We Are Legion (We Are Bob)

Claude

July 2334

Newholme Colony

I examined the battle status graphic, searching for weaknesses. Commander Hobart stood at parade rest, with that peculiar ability of the military to just go into mental hibernation when waiting. I found it ironic that he did a better impression of a machine than I would ever manage. I could leave my manny parked under AMI control, but that would be cheating.

“I think we’re covered, Commander.” I shifted to face him, and he came to life.

“Then we’re ready to go.” Hobart touched the emblem on his chest. “Miller, commence operation.”

I suppressed a snicker. Apparently without any irony, the Newholme military had adopted a comms system very similar to TNG. I’d questioned Hobart about it without being obvious—I hope—and he’d displayed no knowledge of the existence of Star Trek, let alone of the blatant borrowing. No double-chirp, though. That would have been too much.

Lieutenant Miller, somewhere in the vast maze that was the Newholme military, would now be giving orders and activating equipment. As always when I took the time to think about it, I found myself mildly surprised at the size of the military presence in the Gamma Pavonis system. Of course, Newholme was founded when we were still not sure if the Others’ threat was over, and the attitude had stuck. Maybe in a few more generations it would fade, but for now, Newholme society was like a porcupine perpetually on full alert.

Today, we would be going up against the Starfleet incursion in the system. Starfleet had taken over the local relay station and one of the two space-based autofactories, then contacted Newholme to negotiate an agreement. From other negotiations with Starfleet, we had a pretty good idea of what they wanted: agreement in principle that humans and replicants should go their separate ways; agreement that there would be no contact with pre-industrial species; and agreement that interaction with post-industrial species would be kept to a minimum to avoid cultural contamination.