We Are Legion (We Are Bob)

Bob

August 2334

Nirvana River System

It was kind of a good news/better news thing. The good news was that Snidely was now avoiding me. The better news was that everyone else had noticed and was actively hanging around me. I wondered why I hadn’t thought of this tactic when I was alive.

We were on our lunch break and were once again sitting around the fish bowl. By which I mean bowl of fish. Yum.

We’d gotten onto the concept of morality, and Frieda had just asked Theresa how she could have any sense of morality without a deity to define what was or was not moral. And as usual, I was having to grit my teeth to avoid doing a face-palm, which wasn’t a Quinlan expression. They didn’t seem to have a direct equivalent, either, or I’d have used it by now.

“What deities give you aren’t rules of morality,” Theresa responded. “They’re just rules. Do this and you’ll be rewarded. Do that and you’ll be punished. That’s how we teach our pets not to relieve themselves in the house. One would hope that true morality involved more than learning not to poop on the rug by being rapped on the nose.”

I remembered that small animal Garfield had seen wearing the cone of shame. It seemed pet behavior was another universal.

“In fact,” Theresa continued, “I believe that it is only possible to acquire true morality without input from a deity. It is only when you do something because you believe it is the right thing to do, instead of because of any moral desserts, that you are acting morally. Likewise, it is only when you refuse to do something because of the Golden Rule, rather than because of a threat of punishment, that you are behaving in a moral manner.”

“Ah,” I piped up. “The Golden Rule. Treat others as you’d like to be treated.”

Theresa gave me a perplexed look. “No, that’s the Silver Rule.”

“What?” Had I missed something?

“There are three rules of behavior,” Theresa replied, now in lecture mode. “The Iron Rule: Treat others less powerful than you however you like. The Silver Rule: Treat others as you’d like to be treated. The Golden Rule: Treat others as they’d like to be treated.”

“Huh. I had not heard that.”

Theresa frowned at me. “Seems like an odd gap. How far away is your home? Maybe they need a missionary visit.”

“From an atheist?” Frieda said archly.

“Wait …” I gestured at Frieda with an upheld hand. Then to Theresa, “How is that better?”

“If I treat you how I want to be treated, I’m not taking into account your desires.” Theresa made an imploring gesture. “If you are a Unitist and can’t eat land meat, but land meat is my favorite, the Silver Rule says I’m behaving morally by offering you a steak if you’re hungry. But of course you won’t eat it and in fact may be offended. So the Silver Rule is still to a large extent about me and my desires. However, with the Golden Rule, I am obligated to take into account your beliefs and preferences when deciding how best to behave toward you. Does this not produce a better result?”

“Huh,” I said. Again. Not sounding very smart, Bob. “I’ll have to think about that.”

Theresa smiled. “That’s the best sentence any teacher could hear.”

“But,” Frieda interjected, “you could believe literally anything, and there’s no way to decide which is right—”

“Shall we just sail right past port, then?” Captain Lisa’s voice washed over us. Damn, she had presence. I wondered if captains practiced that kind of yelling. “Maybe we should just sail into the rocks, then? Perhaps when you have a few seconds, you could steer this Mother-be-damned tub?”

Once again, lunch ten minutes was over.

We pulled into Orchard Hill without incident. As soon as the gangplank was in place, Snidely stalked down it and away, cutting in front of the captain. He wasn’t carrying his trunk, so unfortunately, he’d probably be back. And Captain Lisa would likely have a few things to say to him.

The captain and the dockmaster got into the usual spitting and shouting match, which, as usual, terminated with work for us. We began hauling boxes off the Hurricane and stacking them on a low-slung cart specifically designed for this.

It was mindless work and allowed me to think. I’d been on the move for a week and had traversed a segment. Assuming that was a reasonable speed, I’d be a month and a half getting to Garack’s Spine. Maybe a little more, since I’d also have to move from the Nirvana back to the Arcadia. Maybe I could get on a boat that crossed as part of their regular route.

I was interrupted in my ruminations by something undefinable. There’s a particular sound, or maybe a change to the normal background, that happens when cops show up. It’s subtle, but it’s enough to make you stop and look.

Coming down the dock was Snidely, talking animatedly to one of four cops. I doubted that he was trying to get them to check the Hurricane’s boating license. Assuming they had such things.

Snidely marched straight up to me, and with triumph in his voice, said, “This one.”

The cop, presumably the ranking officer, examined me, head slightly cocked. “Doesn’t match the description.” He sighed. “Nevertheless, we’re here.” He motioned me to precede him up the gangplank.

“What’s going on?” Captain Lisa demanded. She placed herself in front of the spokescop, blocking his path.

