Bobiverse 2: For We Are Many

by Dennis E. Taylor

  “Guppy, I need a full scan of the planet. Set up the drones to do polar orbits, and get the whole surface.”

  Guppy nodded without comment and went into command fugue. I sensed the blips as more drones launched. I settled back to wait.

  * * *

  If I’d been still living, I would have thrown up. As it was, I couldn’t watch for long.

  The destruction was total, the devastation worldwide. These, whatever they were, these Others had callously killed billions of sentient beings the way a construction crew would clear the ground before starting to build. And I could think of only one reason for collecting the dead bodies.

  When we met them, it would be war.

  11. Mating Dance

  Bob

  November 2169

  Delta Eridani

  The Deltans were coming into their breeding season, and the tension in Camelot was climbing. In the past, stressors like the gorilloid threat had kept things low-key. It’s hard to get amorous when you’re looking over your shoulder every few seconds. But this year the Deltans were top dogs in their environment. The gorilloids had finally figured out the new pecking order. There hadn’t been an attack in almost a month.

  A lot of that was due to the busters. Any gorilloid coming within a certain distance of Camelot was met head-on by a forty-pound ball of steel. The encounter was fatal to both, but I could produce more busters faster than the gorilloids could produce more gorilloids. The Deltans rarely even looked up any more at the occasional sonic boom.

  I knew more or less what to expect from previous years. Male Deltans vied for the attentions of the females in any of a number of ways. Wrestling matches, mock battles, tests of skill, even good old fashioned bluff and bluster. It was great fun to watch, and generally no one got badly hurt.

  This year, though, Archimedes had introduced a new test of skill: spear-chucking. And you couldn’t refuse a challenge. But that wasn’t working out entirely in Archimedes’ favor. The other young males had figured out that they should avoid that particular contest with him, so they were challenging Archimedes first, based on contests of strength. Unfortunately, Archimedes was rather bookish, as Deltans went. I wondered if nerd-dom was a universal thing.

  After Archimedes got dropped on his head in a couple of encounters, I decided to teach him some basic jujitsu. It turned out to be harder than expected, because the Deltan skeletal system didn’t always bend the same way as a human’s would. We had to improvise a few locks and throws based on their different physiology.

  But the principles were still applicable, and Archimedes was motivated. We narrowed it down to the five or so most useful moves. He spent a day going through the steps in pantomime, establishing the muscle-memory, before he rejoined the circus.

  Almost immediately, a couple of young toughs tried to push him around to establish dominance. His response was slow and tentative, but it was a completely new concept and his opponents didn’t even recognize the danger until they were on their butts looking up at him. After that, Archimedes strutted around the village like he owned the place.

  Marvin laughed, watching all the antics. “I’m sure there’s some element of vengeance in there. Getting back at all the childhood bullies by proxy, perchance?”

  “Y’know, Marvin, this habit of yours of analyzing my motives is a real pain in the ass. Especially since they were your childhood tormenters, too.”

  Marvin grinned and waggled his eyebrows. Sadly, he was probably right about my motivation. I was doing what I could to make sure Archimedes did better at the metaphorical mating dance than I had as a teenager. And the more descendants Archimedes created, the sooner the entire tribe would be at or near his level of intelligence. Win-win, as far as I was concerned.

  “Now if you could only change Archimedes’ mind,” Marvin observed.

  “Yeah, I know.” Having kicked butt yet again, Archimedes was making the moves on Diana. She had to be a knock-out in Deltan terms, because I couldn’t figure out what else he could see in her. She intensely disliked the drones and wouldn’t hang around anywhere near us when I was with Archimedes. An obvious symptom of low intelligence, in my books.

  * * *

  Marvin popped in without warning. “Things just got creepier.”

