still, they’ll all have to be dealt with. There will be trials. There will likely be convictions. Then there will be the question of what to do with them.” Kal shrugged. “My money’s on menial labor.”
Gina blew out a noisy breath. “Yeah, let’s not count our chickens just yet. We don’t know if there are any more loci of resistance. We may get individuals who keep fighting back, but hopefully we can contain the damage from that. As long as there are no more Council members in the wind, though, I think that’s it for anything organized.”
“The biggest thing will be accounting for all the remaining Council members, then.” Kal looked at me.
“Sorry buddy, I don’t have any special tricks for finding individuals on an entire planet.” I gave him a crooked smile. “Or off-planet, which is also a possibility.”
“Oy.” Kal rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “This really came down to the wire. If we’d had to fight just one more battle, we probably would have run out of assets. Do you have the printers back?”
I nodded. “And I’ve already started replacement construction, but it’ll be a few days before anything pops out the other end. If we do find ourselves another fight—” I looked pointedly at Gina. “—we’d probably better go for containment rather than a punch-up.”
Kal nodded. “Meanwhile, we also have a whole society to put back together. I hope you guys are okay with overtime.”
We all grinned back at him.
Found
Bill
September 2227
Epsilon Eridani
I stared at the readings, frankly disbelieving. I glanced over at Garfield—his wide eyes and slack jaw said it all.
We’d slapped together a quick prototype, based on the power-core scans from the alien hulk. A small prototype. According to our measurements, this kludged-together rig was outperforming our fusion reactors five to one.
“Well, this explains a lot,” Garfield finally said.
“Mmm. Of course, we’re not just going to rip out all our reactors and replace them with this stuff.”
“Well, no.” Garfield grinned at me. “But a pilot project…”
At that moment, Will popped in.
“Hey, guys. What’s this I hear about some Others’ cargo vessels?”
I motioned Will to a chair and materialized some images. “The two Bobs who volunteered to survey the Delta Pavonis system chanced upon a couple of cargo vessels that had been taken out during the defensive engagement. They must have drifted right through the system. The Others didn’t pick up on it, and the derelicts would have just continued out into the cosmos if those two hadn’t found them.”
Will leaned forward and poked at one of the images. “I think I remember that one, actually. It was almost cut in half.”
I nodded. “That unit is being broken down for materials. The guys are repairing the hole in the other one, and they’ve had the bright idea—genius, actually—of putting mover plates around it instead of trying to figure out the Others’ drive system. Then they’ll fly it back to Earth.”
“You could put fourteen million people in that thing, easily.” Will’s voice was hushed.
I laughed. “You could misplace fourteen million people in that thing.” I made a show of feeling around my pockets. “Dang it, where did I put those colonists…”
Will grinned back at me. “Holy crap on a cracker. Fifteen hundred ships or fifteen hundred trips. Or one gigantic cargo carrier!”
Project
Herschel
October 2227
Delta Pavonis
Be careful what you wish for. Uh huh. I was visiting Neil, while we took a break. He’d draped himself across his chair sideways and was doing a good imitation of a boneless corpse. I could remember sitting like that when original Bob was a teenager. Neil had a couple of behaviors that seemed to hearken back to Bob’s adolescence.
“Friggin’ hell,” he finally moaned. “Can we go back to being pondscum? Life was so much easier!”
I laughed, and signaled Jeeves for a beer. Neil had a template for a particularly good ale, and I tried to make a point of having one when I was visiting. I sat down, took a drink, then called up the project plan. “Well, we’re a little ahead of schedule, buddy. You could afford to take a few milliseconds off.”
“Oh, hah hah. You are too funny.” Neil straightened up. “Well, at least we’ve finally finished cutting up Hulk-2. Loading it all into Hulk-1’s cargo bays is routine enough to be left to the AMIs. But building the mover plates…”
“Yeah, I know. We weren’t really anticipating having to deploy our printers when we came out here. It’s a pain…” We grinned at each other and said, in unison, “but it’s a good pain!”
“Anyway,” I continued. “Moot is in a half-hour. You might want to get organized.”
Neil scowled at me, then pulled up his files. He muttered something about slavery, but got to work.
* * *
The moot was crowded, but that was normal, these days. There had been a problem with despondency for a few months after the loss of Delta Pavonis 4, but we’d bounced back. Now the Bobs were more determined than ever to deal out some payback.
