We Are Legion (We Are Bob)
Book 4: Chapter 3: Up the Creek

Bob

July 2334

Outside Three Lagoons

“So, the mountains?”

“That’s right, Bob,” Will said. “According to the prof, they’re fake. I’ve asked the Skippies to get a closer scan of a mountain range just to get a general idea of the layout. There are no drones in your immediate neighborhood—”

“I know. Already went through that exercise. I’m working on it, but it’s slow.”

“Right. Anyhow, when you get close, we can work out a strategy for getting you in.”

“Assuming there’s any point. The Resistance seems to live under the nose of the Administrator, but I’m still skeptical. What makes you think the Resistance will be there?”

“Things like power requirements, access to resources, and access to the Administrator’s domain in order to be able to steal Bender in the first place. I talked to the Gamers about this, and they agree that the best way to hide the Resistance is right under the enemy’s nose.”

“Maybe in D&D. Not sure about real life. But it’s a place to start, I guess. First, though, I have to find Halep’s Ending.”

“True. Which is where the monorail comes in, if the town turns out not to be close by. Keep me updated.” Will hung up, and I reached for my coffee. I’d probably be spending a lot of time in real. Best to get my fix while I could.

I sat up and examined my surroundings. Nothing had been disturbed, and my manny still had all its appendages. Excellent. I glanced up, got my bearings, collected my sentry, and headed for the small stream I’d avoided last time I was moving about. I noticed on the way that the radio was missing. So my pursuers had seen it, which meant they’d been searching diligently. They might still be out there, in fact. I dropped to all fours, which I really should have done in the first place. Quinlans, like Pav, were more comfortable locomoting quadrupedally over any kind of distance. Only the manny’s design allowed me to overlook the inefficiency.

I prairie-dogged occasionally, keeping my head up for the minimum amount of time to get a three-sixty of the area, but saw no one. Eventually I made it to the stream and slipped in.

Swimming downstream was virtually effortless, and I took the opportunity to relax. Only the occasional twitch of the tail or flick of an arm was necessary to maintain bearing, and the stream never got shallow enough or tight enough to present an issue. This being a manufactured environment, it was probably a design requirement for all streams.

And naturally the Resistance would expect a Quinlan to take the stream down to the river, so I shouldn’t have been surprised to run smack into a net stretched across the deepest part. Cleverly braced asymmetrically, the net spun me as I was snagged, wrapping me neatly like a sausage.

Immediately, I felt a tug as someone started hauling the net to shore. I strained against my bonds, but the cords were too strong even for manny strength.

I couldn’t use my fleas—they’d be swept away by the current. Even my spider roamer might not be able to hold on. But what choice did I have? I spit out the spider and it began cutting the net, concentrating on the strands that were under tension, hauling me toward shore.

I almost made it. I had part of a leg free and one whole arm. I would have loved to be able to pull the trank gun, but it was in the main pouch of the backpack. Bad planning on my part.

I think the Resistance people must have decided they couldn’t take any more chances with me. Before I was even properly beached, one of the waiting Quinlans waded into the water, drew his sword, and stabbed me in the leg.

I screamed, and it wasn’t all acting. I had the sense to turn the sensory filter up, but there is something about being stabbed that has a huge psychological component. It’s a massive violation of personal autonomy. I hadn’t felt that much fear since perhaps the moment of my death.

“Maybe that’ll slow you down,” he growled, and I realized it was Popeye, all fresh from his recovery and presumably looking for payback. He raised the sword again, and a voice I recognized as Frieda’s barked an order. Popeye snarled but withdrew the sword, then leaned forward. “Just give me an excuse and I’ll finish the job.”

Then he made a mistake. Again. The guy just couldn’t seem to learn.

Popeye extended his sword so the point was at my nose, and opened his mouth to taunt me some more. At that exact moment, my roamer cut the last strand binding one arm. I reached out at android speed, grabbed the sword around the hilt in a palm-and-fingertip grip, and jammed it backward to strike under his chin. As he fell over with a howl, I threw the sword, hilt-first, into the face of the second henchman (whose name I’d never bothered to learn). I’ll give Frieda her due—she had guts. Without hesitation, she pulled her sword and came at me. I still wasn’t free enough to run, and I was out of handy weapons—I’d never get my knife or the gun out of my backpack in time. So I did the next best thing: I picked up Popeye and shoved him straight at her. Both went down in a heap with twin oofs. That gave me just enough time to remove the net and dive back into the water.

Well, stagger back in. I’d forgotten about the stab wound in all the excitement, which in itself is a statement I would never have thought I’d make. The repair systems had almost closed the wound, but I was still leaking fluid, er, blood. However, I couldn’t use the leg until internal repairs were complete, and I calculated that with the handicap I wouldn’t be much if any faster than a biological Quinlan.

I submerged and began swimming, using only my tail as much as possible. It occurred to me that if they had anyone downstream, maybe with another net, I’d almost certainly be caught, and go through a repeat of the confrontation I’d just endured.

Leave the water? That would probably result in an extended game of cat and mouse, with me trying to get to the river and them trying to intercept me.

