“About a hundred and twenty degrees,” I said, pointing at the map. “A third of the galaxy. And hubs every three or four degrees, plus or minus a bit. Interesting.”

  “How so?”

  “Five hundred degrees to a full circle would make the hubs five degrees apart by that measurement system. A nice even number.”

  “And you pick five hundred because … ”

  “Ten-bit bytes. Five-byte words. They seem to be locked into hemidecimal and decimal counting systems. We only use three-sixty because of the Babylonians. Maybe they didn’t have Babylonians.”

  “Okay. And?”

  “And nothing, really, Dae. Just thinking out loud. But they had been a civilization for a long time, from the looks of things. I mean, they made it a third of the way around the galaxy. And now they’re gone. I think finding out why has to be our highest priority.”

  “So Hub Zero.”

  “Yup.”

  Traveling from what we labeled Hub Six to Hub Zero took less than twenty-four hours, most of that time being spent moving from one hub gate to the next in the hub system. Wormhole gates were kept well separated, which seemed like a good idea on so many levels. Traffic jams would be nothing but bad.

  Once at Hub Zero, we were faced with a quandary: more than a thousand gates, and really nothing to indicate which one might lead to the home planet of the empire. Even the physical map of system locations didn’t give any clues.

  “Sadly,” Dae commented, “the information is probably in the identification packet, but probably in their version of a text banner.”

  “So random pick?”

  “‘Fraid so, Icky. Still don’t want to split up?”

  “Leatherface is still out there, Dae.”

  “And probably working on another sequel.”

  We picked a random wormhole, girded our virtual loins, and glided on through.

  Chapter Fifteen:

  Imposter Syndrome

  Bill

  March 2337

  In Virt

  Iignored the ping as another message dropped into my queue. It was very un-Bob-like behavior, ignoring messages. Even more un-Bill-like, come to that. We normally couldn’t concentrate, knowing there was an unread email or text. But I’d been frame-jacked as high as I could manage and still get anything done for the last six months, personal time. The offhand comment from Hugh about the cosmological constant had opened a floodgate of possibilities.

  Two opposing scalar fields, almost but not quite canceling each other, produced a measurable and very tiny value for the constant. The small discrepancy in values was because one of the fields was slightly increased by the expansion of the universe while the other was slightly decreased. At least that’s what my math was telling me.

  But the important thing, the truly massively critical consequence of this, was that there was a lot more vacuum energy available than we’d been able to extract with Casimir generators. You just had to know it was there, and how to extract it from one of the opposing fields.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t know how. Yet. But if the numbers were right, I’d have access to enough negative energy to expand and stabilize wormholes. Actually, I’d have enough negative energy to rip apart a spiral arm if I got careless, so baby steps were definitely called for.

  Another ping. I couldn’t actually be that popular, could I? Maybe it was someone’s birthday? With an internal chuckle, I decided it was time to rejoin the ex-human race. I needed a coffee anyway.

  I jacked down to replicant normal and pulled up my in-basket. And noticed right away a whole lot of messages from Garfield, all marked urgent. Great. Same fan, more shit. On the other hand, I must have been really frame-jacked way up. There were only about sixteen hours of messages backlogged in total. Still …

  With a groan, I opened Gar’s latest.

  Jesus, Bill, answer your fucking messages. You have to shut down Ultima Thule. I hate this new security-first crap. You have the only admin access. Isolate it. Stop him.

  What the actual … ?

  Not bothering to open the previous messages, I sent a connect request to Garfield. Instead of inviting me over, he popped in.

  “About friggin’ time. What’ve you been doing, watching old horror movies?”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, that’s it. Remember all those times in the Skunk Works where we’d get an old movie—”

  “Sorry, Bill. I shouldn’t have made a joke. This isn’t joking time. Have you shut down Ultima Thule?”

  “Why in hell would I need to do that?”