Neil and I picked a spot close to t
he podium. Normally, we’d be at the back, as befitted pondscum, but we were now Project Leaders. Of course, we were also project workers, project gophers, and project janitorial staff, but who’s counting? We would be expected to give a status report on the Derelicts Project.
Bill mounted the podium, held the air-horn above his head, and gave the traditional blaaat. The audience greeted him with the usual catcalls and boos. I stayed silent, and I noticed that Neil was more reticent than usual, as well. It was much harder to be an agitator when we were standing up front.
Bill looked around the audience, waiting for the commentary to die down. When he had quiet, he began to speak.
“I’m going to start off with a bombshell. Starting twenty days ago, a number of our monitoring drones around GL 877 were attacked. Per their standing instructions, they self-destructed immediately. In the last two instances, the drones weren’t attacked, but chased.”
This news was met with gasps from the audience. Neil and I stared at each other, bug-eyed with shock, and he mouthed, “They know.”
Bill waited a moment for the chatter to die down. “We figure the Delta Pavonis harvesting expedition reported back to the Others’ home world, and they correctly concluded that they were under surveillance. Based on the attempt to capture the last two drones, they may have surmised that we have a technological advantage of some kind.”
A hologram of the GL 877 system popped up in the air, showing the location of the surveillance drones around the system. Bill made a gesture with his hand, and one by one, drones were replaced by small explosion graphics.
“We’re reconfiguring, but as we lose drones, our coverage will get spotty. We’re biasing them toward the near side of GL 877, to catch any expeditions coming our way. We’re also introducing some randomness in their positions, just to make it more difficult for the Others to find the drones. There haven’t been any new attacks in the last week, so that may be working. And Mario will be replacing the drones on a priority basis. But we’ll still be deficient for a few years.”
Neil edged up to me. “Something smells.”
“What?”
“There’s something about this scenario that bothers me. Why’d they stop?”
“Because they realized they couldn’t catch the drones? Because we randomized the locations?”
“Nope. Not sufficient.” Neil opened his mouth to add something, but at that moment, Bill decided to introduce us.
“Now, you’ve all been hearing about the Derelict Project. Herschel and Neil are here today to give you their first official update.” Bill gestured toward us.
I could feel myself blushing furiously as we mounted the podium. I looked around at the sea of Bobs, and my voice locked up.
Neil, familiar with my stage fright, picked up smoothly. “On a recon flight, we found a couple of Others’ cargo vessels drifting out of the Delta Pavonis system. One was pretty much totaled, but the other was almost intact, with damage limited to A.I. and drive systems. We were able to reactivate the power core—there’s a separate report on what we’ve been able to figure out about the technology.”
Neil turned to me and gestured. He’d given me just the right amount of time to get it together. I picked up the thread smoothly. “We’ve broken down the totaled derelict, and have been using the materials to do repairs on the Bellerophon.”
The assembled Bobs picked up on our chosen name, and we received whistles and whoops of approval. When the approbation died down, I continued, “Rather than trying to rebuild the drive, we’re just manufacturing mover plates—Bill figures 24 will be enough—to fly the whole thing to Earth. We’ve loaded the extra material from the other derelict into the hold, and we’ll be manufacturing stasis pods during the voyage.”
I looked around for Riker, but couldn’t see him, so I looked at Bill. “We’re thinking that if Earth would shift some manufacturing capacity into stasis pods, we could move a lot of people in one shot.”
I glanced around at the crowd. Four or five dozen versions of my face looked back at me. Smiles, nods, frowns of concentration predominated. Okay, not so bad. Bobs were not subtle. If our presentation had been less than interesting, we’d know it.
“Questions?” Bill said.
Bedlam erupted. Okay, really not bad.
Neil leaned closer to me. “Isn’t it nice to be important?”
“I’m having second thoughts, thanks.”
Bill pointed to someone, and the chaos quieted.
Thor stepped forward. “How confident are you of the alien power core?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but Neil jumped in. “It works fine. Just as dependable as one of our own. And a lot more powerful.”
I glared at him and whispered, “You lie like a log.”
“Shaddup, you.”
“How many pods do you think you can make?” Thor continued.
“We have enough material to build a pod for every human being alive,” Neil answered. “Just not enough time. In the 3.6 years subjective trip time, we figure we can make just over five million of them.”
Bill turned and spoke to someone. “Will, how many could you put together at your end?”
