Book 2: Chapter 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.