Heaven's River

by Dennis E. Taylor

  We walked along a path that ran beside a canal. We can see half submerged boats and barges in several places. It was likely that the Quinlans used rivers like humans used roads. I wondered idly what rush hour must been like. Would they use transit, or would it even be a concept if you could swim like an otter? The buildings we passed were multi-story, but not the high-rise monsters that many Earth cities contained. I didn't see anything over about six stories or so. Perhaps the Quinlans didn't like heights. Or maybe they just didn't see the point.

  The most notable feature though was the amount of square footage set aside for green space. Every building had a terrace in front of it, and most canals had a treed path running along one side or the other - all brown and dead now, but it would've been beautiful before… just before.

  We finally turned and headed back to the building on whose front lawn we had landed. We picked it deliberately, after an aerial survey, as the most likely place to find governmental stuff. It had a certain look of officialdom that seem to transcend species barriers. A combination of pompous self-importance combined with lack of artistic touch or any kind of individuality perhaps. Or I might be overthinking it. Getting into the building wouldn't have been a problem in any case, for android muscles or roamer plasma cutters, but fortunately the front doors weren’t locked. We gazed around the large lobby and spotted a directory.

  “Hmm. Definitely governmental,” I said perusing the listing while my heads-up popped up translations. “Licenses, statistics, taxes, all the usual things that seem to infest civilizations everywhere.”

  “I'm most interested in finding corpses. Emergency management sounds like something that would be staffed right up until the end. Fourth floor.”

  Bridget pointed to a solid looking door near the elevators. We checked the door and sure enough, it was locked.

  “If this is a set of stairs,” I said, “as it appears to be - oof!” The door bent and sprung off its hinges as we gave a concerted push in unison - android muscles, remember - to reveal stairs going up and down. “Yep, and locked at ground level, just as they would be on Earth. So, we can assume a similar level of distrust in Quinlan society.”

  We proceeded up three flights of stairs the rise and run looking odd to me, but feeling perfectly natural when I went down on all fours. Like the Pav, Quinlans seemed to prefer to be on their hind legs, but would go quadrapedal when traveling any distance. I couldn't shake the image of a fat river otter when watching the videos of them getting around.

  We reached the fourth floor and walked down the hall, examining doors and information plaques. The Manny OS didn't automatically translate written information, but are our in-vision heads-up-display showed a pop-up translation, when desired. We soon found the offices of emergency management. The door was unlocked. Presumably there had been traffic in and out right up until the end. There was no working lighting, of course, but Quinlan eyes had a large effective range to allow for both above and below water operation. Our android eyes were even better, and covered a larger portion of the visible and surrounding light spectrum.

  “There,” Bridget breathed, and made her way between the desks. A single dried husk of a corpse sat at a desk, head still cradled in its arms, as if the victim it simply fallen asleep at their desk and never woken up. I hoped it had been that peaceful.

  Bridget gestured to the drone which had kept up with us all this time. It floated down to desk level and the cargo door popped open. Bridget reached in and began removing items. “You going to watch?”

  “I, uh… I have to do this other thing over there.” I said inanely, and retreated with my dignity in tatters.

  I've seen my share of violence and death on Eden, but somehow the clinical measured experience of an autopsy added a whole new level of yuck. The Manny wouldn't throw up, but I still experienced the mental reaction of any human non-medical professional. I heard Bridget begin the mutter to herself, no doubt dictating notes. As it happened, I could make myself useful in the meantime. I examined the office, trying for an anthropologist's viewpoint.

  “The desks were… desk-like.” How many ways were there to present a horizontal working surface? The chairs were more like backless bucket seats with a slot to accommodate the Quinlan butt and tail. Each desk sported something that had to be a phone system, including a handset. Physical buttons were absent There was a black plate that had probably been a touchscreen. I started randomly opening drawers. Papers, writing implements, and desk accessories dominated. A couple of drawers contained what might be fossilized snacks. I turned off my olfactory sense, even though after all this time there was unlikely to be any residual odor.

  It struck me that the interior of this building was surprisingly dry. I’d watched the TV series ‘Life After People’ when I was still alive, and the show made the point again and again that things would fall apart quickly once people were gone. But everything here seemed to be in pretty good condition. Was that better construction? Or milder weather? Or perhaps a complete absence of bugs, molds, fungi, and so on? I couldn’t use Mario's survey of the first Others victim species he’d discovered for comparison, because the Others had taken the time to knock most structures down and procure the rebar and other metal components.

  I tapped on one of the windows. It wasn't glass. possibly transparent aluminum or something similar, but that would be one reason for the lack of deterioration. Popped and shattered glass windows one of the first ways in for rampant nature. I carried on with my wanderings, as Bridget's voice continue to record her findings. It brought back my ongoing argument with Bill about how aliens would think and behave. Granted, an energy being or silicon entity would have a different outlook on life, but a land animal with the concept of individuality could only do things so many different ways. Desks were flat surfaces for working. Phones were devices for communicating with others at a distance. Doors separated spaces. Lights lit spaces. People, or whatever, needed a place to eat and a place to eliminate waste. I snickered. Maybe a race based on horses would have a different take on that last item. Or cows. I glanced down, looking for cow pies of the equivalent. Nope.