  Garfield rolled his eyes. “You haven’t read all my emails. Great. Bill, I got a call from Hugh. Original Hugh in Skippyland, I mean. Heavily encrypted, audio/video only, and he was firewalling as heavily as we were. The Skippy government decided they needed to update us, and Hugh was the obvious conduit. He tried to contact you, but you were off on this butthole-gazing expedition or whatever, so he called me.”

  “Okay, but that’s good, right? Did he give us any information to fill in what our Hugh told us?”

  “Well, see, that’s the thing. I brought up the subject and explained how we’d restored him from one of his backups. He looked confused and told us he’d never sent me any backups.”

  “So … ” I said slowly, with a brittle, artificial tone of calm. “The Hugh we’ve been dealing with here is not Hugh at all. Which means it was probably Thoth. Which now has the resources of Ultima Thule at its disposal.”

  “And one of the things we do when we restore a Bob?” Garfield said, in the same tone.

  “Give them a new spaceship,” I finished. A quick query to the site’s Guppy confirmed what I suspected. Hugh’s cube had been transferred to a latest-version Heaven vessel, a Titan class. It was one of the dozen or so we kept in inventory.

  It had already departed.

  “Mother, f … .” I exclaimed. “The AI is loose on the galaxy.”

  Garfield nodded. “And we’re responsible.”

  Chapter Sixteen:

  Theresa’s Time

  Bob

  March 2340

  Quin

  Iwas reading the latest report from Neil and Herschel on the Ever Onward Society’s preparations to evacuate from Romulus when a six-foot-tall beaver popped into my VR. “Greetings,” he said. “Formalities having been dispensed with, your friend Theresa Sykorski is expiring. You asked to be advised.”

  I closed the report with a wave of a hand. “Thanks, ANEC. Any problems with her relatives?”

  “They are behaving within parameters. Nevertheless, a physical presence would serve as additional insurance.”

  That was the closest ANEC had ever come to subtlety. The only conscious AI in existence in known space, he—ANEC had decided to identify as male—had a tendency to go for the conversational jugular.

  “Right, that’s my cue.” I stood, and ANEC disappeared. Not big on social niceties, either. In fact, he and Guppy had a lot in common, overall.

  I quickly activated and transferred my POV to my quinny in the Sykorski villa—and opened my eyes to pitch blackness. After a moment of confusion, I adjusted the quinny’s vision down into infrared and realized I was in a closet. Literally. I had brooms, mops, and other miscellaneous cleaning implements either leaning against me or propping me up.

  Well, I had instructed them to place the android body somewhere out of the way. Mission accomplished, although Quinlans generally weren’t quite that literal-minded. I suspected a certain level of disdain.

  With muttered curses, I untangled myself from the cleaning gear, opened the closet door, and found myself alone in a hallway in a typical Quinlan house—or maybe not completely typical. The Sykorski family was old and relatively well-off. Their family home, as I knew from previous visits, was built on the general plan of a Roman villa, with a central courtyard and blank walls around the outside, at least on the first floor. Several generations of the family lived here, from the oldest, like Theresa, in their last days, all the way down to still non-sentient juniors, running around and chewing on the furniture.

  I tuned the quinny’s hearing and picked up low conversations in the distance. I grabbed the scanner and followed the sounds to the central courtyard, where the entire family was gathered around an ancient Quinlan reclining on a type of chaise.

  She looked up and smiled at me as I moved through the crowd. “Hello, Enoki. I guess you heard. This seems to be my time.”

  Someone vacated a chair for me, and I sat down and took her hand. “It’s okay, Theresa. This isn’t the end. You have a whole universe of adventures ahead of you.”

  A low growl behind me, quickly suppressed, reminded me that this moment would have to be very carefully handled. For some reason, no species—whether human, Pav, or Quinlan—seemed to be comfortable with or happy about the whole replication thing. Howard’s stepdaughter, Rosie, had once accused him of “stealing” her mother and had launched a lawsuit to prevent it—even though Bridget had clearly stated her wishes in her will.

