Free Technobabel by Stephen Kenson

sinks into a cross-legged position with much more grace than I’d expect from an old man. He takes some devices from his bag and sets them up on the floor in a pattern that seems strangely familiar, like so many things. It brushes against my mind teasingly, but retreats when I try to grasp hold of it. While he arranges the items on the floor to his satisfaction, I finish the other sandwich and begin drinking the soup. It’s very good, too. The warmth of it spreads out from my stomach and makes me feel safe and comfortable for the first time since I awoke. The old man waits quietly for me to finish eating before speaking to me again.
    "Come," he says in a tone that’s more inviting than commanding. "Sit with me and tell me what you saw in the Resonance and we will interpret the images and omens."
    I look for a long moment at the serene old man sitting on the floor and I decide there is no point in lying to him.
    "Sir, I have no idea what you are talking about. What is this ‘resonance’ and who are you?"
    He cocks his head like a quizzical bird and looks at me with his dark eyes for a moment, like he is looking into the depths of my soul. Then he waves his hand toward the clear spot on the floor in front of him.
    " Sit, and I will explain," he says.
    I make my way over, inside the small ring of technological gear, and sit down with my legs folded up beneath me, resting on my knees and settling my weight on my heels, different from the old man’s lotus position, but it feels comfortable. I study his face and appearance, sitting there like a smiling Buddha, and try to place him in my memory. "Do you know me?" I ask.
    "I do," he says. "I am called Papa Lo and you are one of my pupils, apprenticed to me to learn the secrets of the world of light."
    A spark of hope ignites inside me. "What’s my name?" He shrugs, a gesture that carries considerable calm and acceptance of what is. "I took your name from you before you left," Papa Lo says, like it’s something he tells everyone when they wake up not remembering who they are. "You’re the only one who can find out what your new one is.
    "You are part of our tribe. We are called the Netwalkers and we live in the Rox, a section of the Boston sprawl, like many other tribes we trade with. You had no family or means, so we took you in off the streets. You became part of our community, and you showed you had the potential to experience the Resonance."
    "You mentioned that before," I say. "What is this resonance? Is that why I can’t remember anything?"
    If Papa Lo is upset at being interrupted he doesn’t show it. Instead he smiles. "Yes," he says. "Temporary memory loss is not uncommon with the experience of the Resonance, although I think you will find that your memory will be much improved when you have fully recovered, and that you will recall events and information with great clarity from now on.
    "Unlike the other tribes of the city," he continued, "we are the Walkers-of-the-Network, the intermediaries between the world of the physical and the world of light and knowledge." He reverently brushed a hand across the smooth plastic finish of one of the pieces of hardware laid out on the floor.
    "The Matrix is a place that exists within the infinite data-space of the world network, the grid. It is another world created by computers and mathematics, a world we can visit using computers as our gateway to enter and explore."
    I recalled the smooth metal of the jack behind my ear and my fingers went to it, almost unconsciously. Papa Lo smiled again and brushed away some of his long, white hair to show a similar plug, rimmed in white porcelain and chrome, behind his own ear.
    "Yes. With this," he said, touching the jack lightly with one finger, "we can connect ourselves directly to the computer and read its signals. The machine transmits the world of the Matrix into our minds and we can learn its paths and its secrets. There are many things to be learned in the world of light and many