He gestured to Snidely. “This gentleman has accused this man of being the fugitive who is currently being sought through several segments.”

“Based on the fact that he tried to break into my trunk and I threatened him,” I said.

“And why would he be trying to break into your trunk?”

“You’ve known him for five minutes. Tell me honestly if that doesn’t seem in character.”

The cop said nothing, but his face took on the stony cast that meant someone was trying to suppress a facial expression. After a moment, he sighed. “Nevertheless, we’re here, and Mr. Whiplash is from a Family.” He turned to the captain. “You can refuse to let me on board. But the dockmaster can also refuse to continue to load and unload. Your choice.”

Captain Lisa gave Snidely a murderous glare before replying to the sergeant. “You have permission. He does not.” She turned to Ted. “Bring Mr. Whiplash’s trunk down.”

Snidely smiled at her. “Big deal. I’ll have another ride by the end of the day.”

“But it won’t be with us,” the captain replied. “And the shipping community is small and tight-knit. Don’t be too sure of your options.” She pulled her vest pocket open and rummaged for a moment, producing two coins. “Here’s the balance of your fare.” She threw the coins to the ground at Snidely’s feet.

I’ll give Snidely credit—he ignored the coins. He also dealt her a glare that made her previous salvo look like a love-fest. If people had started shooting lightning bolts from their eyes, it wouldn’t have surprised me.

The coins rolled a short distance, and a couple of spectators pounced on them. The sergeant gave Captain Lisa a look that might have been sympathy, then turned back to me and gestured again to the plank.

We passed Ted on his way back, carrying Snidely’s trunk. A brief glance assured me that he hadn’t gotten the wrong one.

The tarp had been stripped back and left off. I pulled my trunk from the pile, placed it flat, and unlocked it. The cop reached forward and opened the lid to reveal … stuff. A folded vest, some small tools, several books, a miniature ceramic figure, and a diary and writing implements. He pushed a few items around, frowned, then frowned at me. “This is just common goods. Why did you not just show him this?”

“Would you have, if that pompous ass demanded it of you?”

The cop snorted. “No, not likely. I think Mr. Whiplash is going have some explaining to do. Wasting the constabulary’s time is not without consequence. My apologies for the trouble.”

I smiled and nodded, and the cops marched back to the dock. I imagined a sharp and hopefully not short conversation in Snidely’s future. I glanced at the shipping container that currently held Bender’s matrix instead of these random items. I’d have to swap things back tonight, as that particular container was destined for the next stop.

“What a putz,” Ted said.

I grinned and pushed the fish bowl toward him. “Yeah, but did you see the look on his face as they marched him up the dock? I think he’s going to have an interesting afternoon.”

Theresa accepted a fillet from Belinda and chewed thoughtfully on it for a few seconds. “Sadly, he will probably have many children.”

We all chuckled. Harvey, our new deckhand, said, “It sounds like I missed an interesting time. I’ve had to deal with obnoxious passengers before. Never fun.”

Theresa turned to me. “So, Enoki, tell me more about utilitarianism.”

There were groans from the others. It turned out that dislike for moral philosophy transcended species.

Frieda was holding the night watch again. That helped, as I’d spent time last night working out her routine. Now I had to switch back the contents of my trunk and the shipping container. But, you know, night vision.

I had both containers open and had moved the miscellaneous items back into the shipping box. I held up Bender’s matrix and was about to place it carefully in the organics that formed my trunk’s padding, when a voice behind me said, “That’s very pretty. What is it?”

I whirled, almost fumbling the matrix, to find Theresa smiling at me. “Uhhhh …” I said.

“It is about the size of a funerary box. And since you took steps to hide it, I have to assume some level of guilt, if that’s the right word.”

Well, this was just peachy beyond belief. Would I have to kill Theresa? Could I even do that? What were my alternatives?

“You’re not from around here, are you, Enoki?”

“None of us are, Theresa.”

She laughed. “You know what I mean. You’re not a native Quinlan, at least not a resident of Heaven’s River, like the rest of us. Are you even a Quinlan at all?”

“What an odd question. What else would I be?”

“Well, you’d be someone who knows about things like utilitarianism and Closest Continuers, which I’d never heard of, but not about the Three Rules, which every child learns. And you’re someone who thinks the gravity in Heaven’s River is .86 G instead of one G. Where are you from that the gravity is 1.16 G?”

Oh. Bugger. I remembered that conversation. I’d assumed the translator would convert my statement, but apparently not. Well, that was just a huge, steaming, smelly pile of—

“I think you’re reading too much into an unconnected series of conversations, Theresa.”