  I looked up from the observation window. The mating season was almost done. Most pairings had been decided by this point, but some Deltans hadn’t gotten the memo. You could tell when that happened, because the miscreant would find himself (and sometimes herself) being beaten on by both members of the pairing on which he or she was trying to intrude. That was usually enough to make the point, but there were three or four individuals left who couldn’t seem to take get lost for an answer. Archimedes and Diana had formalized their mating without further challenge, so it was purely scientific interest on my part.

  I glared at Marvin, ready with a sarcastic comment about the interruption, but I changed my mind when I saw his face. He looked distinctly freaked out, and Marvin tended to be level-headed. I set the video window to record and minimized it. “Okay, Marv, what’s up?”

  With a flick of a finger, Marvin popped up an image in midair, showing an ancient set of bones. By this point, we were both experienced enough with all things Deltan to recognize parts of a Deltan skeleton. And this one had the bite and claw marks that I’d seen on some of Marvin’s other specimens.

  “Looks like another victim of the mystery predator. What’s special about this one?”

  “I found it less than a mile from Camelot.”

  “Oh, son of a bitch.” If the range of this thing included the immediate area, and it was still around, I may have brought the Deltans back to be the main course. I remembered some comments that had been made when the Deltans first arrived at Camelot. In particular, one of the elders hadn’t been happy with the explanation that it was the gorilloids that had driven the Deltans out. Unfortunately, he’d only had vague memories to support his feeling.

  I grabbed a drone and went looking for Moses or Archimedes. I found Archimedes first, fortunately not with Diana, and explained the situation to him.

  “That’s not good,” he said. “If we were safer at the old site, and you brought us back here…”

  “Yeah, I know, Archimedes. Don’t rub it in. On the plus side, we may have some lead time to prepare. But I need to find the elder who was making those comments.”

  “Moses would know, I think.”

  We found Moses with very little effort. He’d found and laid claim to a favorite lounging spot on the south side of the bluff, where he spent his afternoons sitting in the sun, relieving the pain of his stiff joints. I allowed myself a moment of sadness. Moses seemed to have entered that long slide into failing health that was all too common in the elderly. I went through the story again.

  “It does sound familiar,” he said, thoughtfully. “That was Axler, I think.” The translation routine was programmed to render Deltan names in human-pronounceable sounds. It would tag that particular translation for permanent association with the name. “Sadly, he died three or four hands ago. I don’t think anyone else is even close to that old.”

  “Wonderful,” I said. “Archimedes, Moses, don’t say anything to anyone else about this. I don’t want to start a panic without more information. Marvin and I will do some more investigations. I will also set some drones to a wide perimeter guard. If anyone sees them and asks, just tell them I’m doing a gorilloid count.”

  The two nodded, both looking worried.

  * * *

  “But where have they gone?” Marvin scratched his head, staring at the globe.

  “Look, maybe Deltans weren’t their primary prey. Maybe they discovered that Deltans were delicious and started hunting them preferentially. After the Deltans left, they would have just gone back to whatever they normally hunted.”

  “Right, which is why I’ve expanded the search. But let’s face it, we’re talking about millions of square miles. A predato
r can have quite a range.” As he talked, Marvin was dividing the land area on the continent into segments. I could see from the metadata that he was assigning drones to each segment.

  He sat back and stared at the results. After a few moments of consideration, he handed it off to Guppy for implementation and turned to face me.

  “How are we for busters?”

  I raised my eyebrows in alarm. “Damn. Good point. I haven’t been keeping up with production. Between the gorilloids all growing a collective brain, and us taking the printers off-schedule to build the extra exploration drones, we’re down to less than a dozen.”

  Marvin grinned. “Welp. There goes the schedule again, I guess.”

  12. Bob Calling

  Bill

  May 2171

  Epsilon Eridani

  [Incoming SCUT connection. New node]

  Guppy made the announcement with the same fishy poker face that he would use to announce the end of the world. I looked up and grinned. Garfield dropped the file he was working on and came running over. Only a handful of Bobs, so far, had received the SCUT plans that I’d been broadcasting and had built their own FTL transceiver. Each new connection was an event.

