We Are Legion (We Are Bob)

I snapped back to consciousness. “That’s getting really old, Dr. Landers.”

“Sorry, Bob. But it is standard procedure to put replicants into standby when they are not actively involved in training. You feel like you are operating at normal human speed when you interact with me, but once you are left to your own thoughts, you’ll find you experience time at a much higher subjective rate. Eight hours can be an eternity. I’ve had replicants that seemed to be doing okay suddenly go psychotic overnight.”

The doctor looked down at his shoes for a moment. “In fact, we’ve lost one of your competitors in the last twenty-four hours. She went into a loop and could not be brought back. We restored from backup, but the backup went down at the same point. So, now there are four.”

I sighed and noted with mild satisfaction that the sigh sounded real. It was pretty obvious that I was being kept as busy as possible when active, and not being given any quiet time. Probably that was an attempt to avoid the insanity issue. I was ashamed to realize that I was more glad than sad about the other replicant. One less competitor.

And I appreciated Dr. Landers’ honesty, but sooner or later I was going to have to deal with this whole existential crisis thing. And I still needed time to grieve for my family.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “But presumably we’re all being treated the same, so the switching off thing doesn’t seem to be the answer. Instead, how about keeping me busy with intellectual activity? How about some study time? Maybe with access to whatever the internet has evolved into? I’d like to see what I’ve been missing for the last hundred-odd”—[117]. I didn’t ask!—“years.”

“Ah. Well, the internet does not exist anymore, at least not domestically. Far too anarchic, far too hard to control. And too many opportunities for sin, wrong thinking, and temptation. However, we have online libraries, and some of the history might even be relatively accurate. I will see if I can connect you up to one of the better ones.”

“Are there genealogy records? I might have relatives still alive. I’d be very interested—”

“As a matter of policy, Bob, we don’t encourage that. In any case, such information is not in the public record. Under FAITH, information is not freely available by default. Sorry.”

At that moment, I was happy that I had no face. This was the final blow, cutting me off from my former humanity. Not only was my immediate family dead, I would not be able to reconnect with any descendants. I was truly, completely alone.

Then the damned endocrine controls kicked in, and my funk turned into a mild sadness. Wow, if I ever got control of my hardware and software, that was the first thing that would go out the window. Grieving required grief, and I was being robbed of that.

I didn’t like being property. I wasn’t in a position to do anything about it at the moment, but if the situation changed, there would be some adjustments. Meanwhile, I would shut up, listen, learn, and be a good little robot. The important thing was to not give them any reason for concern. And to stay sane. And to win the competition.

But no pressure.