This was one more item that I wouldn’t be needed for any more. The TODO list was finally getting smaller faster than I could add to it. Excellent.
“Okay, then. We’ll let it run for a couple of days to establish processor loads, then we’ll add the Cupid Bug hunters to the system.”
[The hunters are autonomous units]
That was true. Given the highly focused nature of their task, AMIs were intelligent enough for Cupid Bug hunter operation. “Granted, but the central controller can take care of scheduling, maintenance, and repairs, as well as gathering statistics. I’m sure Bridget would like to know if encounters start to drop off.”
Guppy nodded. I’m sure the expression of sardonic amusement on his face was all in my imagination. After all, what does sardonic amusement look like on a fish, anyway?
And speaking of Bridget, er, Dr. Sheehy, I had a call to make. There was a small matter of a chemical analysis that I’d asked for.
* * *
“Sheehy.” Bridget briefly appeared in the video window, then exited frame to the left. The woman never stayed still, and always seemed to be working on several things at once. I couldn’t help be impressed by her energy.
“Hey, Bridget, it’s Howard.”
Dr. Sheehy’s face lit up as she came back into frame and sat down in front of the phone. We’d become fast friends over the last six months. We got along well, and she was a good break from too many Bobs. I tried not to think ephemeral when she was around.
“I guess you’re calling about that chemical analysis you wanted done?”
“Yup.”
“Well, you’ll be happy to know that it passes muster, and cleanly. No trace of methanol. It is completely potable.” She grinned. “Now, whether it’s any good or not…”
Bridget reached over and picked up the bottle that I’d delivered the previous day. She poured a small amount into a plastic glass and raised it in my direction. “Caťaoireaca.” She downed the glass in one motion.
I watched closely, waiting for her to go rigid, or melt, or burst into flames.
She swallowed the liquid, took a deep sucking breath, wiped her eyes, and said, “Smooth.”
“Really?”
“No.” Bridget made a face. “It’s not paint thinner, but it’s not Irish whiskey, either. Actually, since you used oak barrels, it’ll never be Irish. But if you squint your eyes and look sideways at it while yelling LAH-LAH-LAH, it could be whiskey.”
I nodded. “Well, I force-aged this stuff, so let’s not expect miracles. I’ll take a little more time with the production supply. And Riker thinks he can scan some proper sherry-infused barrel samples for me, for making Irish.”
“Sounds good.” Bridget gave me a sideways look. “Need a partner?”
“Well, someone has to hump the barrels around.” I grinned at her. “But yeah, it would help, if you’re serious. Anyway, I was also calling about the Peter Project.”
“Riiiiiiight. Well, Peter and his descendants are munching happily on the vine, turning it into more bunnies as quickly as they can. Farmers are happy, bunnies are happy, raptors are happy—not surprisingly, they like bunny as well. Pretty much a win-win for everyone except the vine.”
“Great.” I nodded, then popped up a picture on the video screen. “In other news, I’ve come up with a small drone that’s optimized for hunting the adult parasite. You said you didn’t think killing it would be too disruptive, right?”
“Correct, O electronic one. It’s an apex predator, really. There may be a population explosion in whatever it normally uses as hosts, but my guess is that there are normal-sized predators who will take care of that.”
“Mm, good. I’ll be adding them to the central surveillance system. I’ll need an estimate from you of how many we should have active at any time.”
Bridget nodded without comment. She was eyeing the paint thinner, twirling the glass in her hand. Hopefully, she was considering another shot and not fearing for her health. I asked her, “What does kaheerakah mean?”
“Caťaoireaca. It’s Irish for chairs.”
“Chairs? You toast furniture in Ireland?”
Bridget laughed. “There’s a story. Probably apocryphal…”
I made a rolling motion with my hand.
“Okay, but remember, you asked.”
She settled herself and poured another glass of paint thinner. “There was this Brit who decided to stop at Hotel Rosslare in County Wexford. He had a few, then a few more, then he decided to be friendly. So he asked the barmaid how you say ‘cheers’ in Irish.”
Bridget smiled wickedly. “And you know how the Brits massacre the English language, so she thought he said ‘chairs’, and she told him.
Whereupon he bought a round for the house, turned to the other patrons, raised his glass, and said Caťaoireaca.”
I chuckled. Bridget gave me the stink-eye. “Hey, down in front. Anyway,
the other patrons looked at each other in confusion, then raised their glasses and drank. Afterwards, Paddy turned to Sean and said, ‘What the blazes was that?’ Sean shrugged and answered, ‘Damned if I know, but as long as he keeps buying, he can toast the livestock for all of me.’”
I laughed. “I know some Irish jokes.”
“Don’t you dare.” She grinned at me, and I had a sudden feeling of regret at no longer being human.
* * *
“Stéphane, this is Bridget. Bridget, Stéphane.”
Stéphane held out his hand, and Bridget shook it. They both turned to look at me. Well, at the drone I was watching from. The new model was slightly bigger than a softball, so could go indoors. I was told my voice sounded a little tinny, but I could survive that.
I lowered myself to conversation height, and they sat. I’d texted our order to the waiter, so beers arrived immediately.
“So, is there an occasion for this?” Bridget looked back and forth between me and Stéphane.
“Not really. I mean, I’m not planning a takeover of the colony or anything.
God, why would I want to?” I chuckled. One of Stéphane’s eyes twitched, so I guess a tinny chuckle didn’t come across well.
“Anyway, between the brontos and other dinos, the raptors, vine, Cupid bug, and everything else that makes this such a fun place to live, I spend most of my time coordinating with the two of you. The committee seems determined to funnel all information through themselves, and sometimes I just want to slap them.”
“So you are creating unofficial channels, here?” A slow grin spread across Stéphane’s face.
“Something like that. You know, just to speed things along.”
Stéphane looked at Bridget. “You are responsible for the rabbits? Nice choice. I’ve had rabbit stew several times this month.”
Bridget laughed and turned to me. “Told you.”
She flipped open her tablet and set it up on a corner of the table, then looked at the drone and inclined her head towards the tablet. I took the hint, floated the drone up to the ceiling, and transferred my image to the tablet.
“This better?”
Both of my friends grinned at the tablet. Stéphane said, “You’re still ugly.”
It was a great afternoon.
32. Linus
Bill
May 2178
Epsilon Eridani
[Incoming Message from Linus]
“Linus? Holy hell! Put it on.”
I’d just recently received the radio transmission from Linus about Epsilon Indi and KKP. Linus had, unfortunately, left Epsilon Indi before my transmissions of the SCUT plans had reached him. He’d been out of touch since 2150, when he left Epsilon Indi, and he hadn’t lagged his light-speed report by more than a few months. I smiled to myself. There would have to be some catching up.