[Heads up, Guardian!]
At the sound of the Rider�s ringing voice in his ears, Bob turned just quickly enough to see the egg start shifting, and suddenly burst open. Startled, he let out a cry, but the emerging creature had already clasped its mandibles around his arm. The Guardian squeezed his eyes shut. This was going to hurt...
The pressure released abruptly. Bob opened his eyes to see the dead creature floating away, out into the open Web.
Nearby, one of the other Riders sat on his mount, gun raised, the barrel smoking.
[Thanks,] Bob sighed. [I keep forgetting--]
[If you�re going to survive out here, you�re going to have to remember.] The Rider�s face, if Bob could�ve seen it, would have been twisted into a scowl. But his face was hidden behind a thick helmet, and even so, the ravages of the Web had degraded it beyond anything recognizable. [The Web is full of dangers. One cannot be careless.]
[I�ll keep that in mind,] Bob assured him, struggling to string the words together. He was still learning the Web Riders� language--he was to the point now that he could understand it quite clearly, but he could only imagine how badly he sounded speaking it himself.
[Come on,] the Rider said. [Let�s regroup with the others.] He gestured to his mount, and flew away. Bob�s zipboard had trouble keeping up.
The other Riders were waiting for them outside the creatures� den. [Nest, all right,] Bob told them. [Must�ve been thousands.]
The Riders exchanged looks, not quite understanding. Patiently, his companion repeated the phrase correctly to the others, who then nodded, comprehending. Bob felt a twinge of embarrassment.
[Good. We�ll return next cycle to pick up some of the newer eggs,] the leader said. [For now, though, we should return to base. This datastorm is picking up. We�ll be deleted if we stay out much longer.]
"Base" was a small floating citadel, constructed mostly out of dead Web creature scales. Built in the shape of a squashed sphere, it was split into about five levels, which were then likewise divided up into cubicles, much like cabins on a ship. It was actually, and surprisingly, very organized; there were living quarters for each Rider deep within the safety of the base�s shields. A couple of large group rooms, for meals and planning. The mounts were kept tethered just outside the airlock in separate stalls, in the open underside of the base.
Since the base was largely stationary, the Web creatures were the most essential part of the Riders� lifestyle. The find today was valuable; they would take some of the unhatched eggs, then raise the young creatures as mounts and companions.
Bob hadn�t yet chosen a mount, although the other Riders mentioned it to him more than once. He repeatedly told them that he didn�t plan on staying out here, that he was going home soon. Every time, they just shook their heads sadly. Each and every one of them had thought the same thing, once.
But the difference between the other Riders and Bob was, that he really was going home. At whatever cost.
As the last Rider in sealed the airlock behind him, Bob released the clamps on his helmet and let out a huge sigh. He turned the mask over in his hands. The viewplate had a menacing look, like a single narrowed eye, and the entire thing had the rough feel and dark colour of Web creature skin. Just like the body armour he now wore. It looked awful, but it serveds its purpose---his old armour wouldn�t have lasted a nanosecond against Web energies. This kept him safe, for the most part. But he could feel he was still degrading, if slowly.
[We�ll have a feast to celebrate our find!] the head Rider cheered. The others chimed in enthusiastically, heading towards the meal chamber in the back of the base.
Bob�s friend, the Rider who seemed to have wordlessly taken the Guardian under his wing, gestured to him. [Coming, Guardian?]
[No, thanks...I think I just need some rest.] He was hungry, but the more he thought about the very much live Web Rider cuisine, the more his appetite faded.
[If you�re going to stay with us, Guardian, you�re going to have to get used to living like us,] the Rider reminded him.
[Thanks,] Bob said, [but like I�ve said---]
With his helmet off, the Rider�s degraded features could be seen. What, to Bob, looked like a sad smile tugged at the corners of his shapeless face. [I know. You�re going home.] The Rider�s broad shoulders sagged. [It is a terrible thing to lose hope, Guardian--I know this personally. But it has been minutes since we found you. And we�ve tried to search for your system, with no success.] He put a massive, three-fingered hand on Bob�s shoulder. [I know it is hard. But your friends, the life you had there, are gone. Best to make a new life, here.]
Bob shook his head. [I can�t. It�s not about me...I have to know what happened to my friends. If they�re all right. Megabyte wouldn�t have stopped after he was rid of me...] He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to think the worst. [I have to find my way back to them.]
