We Are Legion (We Are Bob)

Book 3: Chapter 7: Date

Book 3: Chapter 7: Date

Howard

November 2217

Omicron2 Eridani

We walked out of the movie theater, arm in arm. Bridget looked as gorgeous as always. She turned and whispered in my ear, and as usual, my brain turned to mush.

“You look very dignified, Howard. But you really didn’t have to do that.”

I shrugged. Modifying the android’s appearance was a trivial operation. Avoiding a situation that might make Bridget uncomfortable was top priority. My apparent age now matched hers perfectly.

Changing the subject, I said, “That wasn’t bad. There might be a future in this movie theater fad.”

“Yes, civilization has finally reached Vulcan. Next up—discos.”

“No, please, no.”

There wasn’t exactly a booming movie industry, of course. Vulcan was very much a frontier planet, and the economy was still bootstrapping through the basic requirements. We’d be another couple of decades before leisure activities became a major market segment.

But Hollywood, and its various satellite locations and spiritual brethren, had produced thousands of movies of varying quality and popularity. And generally speaking, the holders of the copyrights were many light-years away, and almost certainly quite dead as well. Someone in Landing eventually had the bright idea to open a local theater and play themed double-bills. It was brilliant, as far as I was concerned. And the general population, who had spent most of their previous lives in isolated, claustrophobic enclaves, were taking to the new medium with enthusiasm.

Today’s fare, a couple of zombie movies, had been sold out. The audience was loud, opinionated, and mostly sneeringly amused. But no one left early.

I leaned close. “I feel a hankering for brains. Or sushi.”

Bridget laughed and opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment her phone buzzed. Two seconds later, I received an email. From the coroner’s office.

I read the email in my heads-up display, and stopped dead in my tracks. Bridget looked up from her phone, tears in her eyes. “Oh, Howard, no…”

* * *

“He left this note for you,” Dr. Onagi said. He pushed an envelope across the desk to me. Numbly, feeling like someone else was in control, I picked up the note and opened it. I held it so that Bridget could see.

 

Howard;

I recently had occasion to visit the doctor, as I’ve been having issues with my memory and cognition. The news was less than pleasing. It would seem that I have a particularly nasty form of neurological degenerative dementia, one that is not curable. The doctor informs me that the process is already significantly advanced.

I’ve contacted a few experts, and I was assured that this issue cannot be corrected in software. Under the circumstances, I don’t see becoming a cognitively impaired replicant as an attractive option.

My one remaining freedom is the ability to choose the manner of my passing.

Howard, you’ve been a good friend over the years. Please don’t think less of me for my decision.

 

Sincerely,

George Butterworth (Colonel, USE, ret’d.)

 

Bridget cried silently, tears running down her cheeks. I stared at Dr. Onagi, numb. “How…”

“A neurotoxin. Painless, and quick.”

“Could he still be scanned?”

Dr. Onagi shook his head. “Even if it was medically possible, he had revoked consent.”

I nodded and stood up. “Thank you, Dr. Onagi.”

Bridget dried her eyes, stood, and followed me out of the office.

* * *

We still hadn’t built the capability to cry into Manny the android. Too bad—I would have liked the release. Again. It might be time to bump up the priority on adding the capability, although it would be better if I just had fewer reasons to need it. ???????

We sat on Bridget’s couch, arms wrapped around each other. Bridget had cried herself out. I would catch up as soon as she went to bed and I could return to VR.

“People keep leaving,” I finally said into the silence. Bridget looked up at me and I met her eyes. “I know it’s normal. Your parents die, grandparents, people who’ve been around all your life. Eventually, you die, and that’s that. But when you’re immortal, you’re always on the receiving end. It’s just one hit after another.”

“But you meet new people,” Bridget said.

“And eventually, they leave. After a while, I think you’d get gun-shy.” I smiled at Bridget, a wan smile at best. “I’m less standoffish than most Bobs, as a rule. But in this case, I think the others have the right of it. This gulf exists between immortals and what the Bobs are starting to refer to as ephemerals, for a reason.”

Bridget searched my face. “Do you think of me as an ephemeral?”

“I think you’re the most important thing in the universe. And that’s the problem. Eventually, you’ll die, and I’ll be alone, again.” I sighed and stood. “I’m sorry, Bridget. I’m being a real Dickie Downer, tonight. I think I should leave and let you get some sleep.”

Bridget grabbed my arm. “Please don’t. Just stay with me, here. I don’t want to be alone.”

Without a word, I sat back down, and put my arms around her again. She put her head on my shoulder and sighed. We sat there quietly, not moving or talking. At some point, I realized that she’d fallen asleep. And that was fine, too.