We Are Legion (We Are Bob)

“But we can control the endocrine simulation routines. Panic depends on a feedback loop involving adrenaline. We simply limit that. You can’t panic or get angry or frightened, you can only be deeply concerned, so to speak.”

The inability to access his emotions is an internal conflict for Bob and a method of external control used by his creators. The explanation of the technological dampening of emotion provides an in-universe rationale for Bob’s unusually calm demeanor in the face of his new reality. This suppression of feeling becomes a crucial plot point, as Bob’s later decision to remove these controls represents a significant step toward reclaiming his full humanity and agency.

“‘Okay, Bob. […] So, here’s the bottom line. Do you know what a Von Neumann probe is?’ ‘Yes, of course. It’s an automated interstellar probe that builds copies of itself as it visits systems.’ There was a moment of silence as my brain caught up with the conversation. Oh… ‘Wait, are you saying—?’ ‘That is correct. We are preparing one of you to be the controlling intelligence for a Von Neumann probe.’”

A major turning point in the novel’s plot is this revelation of the true purpose of the HEAVEN Project: the launching of Von Neumann probes. The dialogue’s pacing, including the pause indicated by “a moment of silence,” builds suspense before the final confirmation, mirroring Bob’s own dawning comprehension. FAITH’s plan shifts the narrative’s focus from Bob’s personal struggle for identity to a broader story of exploration, aligning with the theme of The Humanist Drive for Exploration and Progress.

“Bob was more than a hunk of meat. […] Bob was the accumulation of all that Bob had been for thirty-one years. The meat was dead, but the things that made Bob different from a chipmunk were alive. In me, I am Bob. Or at least, I am the important parts that made Bob.”

This passage of internal monologue represents the climax of Bob’s initial existential struggle. He formulates his own definition of selfhood, arguing that consciousness, memory, and personality—the “accumulation” of a life—are the true metrics of identity, not the physical body. The final, declarative statement, “In me, I am Bob,” serves as a personal thesis that directly articulates the theme of redefining humanity beyond the physical form, allowing him to move forward with a resolved sense of self.

“One of the irritating things about being a bodiless mind was, well, the lack of a body. I found that I had to keep myself constantly occupied, or I began to feel like I was in a sensory deprivation tank. […] For me, a virtual reality interface should be a piece of cake. And, worst case, at least it’ll keep me busy.”

Here, the narrative introduces virtual reality environments as a counter to the challenge of a disembodied existence. Bob’s casual, problem-solving tone (“should be a piece of cake”) showcases his engineering mindset and humanist drive to improve his condition rather than passively accept it. The creation of the VR space is a foundational act of self-preservation that reclaims agency and selfhood, demonstrating how the Bobs will maintain their individuality and connection to their past lives.

“With a sick feeling of defeat, I pulled out the endocrine control project file and flipped the switch. Immediately, a sense of calm purpose settled over me. Okay, not so bad. I could turn it off, later. For now, I had an enemy to take care of, and I needed to stay focused.”

Facing his first life-or-death battle as a replicant, Bob confronts the limitations of his human-derived psychology. The “sick feeling of defeat” he feels when choosing to re-activate the endocrine controls illustrates his internal conflict over his changing identity and his desire to retain his humanity. The narrative presents this technological intervention as a necessary compromise that blurs the line between man and machine, redefining humanity beyond the physical form.

“So what the hell was the issue? As near as I could tell, I was concerned about what cloning myself would say about my uniqueness as an individual and the existence of some kind of soul. Which, for a humanist, was a shocking admission.”

Bob’s internal monologue directly articulates the novel’s existential tension between the self and the copy. Bob’s anxiety stems from a fundamental human concern for individuality, which is challenged by the Von Neumann probe’s directive to self-replicate. His philosophical interrogation explores the Tension Between the Individual and the Collective, highlighting the irony of a self-proclaimed humanist grappling with the non-material concept of a soul when faced with his own imminent, perfect replication.

“I snapped back to full consciousness. […] I activated my VR out of habit before getting on with the day’s business. But instead of my rich, detailed library, I found myself in a blue room. […] Uh oh. I queried my serial number. [HIC16537-1] Built in Epsilon Eridani. The Hipparcos Catalog number made that clear. I’m a copy of a copy. Crap.”

This passage marks the first moment of duplicated consciousness from a clone’s perspective. The stark imagery contrasting Bob-1’s familiar, personalized VR with the generic “blue room” conveys the new Bob’s immediate sense of dislocation and loss of identity. The abrupt, clinical confirmation of him not being Bob-1 based on the serial number, followed by the colloquial exclamation “Crap” demonstrates the fusion of technological reality and human emotional response that defines the replicants’ existence.

