We Are Legion (We Are Bob) (Bobiverse Book 1)

by Dennis E. Taylor

  Isn’t there always? Some things never change. “Why bother, though? There are billions of stars out there.”

  “But only a very few within ten light-years that will have habitable planets. Those will be the most strategically valuable, regardless of other factors.”

  “It occurs to me then, doctor, that internal FAITH factions aren’t the only thing I have to worry about.”

  “I’m afraid that is the case, Bob.” Dr. Landers shrugged. “And it’s also part of the reason why trimming the Heaven project down to one ship wasn’t met with more resistance by our company. While it benefits the anti-expansionist groups by leaving them just one target, it also benefits us by allowing us to focus our efforts and accelerate our timetable.”

  “Tell me about the other projects.”

  “You mean, what we know about the other projects,” Dr. Landers replied with a smirk. “They are unsurprisingly as reticent with details as we are.”

  The doctor fiddled with his tablet. By this time, I knew that was simply a delaying tactic to give him time to gather his thoughts.

  “Our intelligence says that China is pushing their project at a breakneck pace, having sacrificed everything for speed. And they will be using an AMI, which is problematic at best. We believe that they are the most likely to fail outright.”

  The doctor was silent for a few seconds, flicking at his tablet with a finger. “The Brazilian Empire concerns us the most, and not just because of their belligerent and adversarial stance in world politics. We believe they may be arming their probes with the intention of eliminating the competition. They are also the most likely to attempt sabotage. But they are also unlikely to be able to pull off the long-term plan, in our opinion. They are not primarily depending on probes being able to build copies, although the probes will have the capability. Instead, the Empire will simply launch multiple probes, as fast as they can build them in-system. We think that if they find a suitable system, they will set up a military presence and reproduce.”

  Dr. Landers sighed. “The USE is the most likely long-term competitor, although they at least are likely to limit themselves to non-violent tactics. They have the will, the budget, the technological sophistication, and the experience with replicants. They are also considerably ahead of us at the moment on the subject of actual colonization. If someone were to discover a useful planet tomorrow, the USE colonists would be there first by a considerable margin.”

  “Wow. Do we have anything?”

  “We have you and the other replicant, Bob. Don’t discount that. The two of you have shown remarkable resilience. Your quickness at adapting to the reality of your position, combined with your intelligence and education, are not small things. The common wisdom, with replicants, has been to find a phlegmatic, unimaginative individual who would be satisfied with the routine. You and the other candidates forced us to change our tactics. We think that going in this unexpected direction will make a big difference in the long run.”

  “Well, all right then. Time to talk about a raise…”

  Dr. Landers rolled his eyes. “We have to get you a face, so I can tell when you’re kidding.”

  Bob – August 4, 2133

  For today’s entertainment, the doctor had directed me to diagnose and repair a complex piece of electronics, similar to items that I would have to deal with aboard ship. Dr. Landers watched me as usual from the window. He liked to engage me in conversation during these exercises. I suspected that he was testing my concentration and ability to multitask. I didn’t mind, since the conversations were always interesting and informative.

  Then a massive jolt shook the building and knocked Dr. Landers off his feet. It was followed immediately by a solid pressure-wave of sound, more felt than heard.

  As Dr. Landers got to his feet, the sounds of gunfire echoed down the hall. He turned to me, yelled, “Stay there!” and ran off.

  Stay there? Despite the gravity of the situation, my sense of the ridiculous kicked in. The good doctor was obviously rattled. As he had pointed out to me, I wasn’t actually in this room, just attached to—

  Hello…

  In the middle of my internal comedy routine, I realized that the window had been popped partly out of its frame. It didn’t look as though it would take much persuasion to finish the job. And surely they couldn’t blame me for wanting to take a more active role in defense of the project.

  I directed every roamer in the room to grab the window and pull. The roamers weren’t particularly strong, but 32 of the little buggers commanded a lot of leverage. Within moments, the window clattered down and took a divot out of the floor.

  The window didn’t break. That’s some very strong stuff. They ARE scared of me.

  I chose one of the roamers at random and took over control. Now I could see through its video camera. I directed the other roamers to follow, and we took off down the hall in the direction of the gunfire. Roamers ran along the floors, walls, and ceiling. I was impressed. These people might suck at acronyms, but their tech was pretty good.

  The building complex was an interesting design. It consisted of a string of large, open atriums or lobbies, each surrounded by two floors of offices or labs. Skylights in the atriums provided plenty of illumination, and short hallways connected each central open area. My roamer room was one atrium over from the location of the attack. Maybe the invaders had miscalculated.

  It took only seconds to get to the action. A group of attackers dressed in black were slowly moving through the offices, shooting as they went. Security guards returned fire, but significantly outgunned, they were being forced back.

  This operation was being run either by a FAITH faction that didn’t approve of me or by one of the competing nations. Either way, they wanted me dead. It seemed to me that the Golden Rule applied. Time to reciprocate.

  Appraising the situation had taken only milliseconds–I was really starting to love being a computer–so the roamers hadn’t broken stride. The horde stampeded into the area and swarmed the attackers, concentrating on faces and groins.

