“If they have any memory of where their flint source used to be—and with Moses still alive, that’s possible—then it might be a good thing for them to go back there.”
“Oh, goody,” I said, smacking my forehead, “a quest. Will there be nine of them? They can stop in Rivendell…”
Marvin rolled his eyes. “Okay, Captain Sarcasm. But seriously, this location isn’t ideal for a lot of reasons. They ended up here because they kept retreating without a plan. Luke and I pretty much established that. The flint site is more defensible than this one, has better access to fresh water, and has flint.”
I sighed and rubbed my forehead. A part of me still got some amusement out of that virtual action, but habits like that kept me feeling like I was still human. And it felt good.
“Guppy, get Bender and Luke on the horn, please.”
[Working. There will be a 0.75 second round-trip delay]
“Noted. Tell everyone to crank the frame-rate down to ? to mask it.” I waited for a few seconds, then Bender and Luke appeared in the room.
“Hey guys,” I began. “I guess it’s time to talk about plans. You’ve both passed your shakedowns, so all three of you are ready and able to pick a destination and take off. On the other hand, we have a race of sentients here, which we all know is an irresistible project. So, thoughts?”
“Honestly,” Bender replied. “The Deltan thing isn’t so much of an attraction for me. It’s really your project. I came in late, so I’d rather find something of my own.”
Luke nodded his head toward Bender. “What he said.”
I looked at Marvin, who shrugged and looked around the table. “I’m a little more invested, I guess because I came in earlier”—with a nod to Bender—“and let’s face it, it’s not a forever decision. I can hang around here for a few years. Or a few centuries…” Marvin got a faraway look in his face. “We really are immortal, aren’t we?”
He shook himself and continued, “Anyway, yeah, I’ll hang around for a while. Maybe when we get a new batch of Bobs raised, I’ll reconsider.”
Marvin leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head.
I nodded. “Okay, guys, thanks. I’ll adjust plans accordingly.”
Luke and Bender nodded, and their avatars disappeared.
We cranked our frame rates back to normal and turned back to the feeds from the colony.
Riker – November 2158 – Sol
I disconnected the UN meeting video with a sigh. The day’s session had been pretty routine. Which meant something just below a bunch of cats fighting over a fish. The announcement that the Spits would be getting the third ship was met with the expected level of vitriol. Part of the problem was that Spitsbergen wasn’t expected to be a viable location by the time the Spits left, so no one would be able to take over the vacated premises. It was a waste of time to point out that that meant the Spits would die if they didn’t leave. This world was a lot harsher than the one I grew up in.
In addition, the release of the Svalbard Trust contents didn’t benefit anyone unless they were on a colony ship, so to most groups it was a decision with no upside.
There had also been discussion of the latest threats from some group calling itself VEHEMENT. I made a mental note to talk to the colonel about them.
If I ever got that far. I looked at my call list. Unbelievable. For some reason, even if I didn’t participate in a session, everyone felt the need to call me afterwards. I wish I could say it was nice to be popular.
And naturally the first caller was my favorite FAITH minister. I grimaced and briefly considered letting Guppy take him, but I knew I’d just be putting it off. However, I could make him wait.
Ignoring the list, I made a call to Butterworth. We exchanged the minimum pleasantries, then I asked him about this latest batch of loonies.
“Mm, yes. Stands for Voluntary Extinction of Human Existence Means Earth’s Natural Transformation. Or something close to that. I’ve heard several variations, including one or two that are obscene. Their stance is that humans have had their chance, and we should just let ourselves die off.”
“Except they’re threatening to use guerilla tactics to get their way. Where does ‘voluntary’ fit into that?”
Butterworth waved a hand dismissively. “I believe they expect you to voluntarily go along with them in order to avoid violence. Such fringe groups have a much harder time of it these days, but somehow they still manage to cause the occasional bit of damage. I think they were expecting to ultimately get their way until you showed up on the scene. Now they’ve started to escalate the rhetoric.”
“Wonderful. I remember something vaguely similar from when I was alive, but that one was voluntary, in practice as well as in name. So, where does this group operate out of?”
“No idea.” The colonel shrugged. “Pronouncements are anonymized, incidents appear to be random in location, except for being opportunistic. Their manifesto essentially says that we can voluntarily stop breeding or they will help us along the path.”
I rubbed my forehead. People’s capacity for turning dogmatic stupidity into political movements never ceased to amaze me. “We’ve knocked off 99.9% of the human race, and somehow the crazies still manage to survive. It just defies the odds.”
The Colonel laughed, and we said our goodbyes.
Well, so much for delaying tactics. I was going to have to deal with Cranston. With a theatrical sigh, I connected the call.
“Good afternoon, minister. What can I do for you?”
Minister Cranston smiled into the camera. Or showed his teeth, anyway. I had no illusions about his friendliness. “Good day, repl—Riker. I believe I have someone here that you’d like to talk to.” He reached forward and adjusted the camera at his end, bringing a young woman into the frame.
She smiled shyly and said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Johansson. My name is Julia Hendricks.”
I was stunned, totally frozen. I wouldn’t say she was the spitting image of Andrea, but if this woman wasn’t related to my sister it would be a miracle of coincidence. A small part of my mind knew that Minister Cranston had done this deliberately to manipulate me, but I didn’t care.
Finally, after almost a quarter second of silence, I found my voice. “Hi Julia. I’m assuming we’re related?”
She nodded, quick jerky movements. She seemed very nervous, but whether because of me or because of the minister, I couldn’t say. I had little doubt that the minister had given her very specific instructions, accompanied by threats.
After a moment, she found her voice. “Yes, I’m Andrea Johansson’s three-times-great grand-daughter. I just found this out myself.” She gave a small, aborted glance in the minister’s direction. The message was loud and clear.
I smiled back at her, trying for as much warmth as I could. “So how many collateral descendants do I have?”