  I held the moment as long as I could. Just as Garfield drew a breath to yell at me, I said to Guppy, “Play the incoming.”

  “This is Bob calling. Bill, you actually cracked FTL communications? I’m impressed!”

  I did a fist pump, and then Garfield and I whooped and performed a high five—the nerd kind, where you miss.

  Logically, Bob-1 was no more significant than any other Bob that received the SCUT plans, but this wasn’t a matter of logic. Bob-1 was like Odin the All-Father. He started the whole thing. For me it was special, since he’d cloned me. For any of the third-generation or later Bobs, it would be like legend walking among us.

  Of course, that wouldn’t stop me from pulling the usual prank.

  I popped into Bob’s VR without warning, coffee in hand. I noticed, as the VRs synced, that he’d been doing some enhancements of his own. The versions weren’t incompatible, but there would be video glitches. I’d have to upgrade him to my latest release so he would be fully compatible with BobNet.

  “Holy—” Bob jerked in surprise, and Spike bolted from the desk she’d been sitting on.

  I laughed. “Works every time. Hi Bob. Welcome to BobNet.”

  Bob smiled at the implied tip of the hat. I took a millisecond to look around his VR. This appeared to be a planetary environment—a village of some kind. Some species of natives were going about their business. They were obviously intelligent, since they had spears and axes and stuff. They looked a little like walking bats with a dash of pig thrown in, by way of long snouts with flat nostrils. Their fur was short, generally gray, with brown overtones. Kind of ugly, really.

  The level of detail was impressive, and I couldn’t remember any movie or book that featured creatures like this. I looked over at Bob, who was trying to suppress a smug grin—and failing badly.

  With a jolt, I realized that this had to be real. Or at least a VR based on reality. This was First Contact.

  Keeping my expression neutral, I turned in a circle to take in the full tableau. “Who are the neighbors?”

  Bob, now grinning unabashedly, swept a hand around the virtual campground. “This is a recording of the Deltans’ village. I use this to experience their environment. Get a better feel for how they live.”

  “Interesting. Have you made contact?”

  There was a barking laugh from off to the side, and I looked over to see another Bob. I turned back to Bob-1 and was surprised to see he was blushing. That was better VR realism than my version supported. I decided I’d do a merge on the VR features before upgrading him.

  “Bill, this is Marvin.” Bob gestured toward the newcomer. “He’s a disrespectful pain in the ass. And that’s one of his better qualities.”

  Marvin and I smiled and nodded to each other. I said, “I recognize the tone of that laugh. I guess Bob has gone overboard.”

  Marvin smirked. “You might say that. He’s become the great volcano god. Did you see the spears and axes?”

  “Hey!” Bob interjected. “I resent that. I’m more of a sky god.”

  We all laughed together. Despite the joking, though, I was still a little lightheaded. An intelligent species, the first we’d ever run across. I had a pretty good idea which blog was going to be number one on BobNet for the next little while.

  Bob motioned me to a couch and coffee-table setup sitting incongruously in the middle of the native village. “So, Bill, what’s new in the galaxy?”

  I sat down, accepted a coffee from Jeeves, and took a moment to pat Bob’s incarnation of Spike, who had come back to investigate. The cat’s A.I. appeared more independent than my version. Another item to merge. It dawned on me that Bob was still the reigning master of VR coding.

  “Wow, what’s been happening?” I thought for a moment. “Well, Milo discovered two habitable planets at Omicron2 Eridani. Named them Vulcan and Romulus.”

  Bob laughed. “Of course he did. What else could he do?”

  I grinned back at him, then got serious. “Riker and his clone, Homer, had a big battle in Sol with the last of the Brazilian space navy, and discovered that humanity had almost wiped itself out in a system-wide war. They’re building colony ships and are hoping to get some people to Vulcan before the Earth stops being livable.”

