Survivors 01- Exiled
~part 2
by Ora Lynx
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Bob drifted from dream to dream for longer than he could keep track of, his program off line, and unable to be accessed. Somewhere deep inside, he *knew* something was wrong, but pieces were missing; a partial code here, a missing link there. Then *someone* was invading, trying to access; trying to mend. Shut out of his own core, unable to wake, or access even his basic files, the Guardian was trapped in his own nightmares.
"He's a virhas, Honey. You cahn't trust a virhas."
"Are you sure this is right, Bob? I mean- we can't trust MegaByte."
"Cadet Enzo...Alphanumeric, Bob! I mean, Sir!"
"I hope you didn't give him too much training, Bob. It will make my job so much easier."
_No, I can't let them...I can't let it...no, no, nooo_ "No!!"
Bob flinched awake, fighting against a strong pair of hands, literally holding him to the hard surface he was resting on. His eyes refused to focus, giving him only a blurry picture of a strange, scaled sprite looming above him, gripping his shoulders. Bob clenched his eyes shut, and fought to control the panic that gripped his weary and aching body. Settling down, he listened to his own gasping breaths, trying to feel his body through the massive pounding in his head. The hands released him, and he brought a shaky hand to his forehead, feeling the sheen of sweat that lay there, though he was shivering with cold.
He tried to draw a breath to calm his breathing, but it caught in his bruised throat, sending him into a paroxysm of coughing. Hands gripped him to sit him upright, patting his back gently to aid him, but as the energy rushed from his head he slumped forward, unconscious.
He dreamed again, this time of an empty Mainframe, and of a virus that glowed with green veins, releasing her infection everywhere, fighting against a vengeful shadow that threatened her at every turn. Navy blue washed over his vision, blocking out the light, then drew slowly away, leaving his mind empty, free, and whole again.
Bob fought his way on-line, struggling to find out what was going on around him. Voices floated around him, indiscernible at first, then slowly growing more coherent.
[He was nearly off-lined, but he should be okay. I treated him as best I could, but I can't take him with me.]"
Another voice answered, the deeper tone setting him apart. "[Our clan will take care of the Guardian. Will you return for him?]"
The braying of a beast and shifting material could be heard. "[Hopefully, my friend. In the meantime, you can let him protect you.]" A pause. "[You can do no worse. He is a Guardian--he will try anyway. Teach him how. Let him be 'Interface.']"
"[You would give this one your Name?]" The voice was shocked. "[You realize this is not a matter to be taken lightly, ...Interface.]"
"[Yes. But he will earn it. Tell him nothing of me--I will return when I am able.]" Another pause and a thump. "[I *will* return.]"
A second fist thumped against flesh. "[As you wish. Good hunting, Interface--wherever the Winds may take you.]"
"[Good hunting, Cannon. May the Northern Wind guide your paths always.]"
Bob struggled to stay conscious, but a faint rocking motion and a thick covering tucked around him gently lulled him to sleep.
Bob woke quietly in a strange room, a thick, leathery quilt pulled up to his chin and another beneath his head. He took a deep breath, forcing air into his stiff lungs, and looked around. He was in a small room with little furnishing; a chair, a small table, a chest, and the bed he lay on were all that he could see. A wide door faced him from the other side of the room, and a soft light emanated from the ceiling, lighting the room.
Bob pushed himself slowly into a sitting position, careful not to move too quickly. When he had situated himself, he pulled his hands out from beneath the blanket and stared at them. More of that leathery substance stretched across his fingers and arms, forming a thin armor around his usual uniform, colored in gray-blues and greens. A quick check proved the 'armor' to extend the length of his body, from his boots up to the pit of his neck. Above that, Bob could feel the rough patches of skin that had degraded, leaving permanent scars.
Footsteps outside the door made Bob freeze in place, listening to the sounds that echoed though what he assumed to be a hall. They spoke in a language that Bob couldn't immediately identify, but could understand for no reason he could think of.
"[So when do you think Cannon will allow him to join us?]"
A snort. "[I don't see why Cannon hasn't destroyed him yet. No one can replace the One, this one is foolish to even try.]"
