Orange goggles reflected a steadily rising sun.  As if by instinct, Evan checked the compass dangling from a pocket chain.

He would be at the gates of the city at the base of the dunes before the noon sun threatened to bake the leather of his jacket to the point of cracking. He shrugged his pack into position between the growing blisters on his shoulders and trudged on. 

Desert cities never struck Evan as pretty, but this one called to him like an oasis. It was against his usual code to enter inhospitable gates--no Northern cities in winter, no Southern ones in summer. 

People were mean most times, but even meager hospitality died with the crops. 

Care for a closer look? Linc’s voice filled Evan’s head and the world tipped for a moment.

Evan found himself peering through the window of a dingy bar. He slowly pushed open a creaking wooden door, well-worn from years of parched summers. Evan scanned the room as he dropped his bag beside a bar stool. He perched on the narrow seat and monosyllabically ordered a drink. 

His hair plumed into a spiked and disheveled mass as he slid the scarf off his head and pulled it loose around his neck. Pushing the goggles up over his forehead didn’t serve to tame the style, but it cleared his vision. Evan made note of the patterns in the chapped wood counter, avoiding the expressionless patrons. 

"How you paying?" A familiar looking bartender held the beer out of Evan's reach.

Evan sighed. He dug in the multitude of pockets to find a large flat circle of silver inside his coat. He pun it lazily on a knot in the wood.  The bartender stopped it mid-spin and swapped it for the bottle.

Bone dry hospitality, not even a 'hello, mate'. Linc tutted in Evan’s ear. At least summer booze isn’t watered down.

The bottom of the bottle may as well have been parallel with the ceiling before Evan could claim the first swallow.

"Staying long or passing through?" 

Evan turned his gaze enough to glimpse the man in the seat beside his.

"Why? Are you the man in charge of room fare?" Evan took another swig of his drink. 

The man flashed a look behind the bar. "Might be that I am."

"I’m not looking for a room, sorry." Evan looked the man in the eyes this time.

"Passing through, then. Fine, fine." 

Evan could tell when he was not wanted. 

"But, I say there. I couldn’t help but notice the glint of tags at your neck there."

Evan looked down. Unsmiling since the conversation began, now he smirked as curiosity and bemusement washed over him. The tags the man had indicated had fallen free of Evan’s jacket when he fished for the coin.

"What of 'em?" Evan clapped a hand over the bits of metal.

"They don't look like military rank and file, but things change fast outside remotes like this place," the man noted. "We are not kind to run-outs who might bring trouble our way."

Evan raised a brow and shook his head slowly. "So are you kind to those who won't bring trouble around your way?"

Linc’s laughter tickled in Evan’s skull. Well done.

The man beside Evan stifled a snicker and mumbled, "'S got a point, Coach," before taking a shot from the row in front of him.

The bartender glared and picked up a glass. The man in the stool guarded his face. But the move had served its purpose. The bartender snatched a towel and wiped the glass as if that had been his intended purpose all along.

He turned his gaze back on Evan. Evan knew an answer was more than recommended.

"I'm not military. Not anymore." Evan could tell by the silent exchange he hadn’t upset them in the statement.

No surprise.

Big as some cities were, the further from the main seat of politics, the less they gave a damn.

"A man who leaves home for long stretches has to carry reminders, and a man never going back carries all he can."

Evan fingered the pair of embossed tags dangling side by side on the chain. He thumbed a slider hiding a plug on one, the other had a split in the center with a cap. 

This city, like so many others, lacked the technology to read the files, but Evan knew what they were. That was all he needed. 

"Boy, you make not a bit of sense."  The man beside him finished off two more shots.

"Maybe not in this town." Evan grinned. "But where I came from, memories don't come more organized." He clutched the USB drive tags a moment, then hid them safely inside his shirt.

Linc’s voice filled his thoughts. The important things can be taken anywhere; the photos, letters, drawings, papers, who we are, were, and loved.  May be they are only copies, digitized moments frozen in points of data, but it is enough.  A hundred years ago, no one cared you could not feel the warmth on the face of a photo in a locket.