We Are Legion (We Are Bob)

Book 4: Chapter 18: Not Part of the Plan

Book 4: Chapter 18: Not Part of the Plan

Will

June 2334

Quin

I pulled myself off the rack, staggering slightly. The proportions of the Quinlan manny would take some getting used to. I was examining the not insubstantial claws on my hand when the other manny opened its eyes.

“Hey, Howard.” I held up a hand. “Dig these crazy nails.”

He gave me a frown. “You gone hippy on me, Riker?” I grinned at him and he smiled back. “Thanks for inviting me, Will. I admit I’m curious about Bridget’s project, and her description of the swimming was more enthusiastic than she generally gets about things.”

I signaled the drone to open the cargo door. “No prob. I’m curious too, although I also have a responsibility to practice in case I’m called up. That’s my story, anyway.” I gestured to the door and we walked out together.

I’d parked the drone in a different city, somewhat larger than the one Bob and Bridget had visited. And a good deal more messed up. We’d have to avoid areas with too much radiation—even the mannies weren’t immune to the damaging effects—but just about anything else could be ignored. I wanted to get a cross-section of the types of warfare that the Quinlans had waged on each other. This city had been pounded by explosives. Maybe missiles, maybe dropped bombs. Not kinetics, though. Those wouldn’t have left much to examine.

The city had likely been a capital, or at least a major hub of some kind. It had that all roads lead to Rome feel about it, at least from the air. The Quinlans had used rail for overland transport, and there were a lot of rail lines leading here.

This city also had larger blocks, with more widely spaced waterways. I wondered if that was an efficiency thing or if they just needed the bigger blocks for some other reason. According to Bob and Bill, the Quinlan psychology seemed to be very humanlike, but I was reluctant to overextrapolate.

We walked up to the nearest canal and inspected the contents. It didn’t seem too bad, certainly not as oily and turgid as Bob had described on their excursion. If anything, the canal seemed to have a surprisingly robust current.

“Looks nice,” Howard said.

“Real estate is less damaged than what you’d expect,” I replied. “Bridget took a tissue sample and had it scanned. Huge viral load, and the Skippies’ modelling indicates it was likely an engineered virus.”

“So, biological warfare on top of everything else?”

“Mm-hmm. It looks like the entire population had a tantrum and started throwing everything they had at everyone they could. I’m surprised they managed to get to this stage, technologically.”

“Maybe it’s a population density thing?”

I grunted and changed the subject. “I searched for a good, undamaged canal. With the pounding this city received, some have been filled with debris or even had their water flow blocked entirely. I figure we shouldn’t get too adventurous.”

“Sounds good. Shall we?” Without waiting for an answer, Howard dove in.

I followed immediately and spotted him, already disappearing into the distance. I pursued, tail and arm flaps working in concert. Howard glanced back without turning his head. “This is definitely worth doing. I could sell this. See the ruined world of the Quinlans. Quake at the sight of blasted cities. Gaze in awe at the—”

“I dare you to try and get that past Bridget.”

Howard laughed. “You got me there. She’d flay me alive. Okay, so maybe not tours of the Quin ruins. But even if we just copied the mannies and put them on Vulcan … mmm, maybe not.” ???????

“What?”

I could hear the smile in Howard’s voice. “Vulcan has that dinosaur theme, and it carries into the marine life. Lots of big, hungry native critters.”

“In the rivers, maybe?”

“Maybe. Have to look into it.”

We swam in a companionable silence for a few more minutes, stopping to examine a couple of submerged wrecks. I imagined the experience would be a lot like scuba diving, except every video I’d ever seen of humans underwater showed them as slow and ungainly, struggling to push themselves through the water at a snail’s pace. The Quinlan forms moved more like otters—or maybe penguins, since the Quinlans didn’t quite have the sinuous flexibility of otters.

“Curious. The current is surprisingly strong here,” Howard said. “The city didn’t seem to have that much of a grade.”

“Um, I’m not an expert, but that seems like more of a concern than a curiosity.” I sounded like a wet blanket, even to my own ears, but I’d developed an attitude from terraforming Valhalla that unusual equaled bad. Exceptions had been rare.

“Sure, okay, it’s stronger over here. I’ll just have a—yipe!”

And this would not be one of those exceptions. “Howard? What happened?”

“I’m—oof—being sucked down—ow—a tunnel of some—argh—kind. Wait, there’s light up—oh, shit.”

I sent a quick order to the cargo drone to lift off, center itself on our location, and do a SUDDAR sweep. Meanwhile, I put some distance between myself and Howard’s last known position.

“I’m going to need a ride,” Howard said into the silence.

“What happened?”

“I just got spit out of a tunnel into midair and did a bit of flying. But not the good kind. I think I broke the manny. I’ve got my beacon on.”

“Drone has located you. One moment.” I piggybacked the drone’s video window as it lowered itself into a mostly dry canal. Spread-eagle on a bed of rocks and branches was a Quinlan form. Some of the limb positions were definitely not natural. “How did this happen?”

“I was sucked into a tunnel and got spit out here. I think I flew about fifty yards before landing. It looks like the city builders put in tunnels between canals to equalize water levels. But this canal is mostly dry. I bet it’s blocked upstream.”

In the video, roamers were collecting Howard and bundling him into the drone. “Have you checked your diagnostics?”

“Yeah, this baby is going to need some work. I’m surprised I’m still connected, honestly. The comms subsystem is tough.” There was a pause. “Don’t tell Bridget. She’ll kill me.”

I smiled, although Howard couldn’t see it. “I understand you’ve got a new red ale in the works. Riker’s Red, I think it’s called?”

“No, it’s …” Another pause. “You’re a bastard.”

“Yes, but now I’m a bastard with a red ale named after me.”