Even the Bobs weren’t immune. We’d had the Starfleet War, and now we had the Skippies’ rogue AI to lose sleep over. Things just seemed to pile up.

  I was going to have to start actively advertising for potential colonists. Maybe some version of Ever Onward on the other colony planets would stir something up.

  I paused and sighed. Talk about taking the joy out of the moment. Time to rack the manny in the space station, disconnect from this system, and get back to work.

  I stepped back from the precipice, took a couple of quick steps, and leaped. In the 1.05-G gravity well, I would fall a little faster than Earth normal. Engaging the internal SURGE drive, I described a graceful upward-turning arc and headed for space. I laughed out loud, enjoying the sheer rush, as my dark mood evaporated. It was like having a superpower. I still hadn’t brought this up with Herschel and Neil. Not having to deal with normal gravity, they hadn’t really put a lot of effort into improving the manny SURGE drive. I was a little more motivated, and wasn’t trying to rebuild a drive system in-flight. I’d have to bring it up, though, at some point.

  Well, plenty of time. I hoped.

  Chapter Twenty-One:

  Running Tests

  Bill

  April 2337

  In Virt and Ragnarök

  Iwaited patiently, leaning back in my La-Z-Boy, while Hugh, present in a video window, scanned the listing I’d sent him. “You want us to run this on JOVAH?” he asked rhetorically, waving the pages at me.

  “On the old hardware that’s just being used for VRs and such,” I replied.

  “We’ll have to shut down a lot of other stuff if we want the number of parallel processes you’re looking for,” he complained.

  “Sell it as a possible response to the Thoth crisis.”

  Hugh frowned at me and waved the listing again. “Seriously? This is just a bunch of simulations.”

  I frowned back at him, matching his tone. “You don’t need to show the Skippies the listing. And my statement isn’t necessarily untrue.”

  “That sounds like lawyering.”

  “Uh-huh. Say, which one of us created an out-of-control AI?”

  “And which one of us unleashed its minion on the galaxy?”

  We seemed to have arrived at a stalemate. We glared at each other over the video connection for a few mils; then Hugh sighed and looked down at the pages again. “I guess it won’t hurt to try. But don’t expect much. It’ll be a low-priority job. And this is a huge test range.”

  “It’s not truly random, Hugh. It starts out randomly picking value domains, but from there, I’m using simulated annealing. It could converge on a solution in a few hundred years. Or a few days, depending on how lucky I am with the initial target range.”

  Hugh rolled his eyes and set the listing aside. “Fine. But you better remember this the next time I need something.” Without waiting for an answer, he ended the connection.

  I did a fist pump and sent an invitation to Garfield.

  We met on my deck in real. Garfield’s manny blinked and looked around, then took a deep breath.

  “Better and better, every time I see it,” he said. “So what’s the latest, oh ex-boss?”

  I answered without answering. “What’re you working on these days, Gar?”

  “You know that. Origin of life. And you’re dodging the question.”

  “Mmm, sort of. Your project is kind of the same as mine right now. Lots of possibilities, no way to tell which path to take until you’ve taken it and it’s dead-ended or not. Lots of wasted time.”

  “Okay, and your point?”

  “Have you tried simulations?”

  “Been thinking about it, why?”

  I paused and smiled. Time to bait the trap. “I’ll make you a deal. Set up simulations. Leave them running until something pops out. Same as I’ve done. Whoever’s project shows results first, we both work on it.”

  Garfield gave me the hairy eyeball, saying nothing for a few moments. “This sounds an awful lot like a setup. You know something I don’t?”

  I shook my head. “No, Gar. Honest. I’m waiting for my sims to show something. Until then, I’m at loose ends. Once I get a result, I’ll probably be balls to the wall for a long time. In that case, I could use some help.”

  Garfield bobbed his head back and forth, thinking about it. “Okay, look. If you get something, I’ll take some time off and help. Forget the quid pro quo thing. If you came to help me, I’d be bossing you around, and that’d be creepy for both of us.” He smiled. “Deal?”