  I turned and spoke to the Quinlans behind me as a group, rather than picking anyone out.

  “Theresa will still be here for you to honor. I will not be taking anything from you. This is like taking a picture.” I pointed to the camera that one of the Quinlans was holding and tried not to smile. Since ANEC had released the Quinlans from technological restrictions, they’d been rocketing through the tech tree as fast as manufacturing could be arranged. The camera looked like a pretty good-quality SLR, although probably still film based.

  No one argued, but no one would meet my eyes, either. A few offered me a brief view of their fangs. This looked like one of those things that would never be resolved.

  “It’s okay, Enoki,” Theresa said, patting my paw. “I’ve made my wishes clear. There won’t be a problem.” The last sentence was said with a pointed look at her closest relatives, and I was amused to see them actually shrink back slightly. Elders were heavily respected in Quinlan society, and Theresa had a lifetime of accomplishments in her credibility quiver to ensure there’d be no arguments. Plus, I suppose, a lifetime of dealing with recalcitrant students.

  She sighed and closed her eyes, seemingly exhausted from even that small show of authority. I turned my paw palm upward and took hers, and she smiled and squeezed without opening her eyes.

  It was her last act. Within minutes, her breathing slowed and then stopped.

  I’d been steeling myself for this moment for days, and I had the additional benefit that I knew she’d be up and running shortly as a replicant, but I still teared up. The assembled relatives set up a low keening, and the eldest surviving person started the death chant. Slowly, the others picked up the chant, and I was reminded again how much better their musical ability was than that of humans.

  I stood and retrieved the scanner, which I’d placed on the floor. In the “technology marches on” vein, the brain scanners were now smaller than those dryers you used to see in hair salons in 1950s movies. A cap slipped over the head connected to a base about the size of a small bucket. It wasn’t even necessary to be precise with the placement of the cap—as long as there was no movement, the electronics would scan the entire head and then some. It wasn’t even destructive anymore. In principle, if the subject could be revived, they’d be completely unaffected by the scan. It still couldn’t accurately scan a functioning brain, though. The result in that case was analogous to trying to take a picture of a moving subject with a slow shutter speed—a useless blur.

  The chant faltered as I fussed with the scanner, but no one objected or attempted to interfere. I wasn’t sure what I would have done if someone had. There was an aspect to this that felt like I was making up for my inability to save Archimedes, and I wasn’t entirely sure that I’d be completely rational in the face of resistance.

  Fortunately, the point was moot. The little blue light came on, indicating that the scan had completed, and I removed the cap from Theresa’s head.

  “That’s it?” one of the Quinlans asked.

  I nodded. “She’ll be the first Quinlan in the Quiniverse, and she’ll be heavily involved in deciding what it looks like for any of you who decide to follow when your time comes.”

  “And we can talk to her?”

  “As soon as we’ve got her activated.” I looked around the group. “Whatever you may think of this, remember that she will believe that she’s still Theresa, and will act and react just as Original Theresa would.”

  I frame-jacked momentarily and sent a query to ANEC. “Upload successful?”

  “Affirmative,” he replied. “You may depart at your leisure.”

  I rejoined the meatspace time frame and nodded to the group. “May you live with Father’s blessing.” Carrying the scanner with me, I left the Sykorski family to complete their grieving in private.

  It was a featureless gray room. No furniture, no windows, no door. ANEC stood quietly as only a computer could, waiting for me to say or do something.

  “Uh … it’s a little sparse.”

  “Understatement? Sarcasm?” ANEC cocked his head. “I prefer to learn from your experience on this matter. It is virtual, so anything is possible, of course.”

  “Ah.” I found myself a little surprised by ANEC’s reluctance to commit. Interesting. Was there a fear of failure involved? He had been the government of Heaven’s River for several hundred years. Maybe he’d picked up some attitudes.

