“Bill, we're not going to go around shooting at other Bobs. All we want is for the Bobiverse to stop interfering with biologicals.”
I sighed and gave him my best tired look. “And you intend to enforce your decision with theft and threats? Sorry Lenny, that's a big old fail.”
“You don't get to make that decision, Bill, the Bobs-”
“Wait. You're saying I don't have the right to make a unilateral decision for everyone else, but you do? Interesting. Any Bob that doesn't want to be involved doesn't have to be, Lenny, but I have a funny feeling there will be no shortage of support. Original Bob wouldn't have sat still for this, and most of us are still close enough to him.”
Now it was Lenny's turn to give me a tired look. “Then I guess it's going to come down to who can replicate faster.”
“Looks like it,” I replied. “Bye Lenny.” And I closed their connections.
The moot Hall seemed to be constantly busy lately. At the moment, Bobs milled around in different groups, updating whiteboards, or holotanks, or whatever metaphor worked best for them. We had teams working on cataloging the Starfleet-controled systems, and other teams working on strategies to take them back. Task forces worked on defensive plans, while others worked on taking the fight to them.
This last bit was more problematic, as it appeared that Starfleet had removed as much public information about themselves as they'd been able. Large swathes of the Starfleet genealogy were simply gone from the databases, as was location information. This wasn't a spur of the moment decision on their part, and I was beginning to wonder if it was actually about the Prime Directive. This coup, for that was all it could be, was to well-planned and too widespread. On the other hand, when original Bob bot a bee up his butt about something, he could be incredibly obsessive. I had to remember that. Despite replicative drift, these people were still Bob-based.
Thor came up to me. “We’ve recovered two relay stations.”
“How?”
“Physical inspection and reset.”
“I thought Starfleet gimmicked them to blow up if touched?”
“They did. And we've lost six stations that way, but Marcus found a workaround. Or, one of his engineering friends on Poseidon did. We think we can get most of them back, but we have to figure out how to get the data to other Bobs without Starfleet getting hold of it and rigging a countermeasure.”
I closed my eyes and hung my head. It really was war, complete with espionage and counterintelligence.
“Okay, Thor. Thanks. We can send it directly to any Bobs we know have clean systems. For the rest, give it to the Skippies as intermediaries. No one is going to get anything from them without their permission.”
“10-4.” Thor nodded and stalked off.
At some point I was pretty sure someone was going to get buster-ized. It didn't matter which side, in the end. War had come to the Bobiverse.
34. Higher-Ups
Bob
July 2334
Three Lagoons
My Manny's AMI alerted me to a non-routine condition, and I quickly entered the android. A lot of banging and dragging seemed to indicate that my captors were un-barricading the door to my room. I waited patiently, and was finally rewarded with a view of the pointy end of several short swords.
“Greetings! Why yes, I will have the pie,” I said with a smile.
No one appeared to have had enough coffee, because there was a distinct lack of humor in their responses. One of them blinked a few times, and Freda waved ‘get up’ with her sword. As I exited my room, I came face-to-face with Popeye. He glared at me, but was as silent as the rest. I didn’t see any casts or cartoon x-shaped band-aids anywhere, so I guess I hadn't hurt him too badly. Probably just a few bruises and a fractured ego.
There was a surprise waiting for me - a new much heftier set of manacles of the metal variety. And a cop. Or at least someone dressed as a cop. It occurred to me that if we were going for a walk, there would have to be an explanation for one of us being in chains.
Finally, Freda broke the silence. “If you step out of line, we’ll kill you, and to hell with any information you might have.”
“Got it. No making trouble.” I tried to smile reassuringly.
Freda gave me a stony expression in response, and Popeye’s scowl grew even more intense. The other two goons in the ersatz cop didn't react at all.
Outside, I was surprised to find a wagon waiting for us. It was a good choice - it gave them something to chain me to. The driver never even turned around as we loaded up.
“So, is this-”
“Shut up.”
Well, that was pretty clear. There would be no debriefing during the trip. I hoped it was a short drive.
The driver seemed to be making a point of avoiding the busier roads. I tried to see that as significant, but had to admit it was basic common sense. We left the dock area in short order, and soon were winding through avenues with more and more vegetation and less and less construction. This looked like the right side of the tracks, and I found myself perplexed that the Resistance would be headquartered in the ritzy area of town.
We pulled up in front of a surprisingly well-appointed private home, even considering the area. Someone have money, that was certain. Whether it was their own money, or part of the Resistance, was another question. We reversed the loading sequence with the same facial expressions from all concerned, and the same waving of pig stickers. The cop left with a wagon driver, which led me to believe he might be a real cop. Freda appeared to be relaxing a little, though. Maybe my complete lack of trouble-making during the trip helped.
She waved a hand at the house. “We are told