"[You should not talk so against Cannon. It could easily be misconstrued for rebellion, Slayer.]"
"[Ah, you worry too much. I wouldn't...]"
Bob lost their voices as they moved away from his door, left with an uneasy feeling. _Something isn't right here..._ "Wha-" Bob's voice caught in his throat, drawing a raspy cough from him. When he could speak again, he realized what he had heard.
"They were speaking Modem!" His own voice was eerily quiet in the still air, while the others he had heard clearly from outside the room. "But I don't speak Modem--how did I-" Bob shut his eyes and ran a complete systems check, his Guardian format trying to identify any glitches or new programs installed. Nanos later, his suspicions were confirmed. "Now where did that come from?" Two new programs had been downloaded to him: the Web-armor upgrade and the older Modem language.
Bob was still contemplating this when the door hissed and opened, revealing a tall, gaunt, fully armored sprite carrying a tray. The sprite looked at him, quickly shut the door, and came to rest the tray on the bedside table. The sprite pulled off the helmet, revealing thin, ragged features, disfigured by Web degradation.
"[And how are you feeling today, Guardian?]"
Bob winced at first at the high-pitched Modem, but found that he could reply easily. "[Quite well, thank you. Where...am I?]"
The sprite handed him a bowl of what *appeared* to be soup, but Bob wasn't too sure about the ingredients. "[I hope you like the soup, Cannon wasn't sure if you would. I'm afraid there isn't much else to eat, though.]"
Bob tasted the soup warily. It was luke-warm, and very thin, but Bob decided it would be edible. "[Thank you.]"
The sprite bowed to him, then picked up her helmet. "[Cannon will be in to see you soon, please do not leave the room.]" She pulled her helmet on before leaving, and Bob could hear the hiss as it sealed, just like the door as it closed behind her.
Bob stared at the soup in his lap. He didn't *want* to know what was in it, but he figured he had a good idea. "Well, I know I'm still in the Web. That much is obvious. But who are..." Bob smacked his palm to his forehead. "Web Riders, dip switch. But what happened to-"
The door hissed again, and a large, heavily built and armored sprite entered the room. He seemed to glare at Bob for a nano, then came to sit beside the bed. Bob ate his soup warily, waiting for the sprite to make the first move.
The sprite waited for him to finish, then cleared his throat, offering his massive hand to Bob. "[I am Cannon, Prime of the Eastern Web Dwellers, leader of the Web Riders. Welcome to your new home, Interface.]"
Bob took his hand gingerly, aware of the strength behind the firm shake. "[Thank you, Cannon.]" he replied in hesitant Modem. "[But my name is-]"
Cannon shook his head, silencing Bob. "[Your Name is Interface, given to you by the One, that you might be welcomed among the Riders. Your other name is your own; now you go as Interface.]"
Bob was confused. "[Who gave me this name? I-I don't understand. Why am I here?]"
Cannon sighed, an odd, off-key whistle in Modem. "[The One gave you this Name, more I can not tell you. You are here because there is no way out of the Web, save by a Hunter, which has been lost.]" He could tell the Net-sprite did not understand, but Cannon could not explain any better without a lengthy discussion. "[As to understanding, that I'm afraid will only come in time. Rest now, Interface. Regain your strength, that you might join us again in riding the Winds. I will speak to you again when I am able.]"
Bob was left with too many questions, hardly any of which had been answered by the mysterious Web Rider. _Who *was* Interface, and why do I have his name now? Who or what is a 'Hunter', and why can only he leave the Web?_ From the words, Bob knew there was some sort of significance to a 'Name', but he couldn't remember the teachings of his System Fundamentals teacher. _The Winds had some sort of mythological meaning, but what? I wish I had paid more attention in that class..._ The questions turning in his mind, Bob leaned back and dropped into an uneventful sleep.
Nearly a week later, Cannon spoke to Bob again, inviting the Guardian to ride with him beyond the base. The base, Bob learned, was composed of various wrecked hulls and pieces of ships that were brought back from hunts, and covered with Web creature skins and skeletons. The skins were sealed to keep out most of the corrosive atmosphere, but Bob learned that everyone still wore their Web armor inside to prevent any further Web degradation.
