We Are Legion (We Are Bob)

Book 4: Chapter 34: Higher-Ups

Book 4: Chapter 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 Frieda 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, Frieda 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. Frieda gave me a stony expression in response, and Popeye’s scowl grew even more intense. The other two goons and the ersatz cop didn’t react at all.

Outside, I was surprised to find a wagon waiting for us. 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 had 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 pigstickers. The cop left with the wagon driver, which led me to believe he might be a real cop.

Frieda appeared to be relaxing a little, though. Maybe my complete lack of troublemaking during the trip helped. She waved a hand at the house. “We’re told we’ll be able to talk to a higher-up here.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

She gave me an arch look. “Understand, Bob, you may not come out of here alive if we don’t like your answers.”

“I may not have the answers you want, Frieda. You really need to get over the idea that I’m some kind of player in whatever politics you’ve got going on here.”

“If you can convince them, you might just see the sunset.”

She ushered me through the front door under the disdainful gaze of the Quinlan version of Jeeves. He gestured for us to follow him and brought us to a back room with floor-to-ceiling books.

“A library!” I exclaimed, and Frieda turned a quizzical eye on me.

“You and your friends certainly have a thing for books. I’m hoping I can find out why today.”

“You’ll be staying?”

“Hope so. We’re a little tired of being kept in the dark.” She gestured to a seat, and I sat. Once again, I was chained to the furniture. Hopefully the goons wouldn’t notice that my fleas had once again wreaked havoc on the integrity of my bonds.

A door opened at the other end of the library, and a Quinlan walked in. This was the homeowner, to judge from the coiffing and decorations. She gave me the up-and-down glance, plainly relegating me to the status of pond scum, then made an imperious gesture to someone behind her. ?????Ë?

Two Quinlans came forward, carrying what looked for all the world like one of those antique Motorola radios—a table model, with a wooden case and big knobs. This was getting curiouser and curiouser. For a species that supposedly didn’t have anything beyond the steam era, they sure seemed to have a lot of tech. It would seem the Administrator didn’t have as much of an iron grip as they thought.

They placed the radio in front of me, and one of the attendants started fiddling with dials. In seconds, a Quinlan voice sounded from the speaker. “Ready here.”

Frieda stepped forward, looking weirdly nervous. “Madame ko Hoina, We have the unknown agent here, captured at great risk to ourselves. As discussed, we want—”

The empress flicked a hand, barely a movement, but Frieda was silenced.

“You will be paid well for your risks—and pain,” she said, glancing at Popeye. “However, our organization continues to exist only because we pay attention to need-to-know.” The empress nodded toward Jeeves. “My man will take care of payment, and can provide nourishment if you are fatigued from your travels.” When she ended her mini-speech, it was obvious she was done. Some kind of body language, perhaps, that said you’re dismissed.

Frieda frowned and opened her mouth, but one of her group put a hand on her arm. Thinking better of it, Frieda gave a nod—well short of a bow, and probably a calculated slight, from the slight widening of nostrils and narrowing of eyes on the empress’s face—and the group turned and followed Jeeves out of the room.

The empress gave me another up-and-down scan, followed by a silent down-the-nose look. It probably would have put most people in their place, but she was playing against a computer running an android. No body language except what I chose to display, and at the moment, I was playing poker.

Evidently she realized a standoff was not to her advantage. She addressed the Motorola: “This is one of the four persons who have led us on such an interesting chase through several cities. This one in particular picked up one of our agents with one hand and threw him against a wall.”

“Thank you, Natasha,” the Motorola said. I had to stifle a chuckle. The translator program randomly assigned human names whenever a new native name was used (and the other way around), but occasionally the choice was bang-on. She looked like a Natasha.

“What shall I call you?” said Motorola.

“I’m Bob,” I replied.

“Hello, Bob, I’m Motorola.” Again I had to suppress a snicker. I could, as I had in this case, override the default selections. Of course, the locals would only hear the local Quinlan versions of names.

“Okay. And this is standard practice for visitors to your city?”

“Let’s not dance around, all right? I’ve read all the witness accounts and transcripts. You and your friends have some kind of knowledge or tech that gives you an edge. We were sure you were Crew, and we were going to take you down, but you kept getting away. Now I’m not so sure …”

The way it had said Crew meant something. “By Crew, you mean Quinlans who work for the Administrator?”

“That’s right. It’s interesting, you either have even less knowledge of the way things are than the average Quinlan, or you are very, very good with the cover story. Which is it?”

“It’s the former. Honestly, I considered the possibility that your group was with the Administrator, but that’s seeming less likely.” I gestured toward the radio. “This in particular doesn’t look like something the boss of Heaven’s River would have to settle for. I have to assume the guys with guns were Administrator Crew, because you all didn’t seem to be getting along.”

