We Are Legion (We Are Bob) (Bobiverse #1)
Dennis E. Taylor
…but as for me, I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts.
— Ishmael
Part 1
Bob Version 1.0
“So… You’ll cut my head off.” I raised an eyebrow at the salescritter. I was baiting him. I knew it, he knew it, I knew he knew it.
He grinned at me, happy to go along with the routine as long as me and my wallet continued to pay attention. “Mr. Johansson—”
“It’s Bob. Please. You’re not talking to my father.”
The CryoEterna sales rep—the nametag identified him as Kevin—nodded and gestured toward the big placard, which displayed the cryonics process in ghoulish detail. I took a moment to note his Armani suit and hundred-dollar haircut. It appeared there was money in Cryonics.
“Bob, there’s no point in freezing the entire body. Remember, the idea is to wait for advancements in medicine to be able to cure whatever killed you. By the time they can resuscitate your corpse, they’ll likely be able to grow you a whole new body. That would be easier, in fact, than trying to patch up the old one.”
That’s just insane enough to be true. “All right, Kevin, I’m sold.” I looked down at the papers he’d set out in front of me. “Ten thousand deposit, annual payments, insurance…” Kevin stood patiently, letting me scan the information without interruption. I might be drunk with my newfound wealth, but almost a decade as an engineer and a business owner wouldn’t let me do anything without checking all the documentation.
Finally, I was satisfied. I signed the paperwork, wrote a cheque, and shook hands with Kevin.
“You are now a client of CryoEterna Inc.” he said, handing me a card. “Keep this in your wallet at all times. In case of death, we will be contacted. Once death has been pronounced, we will—”
“—behead me.”
“Yup. And freeze your head, pending medical advances sufficient to bring you back. The guidelines for setting up a Trust are in your information package.” Kevin handed me a thick, bright blue folder with a barely visible cloud pattern, and the corporate logo emblazoned on the front. “We’ll have the formal documents printed up and mailed to your home address. And welcome to CryoEterna.” With that, he stuck out his hand and we shook again.
I did a little skip-step as I left the CryoEterna office. The Trust had already been set up, but I didn’t want Kevin to know I had decided to sign up before I even walked into the office. No point in making his job too easy. I couldn’t decide if this was a canny investment in my future or a mind-blowingly stupid waste of money. Well, what the hell. The sum that Terasoft was paying me for my software company ensured financial stability for the rest of my life—and now, beyond.
Not to mention a significant upgrade in my lifestyle. I’d been attending The Vortex SF convention every year since they first started up in Las Vegas, but this year I wasn’t part of the riff-raff. As I walked the two blocks from the CryoEterna offices to the convention, I pulled the VIP pass out of my pocket and put the lanyard around my neck. This pass gave me many extras over the standard item—access to hospitality suites, ability to bypass line-ups for autographings, and reserved spaces for panels, among other things. I’d also bought a pass for Jenny— And, there it was. I’d invoked She Who Must Not Be Named. I stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, earning glares from tailgaters and a muttered curse from a Jedi Knight wannabe. I began deep-breathing to still the panic attack. This time, it took only moments to get myself under control. Nothing like practice, I guess. I was still having several panic attacks per day, but that was way down from just after the breakup. It was like having a bad tooth—you keep poking at it with your tongue, even knowing that it’s going to hurt each time.
With a conscious act of will, I brought my thoughts back on track. I’d taken advantage of the VIP pass by reserving a space in a couple of back-to-back panels, and the first one was starting in less than fifteen minutes. Exploring the Galaxy featured Lawrence Vienn as one of the speakers. He was a popular and prolific science fiction author, and many of his story concepts had helped shape the modern genre.
It took only a couple of minutes to get to the convention center and find the seminar rooms. Con staffers had already gotten the VIPs seated and were about to let everyone else enter when I pulled up, panting and waving my pass. The attendant motioned me in with no more than a glance.
I got an aisle seat by pure fluke. As I rushed into the room, someone stood up right in front of me and turned to walk out. Without breaking stride, I slid into the vacant seat, and the woman seated beside me did a double-take. She must have thought the other guy had morphed.
I turned my head to watch as they opened the doors to the common rabble. People poured into the conference room until attendants had to close the doors or face The Wrath of the Fire Marshal. The Las Vegas hotels tended to have good air conditioning—no one wanted distracted or uncomfortable clients—but a lot of the attendees had been in costume for too long. I tried to breathe through my mouth while hoping the ventilation would eventually catch up.
In typical con fashion, very little concession had been made for aesthetics. The tables and chairs were the standard folding variety, and the session information was written on a large whiteboard. In black marker, because I guess color would be too much bother.
No one cared.
The moderator, a short, round black man with a permanent smile, called for attention. “Good afternoon, gentlebeings. Today, we’ll be hearing from Lawrence Vienn—” Spontaneous cheering forced him to pause. “—who will talk about the technological and economic prerequisites to get interstellar probes into space. After that, Dr. Gerald Carlisle—” More cheers. “—will talk about the biology of extraterrestrial life. We’re looking forward to a great panel today. So, without further ado, I give you Mr. Vienn.”
The applause went on for several minutes. Lawrence smiled patiently through it, and gave the occasional wave. Finally it died down, and I settled in for a good listen.
***
I sniffed at my clothing, just to make sure I hadn’t picked up some of the odor from the room. The second panel had been even more ripe than the first. If not for the subject matter, I’d have bailed. But any discussion of Von Neumann probes was like catnip.