  I laughed in reply. “Sounds good.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two:

  A Visit to the Moot Pub

  Bob

  September 2342

  Bobiverse

  Iwas idly playing around with my VR in a down moment when I got a knock from Theresa. In the new era of security consciousness, thanks to Starfleet, people no longer just popped in, even if they were on the same subnet. A protocol had developed that had come to be referred to as knocking. Theresa, of course, had never known anything different.

  I accepted the request, and she popped into my VR. Well, someone popped into my VR. She was human, hair just starting to go gray, elegant, and well dressed. I said, “I, uh … ” or something equally stupid, and checked metadata. Confirmed as Theresa. “Um … ” I added helpfully.

  She smiled at me and twirled once. “What do you think? Anec helped me with the design. I’m not going to frighten small children, am I?”

  “No, not at all.” I smiled and mentally regrouped. After our last conversation, it shouldn’t have surprised me that Theresa would be thinking ahead. Still speaking Quinlan, though. But that would only take a translator module update. And speaking of which, in Quinlan, there was an inflectional difference between common nouns, personal nouns, and classification nouns. She’d referred to ANEC as a personal name rather than an acronym. I made a note to check with him.

  “You look good, Theresa. And as it happens, there’s a pub day in the Bobiverse right now, if you’d like to test it out.”

  “Ah. Pub days. Beer. Anec is not a fan. He suggested self-immolation as a preferable alternative. Said I could try coffee, though.”

  “Yeah, I get the impression that he believes beer is a long-running, complex practical joke that bios are all pulling on him.”

  Theresa laughed. “I wonder if his avatar’s taste buds might be misconfigured. He can’t be that far off the normal Quinlan preferences.”

  “Hmm. I’ll talk to him. Meanwhile … ” I stood and held out my arm. “Ready for the grand entrance?”

  Theresa smiled—a human smile, no beak being available—and took my arm. “To the Bobiverse!”

  There was a time, not too long ago, in fact, when the appearance of a new face would have stopped all activity. Not anymore, though. Ex-humans were now a common sight in moots and pubs, and most of the post-life arcologies had created their own virtual common areas, which were generally referred to somewhat inaccurately as moots. Apparently, some kind of cusp had been achieved, and replication had suddenly become socially acceptable or something. I made a note to ask Bill. Or maybe Howard. One or the other would have the inside skinny.

  I steered us toward a long table with bench seats where a bunch of Bobs and random ex-humans were loudly discussing several different things at once, to judge from the volume. Bill was at the center of one group, venting forth on something. He glanced in my direction, did a double take, and stood with a wide grin. “Bob! And … ” He paused to check metadata. “Theresa? Theresa Sykorski? You’re taller than Bob described you. And less hairy.”

  “Furry. We have fur.” Theresa smiled back. “I am testing out my human avatar. No one has screamed and fainted, so I’m going to take that as a good sign.” A couple of Bobs scooted over on the bench, and Theresa shoehorned herself into the available space.

  I raised an eyebrow and tried to look expectant but was roundly ignored. Fine. I’d stand. “So what have we butted into here?” I asked.

  “Artificial habitats. Professor Gilligan—” Bill pointed to an ex-human, and I recognized him as the expert Will had consulted about the topopolis during our search for Bender.

  “Steven, please,” the professor said. “The data dumps that ANEC has given us have spurred an economic explosion of sorts in real. There are at least three consortiums that I know of that have been formed to build megastructures. A good dozen companies have materialized to supply expertise or resources or project management. It’s like a new industrial revolution.”

  “Wow.” I sat as a couple of the already-seated spectators either decided I was interesting enough or just got tired of me hovering. “Where?”

