I started to wish I’d paid more attention to Bridget's conversations with Quinlans and the theories she discussed. This had the feel of a discussion of evolution, based on the mistaken idea that Heaven's River was a natural environment. And deism was replacing history, in regard to the Administrator. Top that off with the back-to-nature movement and the possible loss of sapience, and the Quinlans were in peril of ceasing to exist as an intelligent species, possibly within as little as a few more generations. Was it time for The Bob to get involved? Did I dare start stirring the pot again? And was a good idea while I was still in country and vulnerable? I could just blow up the Manny and returned to virt if I got in trouble, but Bender didn't have that option.
I’d finally managed to get everyone together for a meeting. Hugh was parked in Will’s beanbag chair, but the rest of the expedition members were present in floating video windows. I’d just finished describing the latest conversation with fellow deckhands and passengers.
“I think you're correct, Bob. It's going that way. Although, maybe not as quickly as you fear.” Bridget crossed her arms, a distinctly worried expression on her face, which clashed with her mildly reassuring phrasing.
“I don't know if it matters,” Hugh replied. “How long it'll take, I mean. The takeaway is that it will happen if nothing changes. I don't think we can refuse to deal with this.”
I gazed at him, head cocked. I still haven't had a chance to bring up the whole question of the Administrator's true status and Hughes true motivations. How would he play this?
“And how would you suggest we do that,” Will asked.
“Contact the administrator. Talk to them. They may not realize what's happening.”
“Maybe once Bender is safe,” I said. “Not until. That's not negotiable. And anyway, what makes you think they don't know?”
Hugh’s brow knit together as he glanced at me. “Seriously? You think they'd want that?”
“Depends on what the Administrator's motivations are. Maybe they'd consider a non-sentient but living Quinlan race better than a sentient but always on the edge of extinction version. Like a perverse instantiation, you know now.”
Now Hugh was all but glaring at me. His eyes narrowed. At that moment, I think we understood each other. I might have just blown any element of surprise, but on the other hand, it might force a reaction of some kind. It seemed a worthwhile trade-off.
“Certainly, there's no reason not to try,” Bill spoken into the silence. “Once Bender safe, as you say. We to start broadcasting radio from all our drones, or send in a spider to dance in front of the camera. Either they'll investigate and open a dialogue, or they'll blow up our devices. We’ll know better once they've set the tone.”
“And what they do blow up a roamer or whatever device?” Bridget said, voice tense. “Do we just walk away? Do we just let an entire intelligent species go? Can we ethically do that?”
“Starfleet would.”
I glared at Garfield. “They’re not really a moral standard hold up right now, Gar.
“Uh, I meant, Star Trek’s Starfleet. Not the current crop of idiots we’re dealing with.”
“Oh.” I nodded. “True. But even then, original Bob always thought that was a bunch of dreck.”
“Focus, please,” Bridget cut in. “This isn’t a Comic-Con. We’re discussing the fate of an actual intelligent species.”
Bill smirked at her. “Okay, look. We won't invade or anything, but we won't just go away either. We’ll just keep poking until we can get a statement from the Administrator. If they tell us they have everything under control and we should go away, do we really have a right to butt in?”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose and sighed loudly. “It always comes down to this, doesn't it? Edge cases. Grey areas. I agree with Bill. At least on the basics. We can't decide now, and we can't decide until we contact the Administrator.” I glared at Hugh. “Which we won't do until Bender is out of danger.”
I re-entered my Manny on the Clipper, just as the crew was starting to stir for the morning shift. Ralph assigned a deckhand named Gil and me to gathering breakfast, and I happily dove into the water with a small net. There was never a lack of any of the Quinlans’ several favorite prey species. Careful balancing of the ecosystem by the Administrator? Or just a case of too few predators? I mused over the question as I gathered breakfast. I pooted onto the deck just seconds before Gil, but I noticed that his bag was fuller. Most likely he intended to eat the overage. Gil was known for his appetite.
The captain grabbed a few fish for himself, than the rest of us sat around the fish bowl. I ate the minimum that I could get away with without arousing suspicion, interspersing my meal with a lot of conversation. Tina and her friends were more than willing to talk about their views on the world. Well, Tina mostly. The others nodded a lot.
During a lull in the conversation, Ralph looked up and said, “Well, that's weird.”
I followed his pointing finger to see a small bird-equivalent perched on top of a pallet of crates.
“That’s a furl. They’re forest birds. What’s it doing out here on the river?”
“Lost?” I ventured.
Ralph shook his head. “I don't…”
At that moment the bird, seemingly embarrassed by all the attention flew off. He shook his head again and conversation drifted to other topics.
I would've dismissed the matter as inconsequential, except that I'd seen that species of bird around on the boat a couple of times. I’d just assumed it was looking for food scraps, but Ralph's bemusement had me paranoid. I scraped a few bits of fish from my current helping
