We Are Legion (We Are Bob)
Book 4: Chapter 14: Getting Out

Bob

July 2334

Heaven’s River

I don’t know what I would have done if I’d run into a security patrol. I no longer had a fléchette gun, and needing to be careful about Bender’s matrix meant most of my go-to tactics were unavailable. Fortunately, the subject didn’t come up. It was quite possible that all personnel were outside looking for me around the Halep’s Ending transit station.

I stared at the elevator. It didn’t really look that different from any other. Maybe a little larger door. The problem was the button. Or more accurately, the sign over the button that said, “Authorized Personnel Only.” There was a card reader beside the button.

I took a totally unnecessary deep breath and pulled out Natasha’s card. Moment of truth. I doubted that a failure would result in sirens and flashing red lights, but it would certainly alert someone, and I’d have visitors by and by. And nowhere to run.

Before I could kvetch any more, I pushed the card against the reader, then pressed the button. The button lit for a moment, and the door opened. Hallelujah! I was in business. I entered the elevator and pressed the top button, since that would be where I’d transfer to another stay.

The doors closed, and the elevator accelerated upward. And I realized something that I’d failed to notice when I boarded. This elevator had windows.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. The Quinlans had long since shown that they had a strong visual artistic sense. Naturally, they wouldn’t waste the opportunity to display this view. I had fifty-six miles of vertical travel in which to enjoy it, and … uh …

I didn’t specifically remember ever having had acrophobia, but I’d never been going literally miles up into the air with a panoramic view before. I had to consciously stop myself from stepping to the back of the elevator. If this got any worse, I might have to activate the endocrine control system.

I deliberately stood at the window and observed, while trying to control my breathing. The curve of Heaven’s River was becoming visible, and we’d already passed at least one cloud layer. The river system, forests, townships, and dots on the water that could be boats all spread out below me in a panorama that exceeded anything I’d seen in a lifetime several hundred subjective years long. I made a point of recording as much as I could and forwarding it to my blog.

The trip took twenty minutes total, which was quite impressive. Deceleration was accompanied by an automated suggestion to place my feet on the ceiling, as the centrifugal gravity by that point was almost nonexistent.

When the doors opened, I was in as close to zero G as made no difference. The corridor had a visible curve, with doors and side corridors spaced regularly along it. The sign beside the elevator said, “Utopia Spoke.” Handy. I just needed to move over to the other east-flowing river, the Nirvana.

I picked a random direction and headed off. As with my first day, when we broke into Heaven’s River, the Quinlan body had no trouble adapting to zero G movement. Handholds along the corridor helped as well.

Within a few minutes, I’d found the Nirvana Spoke elevator. Small problem—the elevator was at ground level. So there would be a twenty-minute wait.

The ride down was very much like the ride up, in reverse. Strangely, starting from a view from orbit kind of panorama made it easier to get used to the height without cringing. By the time it started to resemble real land, I was verging on bored.

This maintenance complex was uninhabited, which led me to believe that most of the population of the mountains was probably Resistance. I made it to the train station without incident and pressed my card against the reader plate.

“Not authorized.”

I looked up sharply. “What?”

“Your identification is not authorized.”

Oh, great. They’d cancelled my card. Well, Natasha’s card. It had been inevitable, but couldn’t they have done it after I’d gotten on the train? I fished out the second card, the one I’d grabbed from the guard, and tried it. RÁ₦ÔꞖÊṣ

“Not authorized.”

Well, that was that. I looked around, half-expecting the entire population of hell to come pouring out. But this complex was uninhabited. Come to think of it, I’d never seen or heard of the Administrator using anything but live muscle inside Heaven’s River. Maybe automated muscle was forbidden. It sounded like the kind of limitation you’d place on an AI to keep it from taking over. And how had that worked out for the Quinlans?

Still, while I wasn’t about to be tackled, I also wasn’t about to get a free ride back to Garack’s Spine. And hordes of minions could be on their way right now. Their cards would work. A hasty departure seemed advisable.

Back up the hallway, up the stairs, and soon I was in the lobby. The maintenance door opened easily from the inside, and I was out in the open. I could see a town in the distance, but I had no idea what it might be called. I was a quarter turn around the circumference of Heaven’s River and thirty-eight hundred miles west of Garack’s Spine, which was my only way out. I had an eight-inch cube in my backpack, sticking up like a carbuncle and advertising my presence to any Crew or Resistance who might be looking for me. I might as well be wearing a hard hat with a flashing red light. Oh, and I couldn’t risk going in the water.

Piece of cake.

I needed a story. Some plausible reason for the big lump in my backpack. A quick glance up at the sun confirmed the day was young; I had plenty of time to get to the town before dark. But maybe I shouldn’t. I had only the coins in my stomach, and I might need them for something more critical than lodging. I dithered for a few moments, then decided I might as well head for town while I tried to come up with something.