Riker stepped forward. “No more than a couple of million. We’re working in non-relativistic time, but on the other hand, we don’t have piles of refined metals just sitting there. We have to salvage every kilogram of metal, and the pickings are getting thinner. It’s starting to slow colony ship production, as a matter of fact.”
The conversation descended into comparisons of critical paths, differing ramp-up strategies, result domains, and other, even less interesting things. I eyed Neil, and he nodded. As casually as possible, we sidled away from the debate and toward the bar. No one noticed our departure.
I leaned against a rail with a beer in my hand, and grinned at Neil. “We’re important.”
“Yeah, when they notice we’re gone, I’ll concede. Meanwhile…” He raised his beer in a toast.
Gotta love moots.
Kidnapping
Bob
September 2224
Delta Eridani (Eden)
I was sitting in the sun with Buster, watching him casually work a piece of flint, when the Deltan came running up. He bent over, gasping for breath for a few moments, then straightened. “Archimedes has been grabbed. I think it was some guys from Caerleon. Must have been.”
I leaped to my feet and almost yelled at the runner, “Have you told Donald? Anyone else?”
He nodded, still gasping. “Yeah, Donald’s gathering some hunters.”
I looked over to see Buster silently gathering his bow and arrows. He didn’t say anything; didn’t look at me or at the runner. His fur was flat, his inner turmoil telegraphed by his ears, which were curled in rage. Someone was going to die today.
We hurried over to the hunters’ tree, where a group was forming. Donald waved at me as I came up.
“Well, Robert, it looks like you and Archimedes might have been right. There’s only one reason for them to grab him.”
I shook my head. “Two reasons, actually. If Fred is involved, he may also be trying to get a reaction from me. I’m pretty sure I hurt his feelings, last time we met.” I glanced at Buster, standing beside me. “If Fred’s involved, today is his final day of life, I think.”
Buster stared straight ahead, still not looking at anyone.
I’d set spy drones to searching for any large, fast-moving parties of Deltans. Reports were now starting to come in. I checked the heads-up. It showed two different groups, but only one was on a determined beeline for Caerleon. My bet would be on that one.
I instructed the drones to try for close-ups, and gave them Archimedes’ profile to identify. Then I turned to Donald. “Chances are they’re on the East Trail, or will be soon. We can cut straight through the Deep Copse to catch up.” I hoped Donald wouldn’t question me. I knew for a fact that was true, but I couldn’t explain how without blowing my cover.
Fortunately, Donald took my word f
or it and started giving orders. In moments, we were running toward the Deep Copse, a thick grove of especially tall, old trees. Paradoxically, because of the thickness of the trees, there was very little underbrush to slow us down. We made it through in minutes.
I held up my hand to stop the group and made a show of listening, then gestured up the trail. We took off at a sprint. It took less than a minute to catch up to the Caerleon group, who I knew had been having a problem with their captive grabbing every tree and branch he could reach. From my position, it looked like they’d solved the problem by beating Archimedes unconscious and then carrying him.
A low growl escaped my throat, and I hoisted my spear. The Caerleon party, hearing our approach, stopped and formed a defensive semicircle, spears pointing outwards.
Fred stepped forward, grinning his usual smug, nasty grin. “Hello, Robert. Robert’s lackies. I suggest you accept the inevitable. Your friend is going to be—”
Fred looked down at the arrow protruding from his chest. With a surprised expression, he fell to his knees, then collapsed sideways to the ground.
I turned to look at Buster.
“Dibs,” he said with a shrug.
Unfortunately, although I could understand and sympathize with Buster’s actions, the Caerleon gang might retaliate by harming Archimedes. I would not allow that, even if it meant revealing that the Bawbe was still watching. I called up a squad of busters and sent them to the nearby trees, standing by.
If at all possible, though, we would take these guys out the old-fashioned way.
The Caerleons were still going through surprise at the quick death, but a few heads had started to turn toward their prisoner. With a roar of anger, I charged the spear line. My friends followed, yelling battle-cries.
I would easily be the first to reach the defenders. But how to handle it? I could, of course, take a couple of spear wounds without slowing my android form. But running around with spears sticking out of me would be hard to explain. On the other hand, I didn’t want any of my friends to take a spear. I had less than ten meters to decide on a plan.
All These Worlds (Bobiverse Book 3) Page 13