  The roamers were surprisingly tough. No matter how many times an attacker ripped a roamer off his face and tossed it against a wall, the roamer would simply right itself and come back for more. The roamers were equipped with pliers, cutters, and screwdrivers, not technically weapons but still hard to ignore. And I had more than a month’s worth of frustration and angst driving me. Endocrine controls or no, I was thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to serve up some beatings.

  The attackers finally started to develop a strategy. They managed to get one of their number roamer-free. As attackers tossed roamers against the wall, this guy blasted them with a burst of automatic fire. I did a quick millisecond calculation and determined that I’d run out of roamers before they ran out of ammo. And they now had two roamer-free shooters.

  But the distraction allowed the security guards to regroup. They set up a crossfire and shot a few of the invaders, then invited the rest to surrender. Now, the attackers had to deal with gunfire as well as roamers attached to their faces. It was the last straw. The weapons were set down and the hands went up.

  Once the security guards had restrained all the remaining invaders, we found ourselves in an awkward tableau. The lead security guard looked at the prisoners, looked at the roamers, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. I waved a leg on “my” roamer to get his attention.

  “You’re, uh… This is bad. Where’s Landers?” He glanced at his associates, eyes wide.

  Dr. Landers picked that moment to come running into the atrium. He still had his tablet with him, and he looked as alarmed as the security guards. Since the raid was now effectively over, there had to be something more going on. I realized that they were more concerned about me than about the invaders.

  “Bob, I wonder if I could persuade you to gather your flock and return to the training room…?”

  He had the power to deactivate me, so it wasn’t ever really a question of whether I’d cooperate.
In any case, I wasn’t the rampaging Frankenstein they seemed to be concerned about.

  With a roamerish salute, me and my horde headed down the hall.

  ***

  “Okay, doc, time to spill the beans. What’s with the security glass and the quaking in your boots when I got loose?”

  Dr. Landers was courteous enough to not try to pretend he didn’t understand what I was talking about. He sighed and leaned back in his chair.

  “We—by which I mean the people working on the project, including myself—are not scared of you, Bob. We’re scared of the tactical nuke buried in the basement.”

  If I’d still had eyebrows, they would have shot right off my head. “Habba-whaaa?”

  “It is just possible, Bob, that you face a greater danger from our own government than you do from our foreign competitors. At least from certain factions.” He shifted a little to face me and waved a hand. “I mentioned before that the upper echelons of FAITH are not unanimous in supporting this venture. I very probably understated the situation.”

  I considered that statement for a millisecond or so. Nuke in the basement… yikes.

  “So this is like the Andromeda Strain?”

  Dr. Landers looked confused, so I waved a waldo in dismissal. “Never mind. Another old movie. The point is that the nuke is a last line of defense against me getting out and scaring all the civilians and farm animals?”

  “That’s right Bob. And I’m definitely going to have to start watching some more old movies.”

  “So who has the button?”

  “I don’t know. We’ve deliberately not been told how we’re being monitored, who makes the decision, or how it’s carried out. We just know that if someone, somewhere, decides they don’t like something, we could all become a radioactive cloud. No warning, no discussion.”

  “And you agreed to this? How much are they paying you?”

  Dr. Landers laughed. “The rewards for successful completion of this project are considerable. Those who support the venture are throwing a lot of money at it. I, personally, will be able to retire with my bonus.” He grimaced and gave me a one-sided shrug. “And of course, under FAITH, agreement is not optional.”

  I smiled—in my mind, anyway. “Gotcha. Okay, I’ll try to stay put in the future.”

  He swept his hands to take in the room. “And, since we’re still here talking, I’d guess the immediate danger is over. Someone was either away from their monitoring station or decided you weren’t that big of a danger. Or something.”

  Dr. Landers stood up and looked around the training room. The roamers—the remaining roamers, anyway—were properly arrayed on their racks. Maintenance people had levered the security window back into its frame and were bolting it back in place.

  “I guess we’re back to operational. There were three fatalities, and several injured. Really, it could have been a lot worse.”

  I bobbed my cameras by way of response.

  In a video window, I watched the scene from across the hall.

  ***

  The roamer moved carefully through the air ducts. The little robots were capable of a very light touch, but a hundred years of progress hadn’t come up with a replacement for galvanized tin as air-duct material. I didn’t want to announce the roamer’s presence to the whole complex.

  The guerilla raiding party had shot up my roamers so thoroughly that any kind of inventory was impossible. As near as I could tell, no one realized that one unaccounted-for roamer was wandering the building.

  So far I had identified numerous offices, the cafeteria, workshops, and storage. 3D mapping software had built up the layout of the office building. Interestingly, I hadn’t found any trace of a nuke in the basement, or any area that might have been walled off to contain one. Perhaps it was a bluff.

  Meanwhile I’d narrowed down the building layout to two possible locations for the computer room.

  As I moved the roamer through the ducts, I carefully checked for surveillance equipment, trip-switches, infra-red beams, or any other traps. The roamers were a very impressive bag of tricks and capabilities. I wondered if the FAITH techs really understood everything the roamers were capable of, when the various functions were combined.

