“Hi Bob, where are you right now?”
Un-FUCKING-believable. I'd been dead for 300 years and I was still getting phone calls. I gritted my teeth and took a calming breath before replying.
“Hey Hugh, I'm a little busy right now, can I call you back?”
“Sure thing.”
I hung up - again - and searched for a Do Dot Disturb button. And found one, of course - no Bob would design a comm system without one. I wondered why I'd failed to pick up on that before.
The spider went around the final corner and peeked through the door. The video feed showed four Quinlans sitting around a table shuffling paper. By which I mean some were reading, some were writing, but everyone had paper and pens. It was almost homey, in a way. I wondered about the low-tech process but then maybe they were worried about the security of electronic systems. I have no way of knowing how far the Administrator’s reach really was.
Conversations were unhurried and mixed with long silences. The attendees didn't appear to be depressed or anything, just concentrating. It mostly consisted of remarks about segment numbers and member statuses and activities. I listened for a few moments, then decided I should find a place to hide. Surveillance seemed like a good idea, and that would be up the spout if one of them walked and found me standing there. I sent a freshly refurbished spider out to replace my current observer. Then I went looking, as quietly as possible, for a hiding place.
I was in an office just around the corner, curled up under a desk. It wasn’t original or particularly imaginative, but it was good enough to hide me from anything short of a concerted search, and that would happen only if I screwed up and made my presence known. As an android, I could stay perfectly still, didn't need to either go to the bathroom, and didn't get stiff. On the other hand, I needed results. I sent all my spiders out to scout around the complex. It was a little bit of risk, as they were big enough to be visible from yards away if they were moving, but otherwise the camouflage function would make them very difficult to pick out.
However, the Quinlans didn't appear inclined to move around a lot either. One a gone to find a restroom and another had brought out snacks from a refrigerator, but that was it. I wondered to what extent the Resistance members actually belonged in this complex, and to what extent they were just living in the corners like rats. Could the Administrator monitor activity in here? If so, why had he not taken steps to clean it out and reclaim it? If not, why weren't the Resistance everywhere in here?
I get a partial answer almost right away when one of the spiders blundered into a dormitory. Bunk beds lined the walls, some currently in use. The sleepers brought the confirmed population up to 10, although there were enough spaces for up to 18. I had the spider do a visual sweep, then back out slowly.
A couple of spiders and found big industrial metal doors. I wondered if those led to all the automation and maintenance equipment. Assuming I’d gonna it right. I hoped they hadn't put Bender back there. If I had to go a-visiting, it would increase my risk dramatically. But it didn't seem likely - the Resistance probably had a better grip on the space on this side of the doors. I decided it was time to return some calls. The spiders could operate autonomously, and they’d squawk if there was an issue.
First, Bill.
“Hey Bob. So, what was all the excitement?”
“I'm in Resistance HQ, as near as I can tell, sniffing around.”
“No sign of Bender yet?”
“Not yet. I'm still confident of our logic, but there's always the possibility that we’re just dead wrong and he’s somewhere else. At the other end of the segment, maybe?”
“I don’t see how. Helep’s Ending is only a few miles away, and that's the name that Bender said they used a lot. The only other possibility is if there's some other hideout in the area. So, what were you calling about?”
“Just an update on the war against Starfleet. We've basically pushed them into a corner, network wise. Most of the equipment they hacked has either been cleaned or destroyed and is being replaced. But here's the funny thing.”
“Yes?”
“I've had conversations with members of Starfleet over the course of several confrontations and negotiations. Everyone I've talked to is as surprised and perplexed by the degree of infiltration as we are. They all give the same story, that this came completely out of the blue. They have no idea who actually did all the hacking.”
“Oh hell. Bill, I wonder if were really clean right now. I mean the Skippies are good, but so is whoever engineered this. What if this someone has as much processing power, or even more? Or what if it's a faction within the Skippies, playing both sides?”
As I said that I realized that I’d never consciously suspected the Skippies, but that I'd had misgivings. Otherwise, why would have put that monitor in the drones, way back when?
“Way ahead of you. I resurrected an archived source version of my comms from before there were even any Skippies or Starfleet and did a diff then recompiled. So I'm demonstrably clean. And your temporary relay has never been corrupted. This conversation at least is probably secure.”
“Good. You’ll have to get all the Bobs to do their own cleanup and reestablish encryption keys. It's going to take a while.”
“All under control, Bob. I just wanted to let you know on the QT.”
We exchanged a few other comments, then I signed off. There had been something off about Hugh’s behavior since the beginning, but unless they were clairvoyant, I didn't see how they could be planning for anything that was going on. Unless