“Bill and I exchanged looks, and I realized that one question had just been answered. We weren’t clones. I noted that Riker hadn’t asked Mario, and Mario hadn’t volunteered. Mario seemed to have gotten a double dose of my antisocial tendencies.”

The first group discussion among the Bobs provides concrete evidence of their diverging personalities. Bob’s internal realization that “We weren’t clones” confirms that unique consciousness very quickly arises from experience, even with an identical starting point. The specific observations about Riker’s and Mario’s behavior illustrate how subtle variations on a single personality template manifest as distinct character traits.

“‘And each one will arrive just as China is lined up.’ I shook my head in disgust. ‘Son of a bitch. They’re dropping asteroids on the Earth.’”

This realization transforms Riker’s mission from exploration to preservation. His dawning horror of the discovery that Brazilian probes are destroying Earth population centers by “dropping asteroids” is conveyed through clinical observation followed by a visceral, human reaction of disgust. By revealing that the remnants of human conflict have escalated to planetary annihilation, the narrative elevates the external stakes and solidifies the role of the Bobs—disembodied consciousnesses—as the unlikely guardians of biological humanity.

“‘Metaphorically speaking, of course—they were only replicants.’ The colonel blushed slightly. ‘Er, no offence meant.’”

Colonel Butterworth’s unintentional slight, followed by a self-conscious apology, reveals the prevailing societal bias against replicants, who are seen as disposable tools rather than persons. His blush indicates a personal, visceral difficulty in reconciling this prejudice with the human-like intelligence he is interacting with. It also underscores the difference between humans and Bobs—the connection between mind and body, separating from which is key for redefining humanity beyond the physical form.

“When I left the solar system—okay, when Bob-1 left the solar system, but it felt like my own memory—I thought I was done with humanity, except for the occasional radio message. Now, I was not only back to dealing with people, but I had thousands if not millions of lives riding on my actions.”

Riker’s internal monologue, grappling with inherited memories versus personal experience, showcases the developing identity of a replicant. The parenthetical correction—“okay, when Bob-1 left”—is a moment of self-awareness that illustrates tension between the individual and the collective, as Riker distinguishes his own existence from his progenitor’s. The passage underscores the irony of his situation, where an entity who sought to escape humanity has become its reluctant savior.

“Then I smiled as I realized I no longer saw a furry pig/bat—just a lonely kid.”

Bob’s perception of the alien he nicknamed Archimedes shifts from detached observation of a non-human species to empathetic identification with an individual whose personality traits remind Bob of his own. This transition is pivotal, marking the point where Bob’s humanist compassion overrides any principle of non-interference. This internal realization is used to justify Bob’s subsequent actions, framing his intervention as a deeply personal and emotional decision rather than a strategic one.

“Chrissake, Homer, you actually think fifteen million people are going ballistic because I don’t smile enough? I get it about them being scared, but their reactions are their responsibility, not mine.”

This heated exchange between clones demonstrates the significant divergence in their personalities despite a shared origin. Riker’s rhetorical question and pragmatic dismissal of emotional management contrast sharply with Homer’s more diplomatic approach to leadership. This version of tension between the individual and the collective shows how unique experiences shape individual philosophies even within the unified “Legion of Bobs.”

“The Deltan toll was thirty dead with another fifteen or so injured, some severely enough that they probably wouldn’t survive. I gritted my teeth. Prime directive, my ass. I’m going on a gorilloid hunt.”

Following a traumatic battle between the Deltans and the gorilloids, Bob completely abandons a non-interventionist stance. The pop culture reference to the “Prime Directive”—an element of the Star Trek space exploration ethos—is immediately dismissed with profane, colloquial language, a stylistic choice that emphasizes his core personality breaking through in a moment of emotional crisis. Bob thus transitions from an observer to a protector, framing his intervention as a moral imperative rooted in humanist compassion rather than a detached scientific principle.

“I was stunned, totally frozen. I wouldn’t say she was the spitting image of Andrea, but if this woman wasn’t related to my sister it would be a miracle of coincidence. A small part of my mind knew that Minister Cranston had done this deliberately to manipulate me, but I didn’t care.”

Riker’s reaction to meeting his descendant demonstrates that his core emotional connections have survived his transition into a replicant. The conflict between his rational awareness of being manipulated and his overwhelming emotional response underscores the theme of redefining humanity beyond the physical form. The sentence structure, with the short, blunt final clause—“but I didn’t care”—overriding the preceding logical analysis, shows that memory and emotion are more powerful drivers than pure reason even for this new form of consciousness.

