We Are Legion (We Are Bob)

Bob

July 2334

Cedar Rapids

Hugh had cleaned up the spare manny and was on the road. I was glad to have him active in Heaven’s River. The thing with cloning versus transporting and the whole soul business was, I admit, freaky. I wondered if he’d decided to transport to Eta Leporis just to test it out for himself.

I was in town, having arrived by land. A few casual conversations revealed that I was in a location that the translator handed off as Cedar Rapids. Local tree, of course.

It was a prosperous town, with a relatively large fleet of ships. It appeared that being the closest port to the mountains, and therefore the choke point for all goods coming from and going to the next segment of Heaven’s River, was a good thing.

There was another festival in full swing. I decided to wander around a little, see the sights, and get some of the flavor of the place. Hopefully without my friends around, I would be just one more face in the crowd.

And I would make a point of not peeking into any carts.

In rapid succession, I saw a square dance group, a terrific string quartet, and a vocal group. The Quinlans definitely had a good sense of music and rhythm. But nothing was going to compensate for those short limbs. They would never do ballet. Or even hip-hop.

I decided it might be prudent to check for signs of the Resistance. I had come in overland and hadn’t gone anywhere near the docks, so presumably I’d bypassed any lookouts. As casually as any random Quinlan, I picked the closest tavern and got a table. This one was significantly upscale, having an actual outdoor patio where one could eat, drink, and watch the world go by. However, a few minutes of watching made it clear that people seated there were not interested in socializing. So indoors it would be.

I sidled up to the bar and ordered a beer and the local equivalent of a sandwich. It wasn’t actual bread, maybe more of a pita wrap, but it had variations that didn’t involve fish in its many forms. That alone made it my favorite snack.

In between bites, I started to talk up the barkeep. It was a slow day, so she was bored enough to put up with me.

“Good lady, I am between residences at the moment. Could you recommend me a hotel or apartment overlooking the docks?”

“Why in Mother’s name would you want to live near the docks?”

Um, think fast, Bob. “I’m an artist. Ships are my current subject of choice.”

She cocked her head, then nodded, deciding I wasn’t dangerous. Or suspicious. Or something.

“My cousin Maurice is landlord of the Oaken Bale luxury apartments. Tell him Melanie sent you and he’ll find you something to your liking.”

And give you a kickback, no doubt. It was amazing just how much business was done in Heaven’s River based on who knew a guy. But that was fine. It gave Melanie some motivation to help me out and to rationalize away any oddness.

She gave me directions and I thanked her and ordered another beer just to be neighborly.

I was going to play it cagey this time around, so I decided not to ask too many questions at any one location. Moving on to another tavern, I engaged a random barfly in conversation.

“Say, I’ve got a cousin who is staying at the Oaken Bale apartments. I haven’t been able to find it. Can you help me out?”

Marty McBarfly chuckled. “You must have been watching the ladies when you got here, my friend. You would have walked right by it as you left the docks.” He examined me up and down speculatively. “Your cousin must be from the more affluent side of the family. The Oaken Bale is not cheap.”

I laughed and tried to look embarrassed. I had a cover story ready, and as cover stories went, it wasn’t bad. “Gramps is hoping Theodore can find me a spot with some future prospects. Things are slow in Halep’s Ending.” I watched him closely to see if the name meant anything. No luck. “Theodore works at the library, not that he needs the money. I could probably meet him there.”

“Which one? Ayelands or Meat Hook?”

Oops. “Uh, I confess I didn’t pay that much attention. It’s the one closest to his home, though. He hates walking.”

“Ayelands, then.” He gave me directions. “I hope it works out well for you.” Marty looked woefully at his empty mug. Taking the hint, I signaled for another round, and Marty’s mood picked up.

I had no intention of actually showing up at the library, any more than I intended to walk jauntily along the docks wearing a monocle, swinging my walking stick, and whistling Dixie. I needed to know if the Resistance was still after me. If they had this town covered as well, then I had to accept that I was always going to be on their radar.

