“I am simultaneously offended and gratified,” she replied. “Still, results are what counts. I see you're working on Mannies. How much work to do a female version?”
“Ah. Snark sexual dimorphism is minimal. Females have a slightly larger head, but it's probably mostly by pheromones, so not much.”
“Good. Bill tells me you have the Skippies doing the survey. You trust them?”
I raised an eyebrow that comment. My earlier conversation with Bill about the subject was an intra-Bob kind of thing. To have a third party concerned about the Bob variance put a whole new level of significance on the problem.
“Why in particular do you ask, Bridget?”
“Oh, they haven't started chanting ‘one of us, one of us’ or something equally nefarious. It's just that they really aren't Bobs anymore. It would be less unsettling if they changed their appearance like the Borg cosplayers, but they still look like Howard. Or a pod person version of him.”
“You’ve watched Invasion of the Body Snatchers?”
“Bob, I’m married to Howard. What do you suppose we watch on movie nights? Wuthering Heights?”
I laughed and she smiled in return, and I was reminded once again what Howard saw in her. Among many other things. I shook off the moment with some effort and changed the subject.
“The Skippies originally figured a couple of weeks at most to get a complete picture of the local Snark culture, which we are almost at the end of. We all acknowledge that there may be regional differences with over a billion miles of potential spread, but we’ll deal with that, if and when.”
“Accents, or even different languages, cultural drift, nationalism… I get it. Depends how long they've been cooped up in there too.”
“Not long, I -”
Bill popped in at that moment. “Bridget, hey! Has Bob managed to convince you to come on the expedition?
Bridget gave me a smile and eye roll, then replied to Bill. “Yes, he has. Took a lot of work.”
“Horse pucky.”
Bridget laughed, then turned back to me. “You were saying?”
“Oh. Based on our survey of the Snarks home planet, residual radioactivity, and number of forest fire tracks, we figure it became unlivable somewhere around a few hundred years ago. I'm not sure what that means in Snark generations.”
Bridget nodded and glanced at Bill.
It occurred to me the Bill was here for something, so I tilted my head at him in a silent invitation to speak.
“Right,” Bill said. “I came in for something. The Skippies delivered a preliminary report. Mostly ecosystems and general survey. They’re still having a slow go of it on the language and cultural stuff, although they did give me a couple of things. The natives call themselves ‘Quinlans’. At least, that's the closest phonetic rendition. And the topopolis is called Heaven’s River.”
“Cool. Okay then, the Snarks are now officially Quinlans.”
“Have they compiled a detailed report on biology?” Bridget asked.
“Hugh gave me some general notes and said he'll have a formal report for us within 48 hours.
“Hugh?” Bridget asked. “I thought the Skippies all use numeric designations.”
“I guess there's still some Bob there, because they are pretty easy-going about it. They'll use nicknames when dealing with the rest of us.”
I turned to Bill. “Have you talked to Will yet?”
“Yep, he's okay with a plan. So: me, you, Garfield, and Bridget, with Will as backup.”
“Good. I'll ping everyone when I get the final report, and will meet here and discuss it.”
Will was the last to show up. Bridget raised her coffee cup in salute as he popped in. That was a habit she'd picked up for me - well, from Howard. I had it on good authority though that her coffee was espresso level plus, and would dissolve any spoon unlucky enough to be dunked therein.
Will parked himself in a beanbag chair that I've materialized for him, accepted a Coke from Jeeves, and motioned to me with one hand.
“So, here it is,” I said waving a sheaf of paper. The report wasn't actually on paper, but it made a good metaphor in virt. “Megastructure layout, ecology, Quinlan culture, language - both written and verbal, customs and taboos… and very little history.”
“What? Why?”
Hugh reluctantly admitted the Skippy group that worked on this wasn't sure. He looked like the admission gave them constipation, but the Quinlans just don't seem to talk about it much, and what they do talk about seems to be heavily mythologized. The library they checked out had nothing in the way of objective historical records, so we were still in the dark about that. One more good reason for the expedition.
Bridget looked up from her copy of the report, which she was perusing on a tablet metaphor. “The Quinlans appear to be a species that evolved on the banks of rivers, like river otters or beavers.”
“Both of which they resemble,” I interjected.
“Yes, with a little bit of platypus thrown in,” Bridget said with a smile. “But all their habitations are close to water: either the main rivers, tributaries, feeder rivers, or small lakes. All freshwater, too. I’m not sure how the megastructure maintains that. There must be filtering going on.”
“There are impellers of some kind, set periodically along the bottom of the river,” Bill said. “That's an efficient way to keep current flowing along a billion-mile-long river that's actually level the whole way. They might also perform a filtering function as well as turning over the water.”
“We have some information on local flora and fauna, farming and animal husbandry, and so on,” Bridget said. “Sociological stuff is almost nonexistent.”
“I think the Skippies might have skimped on that aspect a little,” I grinned. “Not very interesting.”
“So, it would be a learning experience, that's fine.” Bridget sat back and tossed her tablet on a side table. It bounced as if made of Nerf. “Now, about the androids…”
“Ah. Yes, I think you'll be pleased.” I vanished the report and popped up a schematic in the center of the group, then gestured to Bill to take
