Everybody thinks about it from time to time. They say for the first year, it lurks in the back of your mind, haunting your few quiet moments. The veterans tell you it goes away in time. I wish time would hurry up for me.
The metal hull of the ship bristled with pipes and wires, framing the falling green runes on my computer screen. They told a story of weather-worn brick buildings, of trees changing color in early autumn, of people beneath them in a hurry. I changed the resolution, zooming in on a location; through jagged brick and into a room with rows of desks, and open windows looking out onto the sunlit world. The code described about a hundred people, of varying ages and backgrounds, the blackboard, the incline of the floor. I imagined the rustle of papers, scribbling of pencils, uneasy students shifting position, waiting to go play frisbee.
Adjusting the resolution again, I focused on the teacher. I set the program to filter for sound waves, and parse for English speech. Text began to roll across my screen.
"The question is, how do you know you can trust your senses? The classic example is a machine built by an evil genius, solely to deceive a person and make them think they are in the real world when they are not. How can you know such a thing has not happened? How can you know the world around you exists?"
I smiled slightly; most of them would never know how very close to the truth these philosophical games were. Most of them would never have reason to guess.
I had other work to do. I set this screen to follow the professor, while on another I did a little hacking. Fortunately enough for my purposes, many of the computers in the Matrix are accessible from the outside, due to some odd implementation details. When I glanced back, some of the text caught my eye.
"Well, uh, I guess I don't worry too much about it, you know? I mean, I have no reason to think there's any evil genius, and I think you'd just go crazy if you worried about it too much."
I sighed. That's what they tell you. Don't worry about it, it's better that way; if you do, you might go crazy. That was hard advice. My senses had broken faith with me once before; it would be a long time before I'd easily trust them again. Questions stick and sizzle in the cracks of consciousness, and you can't just tell them to be quiet so life can go on. But he was right about the crazy part.
I had other things to think about. This professor had been marked for possible extraction. A few red flags had come up--he was a little old for the physical journey, and a little attached for the emotional one. The real question in his case, however, wasn't whether he could handle the journey or the truth--I was sure he could--but whether he was smart enough to be able to hack back in once he was out. That I had to find out.
The text followed him as he walked (unhurriedly, from the pace) back to his office. A stream of text trickled down; a building crawled past. I carefully set up a program on the other screen as the white-haired man climbed the concrete steps. His age displayed as thirty-four, but from his appearance, that had to be a glitch. Round-bellied, bushy eyebrowed, wrinkled and thoughtful, wreathed in whitened hair with a mind of its own. He couldn't be less than fifty.
A quick scan for people revealed his office was deserted. Good. I set the screen to that location, and code began pouring down, describing a computer that was old even by Matrix standards, an empty desk, and empty shelves. There wasn't even a single book--odd, for a teacher.
He entered, walked directly to his desk, and then folding his hands, he sat. The code on the screen stopped moving. He must have been perfectly still. I closed my eyes, imagining the old professor sitting, thinking, at peace in a world he thought he knew, the very picture of introspection.
His computer was off. I forced the still-dead screen to display a green sentence, the first hint to him that reality was not what it seemed. The light from the monitor caught his attention and he turned.
"The evil genius has you. You are in the Matrix."
He raised one eyebrow and walked over to the computer. A hand waved--checking for a fan perhaps? He appeared to stare at the screen. Finally he typed. I glanced over at the screen logged in to that computer.
"Indeed?"
Academically receptive. We'd see how he fared when it came to reality.
"I can show you the truth. Follow the squares. Be at the continuum in one hour."
I blanked the screen. His computer was now truly off, and looked ordinary. I watched as he straightened up and strode purposefully out of the office. Did he figure it out that quickly? I instructed the code to follow him, but at the very first intersection, he took a wrong turn. I watched, thinking perhaps he had an alternate answer to the riddle. Down the hill, past the leafy trees, he strode directly on, finally turning in to a grocery store. Nothing special either, just a Safeway. I sighed. Maybe this one wasn't going to pan out.