I took a place in the Oaken Bale, and it really was expensive. I calculated that I’d burn through my cash in three months. Not that I planned to be here that long, but it was still worrying. If I had to, I could sell the knives, but I had a feeling that I wouldn’t be able to get retail for them.

After another long day of what I supposed could be considered spying, I popped into my VR library to find Hugh sitting back and drinking a coffee. He raised the cup in salute as I plopped into my La-Z-Boy.

“How goes the battle, O great ancestor?”

I snickered in response, but I felt the ol’ spidey sense tingle. Hugh’s occasional attempts at bonhomie never really rang true. It wasn’t an Original Bob behavior, and the Skippies didn’t strike me as having drifted into the glad-handing used-car-salesman domain. In movie terms, it was like he was leaning against the furniture and whistling while examining the ceiling. The question was, why?

“I’ve been watching the docks for several days,” I replied. “There are a couple of guys who appear to spell each other, and they don’t have an obvious function other than holding up walls. But that doesn’t make them Resistance. And if they are, they’re not trying very hard.”

“Probably just a general directive all the way up and down the segment to watch out for us. Well, you.”

“Maybe. What are you doing?”

Hugh pointed his finger at his chest. “I am now a deckhand working a trading vessel that circuits the entire segment, using all four main river systems. At the moment, we’re working our way down the Arcadia River.”

“Huh.” That actually wasn’t a terrible idea. He’d blend in with the crew, he’d have a lot of opportunity to talk and listen, and he’d be in a new town pretty much every day.

“Oh, and Bob …”

I recognized the tone of trouble. I cocked my head, trying to look as innocent as possible.

“I wonder if you could clarify something for me. It took a couple of days of my crewmates chortling every time they addressed me before I consciously listened to the Quinlan translation of my name.”

Innocent. Straight face. I know nothing. “Well, of course the translation routine randomly assigns Quinlan names as required and associates them with a given English name.”

“Random.”

“Yup.”

He paused again. “So the translator randomly and completely by coincidence assigned me the name Beer Can.”

“Uh, yeah, pretty much.”

He stared at me, and I stared back, holding the straight face as long as I could. Finally, I broke. I started laughing and couldn’t stop. “Well … Skippy … you …” I could only squeeze out the occasional word between the guffaws. After a few moments, Hugh grinned, then started to laugh himself.

“Okay,” he finally said, “it was funny. Nicely done. But you do realize this means war?”

I grinned back at him. “I guess you’re stuck with it, though.”

“Yep. But I explained to my mates that it was a nickname, originally meant as a joke but that ended up sticking.”

I nodded in appreciation of the quick thinking. “Have you learned anything in your travels, though?”

“Nothing momentous. There’s a general awareness of the existence of the Administrator and the Resistance, at least in the broadest terms. Many Quinlans are aware that they’re living in an artificial megastructure, and that they’re being held at a specific technological level. For others, it’s become somewhat mythologized, involving deities and demons and such. Either way, they mostly don’t care.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, the thing is, life is pretty good. No one starves, there are no wars—maybe the occasional inter-city skirmish over fishing territory, but that’s about it. Medical knowledge is good, and sanitation is well understood, so mortality is low. The truly huge predators that used to eat Quinlans are kept very low in numbers. Most people die from incurable illnesses, old age, fights, or other misadventures. It would be hard to come up with a good argument that would convince the average Quinlan to get worked up about the situation.” Hugh looked like he was about to say more, then cut himself off.

This just reinforced my growing suspicion that Hugh was holding out on me in some way. But whether it was significant, or just some wacko theory that he wasn’t ready to share …

“Okay,” I said, “I’ve about exhausted my options in Cedar Rapids. No one has heard of Halep’s Ending, and unless I march through town carrying a sign announcing myself, I don’t think I’m going to have any kind of run-in with either the Resistance or the Administrator. There’s a transit station a little way downriver, so I think I’m going to go there and try to break in.”

“You’re turning into a real juvenile delinquent,” Hugh said with a grin. “Well, have fun.”