  “Bob. Done?” came Bridget's call. I hurried back to where it left her to find her packing up her equipment. On the desk was… I looked away quickly. Best not. I made a mental note to only peruse the text of her final report.

  She saw my reaction and gave me a quick smile, as quickly gone. “There weren't any surprises in the autopsy. Our deep SUDDAR scans really did catch pretty much everything important about the Heaven’s River inhabitants. I found the remains of a large viral load in the tissues, though. I’ve taken detailed scans and forwarded them to the Skippies. They tell me they can run a simulation if we get enough cellular and DNA detail. It’ll tell us what we have.”

  “How long?”

  “Day or two, they say.”

  “Great. Meanwhile, we found a good place to park the cargo drone when no one is running these androids, unless you have some more spots you want to check out.”

  Bridget shook her head. “Nah. Most of our surveys can be visual and SUDDAR. The Skippies are running drones in a search pattern of their own design. They intend to eventually map the entire planet’s infrastructure in detail, and put up a virtual globe.”

  “Huh. They think big.”

  “But it’s all intellectual exercises. They are deliberately avoiding anything that involves contact with biologicals, or even to a lesser extent, Bobs. I had a talk Hugh. While we were agreeing on details for analyzing the results of this outing. He’s a nice guy, not a jerk in any way. But, kind of, I don’t know, disinterested? Or distracted? As if were keeping him from his video games, but he's too polite point it out.”

  I nodded and sighed. “Yeah Bridget, you're not the first person to say that. We are living in an increasingly non-Bob universe.”

  A text came in from Bill. “You’ll want to test the Mannies in water as well.”

  “Ah. Fair enough.”

  The envelope indicated it had
gone to Bridget as well. She made a vague ‘out there’ gesture. “Shall we take a dip in the canal?”

  We looked down at the water. Given what I'd seen of the rest of the city, I was sure it would've been kept clean before. Now it had an oily surface sheen, and far too much flotsam. Although, no actual trash. Still, it would do for testing. And it wasn't like we can actually catch something.

  I grinned at Bridget, called “last one in,” and dove into the water.

  I heard a splash behind me. There was a flicker is nictitating membranes covered my eyes, adjusting for the different refractive index. My vision was surprisingly good, considering the state of the water. And the freedom! The Manny OS took care of the movement and reflexes, and I found myself swimming like an otter, curling and undulating through the water.

  A shape shot past me and slapped me on the head. I realized that Bridget had just laid down a challenge. I accelerated after her and she did a right-angle turn heading straight down. She whipped around a submerged boat and pulled an abrupt reverse, speeding by me in the opposite direction.

  “Nice try, but no cigar.”

  I just barely caught her tail with my front paw, but it was enough for tag. She turned and took up the chase. We surfaced several times for air, even though the Mannies didn't really need it. The androids were designed to mimic the real thing, and that included an internal calculator to track when we should be running out of oxygen. We could ignore it, but in Quinlan company that would likely attract unwelcome attention.

  Finally, Bridget shot out of the water and landed on her feet, several yards from the edge of the canal, in a perfect penguin exit. I followed, staggering slightly as I landed.

  “Bob doesn't quite stick the landing!” she exclaimed. “The judges deduct half a point.”

  “Half a point?! I was robbed!” I responded, laughing.

  We both sat down at the same time, curling ourselves on the dead non-grass.

  “That was awesome,” Bridget said. “It's almost like flying. Better, in some ways, and I know flying.”

  “True, you've done enough of it. I think you'll the record for most species emulated, don't you?”

  She smiled at me. “I think Howard might actually have me by a couple. I’ll have to check. But anyway, this will be my first aquatic effort. Serious long-term one, I mean. The test with the dolphins on Poseidon was, uh… uh…”

  She glared at me, knowing what was coming, and I said deadpan, “Dry run.”

  “I so hate that I see those coming now,” she started to lick her fur, then stopped with a jerk. “Oh god that's gross.”

  “Part of the Quinlan persona, Bridget,” I said, resisting the urge to groom myself as well. “We’ll turn that off for now just let the maintenance room is clean us off.”

  “Works for me.” She glanced up as the cargo drone descended from the sky. It settled to the ground, and we climbed in.

  I placed myself on the rack beside her. “Okay then, let's park this baby and go home.”

  Bill flipped through the video window. “Looks pretty good. Couple of glitchy items, but those are all software. I'd say the androids are good to go.” He tapped the window. “Only one other concern, and that's how the androids will handle vacuum. The new circulatory system might be subject to boiling under low-pressure. Or worse, rupture.”

  “No problem,” Bridget said. “Simple to test. Take one upstairs and open the cargo door, contamination isn't an issue in that scenario.”

  “Good enough.” Bill turned to Garfield. “Can you take care that?”

  “Yes… master…”

  Bill snorted. “We can call in some Skippy help if you prefer. Or your Gamer buddies.”

  “Nah, that’s okay. Gives me a chance to use the android, anyway.”

