Chapter 10 - Backup
I narrowed my choices down between visiting the Shopping District and going to the Archives to do some research. Not having a physical coin to flip, I materialized my push dagger and flipped it instead. The direction the blade landed would determine my destination, as the two locations were in opposite directions from my current position.
And, like some divining rod, the blade pointed me toward the Archives. I began to make my way there at once through streets bathed in fluorescence, but a nagging voice in the back of my mind called to me. This world was fraught with dangers I did not fully comprehend. It would be wise to backup my data at the Restoration Point before continuing.
On the other hand, I had very little to backup beyond the card fragments, crystals, materials, and Crypt I had accumulated since leaving the Orientation. I assumed my black coveralls, push dagger, and cosmetic footwear were already backed up, but what if they weren’t? How could I tell?
As discretion is the better part of valor, I abruptly changed course and headed for the Restoration Point. Better to be safe than sorry. I would visit the Archives after.
The Restoration Point loomed large over the surrounding structures and had the appearance of a multi-story art sculpture with swooping lines twisting together into a tower-like pinnacle. It reminded me of a retro video game company logo realized and maximized in three dimensions.
Thick cables ran into the base of the building like black rubber roots emerging from somewhere underground, and glowing grid lines snaked across the flat surface surrounding the building like a circuit board.
Now that I saw the building up close it occurred to me that I had regularly spotted the top of the tower from other vantage points in The Commons. This was an undeniable landmark. The Volunteers’ own version of the Eiffel or Tokyo towers.
I approached the inverted, arching walls of the tower and stepped through a wide, open entryway. I saw no personnel or workers of any kind manning the Restoration Point. There were only a series of angled, translucent tubes, like oversized MRI machines, but tilted upward and arrayed in a circle surrounding the building’s interior nervous core.
Each tube had a panel beside it with a round light and a small screen. I watched as one Volunteer stepped up to the panel and scanned their code, the light switching from red to white. The Volunteer then mounted a small platform that lifted them into the tube. The light on the panel turned from white to red, and bright lights pulsed within the tube. The Volunteer was stretched out like the Vitruvian man as beams scanned their entire body.
I approached a free tube, preparing to scan my wrist. But before I could access the panel, the red light started blinking and the machine sprang to life with a loud whirring noise. Startled, I took several steps back.
Light flooded the empty tube from within and a humanoid shape began to appear, silhouetted through the translucent material. At first it was merely an outline, a dark shadow. But it took on depth and dimension with each whirring pass, as if a person were being 3D printed before my eyes. At last, the sturm und drang abated, and the platform lowered.
A well-built Black man stood before me, wisps of newborn vapor curling off his shoulders. He wore black pants and a leather jacket. A gold medallion hung from a chain over his white shirt. He stepped away from the machine, checking his inventory and systematically materializing and dematerializing weapons as if to make sure they were all accounted for.
He paid me no mind, but I recognized him immediately.
Bigwig!
The man glanced up, annoyed.
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Bigwig! It’s me!
No hint of recollection crossed his features, so I persisted.
You saved me from the Baskerville Hound. You and Rook the other day. Was it another day? I’m still a bit hazy on that point.
He narrowed his eyebrows and responded with a dismissive grunt.
“Oh. It’s the thieving Magpie. Get yourself some new clothes or body parts for frag’s sake. Couldn’t recognize you from Adam.”
I certainly did not want to be associated with ‘thieving’ among the other Volunteers, but I hoped Bigwig was simply making an opera reference. He went back to sorting through his menu screens.
The Restoration Point. I just saw you materialize. Does that mean…
“Yeah. I ate it out there. The Round Table’s hunting a hydra. Very dangerous. Not that it’s any of your concern.”
A hydra. I’m sorry. I hope you didn’t lose too much of your data.
“Are you joking? I can’t tell. My shotgun is more expressive than your ugly mug. I keep most of my Crypt and the rest of my gear in the Repository. Where do you store it, under your bloody mattress?”
Repository…
Was Rook with you? Is she okay?
That comment elicited a frown. Bigwig closed his menu screen with a wave of his hand.
“How about you keep her name out of your mouth and mind your own business.”
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any offense. I take it you and her… that is to say… the two of you…
“We’re partners. We watch each other’s backs. That is the most important relationship a Volunteer can have. Now, I’ve got a score to settle with a multi-headed beast from Greek mythology. So get out of my way.”
Bigwig pushed past me, his muscular form moving purposefully toward the entrance. Feeling emboldened, I called out a final question in my feeble starter voice.
What does a Volunteer need to do to join the Round Table?
He stopped in his tracks and turned to look over his shoulder, flashing a disdainful smirk.
“Bag a Rare bounty. Nah, not even that–a LEGENDARY bounty. Then someone might notice you, little Magpie.”
Bigwig spit on the ground and then was gone. Charming fellow.
I turned my attention back to the tube he had materialized in. There were other open tubes, but perhaps I hoped some of his swagger might in some way rub off on me if I were to use this one. Superstitious thinking, I know.
I approached the panel and scanned my barcode.
Welcome to the Restoration Point.
Volunteer 01001110 01101111 01100010 01101111 01100100 01111001
Your last backup was ____NOT APPLICABLE____
Would you like to backup your data?
Yes I would.
100 Crypt will be deducted.
I winced. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Everything here had a price. That meant I was down to 970 Crypt. Maybe the most common cause of death in The Collective was being nickeled and dimed. On the other hand, it freed up one metabyte of storage space. Silver lining, I suppose.
[ECONOMY
* CRYPT
* * 970
MEMORY
* STORAGE
* * 196.7 / 210]
The round light on the panel shifted from red to white.
Please enter the Restoration Station to backup your data.
I did just as I saw the other Volunteer do, climbing onto the small platform which raised me into the tube. I saw illuminated holders in which to place my arms, stretched out at an angle above my head, and for my feet. Soon, hot beams of light crawled over every inch of my body. It even felt like they penetrated straight through me. I was cocooned in a tingling sensation from head to toe.
Then the procedure was done and quickly clambered out of the tube. I checked the small screen on the panel and saw my full menu (Statistics, Equipment, Inventory, Economy, Memory, Status, and Tasks) frozen in time at the moment of this backup.
Your data backup has been successfully completed.
Next stop, the Archives.