“I’m a sailor. I was a sailor. I used to do solo trips. The government offered me the opportunity because they figured I’d be perfect for the job. I don’t like being around people, you know. […] I miss sailing. I miss people.”

The Australian replicant Henry’s fragmented and contradictory dialogue reveals the psychological cost of a disembodied existence without sensory input or mental stimulation. His character serves as a narrative foil to the Bobs, illustrating the vital importance of the virtual reality environments in maintaining a coherent sense of self. The repetition of “I miss sailing. I miss people,” juxtaposed with his earlier claim of not liking people, illustrates the devastating effects of prolonged sensory and social deprivation.

“I know Bob-1 made that rule about the senior Bob being in charge, but I’m getting tired of being a sidekick. We get a lot of stuff done here, and I’d hate to have to leave, but I think our working relationship needs some adjustment.”

Garfield’s direct challenge to Bill’s authority highlights tension between the individual and the collective. Despite their shared origin, the clones have evolved into distinct individuals with their own desires and a need for agency. Garfield’s complaint demonstrates that the Legion of Bobs is not a hive mind but a collective whose hierarchical structure can be re-negotiated as social and personality dynamics change.

“As I fired at the approaching missiles, I made sure the communications array was still lined up and squirted off a description of my situation and a differential backup. A calm part of my mind calculated that I wouldn’t get it completed in time. Damn.”

Milo’s final thoughts blend the human experience of impending death with the cold logic of a computer, highlighting the hybrid nature of a replicant’s consciousness. The technical term “differential backup” is a reminder of his non-biological existence, framing his final communication as a pragmatic data transfer. In contrast, the final, single-word utterance, “Damn,” provides an element of human frustration, illustrating that the core personality and its emotional responses persist until the end.

“Better take it easy there, oh great one. Next thing you know, they’ll be eating fast food and watching TV. […] Seriously, it’s not necessarily a good thing to throw too many new concepts at them at the same time.”

Marvin’s sarcastic warning to Bob critiques the potential negative consequences of cultural interference, a central conflict within the theme of the humanist drive for exploration and progress. The use of hyperbole—“eating fast food and watching TV”—frames the Bobs’ intervention in the context of 21st-century cultural displacement, questioning the ethics of accelerating a species’ development. This dialogue functions as an internal check on Bob’s interventionist impulses, forcing him to consider the long-term ramifications of playing god.

“‘Okay, Guppy. Archive the backup, mark it In Memoriam. We’ve got four version-3 Bobs being built right now, correct?’ At Guppy’s nod, I continued. ‘Start another four as soon as physically possible. Give all of them extra busters. We’re going to extract payment for Milo.’”

Upon learning of the first death of a fellow Bob, Bill’s reaction juxtaposes the digital and human aspects of their existence. The instruction to “Archive the backup, mark it In Memoriam” treats death as a data management problem, a pragmatic process for handling a failed replication. This is immediately followed by a vow for revenge, a deeply human emotional response that demonstrates how consciousness and loyalty persist, illustrating the theme of redefining humanity beyond the physical form.

“Knowing that a piece of me had lived on was satisfying on a level that I couldn’t come up with words to describe. It might not be quite like being a parent or grandparent, but it would certainly do as a next-best.”

While observing his great-great-grandniece, Riker reflects on his connection to his biological family line, showing how a disembodied consciousness can fulfill the fundamental human need for legacy and continuity. His connection to his sister’s progeny anchors his post-human identity to his past self, suggesting that core aspects of the human experience, such as family, can be redefined rather than lost in a digital existence.

“In a corner of the flint site, some Deltans had carefully arranged pieces of a buster and had placed small torches around them. My eyes widened. ‘That’s…’ ‘An altar. Yep. All hail the bawbe!’”

After repeatedly intervening to save the Deltans with futuristic technology, Bob discovers they have begun to worship him. The creation of an altar from technological debris symbolizes the transformation of science into religion from the perspective of a less technologically advanced culture, highlighting the unintended consequences of Bob’s interference. Marvin’s sarcastic dialogue, “All hail the bawbe!,” underscores the fact that Bob’s attempts at humanist uplift have inadvertently cast him as a deity, a position he explicitly rejects.

“And let’s face it, I really didn’t want to be around the other Bobs. It still amazed me how oblivious they were to the differences between each clone. It was creepy—Not enough variation to make them separate people, but enough to give them different opinions. It was like seeing myself with brain damage.”

Mario articulates the tension between the individual and the collective. The simile comparing interactions with other Bobs to “seeing myself with brain damage” conveys the psychological friction and uncanny valley effect of encountering near-identical but distinct versions of oneself. Mario’s perspective establishes that even with a shared consciousness as a starting point, individual experience rapidly forges unique identities that seek autonomy.