We Are Legion (We Are Bob)

I snapped back to consciousness. I could see that Dr. Landers wore a different colored shirt, still in that weird clerical style, so I assumed it was at least a day later. He was concentrating on his tablet, and just starting to look up.

I poked at my own psyche, looking for any trace of panic, insanity, or even deep concern. It didn’t feel like being doped up. I’d been doped up, like when I was getting my wisdom teeth out. I didn’t enjoy that sensation. I also had never enjoyed the sensation of getting drunk, of not being in control of my own mind.

In this case, I was in complete control of my thoughts. In fact, I felt at the top of my game, like I did when I first got into the office after an excellent night’s sleep. Like no problem or puzzle could possibly stand before me.

On the other hand, my parents were long since dead, my sisters as well. Alan, Karen, Carl, all the people that I’d known. I had a clear mental image of Karen glaring at me, arms crossed, I told you so written across her face. But thoughts of my family and friends brought only a mild feeling of regret, likely due to the endocrine controls. That, more than simply the fact of being software, made me feel less than human.

It was hard to be upset with Dr. Landers about the situation. There didn’t seem to be any malice involved. Events had just evolved logically over time, and culminated with me as a computer program. And so far, this state of being seemed to have its advantages. If Bob was dead—if he’d been run over by a car—then this was basically a free life. A potentially immortal one, no less. Maybe I’d just roll with it, at least for the moment. I could always re-evaluate if I ended up in second place. Be careful what you wish for. No kidding.

So what else came with being a glorified computer program? Maybe I could communicate with that guppy interface.

Systems Check. Square root of 234,215.

[483.957642]

Damn, that’s cool. Do I have a date function? Current Date.