The cop read the label then said loudly, “Which of you is Sam?”
I raised my hand and stepped forward.
“You're going to have to come with us.”
I feigned surprise and displeasure. My acting was reinforced by the very real surprise and displeasure expressed by the captain and crew. I was a hard worker, and therefore popular.
“Sorry folks, but we need to have a talk with this person at the station. I'm sure you'll be able to find a new crew member quickly.”
Uh-oh. I'd been expecting something like the scenario with Snidely. Open the box, nothing there, sorry to bother you, etc.
“Excuse me,” I said. “How long exactly is this interview supposed to take?”
“Could be a couple of days, Sam. Officials will be coming in from another city.”
“But…”
Ohhhh, this was un-good. If it'd just been overnight, worst case, the captain probably would've waited wouldn't. We didn’t have a deadline for anything that was on board at the moment, and the cargo we were contracted to pick up was all non-perishable. But the captain would wait days. Especially some unknown number of days. Time was money for a riverboat.
The captain came over to me. “I’ll be sorry to see the last of you, Sam. You're an exceptionally good worker. And not much of a complainer. Here’s what I owe you up to this point.”
He handed me some coins, which I pocketed. The subtext was crystal clear: the Clipper would be leaving as soon as they got their cargo squared away.
The cop was polite and waited until I said my goodbyes and grabbed my backpack, and then led me off the dock and into town. Behind us, another cop carried the shipping crate.
“What’s going on, what are you looking for?” I asked.
He gazed at me for a moment, maybe trying to decide how much to tell me. “I don't have much of anything for you, Sam. We were given the name of the boat, the name on the label to look for, and orders to take both you and the box to the station, pending a visit. I don't even know who is coming.” He leaned in close. “But the scuttlebutt is that it's Crew.”
“Crew? Aren’t they a myth?”
The cop smiled at my apparent naivety. “I know a lot of people think that, Sam, but law enforcement has to work with them occasionally. We know they’re real. Some of them have weapons.” He mimed holding a gun and firing it. “They can put you to sleep from a distance. I've seen them.”
Ohhhh boy. So, I was to be held for some number of days until Crew could come and examined me. This was well past un-good, heading for double-plus.
21. Earth Abides
Bill
September 2334
Virt, Earth
A ping to Charles, and received an invitation a drop in. I was surprised by his VR. It appeared to be the hotel suite that original Bob was staying in on the day he died. I couldn't keep a perplexed expression off my face.
Charles laughed. “I know, Bill. It's been called everything from morbid to macabre, but it grounds me somehow. Reminds me where we all came from, you know?”
“Yeah, okay. At least you're still trying. Most VRs I visit these days are just Bob-1’s default library theme.” I invoked La-Z-Boy, sat, and accepted a coffee from Jeeves.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Charles asked.
I replied with a helpless shrug. “I've been popping around everywhere, evaluating damage from the Starfleet attack. I guess it's wanted to take a break in a location that I already know isn’t affected.”
Charles nodded slowly. “I'm still not sure if we were just lucky, or if they left us alone out of some kind of respect.” He gestured to his picture window, where Earth hung in the heavens. “Or maybe were just irrelevant.”
I was sure Charles was just trolling me. No Bob would think that about the Earth Rehabilitation Project. Of course, there was some question about whether Starfleet could be considered Bobs anymore.
“Charles, you've been one of the more prolific cloners. Do you have any kind of feeling about whether Starfleet's last common ancestor was of your line?”
Charles shook his head. “I can't contact all my clones, but none of those who I've talked to can identify a candidate. I'm going 15, 16 generations down.”
“The ones you can’t contact are…”
“Out of range. Either temporarily until they build a station, or indefinitely because they are bothering.”
I sighed and tasted my coffee while I consider the possibilities. Pretty much everyone in the first couple of generations says the same. We all have descendants who've gone dark in that way, so it's not specifically a drift thing. Something in original Bob, may be a tendency to run away, I don't know.”
“I think you're overanalyzing it, Bill. Drift is drift. You're going to get convergent evolution as well. Same end behavior from different lines.”
“I suppose.” To change the subject, I gestured at the image of Earth. “How’s it going?”
“Pretty good. We've halted the Ice Age, and the glaciers are starting to retreat. We’re taking it really slow, of course - we don't want to overdo it with the warming. We’ve already shut down three mirrors. Current estimates are that we’ll be back to an inter-glacial in another hundred years.”
“That's fast, geologically speaking. Any luck with DNA sampling?”
“I’ve got a fleet of drones doing nothing but scanning for carcasses. Between the Svalbard Library and our efforts, we've probably got complete DNA for 80% of species, not counting insects.”
“Hmm. I get that those are harder, but when I museums and universities? They've always had huge bug collections.”
“Yeah, working on that angle too.” Charles gazed at me for a few mils, head cocked slightly. “So getting back
