Aleksey Savchenko - Cyberside

As they set out for the slavers’ camp, Taciturn struggles to jigsaw all of the details together. They resist.

First, there’s the true nature of the Homestead Contract. Nothing good ever comes out of Babylon. Next is the Scry. In addition to the woman’s peculiar personality, James finds her fixation on eliminating the slavers bizarre in the best light. How can a person, a creature , that systematically kills in order to live have any moral stance at all? Add to all of that, the Scry’s amnesia.

And finally, looming over everything else, the Fall Water Lake connection – a wellspring of too many memories from the past life of one James Reynolds.

James methodically puts one foot in front of the other while he tries to process all the details, until a muffled voice finally makes its way into his immediate awareness.

Realizing Matilda is speaking to him, or at least trying to, James brings his attention back to the road before them and the business at hand.

“So… I’m getting the feeling you don’t like to chat much.”

James offers a single grunt in response.

Matilda turns around to face him but continues walking backwards.

“No, that’s cool. That’s cool. I get it. You’re committed to this whole ‘strong, silent type.’ Makes sense. You mercenary guys weren’t really creative when you called yourselves Taciturns . I can just image how that meeting went. All of you standing around with your stern faces, trying to see who could come up with the most serious name…”

James looks past the young woman.

“Was there something you wanted?”

A childlike smile appears on Matilda’s face. It’s a sight James is becoming more familiar with.

“I mean, a better word was right in front of you the whole time. Ronin . Right? I mean, duh. Wandering, masterless Samurai. You guys really goofed on that one. ‘Ronin’ would have been a much better name.”

James sighs and unclips the canteen attached to his belt. He looks at his indexation watch’s relentless countdown.

“Yes, the wandering is a part of it. To avoid indexation, all Taciturns need to be nomadic. But the name is there as a reminder to be detached from our work. It helps keep our memories intact.”

The smile fades from Matilda’s face and sudden seriousness takes over.

“What do you mean ‘keep memories intact?’”

James notes her sensitivity to the subject of memories. Considering her current circumstance, he supposes it makes sense.

“Everyone has finite memory storage, and when a person is indexed, part of their storage is filled with information from the Locale they’re added to. Taciturns avoid indexation by ‘wandering.’ But everything we do fills up space. Run out of space, and new memories replace older ones. So we stick to routines. Limit our interactions with others in the Cyberside. We’re reserved because we don’t want to fill up space. Behind the ‘stern faces’ are memories we don’t want to lose.”

Matilda stops abruptly, forcing Taciturn to halt as well.

“Well… what are the memories you’re holding onto?”

James pushes past the Scry and keeps his attention on the road.

“Look, I appreciate the small talk, but we need to keep moving. If what you’re saying is true, it will take us a while to get there, and I’m already concerned about how much time I’ve wasted here. Just… just give me a moment to think.”

The Scry catches up to James and walks besides him.

“Think about what?”

James glances over at her.

“Transportation. I know you don’t have to worry about Indexation, but if this plan goes belly up, I’m stuck in Homestead.”

Matilda nods and looks around at the desolate landscape surrounding them.

“Sure, sure. Good point. What are you thinking?”

Taciturn takes another pull from the canteen and surveys the rolling hills.

“I don’t know. Most of the communication nodes in this section have been turned off by the System, and I didn’t really see much on my way into Locale 24-6.”

Matilda snaps her fingers.

“I got it! Let me check some of the data I absorbed. There’s gotta be something from those Hunters that came after me. Maybe something useful.”

James feels his hand opening and closing again.

“I’m not sure that’s…”

Matilda cuts him off.

“Don’t sweat it, Gramps. This shouldn’t take long.”

Before James can interject, a strange glow appears in Matilda’s eyes – an indication that the Scry is accessing information from some previously-absorbed target. Over the course of their conversations thus far, James had briefly forgotten what he was talking to.

James waits as she peruses data only she can see, awkwardly shifting his weight from one booted foot to the other. Thirty seconds feels like an eternity, and he begins to feel the warmth of the rising sun. Finally, Matilda blinks, her eyes clear, and she refocuses on the world around her.

“I didn’t find much. Only a couple of old wagon stations and some rundown farms.”

Taciturn places the cap back on his canteen.

“Wait, go back. Did you say ‘wagon stations’?”

Matilda tilts her head and furrows her brow.

“Yes, but they didn’t look operational or anything.”

James waves his hand.

“Yeah, no. I wouldn’t expect them to be working. How close are we to one?”

Matilda looks at him oddly, but points over a mound a short distance off the main road.

“Uhm, just a mile over there. But are you going to explain to me what… Oh, and you’re walking.”

Taciturn briskly heads in the direction of the hill. With each step, he can sense his Indexation watch counting down.

“The wagons will all be gone, but if we’re lucky, there might still be horses programmed nearby.”

He can hear the Scry running to catch up.

“Horses? What do you mean, horses?”

James shifts the weight of his backpack.

“Horses. You know, quadrupedal mammals with long faces. What do you mean, ‘what do you mean, horses’?”

Matilda shakes her head, waving his question away.

“No, I mean why would there still be horses, after the System shut down the Wagon network? If the System implemented updates to the transportation grid, it doesn’t make sense to keep those around, does it?”

James continues diverting from the main road, willing to take the risk.

“In the early days, horses were always kinda used as a back-channel, for engineers to travel while working on areas that were undergoing maintenance. I’m pretty sure the System doesn’t have the right permissions to remove them entirely.”

James notes the strange look Matilda gives him, but is thankful she doesn’t ask any more questions. They continue in silence until they reach the wagon station. After a quick search finds it abandoned, the two stand in the crumbling courtyard. Matilda kicks over a decaying wooden post in frustration.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, James. I don’t see any horses here. I hope you have a backup plan.”

Taciturn frowns–partly at her tone, partly at her use of his name – but doesn’t press the issue. Instead, he activates his backpack’s inventory, navigating menus and folders until he finds an item long stashed away. Recalling it, James retrieves a simple, nondescript whistle. At the sight of it, Matilda steps forward.

“What the hell is that?”

He cracks his back, rolls his shoulders, and allows himself a slight smile.

“The right tool for the right job. It’s been a while since I’ve needed to use this, but if horses are nearby, this should bring them.”

He turns to Matilda.

“You, uh, might want to cover your ears.”