Bob looked down from where he was perched on the back of a new mount, surveying the Web around him. A young Rider named Fire had taught him to ride quickly, though Bob was still getting the hang of it. Cannon rode before him, leading them away from the base, towards a large data storm that brewed a few hundred bits away. Not risking to go any closer, Cannon pulled up as soon as the base disappeared from their sights, Bob beside him.
Cannon did not face Bob, but turned to stare at the storm. "[Interface, I promised you answers to your questions before, and now we have the time that I might answer them. You may ask first, and then I have more to tell you.]"
Bob sighed, careful not to translate it to Modem. "[How did I get here, Cannon? The last I remember was fighting a virus. Who *was* Interface?]"
Cannon paused before answering. "[I can only answer part of this, Interface. It is... difficult to explain to one who was not raised with the Riders--or for you to understand. Only you can be Interface now; the One who previously carried that Name must receive it back from you before using it again. Until then, for his sacrifice of Name, he can only be the One.
"[As to how you came to us, the One brought you. The... pursuit of a viral brought him across your path. How he rescued you I do not know, it is known only to him.]"
"[You... can't tell me who he was?]"
Cannon sighed. "[It is not that easy, Interface. In my culture, a Rider's Name is their Being--a Name that is given up to the Winds of the Web at deletion, and never used again. No two may have the same Name, and the Name of the deleted should not be spoken, lest the Wind take exception and bring the Black Ones to our camp.]"
Bob tried to keep up with Cannon's explanation, but so much translation was lost in myth, he could not understand much of it. "[I believe I understand as much as I can, Cannon. What did you have to show me?]"
"[First of all, I must apologize. You have been thrown into this position, without prior explanation or consent. And there is no way out for you.]" Bob started, surprised at Cannon's surety. _There has to be a way out--even Dai admitted it. If all she needed was codes, there must be a port somewhere, maybe hidden..._
Cannon turned to stare at the fiery-eyed Guardian. "[We of the Web have no way out; and I doubt you do, or you would have left already. The Guardians avoid this place, Interface. It's illegal to travel to or from our system without an approved Guardian guide. Times have changed since our Guardians first came to teach the Web peoples. A new threat has bound them against us only recently, causing the One to take his leave of us.]" Cannon turned to watch the storm again, silent for a while. _The Guardians, turning against a system? Especially one as big as the Web? That can't be right..._
"[I must ask you this, Interface. I do not expect you to give up trying to get back to your system. But for the time that you are here, I must ask you to stay with the Eastern Riders. Stay and help us protect ourselves from the dangers of the Web, and, if need be, the Net. Times are not easy, and the People have grown accustomed to a Guardian among them. I and my eldest son will instruct you in the ways of the Web, if you will share with us both the tales and the customs of the rest of the Net. You are a Guardian--'To Mend and Defend.' Continue to help the People here, for as long as you may, or until the One returns.]"
Bob listened to his words with a sinking heart, knowing that Cannon did not believe that he would or could get free of the Web--but was afraid that Bob would just wander around, searching until deletion. _I can't give up...I can't. Not while I'm still processing. I *have* to get back to Mainframe, back to...to Dot._
Cannon turned back to the Guardian, only to find him staring into the distance, pain and indecision in his slumped pose. Cannon laid a hand on Bob's shoulder, staring into Bob's faceplate when he turned. "[You don't have to decide now, and you don't have to give up trying to get home. But don't hold up hope where there is no room for it.]"
Bob shook his head, trying to deny Cannon's words. "[I won't give up looking for a way home, but I won't leave you unprotected either. I will stay with the Web Riders, at least until I am able to leave.]"
Cannon nodded solemnly. "[I will be satisfied with that, Interface. May your hunt be short and fruitful.]"
Bob nodded. "[And may the North Winds always guide your paths.]"
Cannon looked momentarily startled. "[You learn quickly, Interface.]"
Bob only nodded again, then turned his beast back towards the camp. Inside his own helmet, he whispered the words to himself. "I will never give up looking for home."
