There was a disturbance in the halls. Hospital staff scattered, and loud chirps echoed off the polished floors and squeaky-clean walls. There was also a noticeable thumping.
The intruders strode into the waiting room where Bob, Dot, and Turbo lay sprawled out on the couches. Copland whistled in alarm as one of them reached out and tapped Bob's shoulder. Glitch burbled a reply as its Guardian jerked awake.
Turbo's eyes flew open, and he stared for an instant before sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Bob? We seem to have some visitors."
Websong rattled the pictures on the walls, and the three sprites in the room winced.
The Web Riders took a step back as the echoes of their calls died away, then sat carefully down and sang again, more quietly this time.
"Thanks," Bob said absently.
"What are they saying?" Dot asked as one of the Web Riders launched into a long and complex phrase.
"He's asking for that regeneration file," Turbo translated. "Can you stall them, Bob? I want to make sure no Guardian files are accidentally transferred."
Glitch beeped, then chattered.
"I'm sorry, old friend," Turbo told the keytool. "It's my job."
Glitch clicked, and Copland added a phrase of its own.
"Could you three be quiet for a nano?" Bob asked in a slightly testy tone. "It's hard enough to hear the harmonics indoors without background noise."
Dot's brow furrowed. "What's he talking about?" she murmured to Turbo.
"The subtleties of Websong are encoded by whole phrase," Turbo answered in a low tone as Bob began exchanging high chattering song with the Web Riders. "You can get the basics from the primary tones and the articulation, but if you want to know how someone feels about something, you have to keep track of the tones and stack the phrase up into a complete chord. It takes a good ear to get any of it. I've been studying Websong for nearly ten minutes, and I'm still missing most of what's going on here."
Dot blinked, then looked to Bob, who had dark circles under his eyes and a distinct slump to his shoulders. "It must have been hard for him."
Turbo followed Dot's eyes, and nodded sadly. "Yeah. But he got through it."
"He's been through so much," Dot murmured.
"So have you, ma'am," Turbo said gently. "You and Bob are some of the strongest sprites I've ever met, and believe me, I've known a lot of people."
Dot bit her lip.
"No," Matrix mumbled in his sleep. "Meh'byte. Lemme go. Lemme go." His arms twitched against the restraining field.
"Shh," AndrAIa murmured. She stroked the big green sprite's arm, ignoring the electrical hiss as the field adjusted itself to allow her hand freedom. "It's all right, Enzo. Relax. Go back to sleep."
Matrix's mumbling trailed off into incomprehensibility, then ceased. AndrAIa sat back in her chair and resumed her watch, her eyes troubled.
"How's he doing?"
AndrAIa glanced up as Wayne entered the room and took the other visitor's chair. "He doesn't recognize me," she answered softly. "He called me Dot the last time he was awake." She gave Wayne a measuring look. "How are you?"
"Better than I was," Wayne replied. "Doctor Bingen ran every test either one of us could think of."
"She seems like a good doctor," AndrAIa said falteringly.
"She's as good as doctors get," Wayne replied.
"Better than you?"
Wayne met AndrAIa's worried eyes. "In surgery? Yes."
AndrAIa accepted that, then asked tentatively. "Do you remember anything?"
Wayne lifted an eyebrow.
"From when you were—what did you do to Enzo?" AndrAIa asked.
Wayne took a deep breath, then let it out in a long sigh. "I'm not sure," he answered. He ran his hand over his face. "The infection corrupted my higher memory functions when it went active. I can remember how I felt, and bits and pieces of things I saw, but…" He looked up into AndrAIa's eyes. "I remember the feeling that the interrupts were a minor nuisance, and a moment or two of dizziness when I touched Matrix, but that's about it. Sorry."
Matrix moved again, tossing his head back and forth on the pillow. "Leggo…leggo," he mumbled. "Won't. No."
AndrAIa gave Wayne a stricken look. "There must be something else we can do…?"
Wayne glanced over the monitors, and shook his head. His face was weary and sad. "I'm afraid not. Memory configuration is individualized." He ran his hand over his face again, bent his head to rub the back of his neck, then glanced up. Seeing AndrAIa's puzzled expression, he clarified. "Most of a sprite's personality is based on how his or her memory is arranged. For example, I remember Turbo first as my friend, then as my boss. If it were the other way around, I'd treat him differently."
"But they fixed your memory," AndrAIa protested.
"My memory tree was scrambled," Wayne answered patiently. "Scrambled data can be unscrambled. Matrix's tree was completely gone—the virus deleted it, then tied a few of the files back together so that Matrix had enough motor control and cognition to follow the viral directives. Doctor Bingen removed the viral connections, and created a new root directory, but Matrix has to do the rest. And he will." Wayne reached across the restless Matrix and patted AndrAIa's hand. "I know it's hard to believe, but he's past the worst of it. Most of what he needs now is time and friends."
The Saucy Mare II thundered into her Web portal with an escort of armored and very noisy Web Riders. There was no one on board who could translate their ululating cries, but their constant darting forward and back along the ship's sides made their feelings obvious.
"Wonder what's got them so excited," Mouse murmured as she watched the Web Riders on one of the ship's screens.
"They be a strange and excitable lot," Captain Capacitor observed.
A rising shriek of Websong penetrated the ship's thick shields, then layered into squeals and whines of feedback. The zing of an opening vidwindow was lost in the racket.
The Web Riders abruptly silenced.
"Took you long enough," Ray's vid image said.
Glitch, hovering above the spiky Web armor of one of the Web Riders, beeped. Copland glided silently to Glitch's side, then purred out a series of soft clicks. The mismatched group of sprites in the waiting room listened intently. The Web Riders sat stock-still as first one, then the other keytool zipped around their heads, under their arms, and behind their backs, scanning. The tempo of Glitch and Copland's conversation picked up until it was a continuous blur of sound.
"What are they saying?" Dot whispered to Bob.
"I'm not sure—the transfer rate's faster than I can keep up with," Bob answered.
The lead Web Rider trilled something, and Bob replied with a short, rising note.
"He just asked me the same question," Bob said with a weary grin.
They sat there and waited while the keytools hummed and clattered. Then the sound abruptly stopped. Glitch buzzed, then returned to its usual perch on Bob's arm. Copland made one last circle around the Web Riders before heading back to its Guardian.
Turbo watched the data scroll on Copland's screen. The Prime Guardian's eyebrows lowered. "Understood," he told his keytool. "Bob, can you explain to them?"
"It's not impossible, Turbo," Bob protested. "There are some technical problems to work out, but—"
"The entire processing power of a fourth-generation Principle Office, a minimum of four keytools, and enough core energy to delete every sprite in Mainframe two or three times over," Turbo interrupted. "That's no minor technical problem, son."
"But it is possible," Bob insisted. He turned to the Web Riders and launched into a complex melody of swooping trills.
The Web Riders answered, their voices overlapping into minor-key chords.
"They understand," Bob translated. "They want to know if we'd be willing to try it if they found a system that could support the power demands."
Turbo looked into Bob's earnest face, and didn't answer.
Copland beeped, a quiet and meek sound.
Glitch echoed the beep, then clicked.
"Probably," Bob agreed, his eyes on Turbo's face. "That's three."
Copland hummed softly.
"To mend and defend," Turbo murmured.
"It's what we do," Bob said simply.