  Bob interrupted. “How many people left?”

  “About fifteen million, give or take.”

  “And how big are the colony ships?”

  I nodded, understanding where Bob was going. “Ten thousand capacity. Yeah, I know. Fifteen hundred ships or fifteen hundred trips. But we can only do what we can do.”

  Bob nodded. He looked worried, and I couldn’t blame him. Riker and I had this conversation regularly. So far, we hadn’t found any shortcut.

  I tried to change the subject to lighten the mood. “We’ve got a minimum of about twenty Bobs running around the galaxy right now, by my estimate.” I waved a hand in casual dismissal. “You know. The usual. Blah, blah…”

  Bob visibly shook off the funk and tried to smile. “Sounds like you’ve taken to the job of central clearing house with a vengeance. Got anything going in Epsilon Eridani besides the SCUT?”

  “I’m slowly terraforming Ragnarök. Riker has sent some seeds and plant samples my way with an outgoing Bob. They should be here in three years or so. Then I’ll try to get some basic moss/lichen hybrids growing. Oh, and the Android project. I’ve got a quadruped android working, more or less, and I can control it remotely. It’s slow going though, and I’ve barely scratched the surface.”

  “I’ll want one of those when they’re available,” Bob said. “I’d like to be able to go down to Eden as an actual presence instead of a floating camera.”

  “Mmm.” I nodded. It looked like Bob was pretty invested in the lives of the Deltans. No real surprise, though.

  13. Investigating the Others

  Mario

  May 2180

  Gliese 54

  This time, I was lucky. Unlike Beta Hydri and Zeta Tucanae, Gliese 54 was untouched.

  I had no clue about what might determine the course of whatever beings had stripped the two other systems. If they travelled as a single unit, and they were travelling in a straight line, they might never meet up with any of us. My concern was that, if they were mining that much metal, they were probably building something. The obvious answer to that would be more of them. And that would be bad.

  This was not a particularly interesting system. The primary was a small K, almost a red dwarf. It had a single lonely planet orbiting in close, and a bunch of space junk. Of course, space junk was what I needed. Although the overall metallicity of the system was low, most of it hadn’t aggregated into planets.

  The manufacturing process was routine, even if I only had memories of having done it once
as Bob-1 in Epsilon Eridani. It took a couple of months to build and deploy the space station. Once it was up, I squirted every bit of information I had on the Others back to Bill. The station had the added bonus that I would be able to transmit to it from any of the stars in the immediate area, and it would relay my messages to Epsilon Eridani.

  I also decided that I didn’t want to be alone, so I started construction of four more Bobs. Bashful, Dopey, Sleepy, and Hungry all agreed to accompany me to deal with the potential threat. Yes, they named themselves after dwarves. And yes, it was pointed out at some length that there was no Hungry in the original crew. Hungry didn’t care. Apparently I can be very perverse. And stubborn. Anyway, there’s that joke about the fifty dwarves…

  We sat around the desk in my treehouse, sipping tropical drinks with little umbrellas. Except Hungry, who refused to go along with the theme. He had a coffee. I suggested we rename him Surly and received a middle finger for my trouble.

  Sleepy opened the discussion. “We have to figure out the vector and size of the invasion, or infestation, or whatever it is. Is it heading for Earth? Or away?”

  “And what they’re doing with all that metal. If they’re building more ships, it must be a massive fleet. How would we not see them coming?” Dopey looked around at us, palms up. “And all the, uh, food…”

  “Yeah…” I nodded slowly. “We have no information, really. We have to find them. And we have to get a report back without becoming part of their harvest. Their ants are surprisingly efficient. I’ve learned several things from them, which I’ve already squirted back Bill-ward.”

  There was silence around the table as everyone digested this.

  “So we each pick a system outward and head there,” Sleepy said. “We should keep a transmission channel open at all times, so we’ll have a record if one of us disappears.”