“But only a very few within ten light-years that will have habitable planets. Those will be the most strategically valuable, regardless of other factors.”
“It occurs to me then, doctor, that internal FAITH factions aren’t the only thing I have to worry about.”
“I’m afraid that is the case, Bob.” Dr. Landers shrugged. “And it’s also part of the reason why trimming the Heaven project down to one ship wasn’t met with more resistance by our company. While it benefits the anti-expansionist groups by leaving them just one target, it also benefits us by allowing us to focus our efforts and accelerate our timetable.”
“Tell me about the other projects.”
“You mean, what we know about the other projects,” Dr. Landers replied with a smirk. “They are unsurprisingly as reticent with details as we are.”
The doctor fiddled with his tablet. By this time, I knew that was simply a delaying tactic to give him time to gather his thoughts.
“Our intelligence says that China is pushing their project at a breakneck pace, having sacrificed everything for speed. And they will be using an AMI, which is problematic at best. We believe that they are the most likely to fail outright.”
The doctor was silent for a few seconds, flicking at his tablet with a finger. “The Brazilian Empire concerns us the most, and not just because of their belligerent and adversarial stance in world politics. We believe they may be arming their probes with the intention of eliminating the competition. They are also the most likely to attempt sabotage. But they are also unlikely to be able to pull off the long-term plan, in our opinion. They are not primarily depending on probes being able to build copies, although the probes will have the capability. Instead, the Empire will simply launch multiple probes, as fast as they can build them in-system. We think that if they find a suitable system, they will set up a military presence and reproduce.”
Dr. Landers sighed. “The USE is the most likely long-term competitor, although they at least are likely to limit themselves to non-violent tactics. They have the will, the budget, the technological sophistication, and the experience with replicants. They are also considerably ahead of us at the moment on the subject of actual colonization. If someone were to discover a useful planet tomorrow, the USE colonists would be there first by a considerable margin.”
“Wow. Do we have anything?”
“We have you and the other replicant, Bob. Don’t discount that. The two of you have shown remarkable resilience. Your quickness at adapting to the reality of your position, combined with your intelligence and education, are not small things. The common wisdom, with replicants, has been to find a phlegmatic, unimaginative individual who would be satisfied with the routine. You and the other candidates forced us to change our tactics. We think that going in this unexpected direction will make a big difference in the long run.”
“Well, all right then. Time to talk about a raise…”
Dr. Landers rolled his eyes. “We have to get you a face, so I can tell when you’re kidding.”
Bob – August 4, 2133
For today’s entertainment, the doctor had directed me to diagnose and repair a complex piece of electronics, similar to items that I would have to deal with aboard ship. Dr. Landers watched me as usual from the window. He liked to engage me in conversation during these exercises. I suspected that he was testing my concentration and ability to multitask. I didn’t mind, since the conversations were always interesting and informative.
Then a massive jolt shook the building and knocked Dr. Landers off his feet. It was followed immediately by a solid pressure-wave of sound, more felt than heard.
As Dr. Landers got to his feet, the sounds of gunfire echoed down the hall. He turned to me, yelled, “Stay there!” and ran off.
Stay there? Despite the gravity of the situation, my sense of the ridiculous kicked in. The good doctor was obviously rattled. As he had pointed out to me, I wasn’t actually in this room, just attached to—
Hello…
In the middle of my internal comedy routine, I realized that the window had been popped partly out of its frame. It didn’t look as though it would take much persuasion to finish the job. And surely they couldn’t blame me for wanting to take a more active role in defense of the project.
I directed every roamer in the room to grab the window and pull. The roamers weren’t particularly strong, but 32 of the little buggers commanded a lot of leverage. Within moments, the window clattered down and took a divot out of the floor.
The window didn’t break. That’s some very strong stuff. They ARE scared of me.
I chose one of the roamers at random and took over control. Now I could see through its video camera. I directed the other roamers to follow, and we took off down the hall in the direction of the gunfire. Roamers ran along the floors, walls, and ceiling. I was impressed. These people might suck at acronyms, but their tech was pretty good.
The building complex was an interesting design. It consisted of a string of large, open atriums or lobbies, each surrounded by two floors of offices or labs. Skylights in the atriums provided plenty of illumination, and short hallways connected each central open area. My roamer room was one atrium over from the location of the attack. Maybe the invaders had miscalculated.
It took only seconds to get to the action. A group of attackers dressed in black were slowly moving through the offices, shooting as they went. Security guards returned fire, but significantly outgunned, they were being forced back.
This operation was being run either by a FAITH faction that didn’t approve of me or by one of the competing nations. Either way, they wanted me dead. It seemed to me that the Golden Rule applied. Time to reciprocate.
Appraising the situation had taken only milliseconds–I was really starting to love being a computer–so the roamers hadn’t broken stride. The horde stampeded into the area and swarmed the attackers, concentrating on faces and groins.
The roamers were surprisingly tough. No matter how many times an attacker ripped a roamer off his face and tossed it against a wall, the roamer would simply right itself and come back for more. The roamers were equipped with pliers, cutters, and screwdrivers, not technically weapons but still hard to ignore. And I had more than a month’s worth of frustration and angst driving me. Endocrine controls or no, I was thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to serve up some beatings.