First, I’d need to update Hugh.

“Hi, Hugh.”

“Bob! Got news?”

“Of a sort. I have Bender—”

“That’s great! I’ll meet you at Garack’s Spine, and we can get out of here …”

“Ah, it may not be that simple.” I updated Hugh on recent events and my current location.

“Well, that’s suboptimal,” he said. “Listen, you can’t be the first Quinlan that’s needed to carry something large. A funerary box is about the same size, for instance …”

“Uh, what?”

“Bridget can probably give you anthropological details, but Quinlans keep the bones of their deceased. Ground up, they fit into a box of about the right size.”

“You’d accumulate a lot of boxes over time,” I commented.

“Yeah, I dunno, ask Bridget. But maybe check around town, someone might have something that would keep the box dry. Maybe you can find a funerary box and test it out.”

“That’s an excellent idea, Hugh. Thanks.”

“Then you just need to travel seven segments to Garack, and you’re golden.”

“Thanks a bunch, Hugh. And with that cheery thought, I’m signing off.”

Still, one problem at a time. I paused and prairie-dogged to get a close look at the town. Things might be looking up the slightest, teeniest bit.

I composed and fired off an email to Bridget, not wanting to spare the cycles for a conversation. I’d review whatever she sent me when I had time. The first order of business, though, was to not come into town along the road from the maintenance complex. If someone was watching for a Quinlan with a carbuncle, that would be the obvious place to set up.

Moving through the bushes was more of a pain than expected. I remembered Bridget mentioning that the climate varied from segment to segment, probably to replicate conditions on Quin. This segment had a more tropical motif, which meant thicker and more riotous vegetation. And probably a lot more variety in the way of predators. And me without so much as a pigsticker in my inventory.

After a half-hour of bushwhacking accompanied by my best cursing, I decided enough was enough. I spied a trail ahead that likely led to a regular road and made for it. The path led through some pretty rundown residential structures, and I began to worry about being mugged. A couple of rough-looking characters did give me the evil eye, but no one made a move.

In fifteen minutes more, I was in the town proper, which was named Forest Hill. I buttonholed a few random strangers, and eventually got directions to a funeral home. The Quinlan translation was more like “House of Setting Sun,” which was oddly poetic for a culture that named cities after people’s body parts.

I entered the establishment and glanced around. An elderly Quinlan came over to me. “May I be of service?”

“I, uh, I’m concerned about getting my grandfather waterlogged. I’m not sure exactly what might be available …”

“Are you transporting your ancestor over a large distance?”

“Yes, to Garack’s Spine.”

“I’m not familiar with that city. However, the normal strategy is to have the ancestor sent by post. Carrying the box on your back …” The salescritter ostentatiously leaned sideways to look disapprovingly at my backpack.

I felt like I should blush or something. “I’m hoping to bring him home myself. I’d like instead to find a way to wrap the box or get a better backpack …” I left the sentence hanging, hoping the salescritter would volunteer something.

He glanced at my backpack again, then asked, “What size of funerary box?”

“Uh …” Bender’s matrix was eight inches on a side. “Inside dimensions eight and a quarter inches,” I said, trusting the translation software to take care of the conversion to local units.

“That’s oddly precise. Also not a standard size. Here …” He wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to me. “My cousin Vinny is a carpenter. He could probably put something together to your specifications. Tell him Carmine sent you.”

Of course. This wasn’t a mass-production society. Artisans would be easily available. I resisted the urge to smack myself, and thanked Carmine profusely.

I left the funeral home, chuckling at the software’s choice of name-equivalents. I’d have to ask Hugh if there’d been a little tweaking of the algorithms. Given what I’d done with Hugh’s name-equivalent, it was clearly Bob-like behavior.

I read the note while wondering if I should ditch the backpack and cube while I worked. I could hide it in the forest, or I could get a room in a hotel. What would carry less risk? The forest would certainly be cheaper. But I couldn’t bring myself to seriously consider tying Bender up in a tree and leaving him to the tender mercies of random chance. I did a quick calculation. I wasn’t destitute yet, but I might end up working for passage on the way back to Garack’s Spine. Meanwhile, keeping Bender safe was job one.

I stopped at a general store and bought a few small items for three coppers total. I gave the proprietor an iron and received my change. I had a brief urge to swallow the coins right in front of her, but attracting attention was not a good idea.

With a little searching around, I found a fleabag hotel and paid for a night. The kindest word I could find for the room was unimpressive. But it had a door lock, and the door felt solid, and the window was much too small for a Quinlan to get through, even if the room had been at ground level. And as was typical for Quinlan structures, the roof was exposed, support beams and all.