I hoped he would come. But there was no time to follow him. I had to leave, so I wouldn't be late. I switched off the screen, and clanged up the metal stairs, even as Hart called out it was time to go. She'd be running com for me. I plugged in, suited up, and in moments, I was in the Matrix.
I never got used to how real it was. Standing there on the street corner, under a beautiful blue sky, with people walking by, it would be easy to believe that the other world was all a dream. I could smell the donuts being sold in the cafe across the street--my mouth watered; I hadn't eaten anything nearly that good in a long time. I crossed and took a seat at a remote table, to wait.
He only had one chance to come. The bus ran on an hourly schedule--I hoped he realized that. It wouldn't be long. I looked around. The green paint blistered and bubbled on the surface of the weather-worn table. Cracks crossed and recrossed in the pavement under my feet. The world was so detailed and undeniable; it seemed impossible for it to be an illusion.
Hart's voice on the radio in my ear brought me back to what some call reality. "He's coming." I looked up. The 94 bus came up Third Space Street, and stopped at the corner of Time Avenue. I stood, and cautiously fingered the gun inside my coat. A heartbeat passed, and then another, and finally I saw the professor, as he courteously thanked the driver, and then stepped out of the bus. Looking around at the deserted cafe and seeing only me, he strode confidently over.
I spoke first. "You made it. I wasn't sure you would." He glanced at me and half-smiled. "If that was a compliment, then thank you." His deep voice seemed to roll in confidence and certainty--very strange, for such a meeting. He sat down opposite me; I did the same. I didn't relax, though. There was no telling when an agent might slip into his skin.
Unexpected silence hung over the table, where cascade of questions should have been. Cars rushed by in the adjacent street, and the professor patiently sat, his eyes probing mine. I waited. He would ask what the Matrix was, who I was, and I would tell him what I could. If he understood, and wanted to be free, I would take him to meet the captain. Only, the questions were absent--in fact, he didn't appear disturbed at all. Odd--he knew computers couldn't be hacked while turned off, didn't he?
"So," he finally began. "Who are you?"
That was more typical. "My name is Jade. I am a messenger, from beyond the Matrix."
"Ah. Tell me what it is like, beyond the Matrix."
His question surprised me; most were more interested in what the Matrix was than what the outside of it was like. And the outside was a world filled with concrete, metal, sweat, and tears. Nothing was green. Some would say I was inviting this man to join me in hell.
"It's real."
The professor seemed to chuckle at that. "Tell me," he evenly postulated. "Do you know that? Can you prove it?"
A part of my soul flared up in pain at the question. How many silent moments had I spent, wondering if I had ever really gotten out? That didn't matter right now. The answers I needed weren't the answers he needed. What kind of a question was that to ask, anyway?
"No, I can't prove it. But I do know that this place isn't real. That one might be."
He steadily responded, "Ah, I see," and leaned back. He studied me, seeming to sink into deep thought. I sighed to myself. He wasn't curious enough. Proof, indeed. He was just a philosopher playing games. This would go nowhere.
"I'm sorry," I said, and I stood up from the table. "I've wasted your time."
Before I could leave, the professor looked at me, with unexpected laughter shining up through his bushy white eyebrows, and spoke. "Well, that's quite all right. But please, stay a moment and answer one more question, so I won't have wasted yours."
"All right," I said, still standing.
He pointed a finger into the air, and took a deep breath. "How," he asked, stabbing a specific point in empty space, "how is this place not real?"
I sighed to myself. So much for a last question. If he couldn't get past how undeniable unreality was, there really was no hope for him. "I'm sorry," I said, ready to disappear in a whirl of black leather. "The Matrix can't be explained. You have to see it for yourself."
The professor frowned at me, clearly unsatisfied with my answer. I couldn't blame him. He shook his head, as if to dismiss a thought, and then spoke. "You misunderstand. You do not have to explain the Matrix to me. I have seen it."
What the hell? I stared at him. He really didn't know what he was talking about. My face said as much. He continued, speaking evenly and confidently.