After a moment of silence, Motorola said, “Interesting that you know about the level of technology displayed by this device. And about guns. Even most of the Resistance haven’t ever seen one.”

Oops.

“We have a fascinating problem here, Bob,” it continued. “My compatriots want to just skip the talking and peel you with a knife until we get something we can use. On the other hand, that didn’t turn out well for Popeye, based on Frieda’s report. It’s been suggested that we just kill you and remove the risk. What can you offer me as an alternative?”

I spared a moment to be amused. Motorola was being very civil, but the subtext was that it wanted information—or something—and was trying to figure out the most efficient way to get it. For now, a polite discussion. Later, possibly, pain and screaming and blood. And possibly a thermite detonation. I bet that would mess up Natasha’s hardwood floors!

Well, I wasn’t really averse to some form of cooperation. I just had to figure out what they needed, what they wanted, and what a good exchange rate would be. “Look, Motorola, I don’t understand the politics well enough to know what’s going on or what you might consider of value, either as information or goods. I mean, I have money, but I’m sure one of Natasha’s place settings is worth more than what’s in my pockets.” A snort drifted over from the chaise on which Natasha was sitting.

“We’ve already examined the contents of your backpack,” Motorola replied. “There’s nothing in there we are interested in, although I think the long-knife is from one of our agents. And on that subject, you and your group appear to be elite athletes, based on the descriptions of your escapes.”

“No doubt highly exaggerated. And you have to take into account the fact that we were being chased by persons unknown waving sharp objects. Fear lends wings, and all that.”

“Wings?”

I thought for a moment. The translation routine had converted the partial aphorism literally. And while Quinlans knew about wings, there being a local equivalent to birds, their aphorisms generally involved swimming. It appeared the incomplete translation job at the beginning of the expedition was going to come back to bite me. It wasn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but it was another reason for Motorola to wonder about me. I decided that trying to excuse or explain it would just dig me in deeper. Better to move on. “Look, maybe if you could tell me what your angle is, I could come up with something that would be of value to you.”

Natasha shifted in her chair and turned her head toward me. She’d stayed out of the conversation until now, but apparently I’d crossed some kind of line. “You seem to have forgotten who is interrogating whom. In this scenario, we ask, you answer.”

“So ask,” I said. “So far that hasn’t gotten you anywhere, though. I’d like to be cooperative, but I don’t know what you’re looking for.”

“We want to know who you work for, where your loyalties lie, what your goals are, and what assets you have or have access to. Is that clear enough?”

I glanced over at Motorola, who hadn’t uttered a peep during this exchange. “Okay. I don’t work for anyone, my loyalty is to my friends, my goal is to find one of my friends, and my assets are all in my backpack.”

Natasha eyed me silently for several seconds, then picked up a small bell and jingled it. Jeeves stepped into the room, and she said to him, “Bring in Philip.” Jeeves bowed and left.

Natasha turned to me. “Philip is an expert with sharp objects and their uses. A few minutes of his attentions, and your memory should improve.”

“Natasha, this is not—”

“Enough, Motorola. You’re taking too long, and your particular expertise doesn’t appear to have any bearing on the specifics of the situation. I think we’ll try my way. Perhaps later, our friend will listen more carefully to your questions.”

There was no response from the radio. I surreptitiously twisted on my manacles and felt a satisfying looseness to them.

In short order, a Quinlan came in, carrying something wrapped in a leather skin. He sat down and unrolled it on the coffee table beside my backpack, then smiled at me, doubtless looking for a reaction.

It was the weirdest collection of knives and assorted implements I’d ever seen. Straight ones, curved ones, twisted ones … some of those items had to be there just for show. There couldn’t possibly be an actual function for that one, for instance.

I smiled innocently back at him. “My kitchen’s mostly pretty well stocked, but I wouldn’t mind the long twisty one. How much for that?”

Philip’s smile faltered and he half-glanced over at Natasha before aborting the action. He picked up the implement in question and held it up, still determined to continue the performance. “This is for removing arm webbing. Would you like me to demonstrate?”

I stared him straight in the eye. “Philip, the moment I think I’m in any real danger, this whole room, with everyone in it, will be reduced to toothpicks. It’s an insurance policy—a dead-man switch. We’re kind of careful that way.”

There was silence in the room for several seconds. Then Motorola said, “And we don’t like explodey stuff.”

I stared at the radio, totally boggled. The translation routine had handled that perfectly, including the idiom. How the—

Wait a minute. That hadn’t been translated. That was rendered in English! But how would a Quinlan, or any denizen of Heaven’s River, know English? Unless …

“Bender?”

There was a pause.

“Bob?”