  “On that subject,” Bridget interjected, “Will, if you want to practice using the androids on Quinn, there's lots of planet to explore, and I'm sure lots to learn yet.

  Will visibly brightened. “Hey, great idea! I can do that.”

  “And go for a swim, it's unbelievable,” I added.

  “Are we good on the sociology front?” Bridget asked.

  “The Skippies say they've extracted is much as they can from the current data set. They’re spreading out as the spy drones move farther afield, but diminishing returns is probably rearing its ugly head. There's not much more to learn from simple observation.”

  Bill closed the window. “The Gamers have the entrance tunnel all dug, and they've widened the hatch from the foyer to accommodate the Mannies. There's no indication that we've been detected so far.”

  “Think about it,” Will said. “A billion miles of megastructure? How many cameras would you have to be monitoring to cover everything? And they’ve got mechanical sensors on equipment to detect most issues, so why bother? As long as we don’t break something or turn something on, were golden.”

  “Don't break something,” I smiled. “An excellent motto for any age.”

  “Do we have anything else outstanding, besides Garfield's vacuum test?”

  “Not really, Will. As soon as that's done, we’re ready to start building the production models.”

  “Anyone want to make a speech?”

  “We hate speeches,” said Garfield.

  “Well, okay then.”

  16. Human Replicant Reserve

  Will

  May 2334

  Virt, Vulcan Post-Life Archaeology

  I was outside the virtual door of one Professor Stephen Gilligan - a former department chair at the University of Landing on Vulcan with a list of letters after his name that could choke a horse. Professor Gilligan had been an expert in many things when he was alive, but of most importance to myself and Bob, was that he specialized in artificial environments. Of even more interest to me personally, was the fact that he continued to lecture at the university - although as a guest lecturer these days, and he did so in a Manny custom made for him. So, it wasn't just us Bob's anymore.

  I’d done some research at Bob's request, and the professor's name came up… a lot. I’d finally received an invitation to visit at the Vulcan Post-Life Archaeology. The archaeology was physically located in a large space station, orbiting Omicron2 Eridani, just inside the Oort cloud. It currently had a membership of about 200, mostly rich and famous people who haven't felt like waiting for medicine to catch up with them. I found myself unexpectedly unsettled. I’d been living in real in a Manny for so long that virt have become a foreign experience. At the same time, I'd been away from human society for so long that I was noticeably behind the times. I resolved to give the situation a good think when I had some time.

  The door opened and professor Gilligan beamed at me. He was short, balding, and slight of build, which surprised me since I virt he could look like anything he wanted.

  “Ah, Mr. Riker! Or is Johansson? Come in please.”

  I replied with a small laugh. “I run into the lot, professor. As the only Bob to take a last name is my moniker, I kind of broke the conventions. These days I answer to either. Or just Will.”

  “And you can call me Stephen. Please, have a seat.” He waved to his living room area, which featured a large picture window in which floated the image of a ring-shaped habitat. As with most personal VRs, the setting was comfortable and spacious, but not ostentatious. Fancy layouts and gilding lost their impact when they were free but for the wave of a hand.

  I motioned to the view as I sat. “Ring world?”

  “That is Bishop ring, actually. This image is intended to be 2000 miles in diameter and 100 miles across - more than 600,000 square miles of prime real estate.”

  “Still theoretical though.”

  Stephen replied with a shrug. “Of course. Technically, it's just an engineering problem, but the real roadblocks have always been economic and political. When you're settling a new system, you have to choose to either sit in your ship for however many decades it takes to build the megastructure, or choose to populate the habitable planet essential
ly immediately. The latter option always wins.”

  “Then it’s not really just an engineering problem, is it?” I said.

  “It is, in that we have all the technology required to build one, just not the knowledge. For instance, no one has ever been able to keep a closed ecology going for more than a year. At least on research scales.”

  “And having your ecosystem collapse on a megastructure would be…” I grinned at him. “… suboptimal?”

  Stephen laughed. “Keeping an ecosystem going would not be a trivial task. You can’t have actual bedrock, or a water table, or even very deep soil, at least not without major engineering challenges, so you’d have to pump water up to stream heads, and you'd have to be constantly transporting topsoil uphill to replace whatever gets washed downstream. Trees would have to be shallow rooted. Burrowing and cave-dwelling animals would be at a disadvantage. It's essentially like a zoo enclosure, designed to look natural, but carefully engineered nonetheless.”

  “What if it's big enough to have weather?” I asked. “Wouldn’t that work as well, at least for the water supply issue?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yes. Although that scenario would increase the runoff issue. As I said, Will, it's all theoretical. With study and experimentation, we could come up with compromises that would provide the best balance of weight savings and ecological robustness. That's what I mean by not having actual knowledge.”

  I took a moment to admire the Bishop ring. “Still, it would open up virtually every stellar system with a reasonably well-behaved star. No one at all has expressed any interest in building one?”

  “Not to my knowledge, Will. It's been somewhat a slap in the face for me,” he replied with a chuckle. “As I said, the problem is all the political and economic commitments that would have to be made. Humans have very rarely been able to come together to build anything on this scale, at least since the days of the pyramids.”