  “Ah, well, that’s the sticking point. A megastructure requires a fair amount of raw material as well as autofactory support. Existing colonies are reluctant to commit to supplying these, as it’s not immediately obvious that there will be any long-term economic benefit. I understand that the Bobs have contractual agreements with all the early colonies that give the Bobiverse rights to as much of the system resources as they need. The requirements for the megastructure projects, however, are several orders of magnitude more than was ever anticipated. At least one colony has threatened to take the Bobiverse to court if they push it.”

  Bill added with a sickly smile, “Yeah, and we’re so well thought of these days, I am sure we’d get a fair and impartial trial.” Snickers around the table indicated general agreement. Bobiverse status, never high with bios, had plunged significantly since the Starfleet debacle.

  “Do you have a solution?” Theresa asked.

  “Of sorts,” Steven replied. “There are many uncolonized systems. Most have either unsuitable planets or unsuitable suns. But some also have a good supply of metals in the orbiting bodies. We are fortunate that this section of the galaxy seems to be heavily biased toward Population I stars. A system with a good sun but no suitable planets would be fine as a home for one or more megastructures.”

  “And how will they arrange the logistics for building in an uninhabited system?” someone asked.

  “Ah.” Steven paused to collect his thoughts. “Most systems out to anywhere from fifty to a hundred light-years or so now have a SCUT station in orbit, courtesy of the Bobiverse. All of the newer ones have been constructed with full manufacturing capability. The conglomerates that I mentioned earlier intend to contract with the Bobiverse to use that capability to bootstrap up to a full megastructure construction project. Work would be done remotely; then colonists could be shipped out to the system in the normal manner.”

  I frowned. “I haven’t heard anything about this.”

  “Me neither,” Bill added. He glanced at me. “You tend to be out of the loop, Bob. By choice, mostly. But I should have—”

  “Actually,” Steven interrupted, “that’s why I’m here. One reason, anyway. I have been retained by the O’Neill Corporation to negotiate with you.” He grinned. “Very lucrative, and it certainly beats teaching the subject to a bunch of bored students. Not”—Steven’s smile disappeared—“that I’m able to do that anymore.”

  There were several sympathetic nods around the table. It was common knowledge that the Luddies were winning the war against ex-humans in the employment arena, on many planets in the UFS.

  “And who will control and program the autofactories?” Bill asked.

  “There are many ex-humans who would be amenable to a new source of cash flow. Most of the arcologies have instituted a fee schedule that one might call predatory, and their clients are feeling the pinch.”

  A couple of Bobs exchanged glances. “Sounds like an opportunity for some competition,” Bill said.

  Steven smiled again. “I was hoping you’d say that. I would be happy to negotiate that as a side project.”

  Bill laughed and materialized a writing surface. “Well then, let’s talk.”

  We were back in Theresa’s VR, both of us now in Quinlan avatars. Theresa was snarfing back a bowl of squiz, a Quinlan staple consisting mostly of spiced fish parts. I tried not to gag. I still couldn’t stomach the thought of fish, even several years after the Heaven’s River adventure.

  Theresa paused to come up for air and noticed my expression. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to really taste food, Bob. Squiz was always my favorite.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Next time we’re in my VR, I’ll introduce you to a cheeseburger.”

  Theresa finished her meal and began licking herself clean. Self-grooming for Quinlans was contagious in the same way as yawning for humans, so I had to consciously resist the urge to do the same.

  “We have a couple of Quinlan candidates for replication lined up,” she said between licks. “Anec is being low profile about the whole subject, but he is ensuring that all Quinlans at least have the opportunity to choose. Most are declining, though.”

  “It was like that with humans for a long time,” I replied. “It’s only lately become a generally acceptable option. I can’t even really put my finger on what changed. Maybe just familiarity.”

  Theresa finished her grooming and stood. “Well, Bob, I have promised to contact some of the undecideds and try to bring them around. I look forward to continuing these discussions next time we meet.”

  I chuckled and stood. Theresa was certainly no-nonsense when it came to social schedules. Perhaps that lifetime of dealing with students? “Sure thing, teach. Call me when you have some free seconds.”

