We Are Legion (We Are Bob)

Bob

July 2334

Transit

I examined the station using telescopic vision. In outward appearance, it was identical to the one outside Garack’s Spine. Probably the artwork would be different, but from this distance I couldn’t see the interior.

I had a decision to make. If Crew—and any Resistance double agents—used the vacuum monorail, it stood to reason they had to be able to get into the transit station. If they could get in, but the riffraff couldn’t, they needed some way to identify themselves. I fingered the security pass in my hand. It was all very logical, but even in a human-built environment it wouldn’t be a sure thing. Or I could be right with my logic, but this card might not be for transit. Trying to get into the station using a library card would surely be unsuccessful. And probably get me noticed.

And what about facial recognition? Had they implemented a matching system? Would the systems compare my mug with a picture on file, which was probably Natasha’s? If so, and I failed the match—which I would—what would happen? Legions of crab-like drones assaulting me? Air horns?

On the other hand, my alternative was to dig my way into the station the same way Gandalf and co. had dug out. But with only one-inch roamers, that could take a while. I decided I’d save that option for last.

I compared my face with Natasha’s in my memory, then for completeness, compared some other random Quinlan faces. Facial recognition software, at least the Terran version, didn’t do a full “recognition” the way a person would. The computer match was done by comparing the spatial relation between significant and easily recognizable points on the face, like pupils, ends of the mouth, nostrils, point of the chin, and so forth. This simplified algorithm saved a lot of processing time and was good enough for most purposes.

A brief survey of my memories of Quinlans identified a similar set of likely key locations on the Quinlan face. How much flexibility did my manny have in that area? They were built using the same skeletal and muscular design as the biological versions, but the mannies also had internal repair systems that could be ordered around. Plus, muscles could be flexed in unnatural ways, if necessary.

I remembered Will’s comment that once the Administration had a mug shot of me, I’d never be off their radar. Maybe, just for safety, I should take the time to look into this.

I sent a quick message to Bill, and received a reply almost immediately. “Really busy, Bob. Check with the Borg if you need a quick answer.”

Hmmph. Definitely not what I was looking for. Nevertheless, I forwarded the message to Locutus and received a response within a minute. “The design came with editable parameters. Some are fixed at print time, but some are what I suppose we could call mechanical settings. You should have a certain level of adjustability. I’ve attached specs and instructions.”

Much better. I read the instructions, reviewed my requirements, and sent orders to internal systems. I could feel my face contorting—it wasn’t painful, but it felt like something was crawling under my skin and made me want to dance around, yelling, Gahhhhh!

In seconds, it was done. I spit up a spider to take a selfie with.

Hmm. Not perfect, but very likely within the margins of error.

I took a figurative deep breath, stood, and marched toward the front door of the transit station, trying to look like I belonged there.

The main entranceway, a roll-up door of barn size, didn’t present me with any obvious manner of getting in. I was probably on camera by this point, but I doubted that standing and staring was considered a crime.

Just off around the side, though, was a normal-sized door, probably for maintenance people or whatever. And, glory be, this entrance had one of those flat plates beside it for scanning security cards. It continued to amaze me how totally plebian and boringly similar most tech turned out to be.

The moment of truth. I placed the card against the plate and deliberately avoided looking around. There was a click, and I pulled the door open. Success! And no crab hordes.

I was going to have to wing it a little bit, as I’d be going where no Bob had gone before, but presumably my every step wasn’t being monitored. I walked up to the elevators, pressed the only button, and a door opened with a ding. I entered and pressed the button labelled Transit.

After a short ride, the doors opened on a corridor stretching off into the distance. This had very much a public-area kind of feeling, and my confidence increased as I progressed. At the end of the corridor, the space opened up to some kind of vestibule or maybe train platform. Along the far wall were a series of evenly spaced, identical doors, looking something like airlocks. Between each set of doors was a card reader panel. At a loss as to what else to do, I pressed Natasha’s card against one. A voice spoke into my ear. “Destination?”

Okay, moment of truth. “Halep’s Ending?”

“One moment.” A short pause. “A train will arrive in 168 seconds.”

Holy moly, jackpot! A hundred and sixty-eight seconds was the English translation. The actual amount quoted was one and a half veks, the Quinlan equivalent to minutes. Gotta love translators.

But the important takeaway was that Halep’s Ending existed, it was on the route listings, and I was going there. For the first time since this adventure started, I felt Bender was actually within reach.