I took out the length of rope that I’d purchased and did a quick leap and parkour to the rafters. It wouldn’t be, strictly speaking, impossible for a Quinlan to duplicate that feat, but they would be more likely to just go get a ladder. Which would hopefully take time. I tied the backpack with Bender in it to the highest point and shifted it around to be as invisible as possible from floor level. All good.

I left my one remaining spider on the rafter as well. Just in case.

The Quinlan door locks were large and clunky compared to what I’d been used to on Earth, but the mechanism was nevertheless fairly sophisticated. Again, I was reminded that the Quinlans’ technology was limited, not their knowledge. I spit up a few coins to carry with me, locked the door behind me, and sent in a couple of fleas to freeze the lock mechanism. I was probably being overly paranoid, but the downside of overdoing it was much less bad than the downside of underpreparing.

First stop was a backpack shop. On Earth that would have been a sports store, but with Quinlans, backpacks were simply apparel. A few quick inquiries on the street and I had a destination.

The shop was definitely upscale. Not as in gold trim, but as in high quality and good selection. They carried backpacks, sashes, kits for fur decoration, and other items that the sophisticated and stylish Quinlan couldn’t live without. I just hoped the backpacks were more than fashion statements.

I approached the single salescritter. “I’m looking for a new backpack. My old one popped a seam because I’ve been carrying a funerary box in it. Do you have something with good capacity and dependable waterproofing?”

“As it happens, we do. You shouldn’t, of course, spend a lot of time in water, but it’ll hold for the occasional fishing expedition.” He led me over to a display and gestured. “Only five irons for this model.”

Eep. That would take most of my remaining cash. I opened my hand and looked down at the four irons I’d coughed up, trying to project disappointment, piteousness, and whatever else I could manage. He glanced at the coins in my hand and sighed. “I can’t do four, my friend. Four and a half and it’s yours.”

No problem, sir, I’ll just … hack … hack … hack …

No, not really. The urge was almost overpowering, but even ignoring not wanting to attract attention, I was sure he’d throw me out. “I’ll, uh, talk to my friends. Back in a while.”

I left the shop and went looking for Vinny’s place. On the way, I surreptitiously coughed up some more coins.

Vinny’s place had a sign over the door that said Vinny’s Place. Really, Quinlans sucked with names. The window showed some of his products, including funerary boxes, small furniture, and some carved items. He did good work.

“Are you Vinny?” I said to the lone occupant as I walked in.

“I am. May I help you?”

“Carmine sent me here. I’m looking for a specific size of funerary box. He thought you might be able to help me.”

Vinny’s face lit up, and I realized that Carmine must actually be a relative, and well-liked. I hoped that would help my cause. We spent a few minutes talking about my requirements.

“It’s an odd size, and oddly specific,” he said.

“I’m trying to protect my existing box,” I explained. “My grandfather died a long way from our family home. I have to bring him back there, and I can’t afford the obvious methods.”

“I admire your dedication, young sir. I can produce such an item. It will take about three days and will cost six irons. However, I can’t guarantee that it will be watertight. That simply isn’t normally part of my requirements.”

Wow. Between the room, the backpack, and the box, I’d be wiped out. And I would still have to pay for passage. And I didn’t have any choice about going by boat. While the manny would probably survive a seven-segment swim, I very much doubted that Bender would arrive still dry. Like it or not, I was going to have to play tourist. Or deckhand.

But I had no choice in the end. We talked some more, and I considered trying to haggle him down, but the simple lack of waterproofing rendered it moot. In the end, I thanked him for his time and told him I’d think about it.

I was heading back to the backpack store when I received an alert from the spider in my room. Someone seemed to be trying to unlock the door, and they were being increasingly unsubtle about it. The fleas had rigged the lock well enough that the interlopers would have to break down the door to get in. Would they go that far? Would anyone notice or investigate? It wasn’t a high-class neighborhood, but the proprietor might object to costly damage and a room that would be un-rentable for a while.

And the would-be home invaders agreed. After a few more rattles, the sounds of assault stopped. I had no illusions that that was the end of it. It appeared none of my plans for the day were going to succeed.

I changed direction and picked up speed, not quite breaking into a run. As I moved, I stretched my features and changed my fur patterns back into Natasha’s face. That might get me in the door without being observed.

The door to my room was still intact, although the lock and knob was a little more scarred than I remembered. No one appeared to be hanging around. I didn’t kid myself, though. There would be surveillance. Whether they were looking for Bob or Natasha, or both, was an unknown. Whether it was Crew, Resistance, or both was pretty much irrelevant at this point. My fate at the hands of either party, and more important, Bender’s fate, was a foregone conclusion.

