This included several different versions of photosynthesis, optimized for different parts of the spectrum. Which resulted in what I suspected was the real reason for the name—the planet had more colors than a patchwork quilt. Even the oceans came in different hues, due to the different breeds of plankton.
Between the sun’s path through the sky over the course of the year, and the extra heat and light supplied by the Jovian primary, days, nights, and even seasons would be hard to differentiate. I chuckled, perusing the notes. Linus had tentatively named the Jovian Big Top. I doubted either name would survive the colony’s first general meeting, honestly. But it was fun while it lasted.
As had become habit with the Bobs, Linus had left some mining drones and an autofactory behind to process raw ore from asteroids into refined metals, and left them in orbit with a beacon attached. Epsilon Indi wasn’t a rich system, but the automation had still managed to accumulate several hundred thousand tons of material. It would be a good start.
I pinged Edwin. I received an invitation and popped into his VR.
“Hi, Rudy.”
“Edwin.” I sat down and accepted a coffee from Jeeves. Edwin’s VR was, in my opinion, one of the better ones. He’d created a living area with huge windows on one wall that looked out on whatever view was really available outside his vessel. That would have been a little boring during the trip, but now it showed Big Top as he approached orbital insertion. Edwin was still several million miles away, but this was a Jovian planet. It already dominated the sky.
“So, what do we have?” he asked.
“This planet is like that Harrison novel,” I answered. “What was it? Oh, yeah, Deathworld. Where everything was deadly.”
“That bad?”
I waved a hand. “Possibly I exaggerate. But the ecosystem is very, very competitive. I know they are making do with a fence on Vulcan, but for here, I’m leaning more towards domes. Not for atmosphere, but to keep out the ickies.”
Edwin laughed. “Yeah, there’s a technical term for you. Ickies.”
“No, it’s actually a species name.” I smirked in response. “Blame Linus. Ickies are a kind of flying leech with multiple suckers. I think the name is appropriate.”
Edwin started to look a little green. “Oh, lovely. I might just start a betting pool on whether the colonists take one look around and start screaming at me to take them back.”
“Mmm. But, you know, according to Howard, the Cupid bug is well on the way to being eradicated. Maybe a drone specifically designed as an ickie-killer will do the trick.”
“Jeez.” Edwin pinched the bridge of his nose. “On the plus side, once I unload, I get to go back to Earth.” He looked up at me and grinned. “You, not so much.”
I responded with one finger.
47. New Village
Bob
September, 2182
Delta Eridani
The Deltan council, including Archimedes and Arnold, watched as almost a hundred Deltan adolescents marched away from camp, yelling insults and challenges at the onlookers. The council members did a creditable job of maintaining straight faces, some even managing to look upset.
When the tail end of the parade disappeared into the bush, Arnold slapped Archimedes on the back and said, “That was great.” He then leaned in close and said, in a low voice that only Archimedes and the spy drone could hear, “I’m sure bawbe had a hand in it.”
Archimedes’ eyes got wide and he looked very concerned, but Arnold just shook his head and said, “I don’t need to know. I’m just glad it worked.”
Other council members gave Archimedes a nod or a smile as they dispersed.
Marvin and I looked at each other, then began laughing. The worst troublemakers in Camelot, completely convinced that it was their idea, had just marched off to one of the old abandoned village sites to repopulate it. And Archimedes was getting the credit for thinking up and masterminding the plot. Reverse psychology… not just for humans.
Marvin lost his smile and got a worried expression. “Of course, it fixes the immediate problem, but everything we do seems to have side effects down the road. What if they go to war with Camelot in a few years?”
“Don’t borrow trouble, Marv.” I sighed and sat back. “Sure as hell, something will hit the fan, but let’s worry about it when it happens.”
But he was probably right.
48. Operation
Howard
September 2193
Vulcan
I texted Stéphane for the third time in the last hour. I couldn’t call him anymore, as he’d blocked voice calls from me after my last attempt.
His reply came back within a minute. “Still in surgery. Calm down. Aren’t you supposed to be a computer?”
Okay, that stung. Well, not really, but point taken. I took a deep breath and attempted to relax.
Bridget’s surgery was already running overtime. There was no scenario in which that was a good thing. I’d tried distracting myself with a few of the many projects I had on the go, but I couldn’t maintain concentration.
In desperation I checked in on Bill. Guppy indicated that he was running Bullwinkle, so wouldn’t be responding except in an emergency. I doubted that me freaking out really qualified, so I didn’t bother leaving a message. I had a quick peek at his terraforming blog, but there was nothing new.
I was seriously considering just frame-jacking down, when Stéphane called me.
“Hi Howard. You can stop with the worrying now. She’s out of surgery, and the doctors say it looks positive. The tumor was a little more spread than they expected, so it took longer to excise. But all good.”
I thanked Stéphane, traded some meaningless comments, then hung up. I sat back, took several deep breaths, until I thought that I had it under control. And without so much as a by-the-way, I leaned forward and started to sob.
Just friends.
*
There had been a lot of improvements in medicine since the days of Original Bob, but some things hadn’t changed all that much. Cancer could be nipped in the bud if caught early, but there was no vaccination yet. And the knife was still often the only effective treatment.
This was unacceptable. What the hell had they been doing for a hundred years? I resolved to look into it when I had a chance.
Meanwhile, Stéphane sat at her bedside. He’d dialed me in through the room phone. While I waited, I sent a quick email to Bill to hurry the hell up with the androids. I knew it wouldn’t help, but it was action of a sort.
Stéphane and I traded an occasional desultory comment, but neither of us was in the mood for more. Finally, he turned to me. “I’m going to stretch and refuel. Some of us still have to eat. I’ll tell them not to come in and hang up the phone on you.” With a nod, he got up, leaving me to watch over Bridget.
If you’ve ever watched someone come out of anesthesia, it’s not like waking up. That can be sexy, under the right circumstances. Bridget looked more like a drowned rat that had just been given CPR. I made a note to myself to keep that observation private.