*
I strolled through Camelot, enjoying the scents and sights of people at work, at play, cooking meals, or just relaxing. Over at one end of the common area, Archimedes sat with his three apprentices, holding up and slowly rotating a flint nodule while he talked.
The Caerleon residents had been dubious at first, but a bagful of Archimedes’ best spear-points had silenced all but the most paranoid. In short order, a dozen Deltans had shown up on Archimedes’ doorstep, ready to be trained.
Two months later, the group had been reduced to these three, the smartest—or at least most determined—of the volunteers. Archimedes admitted to me in private that they didn’t totally suck.
With the reduction in tension, both Caerleon and Camelot had discovered opportunities for trade. For one, the weird giant-potato-like tubers that the Deltans favored grew in profusion around Caerleon. Small crafts, straightened spear and arrow shafts, even labor for things like building tents ensured a steady growth of commerce.
Not bad.
Archimedes paused in his lecture for a coughing fit. The symptoms worried me. The coughing started after the beating he’d gotten during the abortive kidnapping. It wasn’t getting worse, but it wasn’t particularly getting better, either.
I resolved to get a SUDDAR scan, if I could arrange it.
Finally, the group broke up, the three Caerleon residents heading back home for the night. I walked over to Archimedes, who was stretching carefully.
“That side still bother you?” I asked.
“I don’t think it’ll ever go away, Robert. I don’t think the bone set properly.” Archimedes grimaced and tried to work the muscles around the tight area.
Once again, I felt a moment of helpless rage that I’d been unprepared for the tactic, and unable to do more.
We headed for the mesa, to get some late afternoon sun. On the way up, I had a flashback to a time, fifty-seven years ago, when I would make this trek up the path as a floating, football-sized drone, alongside a much younger Archimedes. He now looked very much like Moses had back then. I supposed this was the same thing people went through when they suddenly realized their parents wouldn’t be around much longer.
Archimedes claimed his favorite spot, and I settled down beside him. As I swept my gaze over the panorama, I realized that nothing much had changed. The Deltans hadn’t yet reached the stage where they would deliberately start clearing forest.
Maybe it was a good thing I’d never gotten around to teaching them to domesticate livestock. There really was no hurry.
Moot
Bill
June 2230
Epsilon Eridani
I waited for the catcalls to die down. More than a hundred Bobs looked back at me, and this wasn’t close to all of us. The war effort was now producing a couple of dozen new Bobs per year, over several systems.
Herschel and Neil huddled together near the front of the crowd, whispering and preparing notes. They’d be giving one of their regular updates on the Bellerophon. The two Bobs were as inseparable as Calvin and Goku, except less quarrelsome. As a youth, I’d always wished for a brother. I wondered if some Bobs in the same cohort got into that mode for just that reason.
“Okay, everyone. We’ve got updates from Oliver, Will, myself, and Dexter on Bob production. I’ll be giving a summary. Herschel and Neil will give us an update on their excellent adventure. Garfield will give a report on weapons research, and on the Casimir power core. After that it’s open floor.”
There were a few clink sounds as Bobs dealt with coffees and beers, but everyone was all business now.
I went through the reports, projections, and graphs on replicant production. “Bottom line, folks, we expect to have close to five hundred dreadnaught-class vessels available for the defense of Earth. About half will be staffed by AMIs carrying H-bombs. We’ve already decided not to try to build a defense for Epsilon Eridani. If they show up there, I’ll just blow everything up and bail. And on that subject, Mario?”
Mario stepped forward. “We’ve rebuilt the surveillance and monitoring system around GL 877. The Others’ Delta Pavonis expedition is back home, but there’s been no other activity. We don’t know enough about their habits to know if that’s unusual. The quick sequence of sorties to GL 54, NN 4285, and Delta Pavonis might have been an exception. Or they might have enough material to keep them busy for a while.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Neil frowning and shaking his head. I resolved to ask him about it.
The questions quickly ran down on the military buildup. Herschel and Neil were up next.
Herschel stammered and blushed when their turn was announced, but soon got it under control.
“Nothing really new, other than exploratory notes. We’re continuing to investigate the interior of the Bellerophon, and although we’re able to answer some questions that have been asked, we just keep running into new questions. The ship appears to have been multi-purpose. Moving mining cargo was just one intended use. The way the cargo bays can be reconfigured…” Herschel shook his head, telegraphing the perplexity that shaded every one of their written reports.
The Bellerophon blog was currently one of the most popular on BobNet, so this was more review than anything. There were one or two pro forma questions, then the two stepped back with relief written all over their faces.
Garfield stepped forward. “We’ve been pursuing militarization on two fronts—improvement of existing weaponry, and creation of new modes. The second hasn’t been all that fruitful. We’ve managed to build big honkin’ lasers, and they’re a little more effective against big enemy ships than plasma spikes, but like the spikes they suffer from an inability to follow the enemy. Where light-speed lag is a significant factor, if the enemy changes direction after you’ve fired, you’ve just wasted a shot.”
Garfield looked around at his audience. “Intelligent weapons remain our best tactic, especially the ones that go boom. We’re working on hardening delivery drones against the zaps, and we’re working on bigger and better bombs.”
Garfield looked at me, and I added, “But in the end, our best strategy seems to be numbers. Lots of Bobs, lots of bombs.”
Will, after a moment, stepped forward and said, “We’re pursuing the problem on three fronts: One, defense of Sol; two, stopping any other expeditions; and three, some kind of final solution. If they attack Earth before we’re ready to defend it, none of the rest matters. But we can’t just fight a defensive game, either.”
He paused for a moment, and his gaze swept the audience. “It means we’re splitting our efforts, and it means an assault on GL 877 will be farther in the future than we’d like. But defense of the Earth comes first. And the longer they wait before launching an expedition, the more prepared we’ll be.”