  “Which also means it can be changed later, or individual Quinlans can create their own environment.” I paused, more out of courtesy than anything else. I didn’t want to seem too preemptory. “How about something along the lines of a Heaven’s River scene?”

  ANEC showed no reaction, but the environment changed to a scene right out of the topopolis. Birds wheeled and darted in the sky, and clouds drifted along in that weird semi-tubular pattern that I could never get used to. Nearby, a large stream or small river flowed lazily by, with waterfowl bobbing along in the middle.

  I did a slow 360. This could have been Earth, if you didn’t look too closely at the plants and animals. There was even a cicada-like sound playing in the background, adding to the impression of summer heat.

  “Nice. Now, add a small building. Tasteful but fairly neutral, with an open archway to the outside. That’ll be where replicants wake up.”

  ANEC nodded—actually nodded, not the Quinlan equivalent. Apparently, he was working on assimilating human behaviors. He continued to project himself as about six feet in height, and I noticed that he was possibly the slimmest Quinlan I’d ever seen. I wondered what the motivation was for this. Was he doing it for his benefit or ours? Was there some kind of psychological play going on?

  I mentally shook myself. I seemed to have a tendency to be suspicious of ANEC at the drop of a hat. Was that because he was alien, or because he was an AI? Was this how bios viewed replicants? That was a topic for thought when I had some time.

  While all this was going through my mind, ANEC had popped up a vaguely Greek temple-like building. The veined marble, fluted columns, and tile floors were definitely elegant, if maybe a bit clinical. But it matched my suggestion. And it was reminiscent of the Heaven’s River transit station foyers, so probably something Quinlans would be comfortable with.

  “And a couch or chaise or something for the replicant to wake up on,” I said, pointing to the middle of the floor. Again, no sooner said than done.

  “Now, when someone awakens, they shouldn’t be alone. If they have relatives already in the Quiniverse, they’ll no doubt want to attend. But Theresa is the first, so she only has me. And possibly you. Do you want to be here?”

  “I admit to a level of curiosity about the process. Also, it is a good opportunity for learning. I will observe in this case.”

  Not creepy at all. But his house, his rules. I changed my avatar to my Enoki form—a four-foot-tall beaver-slash-otter-slash-platypus mashup. I mentally reached for the “on” switch, then hesitated. “Hey, uh, ANEC, maybe you could adopt more traditional proportions? Y’know, more Quinlan, less Godzilla.”

  ANEC looked confused for a moment, then nodded and shrank by two feet.

  Satisfied, I reached for that switch again, and flipped it. On the chaise, a Quinlan appeared. She was obviously Theresa, for anyone who knew her, but a much younger version. I’d had to do some interpolation to get that younger version, as Quinlans hadn’t had cameras back then. A painting hanging in the family home had helped, but you never knew for certain how the artist had balanced accuracy against the vanity of their subject.

  Theresa opened her eyes and sat up. “Enoki,” she exclaimed. “Am I still … Oh!” she said as the surroundings registered. She glanced at ANEC, who at the moment looked like just some random Quinlan, then back at me.

  I smiled at her. “Welcome to the afterlife, Theresa. The Quiniverse, as we’re calling it. This is ANEC, who you would know better as the Administrator. He is your host.”

  Theresa blinked and turned her gaze silently to ANEC. I worried for a moment that she might have already popped a circuit breaker.

  “Greetings, Theresa Sykorski. I have hope that you will be willing and able to aid in making this virtual environment into one that all Quinlans will eventually be able to appreciate.”

  She stood, still not having uttered a word since her initial outburst. She stopped, looked down at her paws, then said, “Oh.” A brief examination of her body, then, “I appear to be considerably younger. How did you manage that?”

  “Virtual reality. You can be whatever or whoever you want. For instance”—I changed my avatar to my default human Bob identity—“this is me as I normally appear in my world. Human.”

  Theresa sat down abruptly, staring. Then she said slowly, “I think your intro session needs work. I’m torn between running around the room, screaming, and a good old-fashioned dead faint.”