Like it or not, I was committed. But since I had a head start, I went ashore and took the time to maneuver my sword out of my backpack. If I was to be netted again, I didn’t want to depend just on my roamer. While I was at it, I moved the trank gun to a side pocket that would be watertight but could still be opened in a hurry. ꭆάꞐОBËⱾ

My roamer!

A quick radio inventory confirmed the worst. I’d lost my last spider. It should still be well within range, even if it was still back at the fight, so I had to conclude that it had been destroyed or disabled.

Nuts.

This severely reduced my chances of getting out of a net. Time to re-evaluate. Between losing my roamer and the leg wound, I was at a distinct disadvantage. I queried repair systems, and found that the wound was significant. I was about an hour from full functionality, although fluid reserves would have to be built up as well, which could take a day or two and would require me to eat.

This was definitely a good time to disappear. But I couldn’t just park the manny and leave it. If the upstream thugs came after me, I needed to be able to defend myself. That meant I’d have to stay with the manny.

So I could look forward to a long, boring time at the bottom of a stream. I took a minute to find a sheltered spot with some detritus piled up and proceeded to bury myself. Without the roamer, I couldn’t check if I was effectively hidden, so I’d just have to take my chances.

I waited almost two hours, just to be safe. This was way beyond the breath-holding capability of even the most athletic Quinlan, so if anyone was keeping watch up top, they’d have long since given up on me being in the area.

But they wouldn’t have to expend much effort with a net. Stretch it across the stream, sit down, have a coffee, wait for the lines to jiggle.

Which meant I was going to have to hoof it.

There was no way out of this that didn’t involve a lot of time and effort and risk. With a sigh, I surfaced, glanced around, and scuttled into the bushes.

Two hours of skulking through forest, getting poked by thorns and sniffed at by random critters, finally paid off. I found myself peering around a rock at a couple of Quinlans relaxing by the stream. They had some ropes pegged to the ground and leading into the water—three guesses what those were for.

The question was, did they have anything I wanted, or should I just bypass them? I rolled my eyes at the thought. Name pretty much any movie with this kind of situation, and the protagonist would alert the pursuers with a bungled burglary, thereby provoking another chase scene and ensuing hilarity. No thanks.

I took a moment to look around and plan my route, and headed back into the bush.

After a long and circuitous hike, I finally made it to the river, and swam out to where the other three mannies floated at the bottom, anchored to a submerged branch. Despite the maintenance roamers’ best efforts, the mannies were accumulating, er, something. Mildew? Seaweed? Whatever it was, it made them look more like the Swamp Thing than Quinlans. Hugh would have to do some cleanup when he finally activated one.

I checked inventory, and thankfully Garfield had managed to get all the roamers back to their hosts. I ordered two roamers each from two of the mannies to jump ship. Mouth open, I accepted the new recruits.

One last item—money. We each had a fair inventory of the Quinlan coins, and we’d accumulated some Quinlan knives in the various encounters. Being metal, they were highly prized and worth as much as a year’s wages for the average Quinlan. A quick frisking showed me that we had seven knives total. I took three knives and a third of the cash from the other mannies.

This put me in much better spirits. I pushed off from the group and headed downstream. There was no way I could stay in Three Lagoons after the recent shenanigans. I figured I’d swim underwater for a half hour or so, then surface and take it easy while keeping watch for other towns.

Being on the Utopia River system now, I would be going east, back into the Garack’s Spine segment where we’d started. It seemed like a step backward, although I honestly couldn’t see how it would affect my chances at, well, anything at all. We hadn’t been asking about town names, so we could easily have sailed right past Halep’s Ending without even knowing.

I found it lonely, though, floating down the river alone. I had to wonder if some of that was the Quinlan behavioral routines imposing a preference for company. As a rule, I tended to prefer solitude.

Although maybe I’d gotten my fill of that for a while. The long trip out to Eta Leporis, along with the surprising changes that had occurred while I was out of touch, had made me feel more disconnected than I really liked. As if I was not just avoiding society, but actually being left behind as it evolved. Typical human inconsistency—if I was going to be a social pariah, I wanted it to be by my choice and on my schedule. Real mature, Bob.

The sun was warm, though, and the water was never choppy. Small regular waves, more reminiscent of a lake than a river, slowly rocked me. Quinlans floated like corks, or more appropriately, like otters, so the feeling wasn’t a lot different from being on an inflatable air mattress. I dipped a paw into the water and paddled myself around to gaze east.

Every 560 miles or so, Heaven’s River had a mountain range circling the inside of the habitat. We hadn’t understood the significance of that distance in the initial investigation, but it was obvious now that it was one “day” length for the artificial sun. The mountains, and that baffle Will had told me about, would help to keep the inhabitants from seeing a sun from the neighboring segment by providing a visual break. The circular ranges also provided anchoring points for thin spokes that ran up to the central shaft. No doubt there were power conduits and access tubes along those spokes as well. Maybe even elevators for access.

From the outside, the mountains looked like, well, mountains. Pretty impressive ones too, probably designed to discourage climbing. Not that Quinlans were climbers by nature.

Very soon, the river would be passing through the gorge between segments, then I would be looking for the next town. After that, it was back to the salt mines.