“That would be a reasonable proposal, except for the thing in your hands. It appears to be metal. If it is, it’s enough metal to buy the entire segment. But you’re working as a deckhand. One of these things is not like the other, know what I mean?” She smiled at the last sentence.

“Uhhh …”

Theresa rolled her eyes. “You’re usually a bit more articulate than that, Enoki. Do you need a slap?”

I chortled. “No thanks, Teach. So, what are you going to do?”

“If I tried to call you out, would I survive?”

I closed my eyes briefly. “That would be the most effective way of dealing with the problem, and from a strictly utilitarian point of view, it might even pass muster. But no. I don’t work that way. I’d just run. And I’d have to take a chance on getting this wet.” I held up the matrix to illustrate.

“So you are the person they’re looking for?”

“I’m pretty sure. There’s always a possibility of coincidence, but I’m going to guess that’s unlikely. And even if that turned out to be the case, I’d still end up in the pokey until they straightened it all out.”

“What are you guilty of?”

“Trying to rescue a friend. Seriously, Theresa, that’s all I’m doing.”

She nodded. “I believe you. I may be biased, but I don’t see someone being able to understand moral philosophy without being guided by it. Besides, you’re very interesting to talk to.”

I laughed softly and muttered, “Dance, monkey, dance.”

“What?”

“Oh, uh, it’s an ironic statement where I’m from. It means I have to continue to be entertaining in order to preserve my safety.”

“I hope you won’t view me that way, Enoki.” She smiled sadly. “I see no reason to expose you. Tell me this, though. Is wherever you’re from outside of Heaven’s River? Or at least outside of what the rest of us live in?”

I hesitated, then decided to go for it. “Yes, Theresa, and you’re right, I’m not Quinlan. There is an Administrator, but they aren’t a deity, just an engineering construct. And they’re after me because they want this back.” I gestured with the matrix again.

“Is it theirs?”

I shook my head. “No. In fact, I literally, personally built this item myself. The Administrator took it from me, then the Resistance took it from them, and now I’m trying to take it back. That is enormously simplified and leaves out a lot of detail, but it is the truth.”

She smiled and nodded. “Thank you for telling me. I will miss our discussions.”

“What? Why?”

“Because no doubt you’ll be leaving without notice at the first opportunity. Good night, Enoki.”

And with that, she turned and headed back to where her granddaughter was curled up.

I was shaken. As I finished securing the matrix and placed my spider back into the trunk, I had plenty of time to consider my options. Granted, of all the people to discover me, she was probably the best option. But however I parsed it, I was exposed. And she was right, the safest move might be for me to leave straightaway.

Ninety miles. More or less.

That was the surface distance between rivers. I’d briefly considered doing an overland hike to the next river, but that was just too far. Five days’ hiking, and that was if nothing went wrong. And again, I couldn’t use streams or tributaries.

Theresa and Frieda were at it again, theistic versus atheistic morality. I’d heard it all so many times before, mostly when I was still alive, that it was hard to stay interested. Theresa glanced at me from time to time but made no effort to draw me into the conversation.

Oric, however, had no reservations. “Enoki, what in Father’s name is wrong with you? Run out of things to talk about?”

“I, uh, I have things on my mind, Oric. Sorry. I’ll get over myself soon.”

Theresa smiled at me. “It’s okay, it’s not like we’re on a schedule.”

I opened my mouth to reply just as the captain started her daily tirade about sloppy, lazy, do-nothing deckhands. Turned out we were on a schedule.

“We’ll be turning around at the end of this segment,” Ted said during a rest break. “You still planning on continuing east?”

“Yep. As far as I know, they haven’t moved my home city.”

“Theresa and Belinda are getting off at Misty Falls. That’s our last stop before turnaround. I guess you’ll all be getting off together.”

I thought about that for a moment, but I couldn’t see how it affected my level of risk. Theresa wasn’t any more likely to suddenly loudly denounce me just because she was on land. Still, once I was on another boat, among a whole new set of strangers, I’d feel a lot better.

By midday we were approaching the Misty Falls docks. I couldn’t account for the fact that I felt more sadness than a sense of dread or danger, until I realized that I would never see Theresa again. She’d become very much a friend over a surprisingly short time. However, I had no choice. It wasn’t even a case of getting away; the Hurricane was turning around to head along the Paradise River.

Docking was the usual chaotic jumble of yelled orders and flying ropes, and then we were moored. At that point, Captain Lisa came over to say goodbye to Theresa, Belinda, and me. They’d have enough deckhands with Harvey, who was staying on, but no passengers for the return trip. I hoped they’d still be able to turn a profit.

I picked up my trunk and followed Belinda and Theresa down the gangplank, not particularly paying attention. Which I guess explained my surprise when we walked out into a circle of cops.