“But it’s a start. And a successful one.” Bob was nodding his head repeatedly. I wondered for a second if his avatar had gotten stuck in a loop.
But no, that was just excitement.
I accepted the inevitable, and settled into my chair for the debriefing.
“But how did it feel?” Bill fairly glared at me with the intensity of his question.
I had a momentary image of him reaching down my throat and ripping the answer out of me. I snickered, which got me a couple of concerned looks.
“Uh, compared to VR?” I looked up for a moment, organizing my thoughts.
“It’s an order of magnitude more real. I don’t know how much of that is psychological, just from knowing that it is real. But I think the VR only provides the sensations we’ve programmed it to provide, while Manny gives us everything, expected or not, relevant or not, and not under our control.
Think of it as the difference between trying to tickle yourself versus being tickled by someone else. It’s an entirely different, far more intense
experience.”
“Yeah,” Bill responded. “I tried to get some of that back with the baseball games, but I think it still falls short.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Bill. It’s not like I expect us to all fall over and go crackers. The VR saved Bob-1, and it’s saved all of us. We all agree on that.”
I shrugged. “But it’s not the full-on experience. We’ve forgotten what that’s like. Today just reminded me.”
I looked at Bob, who had finally gotten the head-bobbing under control but was now bouncing on his toes. An arched eyebrow made him blush and stop the motion.
“I think the Android Project should be bumped up in priority,” Bob said.
Bill rolled his eyes. “There’s a surprise. You willing to help? You have the free time, right?”
Bob looked abashed, and Bill winced at the unintentional cheap shot.
“Sorry, buddy. Didn’t mean that the way it came out.”
Bob shrugged. “I get it. And yeah, I do have a lot of free time these days.
Maybe this will help.”
Bill popped up the project notes and schematics, probably rushing to change the subject. Garfield moved in, and the conversation went all technoid.
I sighed, stood and waved to everyone, then popped back to my VR. I had some thinking of my own to do.
70. Conversation
Howard
May 2211
HIP 14101
Bridget’s voice sounded tired. She was looking better, though, at least over the phone. Her color was coming back, she was starting to take care of herself again. I ached to say something, to take her hand, to—okay, I needed to cut off that train of thought. I silently chanted ephemeral a half-dozen times. It didn’t help.
“But it wouldn’t be me, would it, really?” Bridget’s image in the video window smiled.
Her sad smile was a pale ghost of the high-wattage grin that I remembered from better days. I swallowed and, after a false start or two, replied, “That’s a philosophical argument that I freely admit I’m not able to be objective about.
I’m not Original Bob. I’m not even Bob-1 or Will or Charles. But I’m me, and I feel just as alive as Original Bob did.”
I stood up and began to pace around my apartment. The image that Bridget’s phone displayed to her would, of course, stay centered on me. “It would be you in very real ways, Bridget. I don’t know from souls, but in every other way, you would live on.”
“I mentioned the idea casually,” Bridget said after a moment of silence.
“The girls looked horrified. Even Howie looked unsure. And you know he’s all about you and the other Bobs.”
I smiled in response. Bridget’s son was certainly my biggest fan.
I hesitated before continuing. “Look, Bridget, it’s not like any decision is irrevocable. Except the one that’s in force if and when. I checked with Benning. All you need to do is have her record a video call where you state your wishes. It counts as a codicil. You can record a new one any time.”
“I know, Howard. And for the moment, at least, I’ll have to pass.”
I sighed, defeated. “Okay, Bridget. But I’m still going to build the equipment. At least we don’t have to behead and freeze you nowadays—the
stasis pods will do a much better job of preservation. And the scanners are pretty straightforward. Plus, it’s not necessarily just you. We could—” I stopped abruptly as a thought hit me. I queued it for consideration after the call.
Bridget looked at me with an arched eyebrow, but I didn’t explain, so she dropped it. “I hope you won’t be upset at me for this, Howard. I still want you to visit and all.”
“Of course not. It’s your decision, Bridget, and I’ll respect that. And yes, I’ll visit when I can.” I gave her an apologetic shrug. “Manny is getting a makeover right now. Bob-1 is insanely OCD when he’s motivated—no surprise to anyone—and he’s been improving the android tech at a furious pace.” I chuckled. “Bill admitted to me that he’s a bit embarrassed. He worked on the project for decades, and Bob’s leaving him in the dust in a timespan of months.”
“So Manny will be a little more human next time I see you?”
“Actually, Manny will look like Original Bob, from what I’m told.
Believable hair and skin, and so forth. And he’ll be able to eat. Although he won’t—uh, never mind.” TMI. She really didn’t need to know the ultimate fate of the meal.
Bridget laughed. She knew exactly where my mind had gone. Just one of many things I loved about her.
“So we can finally have dinner together?”
I smiled and nodded. Finally, a real date.
* * *
“Butterworth?” Bill stared at me, eyebrows climbing his forehead.
“Well, granted, Riker will probably have a cow, which will be ironic. But Butterworth has got to be in his eighties now, if not more. The guy’s like an Egyptian mummy. He just gets drier and more leathery.”
“Maybe he’s a Pak Protector.” Bill grinned at me.
I rolled my eyes. Honestly, sometimes the early-generation Bobs were a bit weird. “Yeah, anyway, he’s military. Or ex-military, whatever. Maybe he can help with the war.”
“Interesting thought, Howard. I’m not against it, by any means. We should run it through a moot before bringing it up with Butterworth, though.”
I nodded, unfazed. Moots were held weekly, these days, because of the
Others’ threat. I wouldn’t have to wait long.
* * *
I’d never seen Butterworth actually speechless before. I’d seen him trying not to explode, I’d seen him explode, I’d
listened
to him explode. This was new.
Butterworth stared into the video window, his jaw hanging slightly open.
Finally, he found his voice. “You want to replicate me?”
“Well, eventually. Not like this week. The process can’t be done on a living person, not if you want to be left with a living person afterwards. But I’m building the equipment for—er, for any such circumstance, and it occurred to me that you would be valuable for the war effort.”
Butterworth looked down at his desk in silence. Then he looked up and smiled. “Sure, why not?”
Well, that was easy. “Um, okay. I’ll send you a file with some information. You’ll need to update your will.”