~part 2
by Ora Lynx
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Bob drifted from dream to dream for longer than he could keep track of, his program off line, and unable to be accessed. Somewhere deep inside, he *knew* something was wrong, but pieces were missing; a partial code here, a missing link there. Then *someone* was invading, trying to access; trying to mend. Shut out of his own core, unable to wake, or access even his basic files, the Guardian was trapped in his own nightmares.
"He's a virhas, Honey. You cahn't trust a virhas."
"Are you sure this is right, Bob? I mean- we can't trust MegaByte."
"Cadet Enzo...Alphanumeric, Bob! I mean, Sir!"
"I hope you didn't give him too much training, Bob. It will make my job so much easier."
_No, I can't let them...I can't let it...no, no, nooo_ "No!!"
Bob flinched awake, fighting against a strong pair of hands, literally holding him to the hard surface he was resting on. His eyes refused to focus, giving him only a blurry picture of a strange, scaled sprite looming above him, gripping his shoulders. Bob clenched his eyes shut, and fought to control the panic that gripped his weary and aching body. Settling down, he listened to his own gasping breaths, trying to feel his body through the massive pounding in his head. The hands released him, and he brought a shaky hand to his forehead, feeling the sheen of sweat that lay there, though he was shivering with cold.
He tried to draw a breath to calm his breathing, but it caught in his bruised throat, sending him into a paroxysm of coughing. Hands gripped him to sit him upright, patting his back gently to aid him, but as the energy rushed from his head he slumped forward, unconscious.
He dreamed again, this time of an empty Mainframe, and of a virus that glowed with green veins, releasing her infection everywhere, fighting against a vengeful shadow that threatened her at every turn. Navy blue washed over his vision, blocking out the light, then drew slowly away, leaving his mind empty, free, and whole again.
Bob fought his way on-line, struggling to find out what was going on around him. Voices floated around him, indiscernible at first, then slowly growing more coherent.
[He was nearly off-lined, but he should be okay. I treated him as best I could, but I can't take him with me.]"
Another voice answered, the deeper tone setting him apart. "[Our clan will take care of the Guardian. Will you return for him?]"
The braying of a beast and shifting material could be heard. "[Hopefully, my friend. In the meantime, you can let him protect you.]" A pause. "[You can do no worse. He is a Guardian--he will try anyway. Teach him how. Let him be 'Interface.']"
"[You would give this one your Name?]" The voice was shocked. "[You realize this is not a matter to be taken lightly, ...Interface.]"
"[Yes. But he will earn it. Tell him nothing of me--I will return when I am able.]" Another pause and a thump. "[I *will* return.]"
A second fist thumped against flesh. "[As you wish. Good hunting, Interface--wherever the Winds may take you.]"
"[Good hunting, Cannon. May the Northern Wind guide your paths always.]"
Bob struggled to stay conscious, but a faint rocking motion and a thick covering tucked around him gently lulled him to sleep.
Bob woke quietly in a strange room, a thick, leathery quilt pulled up to his chin and another beneath his head. He took a deep breath, forcing air into his stiff lungs, and looked around. He was in a small room with little furnishing; a chair, a small table, a chest, and the bed he lay on were all that he could see. A wide door faced him from the other side of the room, and a soft light emanated from the ceiling, lighting the room.
Bob pushed himself slowly into a sitting position, careful not to move too quickly. When he had situated himself, he pulled his hands out from beneath the blanket and stared at them. More of that leathery substance stretched across his fingers and arms, forming a thin armor around his usual uniform, colored in gray-blues and greens. A quick check proved the 'armor' to extend the length of his body, from his boots up to the pit of his neck. Above that, Bob could feel the rough patches of skin that had degraded, leaving permanent scars.
Footsteps outside the door made Bob freeze in place, listening to the sounds that echoed though what he assumed to be a hall. They spoke in a language that Bob couldn't immediately identify, but could understand for no reason he could think of.
"[So when do you think Cannon will allow him to join us?]"
A snort. "[I don't see why Cannon hasn't destroyed him yet. No one can replace the One, this one is foolish to even try.]"
