Matilda walks up next to him. “This doesn’t make any sense. We would have seen something like this from the ground. This shouldn’t… be like this. Right?”
Shrugging, James indicates a dirt path leading towards the tree line.
“The whole platform is technically a maze; this is just another part of it.”
James turns around and twirls a finger next to his ear.
“Also – crazy!”
They both laugh, follow the path for several minutes until it abruptly stops at an unlikely wall of dense, tangled greenery. Together, they begin to push their way through the thick brush. It’s a process that takes considerable effort.
After several hours punctuated by encounters with occasional wanderers, none of whom seem interested in conversation, James stops and pulls a water bottle from his pack. He squirts a stream of cold, water into his mouth then offers the bottle to Matilda.
“Thanks,” she says, taking it from him and drinking deeply.
James looks around at the expanse of trees surrounding them.
“This must be one of Hank’s riddles. I just need to figure out what it is, or if there’s a pattern. He has a thing for rhymes.”
Matilda kicks over a fallen log, sending it rolling into a standing tree,
“Are you serious? Like, he was into rhymes before he went crazy? Shouldn’t that maybe have been some kind of a red flag?”
James takes another long pull from the water bottle and wipes his mouth.
“We have to think like him if we want to get through this.”
Matilda hops up onto the fallen log, teetering her arms for balance.
“Great – ‘think like a madman’, he says. Well, if we roam around in the forest any longer, I’m thinking crazy will start to come real natural.”
The Taciturn puts the bottle back in his pack and cycles through its inventory menu. “You hungry at all?”
Matilda jumps eagerly off the log and heads over to him.
“Do we have any of those spicy chips left?”
Pulling out an apple, James tosses it to Matilda.
“Yeah, we do. But you should eat this instead.”
Matilda regards the firm, glossy apple in her hand, then shifts her gaze to James with narrowed eyes.
“You’re the worst.”
She bites into the crisp apple and wipes the juice from her mouth with her sleeve. She spins around slowly, looking at the forest as she chews.
“I guess this literally is one of those ‘can’t see the forest for the trees’ moments, isn’t it?”
James pauses in the act of taking an energy bar from the pack.
“What did you just say?”
Matilda executes a fluid, graceful turn on her heel, fast-balling the core of the already-devoured apple into a nearby bush. “You know. Like maybe we gotta take a step back, to look at it differently. ‘Can’t see the forest for the trees.’?”
James is instantly on his feet.
“Yes, Exactly!”
Positioning himself in the middle of the clearing, Taciturn closes his eyes and mumbles, thinking. Even Hank would need a way to weed out the apps that aren’t important to him. Crazy or no, Hank wouldn’t likely feel obliged to reinvent the wheel with his platform technology.
Opening his eyes, James takes a few steps back and deliberately defocuses his vision.
Disregarding his preconceived notions, James begins to perceive patterns of etch marks in the trees. He can’t make out what they say, but he can tell they’re words.
The final piece comes together for him. James realizes that, if they’re apps–the first vetting process is search engines.
His laugh echoes through the trees around them while Matilda looks at him blankly.
“You know, it’s pretty ingenious, when you think about it.”
She raises an eyebrow. “So, this is it. You’ve finally lost it, haven’t you?”
Smiling at her, James gestures at the tree around them.
“Okay, yes – sort of. Go with me on this, because it will definitely sound crazy. This whole forest is connected to the platform’s search engine. Look, I’ll show you. Can I have one of your knives?”
Matilda bites the inside of her cheek, but she pulls out a knife reluctantly, reverses it with a twirl, and hands it over to the Taciturn. Grasping the handle, he approaches the nearest tree. After a brief consideration, he slowly and crudely carves the word Taciturn into the bark. When he’s finished, a wind blows through the leaves – and a small forest path reveals itself.
He turns to her, just barely containing himself.
“See?”
Matilda shakes her head in disbelief.
“Neat trick, Gramps. Care to explain it to the rest of the class?”
James in no longer able to contain his excitement.
“We need to write key words about ourselves into the trees, so audiences farther up can recognize us. In order to increase our relevance, try thinking of words that are definitive, but also popular. Does that all make sense? Want to give it a try?”
Matilda pulls out another blade, walking it from finger to finger absently, thinking. “Um… sure. Carve something about me into search trees, so people elsewhere will like me. No, totally makes sense.”
Approaching a different tree, Matilda carves Hot into the bark, and the path opens slightly more. She turns to James, smiling, “You said it had to be a popular word, right? I guess this means I’m hot, huh?”
James gives her a troubled look. “My suggestion is, avoid too many, ah, exploitive words like that. It might skew the outcome, might pigeonhole you. Also, we don’t know how many words we get to try. If there’s a limit, we don’t want to waste them.”
Matilda makes an irked noise. “Fine. I’ll stay on the left side of the path, and you on the right. That way we won’t get separated. If we take turns, we’ll each give the other time to think of another word.”
James nods. “Solid plan. Let’s get to it.”
Matilda carves Scry into the next tree, and the road seems to range further still into the forest. They continue to carve words one at a time, extending the path by turns. They choose key words that define their personalities, skills, lifestyles and preferences. It isn’t long before both of them start hitting a wall.
After Matilda scratches Searching into a tree, the road doesn’t alter its aspect in any discernible way. Frustrated, she chucks her knife into the depths of the forest.
James reaches into his pack and pulls out a bag of chips and approaches Matilda. Offering her the snack, James puts a hand on her shoulder. “I get it. It’s got to be hard coming up with applicable terms when you’re still trying to piece your own memories together. So, don’t carve words you think you should know. You’re only going to get more frustrated. Just take a break for a second, and I’ll keep working on my side.”
James is about to carve a new word into his tree when, in his peripheral vision, the forest path opens up.
A quick turn reveals Matilda stabbing a fresh knife into the completed word. KILLER. Yanking the knife out of the tree trunk, she grimly trudges onward to the next tree.
It doesn’t go any smoother for James. As a man who’s carefully maintained a standing psychological distance in the Cyberside, definitive words describing his digital self do not come easily. The Taciturn hits his own private wall with the word Wanderer. Mentally exhausted, he rubs the bridge of his nose. Unlike Matilda, he knows his past, but does his best not to remember it. Looking back up at the tree, he stares deeply into the bark.
Reluctantly, he carves Regrets. And the path widens.