I glanced at the window speculatively as I was climbing up to my pack. No such luck. What had originally seemed like a security feature was now a trap. There was only one way out of this room.

But not necessarily so for the building. They’d be watching the front and back doors, but maybe there was a third alternative.

I collected my spider and fleas, then locked and re-jammed the door. The scam probably wouldn’t distract my pursuers for long, but every little bit helped. Meanwhile, I needed to be out of here. I headed for one of the two second-floor bathrooms for some privacy and a chance to think.

How to get out undetected? I couldn’t just go downstairs and peek out the front door without attracting attention. I’d accepted it as a given that someone was watching the front. Probably the back as well. And there were only the two doors. From the bathroom window I could see the alley, where one of the pub staff was tossing something into the dumpster. I snorted. Dumpsters. Another parallel.

Wait—what other parallels were there? Food deliveries, garbage pickup … even a dump like this needed services supplied by other companies.

I took a quick glance out into the hallway. No one. I made my way to the back of the building, where presumably the kitchen and storage areas would be. On the way, I passed a cleaning person with a cart. The cart included a garbage can of sorts, made of wood. No trash bags here. The cleaner was working on one of the rooms, so I grabbed the can off the cart. As I continued down, I placed my backpack in the can, then hoisted it up so the contents weren’t visible.

I got a glance or two as I passed through the service area, but who’s going to question someone who is obviously working? Chances were the hired help around here was transient and part-time anyway. I made it out to the back, holding the can up so it obscured my face, and making a show of struggling with the weight.

The dumpster was up against a fence, something I’d noticed from the bathroom. What wasn’t discernible was whether the fence would collapse the moment I put my weight on it. But it didn’t matter—I was committed.

I swung the can around, still projecting this is really heavy, y’all with every pore, and upended it onto the edge of the dumpster. As I tipped it, I grabbed the backpack before it could drop into the bin. I pulled the can back with one hand, put it upside down on the ground as quietly and quickly as possible, and used it to vault over the fence.

There was a shout behind me and I could hear running feet, but I was already on the other side and out of sight. I had perhaps two seconds to get out of view of someone coming over the fence. A quick glance said that west was the shorter sprint to cover. I went east.

As I turned into another alley, I heard the thump of someone landing, and a curse. Did I mention that Quinlans weren’t particularly acrobatic? Smiling to myself, I imagined a couple of sprained ankles. That would slow them down.

Meanwhile, though, best make tracks. I dodged and wove through alleyways and quieter streets, avoiding any area with too many potential witnesses. Within minutes, I was at the edge of town. Without breaking stride, I headed for the forest.

Sleeping in a tree. Not a phrase a Quinlan was likely to use. Which made it ideal for me. I found a particularly large, heavily foliaged specimen and set myself high up in the thicker parts. I spit out my spider for sentry duty, clamped my arms around the trunk, and ordered the AMI to stay put.

Everything seemed stable for the moment, so I exited the manny and popped into my VR.

“Hugh, I’m in virt if you feel like popping over.”

“Sorry, Bob. Stacking cargo. I’ll try to get away later, though.”

Hmmph. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what I would say to him anyway. Did I want to confront Hugh about the Administrator thing? What would I accuse him of, exactly? I didn’t even know for sure that he was aware the Administrator was an AI. And if he did? Say he admitted to suspecting it. What law or rule, exactly, had he broken?

My suspicions were second-order, I realized. Suspicions of suspicions. I would have to keep a lid on it until I figured out what, if any, nefarious motives Hugh or the Skippies might have.

I tried connecting to Gandalf but got an autoreply. Probably Gandalf was fighting orcs or something.

Quickly, I checked Bill, Will, Bridget, and Howard, and got either busy signals or autoreplies. It appeared everyone in the Bobiverse was a little tied up at the moment. With a bad-tempered grumble, I called up a coffee and activated Spike.

So, item: I had seven segments to traverse, and it would have to be mostly by boat. Come to think of it, even if I trusted the Quinlan postal system to deliver Bender safely, it wouldn’t be any faster. The mail travelled by boat.

Item next: I still had to get out of Heaven’s River once I got to Garack’s Spine. In principle, that shouldn’t be an issue. We had the side entrance hatch that Gandalf had built. On the other hand, the locals were much more aware of us now. Of me, particularly. As Will’s professor friend had rightly pointed out, I was probably going to show up on a lot of surveillance systems from now on. I could disguise myself, but I couldn’t disguise the backpack.

Or couldn’t I?

Granted I had to watch my money, but my biggest hurdle right now was to get out of Forest Hill. Once I could lose myself in the vastness of Heaven’s River, I might be okay. So how to get out of town without exposing Bender’s matrix to view …?

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