"[You should not talk so against Cannon. It could easily be misconstrued for rebellion, Slayer.]"
"[Ah, you worry too much. I wouldn't...]"
Bob lost their voices as they moved away from his door, left with an uneasy feeling. _Something isn't right here..._ "Wha-" Bob's voice caught in his throat, drawing a raspy cough from him. When he could speak again, he realized what he had heard.
"They were speaking Modem!" His own voice was eerily quiet in the still air, while the others he had heard clearly from outside the room. "But I don't speak Modem--how did I-" Bob shut his eyes and ran a complete systems check, his Guardian format trying to identify any glitches or new programs installed. Nanos later, his suspicions were confirmed. "Now where did that come from?" Two new programs had been downloaded to him: the Web-armor upgrade and the older Modem language.
Bob was still contemplating this when the door hissed and opened, revealing a tall, gaunt, fully armored sprite carrying a tray. The sprite looked at him, quickly shut the door, and came to rest the tray on the bedside table. The sprite pulled off the helmet, revealing thin, ragged features, disfigured by Web degradation.
"[And how are you feeling today, Guardian?]"
Bob winced at first at the high-pitched Modem, but found that he could reply easily. "[Quite well, thank you. Where...am I?]"
The sprite handed him a bowl of what *appeared* to be soup, but Bob wasn't too sure about the ingredients. "[I hope you like the soup, Cannon wasn't sure if you would. I'm afraid there isn't much else to eat, though.]"
Bob tasted the soup warily. It was luke-warm, and very thin, but Bob decided it would be edible. "[Thank you.]"
The sprite bowed to him, then picked up her helmet. "[Cannon will be in to see you soon, please do not leave the room.]" She pulled her helmet on before leaving, and Bob could hear the hiss as it sealed, just like the door as it closed behind her.
Bob stared at the soup in his lap. He didn't *want* to know what was in it, but he figured he had a good idea. "Well, I know I'm still in the Web. That much is obvious. But who are..." Bob smacked his palm to his forehead. "Web Riders, dip switch. But what happened to-"
The door hissed again, and a large, heavily built and armored sprite entered the room. He seemed to glare at Bob for a nano, then came to sit beside the bed. Bob ate his soup warily, waiting for the sprite to make the first move.
The sprite waited for him to finish, then cleared his throat, offering his massive hand to Bob. "[I am Cannon, Prime of the Eastern Web Dwellers, leader of the Web Riders. Welcome to your new home, Interface.]"
Bob took his hand gingerly, aware of the strength behind the firm shake. "[Thank you, Cannon.]" he replied in hesitant Modem. "[But my name is-]"
Cannon shook his head, silencing Bob. "[Your Name is Interface, given to you by the One, that you might be welcomed among the Riders. Your other name is your own; now you go as Interface.]"
Bob was confused. "[Who gave me this name? I-I don't understand. Why am I here?]"
Cannon sighed, an odd, off-key whistle in Modem. "[The One gave you this Name, more I can not tell you. You are here because there is no way out of the Web, save by a Hunter, which has been lost.]" He could tell the Net-sprite did not understand, but Cannon could not explain any better without a lengthy discussion. "[As to understanding, that I'm afraid will only come in time. Rest now, Interface. Regain your strength, that you might join us again in riding the Winds. I will speak to you again when I am able.]"
Bob was left with too many questions, hardly any of which had been answered by the mysterious Web Rider. _Who *was* Interface, and why do I have his name now? Who or what is a 'Hunter', and why can only he leave the Web?_ From the words, Bob knew there was some sort of significance to a 'Name', but he couldn't remember the teachings of his System Fundamentals teacher. _The Winds had some sort of mythological meaning, but what? I wish I had paid more attention in that class..._ The questions turning in his mind, Bob leaned back and dropped into an uneventful sleep.
Nearly a week later, Cannon spoke to Bob again, inviting the Guardian to ride with him beyond the base. The base, Bob learned, was composed of various wrecked hulls and pieces of ships that were brought back from hunts, and covered with Web creature skins and skeletons. The skins were sealed to keep out most of the corrosive atmosphere, but Bob learned that everyone still wore their Web armor inside to prevent any further Web degradation.