  Finally, the roamer arrived at one of the two areas that were still blanks in my map. And sure enough, it was on a separate air system. Definitely a good sign. It took me twenty minutes to exit the general duct-work and break into the isolated system. I moved carefully through the air conduit until I came to the room exhaust panel.

  It was a standard computer room, mostly. Cables, blinking lights, air conditioning, rack-mounted computers. I guess rack-mounting was still the most efficient way to organize computers, even with a hundred years to improve things.

  But in the center of the room sat something very new to me. Five cubes, each one just under a half-meter on a side, sat in a line on a low platform. Two of the cubes glowed an eerie blue, with multi-colored indicator lights blinking at their bases. The other three were dark.

  I engaged magnification and pulled in a close-up of the panels at the base of the cubes.

  Kenneth Martins

  Jiro Tanaka

  Neves Reijnder

  Robert Johansson

  Joana Almeida

  This was it. This was us. The candidates. The glowing cubes were Kenneth’s and mine. The other three candidates were dark. I could see their power switches in the off position. Another thing that hadn’t really changed much in a hundred years, I guess. But really, how many different ways were there to design a rocker switch?

  I stared at the tableau for what seemed like forever. I could turn Kenneth off, right now. But would it do any good? Could I sabotage him? Should I? Would they figure it out?

  I felt shame as I realized what I was contemplating. I wasn’t going to be that guy. Not even in theory. I’d let myself be switched off before I’d save myself by climbing on someone else’s back.

  With a heavy heart, I turned around and left.

  Bob – August 6, 2133

  I was in the roamer room, working on an exercise, when I realized that Dr. Landers wasn’t alone. He always stood at the window, watching me and talking, and it took me a few moments to realize that the steady stream of commentary had stopped.

  I directed one of the roamers to give me a video feed. Dr. Landers was talking to someone that I would have sworn was Minister Travis’s brother. Seriously, did they have that look listed in the job requirements? MUST LOOK LIKE SCARY GUY FROM POLTERGEIST 2. Jeez.

  Dr. Landers had turned off the intercom system, but that represented about three milliseconds worth of inconvenience. Amateur.

  I directed a roamer to move to the wall immediately below the window. By pressing its body against the wall, it was able to pick up transmitted vibrations. I had to crank the gain way up, but I had all the audio filtering tricks that two centuries of electronic media had developed.

  “This is the work of the Devil. You are placing your immortal soul in jeopardy by participating in this enterprise.”

  “The Ministry of Truth advised me otherwise.”

  “These are poor imitations of God’s Creation. They mock humanity with their false display of intelligence and emotion.”

  “The Ministry of Truth is of the opinion that, while they are without a soul, they are merely based on God’s creation and not an attempt to usurp His authority.”

  The air grew momentarily brittle with that silence you get when someone is glaring. I stole a glance using one of the roamers on the table. Yep. Glaring.

  “This unholy activity can have no good end. Especially considering the purpose—”

  “—Which is officially sanctioned by the Ministry—”

  “—Apostates! Heretics!”

  Another quick glance verified that Dr. Landers was trying very hard not to roll his eyes. I took a moment to wish I had the option. This guy was seriously whack-a-doodle.

  The barrage continued for several minutes. The minister al
ternately berated and threatened Dr. Landers, who remained carefully non-confrontational and showed a lot more patience than I could ever have. If Minister Loudmouth had been on this side of the window, I think I’d have tried to disassemble him.

  I managed to remain objective and treat the running stream of vitriol as information rather than a condemnation of my very existence. It would seem that I was either a product of witchcraft or a result of hubris not seen since the days of Babel.

  Dr. Landers took it for a few moments longer, then snapped. Sort of.

  “Minister Jacoby, I understand your opinions and concerns. By which I mean only that I comprehend what you are saying. However, the Ministry of Truth is not only supporting but actively funding this endeavor. It seems to me, since we’re talking about blasphemous acts, that by opposing this activity, you are opposing the Ministry. And as they point out—in fact, as you yourself have pointed out twice—FAITH is the direct, revealed Word of God. Doesn’t that make your opposition an instance of blasphemy?”

  There was a moment of indignant silence as Minister Loudmouth, looking like a fish desperately struggling to breathe, tried to de-hoist himself from his own petard.

  “You have chosen the wrong friends, doctor. You will learn that soon enough.”

  And with that, he turned and flounced out, stage right. Yes, flounced. Honestly.

  Dr. Landers leaned on the wall for a few moments with his eyes closed, breathing deeply. Then he turned to the window and played with his tablet for a moment.

  “All done, Bob?”

  I wasn’t going to play that game. “Who the freaking hell was that? And don’t tell me ‘Minister Jacoby.’ ”

  The doctor rubbed his forehead. “Just an example of some of the extreme viewpoints we have to navigate in this great nation. Bob, if he had any real power, he non’t, er, wouldn’t have been trying to browbeat me into line. I wouldn’t give his threats any extra credence.”