We Are Legion (We Are Bob)

Book 3: Chapter 10: Hunted

Book 3: Chapter 10: Hunted

Bob

March 2224

Camelot

Deltans couldn’t whistle while they worked. Or any other time, really—otherwise I’d have been belting out a tune. This was the kind of day that would bring a celebration to the lips of any but the grumpiest. Up with the dawn, a breakfast of berries and eggs, a couple of hours warming ourselves in the morning sun… My android body didn’t require any of that, of course, but the neural interface was more than good enough to give me the same pleasurable experience as anyone else.

After a morning of indolence, I went hunting while Archimedes laid out his flintwork for the day. With a little luck, I hoped to bag the local equivalent of a turkey.

Archimedes and his family were more than generous, and had treated me like one of them right from the start. I wanted to give back whenever possible. A turkey or other small game once in a while was a welcome treat.

Marvin occasionally accused me of trying to deny reality and become Robert full-time. I didn’t argue with him—there was at least some truth to the accusation. I certainly felt far more a part of the Deltan life than I had back on Earth as Original Bob. Missing my family so much probably played into my effectively having gone native.

In the middle of my idle ruminations, my heads-up display flashed an alert. Movement in the immediate vicinity. I called up one of the many spy drones that kept my Camelot VR up to date, and redirected it to center on me.

At computer speeds, it took less than a second overall to realize that I wasn’t being stalked by wildlife.

It was Fred. And four friends. And they were obviously intent on me.

I could just busterize them, of course. But even with an obnoxious tard like Fred, I couldn’t stomach casual murder. I could also very likely take them on and win, but it would completely blow my cover. I’d be done as Archimedes’ friend, Robert, the generic Deltan. Not an option.

Could I call for help? No, by the time I got a drone to Archimedes, then he found Donald or someone, then they got here, the excitement would be over. I was on my own.

I called up two more drones so that I would have good coverage, then observed my pursuers for a few moments. They knew generally where I was, but I could see that they were often looking or moving in a direction that was slightly off my line. That suggested possibilities.

My strategy started with turning off my scent. Deltans made heavier use of the sense of smell than humans, and less use of sight. I could take advantage of that.

I positioned myself between two of my stalkers, and went as still and quiet as only an android could, as they moved past my position. With no movement, sound, or odor, I simply didn’t register.

Now I was behind them.

I noted Fred’s position and moved around the perimeter until I was close to him. If he moved away from the group at any point, he was mine.

The cordon eventually tightened until everyone could see each other. Fred threw his spear down with rage.

“We had him! By the balls of my ancestors, how in the next life did you let him get through?”

“How do you know it wasn’t you, Fred?” One of the hunters, apparently fed up, challenged him.

In a streak, Fred moved in and knocked the speaker to the ground. He picked up his victim’s spear and held it to the Deltan’s neck.

“Mouth me off like that again and we’ll be serving you for dinner, kuzzi.”

Wow, what a jerk. It occurred to me that I might be doing the Deltan species a favor by removing him from the gene pool.

The hunters cast around for a few more minutes, but I simply moved out of their range and watched from the drones. Eventually they gave up and started back toward Caerleon, with Fred mouthing off constantly.

I followed them about halfway to the other village, but sadly, Fred stayed with the group all the way. I’d have to arrange a meeting myself.

 

I returned all surveillance systems to normal and headed back toward Camelot. A quick command to a couple of drones ensured that I wouldn’t be taken by surprise by anything. This whole situation would require some thought, and I knew myself well enough to realize that I could walk right off a cliff when I got into this mode.

I walked along, looking down at my feet as I thought. Fred was truly evidence that jerks came in all shapes, sizes, and species. But what was setting him—and the rest of them—off like this? They weren’t behaving this way for the fun of it. The behavior was too consistent for pranks. They had the same hunting prospects as us, the same access to tubers—maybe even a little better than Camelot in that area.

I made a note to check out Caerleon using drones. Maybe I could pick out something significant.

I still had the unfinished chore of hunting lunch, though. And I’d wasted far too much time waltzing with Fred and his goons. With a shake of the head, I sent my drones out to look for some small game in the area. It was cheating, but I was running behind, and people gotta eat.

* * *

“Sounds like Fred took it personally.” Donald grinned at me.

“Well, no one likes being punched out. But I didn’t expect him to come hunting for me.”

Donald and I were sunning ourselves at Archimedes’ flint-working site, while he did his best to ignore the two of us. Buster worked with his father, roughing out some of the easier tools for Archimedes to finish later. Buster had little interest in flint working as a career path, although he had his father’s dexterity and was pretty decent with the basics. Buster liked to hunt, and his weapon of choice was a bow and arrow. He was easily the best shot in the village—possibly in both villages.

But Buster also loved hanging with his father, and if helping with the day’s work sped things along, then that’s what he’d do.

These three were very probably my favorite people on the planet.

“Too bad he didn’t give you the chance to slit his throat. You’d be doing everyone a favor.”

I shifted my position while I considered my reply. I doubted I could just coldly cut someone’s throat, but how to explain that twenty-first-century sensibility to stone-age beings?

“The thing is, Donald, we know it’s not just Fred. He may be taking to it with enthusiasm, but there’s more to this.”

“Mmm.” Donald lay back with his hands behind his head. The tone said that Donald would have no trouble skewering Fred next time they met. “Might be just about time that we go on a hunt of our own. Maybe ask a few questions.”

Well, that wasn’t a bad idea. Except for the ‘we’ part.