“Also,” Bill interjected, “even if the common folk don't have tech, whoever is still running the topopolis certainly will.”
“You think it's still being actively staffed?” I asked, frowning.
“Hard to see how it couldn't be. Imagine people walking out of the nuclear power plant for a couple of days.”
“Or any other similar operation,” Garfield said.
“I remember life after people, thanks.”
Bill shrugged, unwilling to be offended.
“Anyway, the topopolis is still apparently running like clockwork, so it's being maintained and managed. I guess they could've just handed it over to an AI…”
“I can’t see that happening. An intelligent species wouldn’t just hand over responsibility like that.”
Garfield retorted, “You're anthropomorphizing. You know original Bob's view on this. Aliens will still act rationally within the bounds of their environment and biology.”
“Which doesn't mean they'll act like humans, or make human-”
“Okay, kitties,” I interjected. “Let’s save this convo for when we know more. Garfield, do your D&D guys have a way in?”
“Well, a highly theoretical one. We want to see if we can attach a cloaked drone to a Boogen without it noticing. If so, we can piggyback in.”
“We could be waiting forever.”
“No, some of the surveillance guys found an entrance that's heavily used.”
“Only one? Across a billion miles of topopolis?”
“No, of course not,” Garfield frowned at me. “There are three on each strand, for a total of nine like this one. But the others appear to be much less busy, and more specialized. I think only the one is being kept at full operating capacity for system patrols.”
“That seems odd,” Bill said.
“Not really,” Garfield replied. “All the work’s been done. The system has been cleared. It's all routine patrols, now. I imagine the patrols are all scheduled, so they do shift changes or whatever, when the entrance revolves around to their side.”
Bill shrugged and didn't argue the point. “Is the traffic flow predictable?”
“Yes. It wasn't obvious at first. There are regular arrivals and departures that masked the scheduled stuff, but eventually we extracted the periodic events from the noise. We just wait for one of the scheduled shift changes, and we should be good.”
“And we’ll have contingency plans?”
Garfield smiled. “Standard practice. Ever since Hal and the others, a dead man switch has been de rigueur in the Bobiverse.”
“I don't want to be too destructive.”
“Thermite in all the right places,” Garfield replied. “Just enough to melt the drone, without continuing down like alien acid blood.”
“Well, I guess we’re set.” I set back and tented my fingertips. “Excellent.”
9. Group Building
Bob
August 2333
Virt
I looked around at the crowd in my library, uncertain if I should expand my floor space for the occasion. This was enough people to make my VR hardware sweat a little.
“Okay everyone,” I said in a loud voice, “let's get started. Everyone knows me, Bill, Will, and Garfield. Guys, these are the people who volunteered their time, and/or their group’s time, to help out with the expedition planning. I figured we’d all ‘ought to get together and formalize things.”
I motioned to my left to a Bob with a floppy conical hat perched on his lap. “This is Gandalf, representing the Gamer group. They volunteered to come up with a plan for getting some drones into the megastructure, and later to get some androids in.”
“Preferably without setting off alarms,” Gandalf said with a grin.
“That would indeed be preferable. Are you still leaning toward the hitch-a-ride plan?”
Gandalf nodded. “Nothing better has presented itself.”
I gave him an amused snort in reply, then motioned to the next person, who was wearing a gray nondescript coverall. “This is Hugh, representing the Skip- uh, Singularity Project.” I paused, unsure if I just committed a social blunder.
“It's okay, Bob. We know we're referred to as Skippies. No one's offended.”
“Uh, okay. Hugh represents the Skippies, who are engaged in trying to build a super-AI.”
“Wait,” Garfield interrupted. “I thought the Skippies went to numeric designations instead of names.”
“To be more accurate, we've moved away from audio speech in favor of packetized communication,” Hugh said. “Think of it like converting to sign language as a primary communications medium. Our names are semantically equivalent to IP addresses.”
“Wow,” said Garfield.
“But for day-to-day with other Bobs, I go by Hugh.”
“So, you guys are against this expedition?” Bill asked. “I understood the Skippies disapproved of relations with biologicals.”
Hugh shook his head. “Not in the same way as Starfleet, if that's what you mean. Those guys are wacko. It isn’t an immoral thing with us, we just think that interfacing with bios is inherently limiting.”
“Well sure, we operate on different time scales. But what's the problem?”
Hugh grimaced. “Look, Bill, guys, we - all the Bobs, that is - are what's known as a speed super intelligence. We can, and do, operate at a much higher processing rate than humans. The problem is that we continue to accommodate them. Every time we slow down to interface with them, all the time we spend adapting to their history, timescale, schedules, is wasted time. It also sets psychological constraints on us. If we just let go completely, we could, as a species, experience centuries of internal life for every month of objective time.”
The rest of us exchanged glances. “It's not completely wrong,” I said, “but it assumes that we have a goal of some kind with sufficient motivation to mandate cutting off contact with humans. There really isn't any such schedule or deadline.
“No, there isn't. Like I said, we’re not wackos. But the inefficiencies… it's like taking the long way to and from work every day because you don't feel motivated to figure out the most direct route. You waste a lot of time that could have been put to better use.”
I shrugged. “Okay, I don't disagree. I just question your priorities.”
“Hold on,” Garfield cut in. “You said it wasn’t an immoral thing with you. Does that mean you think it is was Starfleet?
“Yeah. At least on the surface.” Hugh