Bob looked down from where he was perched on the back of a new mount, surveying the Web around him. A young Rider named Fire had taught him to ride quickly, though Bob was still getting the hang of it. Cannon rode before him, leading them away from the base, towards a large data storm that brewed a few hundred bits away. Not risking to go any closer, Cannon pulled up as soon as the base disappeared from their sights, Bob beside him.
Cannon did not face Bob, but turned to stare at the storm. "[Interface, I promised you answers to your questions before, and now we have the time that I might answer them. You may ask first, and then I have more to tell you.]"
Bob sighed, careful not to translate it to Modem. "[How did I get here, Cannon? The last I remember was fighting a virus. Who *was* Interface?]"
Cannon paused before answering. "[I can only answer part of this, Interface. It is... difficult to explain to one who was not raised with the Riders--or for you to understand. Only you can be Interface now; the One who previously carried that Name must receive it back from you before using it again. Until then, for his sacrifice of Name, he can only be the One.
"[As to how you came to us, the One brought you. The... pursuit of a viral brought him across your path. How he rescued you I do not know, it is known only to him.]"
"[You... can't tell me who he was?]"
Cannon sighed. "[It is not that easy, Interface. In my culture, a Rider's Name is their Being--a Name that is given up to the Winds of the Web at deletion, and never used again. No two may have the same Name, and the Name of the deleted should not be spoken, lest the Wind take exception and bring the Black Ones to our camp.]"
Bob tried to keep up with Cannon's explanation, but so much translation was lost in myth, he could not understand much of it. "[I believe I understand as much as I can, Cannon. What did you have to show me?]"
"[First of all, I must apologize. You have been thrown into this position, without prior explanation or consent. And there is no way out for you.]" Bob started, surprised at Cannon's surety. _There has to be a way out--even Dai admitted it. If all she needed was codes, there must be a port somewhere, maybe hidden..._
Cannon turned to stare at the fiery-eyed Guardian. "[We of the Web have no way out; and I doubt you do, or you would have left already. The Guardians avoid this place, Interface. It's illegal to travel to or from our system without an approved Guardian guide. Times have changed since our Guardians first came to teach the Web peoples. A new threat has bound them against us only recently, causing the One to take his leave of us.]" Cannon turned to watch the storm again, silent for a while. _The Guardians, turning against a system? Especially one as big as the Web? That can't be right..._
"[I must ask you this, Interface. I do not expect you to give up trying to get back to your system. But for the time that you are here, I must ask you to stay with the Eastern Riders. Stay and help us protect ourselves from the dangers of the Web, and, if need be, the Net. Times are not easy, and the People have grown accustomed to a Guardian among them. I and my eldest son will instruct you in the ways of the Web, if you will share with us both the tales and the customs of the rest of the Net. You are a Guardian--'To Mend and Defend.' Continue to help the People here, for as long as you may, or until the One returns.]"
Bob listened to his words with a sinking heart, knowing that Cannon did not believe that he would or could get free of the Web--but was afraid that Bob would just wander around, searching until deletion. _I can't give up...I can't. Not while I'm still processing. I *have* to get back to Mainframe, back to...to Dot._
Cannon turned back to the Guardian, only to find him staring into the distance, pain and indecision in his slumped pose. Cannon laid a hand on Bob's shoulder, staring into Bob's faceplate when he turned. "[You don't have to decide now, and you don't have to give up trying to get home. But don't hold up hope where there is no room for it.]"
Bob shook his head, trying to deny Cannon's words. "[I won't give up looking for a way home, but I won't leave you unprotected either. I will stay with the Web Riders, at least until I am able to leave.]"
Cannon nodded solemnly. "[I will be satisfied with that, Interface. May your hunt be short and fruitful.]"
Bob nodded. "[And may the North Winds always guide your paths.]"
Cannon looked momentarily startled. "[You learn quickly, Interface.]"
Bob only nodded again, then turned his beast back towards the camp. Inside his own helmet, he whispered the words to himself. "I will never give up looking for home."