The Rider "smiled" once again. [I think that�s why I like you, Guardian,] he said. [In you, I see a lot of the sprite I once was.] He turned and lumbered away down the corridor, to join the others. Turning back to Bob, he added, [If you change your mind, there is always a place for you.]
[Thanks.]
Bob headed, alone, back to his own chamber--a small, dark, windowless square room, empty except for a pallet bed on the deck. Web Rider life was strictly no-frills. That wouldn�t normally have bothered him, but second after second spent in this dark little room by himself only served to remind him more of just how far he was from Mainframe. From home.
He tossed his helmet into a corner and slumped down onto the pallet, staring up at the ceiling. In a small way, this was all his own fault. Trusting a virus--he should�ve known better. But the ironic thing was, Megabyte had kept his end of the deal. He had used the powers at his disposal to help close the portal to the Web. There hadn�t been anything in their agreement saying what side of the portal Bob would be on when it closed.
Every night it was the same thought--what happened after that? He had survived. What about the others? Enzo, AndrAIa, Phong, and Mouse? He�d left Enzo with a small copy of his own Guardian protocol--the young sprite would�ve followed that programming, been driven to protect the system. He was inexperienced, but he wasn�t stupid, nor was he afraid--plus, little AndrAIa was a warrior in her own right, and she would have helped him. Mouse always found a way to survive, to escape unscathed. It was a talent she had.
And Dot?
What had happened to her?
He tried to put the worst out of his mind. No matter what Megabyte and Hexadecimal might have pulled after the portal closed, Dot would have survived. She was strong, intelligent, unyielding. She would�ve fought back--she never would�ve given up.
He missed her terribly. He would�ve given anything, anything at all, just to see her again.
Tiredly he got up and walked out of his room. It was too cramped; it felt like the walls were closing in on him. He headed to the front of the base, towards the single large window, the only view out onto the Web from within the drifting citadel.
He saw her every time he closed his eyes--her smiling face, glistening red lips, violet eyes sparkling behind dark bangs. At first the image had been painfully vivid, but now, he could barely remember what she looked like. The memory was slowly degrading, just like he was.
Looking at the faint reflection in the viewport, he wondered...would Dot have even recognized him now? Subtle as it was, he could see the effects of the Web already. His hair had grown long and wild, his face was now flecked with silver spots all along his neck and the sides of his face. The Web armour was all but completely fused to him. He glanced down at his rough, armoured hands--if she was here now, would she flinch at his touch?
He�d had a long time to think about her. A long time to regret. Why hadn�t he said anything to her? It wasn�t like he�d never had the chance. There had been several opportunities, moments when he could�ve taken her hand, put aside the cocky hero act, and told her how he really felt.
And he hadn�t. He�d thought he had all the time in the Net to tell her, that nothing would ever happen. He�d taken every second with her for granted, and now he would�ve given his very life just for one nano. All he could do now was hope that somehow, she knew.
Maybe she did know. He had tried to tell her, once, before the portal had opened, before any of this had happened. Staring into what had seemed like the maw of deletion, trapped with a supervirus fast approaching, he�d started to say it.
Dot...I want to tell you...
Gently she�d cut him off. I know, Bob. I know.
[Guardian?]
At the sound of his friend�s voice, Bob snapped back into reality. Startled, he turned and pulled himself to his feet, hastily brushing away the tears. He hadn�t even noticed until just now that he was crying at all. [Um...]
[You weren�t in your chamber...] the Rider stammered. [Am I interrupting--?]
[No, it�s OK,] Bob told him, forcing a smile. [I was just...thinking. That�s all.]
The Rider looked at him sympathetically, seemingly able to read everything from Bob�s face. [I see.]
Bob clapped a hand on his friend�s bulky shoulder, or what was left of it. He smiled thinly. [Come on. Let�s go join the others.]
The Rider nodded and returned the smile. [Yes.]
As the two of them headed back towards the meal chamber, the words rang again in Bob�s ears.
I know, Bob. I know.
I know.
It was all he had left to cling to. The hope that his friends, and Mainframe, were safe. And that no matter what happened to him--if he was deleted, or lost forever, degrading to nothing slowly out here in the Web--Dot would know that he loved her.