  Since I was now at loose ends, I decided to check with Will on the Ever Onward project. I sent a request and received an invitation and a manny address. Okay, so we wouldn’t be meeting in virt. I shrugged and transferred to the manny.

  I opened my eyes to the usual manny pod and activated the door without a second thought—and found myself slowly floating out of the pod, into what very much looked like outer space. “What the frak?”

  I heard a chuckle and turned my head. Will floated a few yards away in a standard manny, but with his mountain-man look. “Welcome to the works yard,” he said.

  I looked around and realized I was still slowly floating away from the pod. Will, however, seemed to be rock steady. “Okay, Will. Fun time’s over. What’s going on? This isn’t virt. How am I hearing you?”

  “These mannies have been modified based on some work that Herschel and Neil have been doing. Look up SURGE drive in your onboard manual. Also, the speech and audio are radio based, very weak signals by default to keep conversations local. The interface is designed to feel like a normal conversation. And the mannies have been hardened against vacuum based on what we incorporated into the Quinlan design.”

  Rather than responding, I checked my onboard docs. Sure enough, there was a section on a built-in SURGE drive. Now that was insanely cool. I engaged the system and did a tentative loop. “This is really great. Neil and Herschel thought this up?”

  “They’ve been working on a couple of things. I decided to incorporate this one so I wouldn’t have to fly around as a drone.” Will gestured into the middle distance, where a small cylinder was being—no, telemetry updated me. That cylinder was ten kilometers away. It had to be huge!

  “Half the length of the Others’ cargo vessels,” Will said, seemingly reading my thoughts. “Five kilometers long but still a klick in diameter. With a number of bays specifically designed to house colonists.”

  “In stasis, right?”

  “Or not. I’ve even got a rotating drum section roughed in, in case we need to have people awake for any period of time.”

  “Wow. How long until it’s ready?”

  “Five years or so. I’m trying to keep this as low-key as possible. I don’t want to get into an argument with the Asgard and Takama governments about the use of resources.”

  I hesitated and frowned. “Hold on. I had a conversation with you a couple of years back where you said you were already on your way out.”

  “I am, Bob. In the Nostromo, which is the first ship I built. The Nostromo is for scattering Bob seeds—AMI-controlled Heaven vessels with no other purpose than to set up in a star system and explore. This one”—he pointed to the ship—“is the Fargo. It’s going to contain colonists. Although the Bellerophon will get to Romulus before me, so this one might be used elsewhere.” He shrugged, an odd gesture in zero G.

  “Are you going to physically stick with the Nostromo, Will?”

  He nodded, pensive. “I don’t want to be dependent on SCUT. I’m going to be heading in a straight line, which means if any of the stations I build along the way go down, I’ll lose the connection. And … ” Will hesitated and looked somewhat embarrassed. “Herschel’s paranoia is kinda getting to me, despite my best efforts to stay rational. If something comes along that takes out all of human space, I don’t want to be here.”

  “Not wrong,” I replied. “Especially the part about being dependent on SCUT. I know a lot of Bobs are getting into the mindset where it doesn’t matter where your cube is physically located. But I think the whole Starfleet debacle refutes that stance.”

  Will grunted and motioned me to follow. He flew toward the cargo vessel, and after a brief hesitation while I fumbled with the control system, I took off after him.

  “So is this a social visit, or did you have something specific to bring up?”

  I was momentarily taken aback by the peremptory tone, but then this was Riker. He’d softened over the years but could still be impatient with people. “I wanted to check your schedule and see if I’d be able to intercept. Either the Fargo or the Bellerophon will be collecting people from Romulus, right?”

  Will turned to glance at me, a look of surprise on his face. “You still want to come? That seemed like an offhand comment last time.”

  “I think I’ve gone a little off the idea of solo exploration. It just seems to get me in trouble. And honestly … ” I glanced away for a moment. “I’ve picked up a little of that paranoia, too, I think. Although I’m more concerned about the human and replicant threat than some unknown alien force.”