“Not quite true. I'm…” Howard glanced at Bridget. “We are financing it. It would avoid another situation like the Prometheus expedition.” Howard was silent for a moment, and I nodded in sympathy. The deaths had been hard on Howard and Bridget. “As well as forestall some of the anti-Manny sentiment going around these days.”
“Stephen said something about that. University protests?”
Howard snorted. “Well, you really have been out of it. Your professor friend lectures at the Vulcan University using a Manny. There have been pretty regular protests against his presence. The gist seems to be that he's dead, and shouldn’t be taking up a spot that could be available for someone still living. That’s the most common complaint, but by no means the only one. Even just wandering around in a Manny, you might find yourself being picketed.”
I put my head in my hands. “Oh, for Christ's sake. And how widespread is this?”
“Pretty localized right now, Will. But we’re of the opinion that it'll just get worse as more replicants start using Mannies. I'm hoping that if we can make the Mannies usable by humans, then it's no longer an us-versus-them situation.”
“Unbelievable.” I shook my head. “I always thought your experience with Bridget's daughter Rosie was just an aberration, an isolated incident. Not so much, maybe.”
“Afraid not. It's the standard ‘other prejudice’. We’re immortal. Stronger, faster, don't get tired, and are generally just more capable than a bio. No surprise, there’s concern about being displaced.”
Howard paused and appeared uncomfortable for a moment, then deliberately continued in a lighter tone. “Anyway, it's nowhere near ready for prime time, but the process works, at least in the lab. We use focused magnetic stimulation to first activate the brain regions that cause paralysis during sleep, and second, stimulate sensory regions with input from the Manny and at the same time pick up intentional muscle cues.”
“So, it’s like the subject is dreaming, but they're awake and everything is rerouted to the Manny.”
“Exactly. All you need is a headset.”
“And would be like that Bruce Willis movie, Surrogates.”
“Well, eventually. As I said, we haven't worked all the bugs out.”
I nodded, impressed. “Geeze, Howard. You're turning into a real mogul.”
Howard grinned.
“You know what moguls are, right?”
“Uh, the buried bodies of forty-something men who took up snowboarding?”
I laughed, then stopped abruptly. “Wait, you haven’t…”
“Yes,” Bridget said from her computer. “He has. We have a place up in Fairbanks. He’s totaled four Mannies already, trying to master the terrain park.”
Howard and I grinned at each other without comment. Definitely not mature.
17. First Day in Heaven’s River
Bob
June 2334
Heaven’s River
Five furred Mannies packed into a full-sized drone's cargo bay, breathing vacuum. Bill, Garfield, Bridget, and I formed the primary expedition group, and Will was running the backup Manny. Once we made it into the interior of Heaven’s River, we would hide the extra Manny in case of future need. We hoped we wouldn't lose anyone in the operation and find ourselves needing the spare. If we lost two, we would probably abort and reevaluate our entry strategy.
The cargo door stood open, giving us a view of a solid wall of… well, something. Even with my eyes cranked up to full photo-multiplier setting, I couldn’t make out detail. It could be concrete, or smooth rock. It might even have color. Direct center on the framed view was an even darker circle, which I knew led through 100 yards of tunnel to the gap between the inner and outer shells. We couldn't activate any lights, of course. The cargo drone had the usual ice core to keep its heat signature down. But having the cargo bay open was doubtless interfering with that tactic.
At the levels of sensitivity that such things operated under, even the small amount of infrared radiating from the dark side of the topopolis strand would be adding to our heat load. Our Mannies weren’t heat sunk, either, so we glowed like miniature stars in infrared. We had to make the traverse to the entry tunnel as quickly as possible. While it was unlikely that any Boogen would pick that exact moment to do is sweep, we were all firm believers in the power of Murphy.
“Moving into position,” Gandalf said over the intercom. “Bob, you jump when I say. Everyone else, follow at three second intervals. Roamers will catch you if you screw the pooch. Don't do that.”
I winked at Garfield, who was second in line. I wasn't sure how the autonomous systems translated that, but he smiled back. Or the Quinlan equivalent.
“Now.”
I crouched, aimed, and launched. The Quinlan form wasn't particularly what you'd call a leaping friendly physique, but the OS adapted without effort. I sailed the short distance to the hole in the wall and caught the edge. I had three seconds to get out of Garfield's way, so I scrambled into the darkness. I felt the slight vibration as Garfield landed behind me. Very tiny dim LED lamps lit the path forward. I didn't have any physical experience with zero-g movement, but the underwater reflexes of the Manny seem to translate well. I was able to move down the tunnel with only the occasional touch to correct my course.
The tunnel was a tight fit. The Gamers had done the minimum amount of cutting required to get us through. Good strategy. The less we disturb the regolith, the better. Fortunately, they’d allowed room for Quinlan plus backpack. Quinlans didn't go in for clothes, except some ceremonial decorations. But the most common fashion accessory by far was a backpack. Lots of pockets, and given the Quinlans preferred method of getting around, the backpacks were designed to be waterproof and watertight when closed. We had designed ours to look as nondescript as possible. And used, so we wouldn’t look like we just walked out of a sporting goods store.
We each had a standard kit consisting of common Quinlan items, like dried snacks, a comb, some first-aid supplies, and a
