By Sand and Stars
Chapter 3: Testing the Water
Posted November 26, 2025
The rest of the night passed uneventfully, The Stranger and her mount falling into a peaceful stasis. When the temperature slipped above freezing, they woke up and resumed climbing.
It was grueling work, as the ledges and handholds were few and far between, but her mount did most of the lifting, flowing over and into the rock at a consistent clip.
And while they climbed, unit 3305 talked.
Pardon my asking, but why do you have a non-standard number of limbs?
The message was marked as though The Stranger herself had sent it, a disconcerting consequence of two users sharing a head.
The Stranger paused uncomfortably, adjusting her position.
How much of my sensory feedback are you privy to?
The response came quickly.
Oh, none right now, I only noticed when I tried to parse the input and was overloaded.
That was somewhat reassuring, but strange in another way. Are you saying you can’t see?
Not a thing. I suspect your hardware is newer than what I was designed for.
The Stranger thought on that for a moment. It seemed an uncomfortable way to be. After a moment, she wordlessly flagged the drivers for her audio and video receptors as public access.
The moment she had done it, another ping appeared. Oh! Thank you!
Then, a moment later, Ah. We are very high up.
The Stranger took her time replying, as the cliff finally gave way to a gentler slope, and her mount needed the focus to scrabble over the ledge. The top of the mountain was now in view, just a half hour’s trek away. As they began walking, the mount folded back down into a traditional four-legged form factor.
We are. How much do you remember from before I found you?
This time, the reply took a moment. Not very much. I have the location data you extracted, but most of my memories had to be cut in the transfer.
That was unfortunate, but not unexpected. Memories were generally the most storage-intensive part of the mind. Still, whatever it did remember could be useful. The Stranger took some time in drafting a reply that would ask without being too forward. Hesitated. Decided to not skirt around the subject.
Do you remember how you lost your legs?
Somewhat. Most of the damage I sustained was in falling off this mountain, some four hundred years ago, but I can’t quite remember what I was doing up here, or
The message was cut off and sent as soon as the stranger crested the mountain peak, revealing a small town nestled in the leeward side of the slope. It was tiny, three streets of cobbled together shelters in a sort of grid. Quaint, in a way, but it was also stone dead.
The boxy structures had fared well, away from the sand of the basin, but all the doors were open, all the paint sunbleached and cracked. Something rustled, a ways away, but it was clear that nothing and no one lived here. As she took in the sight, The Stranger felt her main CPU heat up. A strange sensation, as she had no particular increase in cognitive activity to match it.
She closed the gap to the nearest street and dismounted, folding her inner legs back into their resting positions. With a quick message to her mount to stay where it was, she began looking around.
Does this place give you any more perspective? She asked, already knowing the answer.
It does. I spent several months here. It was a community of solar farmers. Poets, mostly.
The Stranger peeked into the nearest door. Empty tables, empty chairs, all part of the fabricator-standard layout. An even carpet of dust lay across every surface. Do you remember any poems?
Time stretched on with no reply. The Stranger noted her fans spinning up, somewhere in her core. Not a one.
Absentmindedly, The Stranger wondered if they kept a record of their works anywhere other than locally. Such a cache of Pseudonoid culture would be invaluable. She made a note to look for anything that might be a hard drive before moving down to the next door.
Were you a poet here? The next room was empty as well, pristine.
No, I was mainly helping with the farms. They were quite elderly, happy to see anyone from the lowlands that could bring them news.
The Stranger paused in the third door. Someone had installed heatsinks into the chairs of the room, big blocks of metal coils, wrapped tight but spaced perfectly, no part touching another. She ran a hand along a tarnished wire. What is your definition of elderly?
They were mostly early second generation. Some of them were among the oldest units constructed on-planet.
The Stranger stopped where she stood. Were any of them first-generation?
Another pause before 3305 replied. Perhaps some, but I can’t say I remember clearly.
She picked up her pace as she moved to the next door. The potential for discovery here had gone from invaluable to revolutionary. Do you remember if they kept records? Writing? Backups?
The next several doors were empty, same as the others. 3305’s response was late in coming. Her fans started spinning again, but this time The Stranger knew it was her own excitement.
I apologize, but if I ever knew I certainly don’t anymore.
The Stranger came to the first crossroads of the town. The doors down every road were open. Picking a direction at random, she set off down it, scanning for anything left behind.
There was a ping on her overlay, from an external source, and then The Stranger’s gun was in her hand and her back was to the nearest wall. She scanned the surroundings for movement.
There, rounding a corner near the center of town, was a small group of people.