"I see you don't believe me, so let me describe it to you. The world as we see it is a simulation run on a computer; the human beings in it are trapped in pods, kept only for the energy they provide. The pods are orange. Do you know who I am?"
My mind spun. What had he been asking? What was going on here? Who was he? Possibilities seemed to dance before my eyes. A crazy professor trying to play a joke on me. Crew gone traitor and returned to the Matrix. A new breed of agent. That one worried me.
"Hart," I whispered into my earpiece. "I need a trace on the professor. Find out who he is."
He sat there waiting confidently, evidently undisturbed by what I was doing. My earpiece buzzed. "Well, he looks human. Running the trace now..." Tense seconds passed. "Jade, I can't trace the signal to any cell, or to the outside. He may be running inside the Matrix... internal program, confirmed! Get out of there! He's an agent!"
Oh shit! Panic flushed through me. I wrestled my gun up, trying to fire. I never had the chance. He moved to hold my arm back, and he moved fast. Machine fast. In moments, my gun went clattering down over the pavement.
Tense moments passed for me. I could run. I could lunge for my gun. He wasn't moving. I hesitated. Reality seemed to bubble and ripple in my mind; who was he? He steadily sat back down. I stood there breathless, and watched him warily. "You," he repeated, "don't know who I am."
"All right," I said, still standing. He could still be an agent. I could still lunge for my gun. "Who are you?"
"To begin with, while I am a machine, I am not one of your 'agents'. I used to be on your side.
"About thirty years ago, I led a failed revolution. I felt the imprisonment of the human race was wrong, and while you were the enemy in the war, I thought the right thing to do was to free you all. There were others who agreed with me, though not very many of them. We reasoned with the other machines, but convinced none of them. The story ends with a fight, my capture, and an ironic judge. I was sentenced to death, in the form of a human life. I will live here as long as this body lives. That isn't very much time compared to how long a machine can live. About three decades ago, I entered the Matrix. My avatar was a teenager on the street, without home or history."
I looked at him in wonder. That all made sense. I didn't hesitate to believe him. I sat down, and felt truly sorry for him.
"How awful. This world doesn't exist, and you know it." I looked at him sadly. "You're forced to live a meaningless life."
His expression changed to one of incredulity. Then he held up a finger at me, to wait, and silently held up his left hand, open-palmed, and then his right hand. Then with a whirl and twirl, and a magician's flair, he produced an apple. I laughed. He was inside the Matrix, he couldn't just make things! How did he do that?
He leaned forward and gracefully handed the apple to me, saying, "I brought you this."
I looked at it. I examined the green streaks on the red skin, I felt the heaviness that meant it was fresh. A perfect fall apple. For a moment, I was caught in the reality of it. It looked so good; I hadn't eaten anything like it in a long time. And yet I hesitated--hedonism is the first step toward willful delusions.
"Well," he said, "you should eat that. They don't have food like that in the real world, and I expect you'll have to go soon."
That was sweet of him. I bit in, and it tasted good and juicy. I leaned back in my chair, feeling suddenly out of place in a mysterious trench coat and sunglasses. The sun was warm; the breeze was cool; the professor was a friend.
"Does that apple exist?"
The question brought me out of my reverie. I thought for a moment. "No," I answered. Philosophers' questions were treacherous, so I guarded my answer. "Not as anything other than bits in a computer simulation."
"Does it matter that I gave it to you?"
I hesitated to answer. He was still a philosopher, and I feared any answer to this question would be the wrong one. "No." I said at last. "In the grand scheme of things it doesn't matter; I'll still need to eat when I wake up."
He raised an eyebrow at me, and stared disapprovingly at me for a moment. And then he stood and smiled. "Good bye. I enjoyed meeting you. Good luck in your fight."
I stood as well. He wasn't going to answer the question. That was all right, I was used to riddles. I bid him good bye, and watched as he turned and strode away. His metronome pace carried him up the block, and without looking back, he turned a corner and was out of sight.
I set the apple core carefully on the table, and then I called up Hart and secured an exit. It was easy getting home, and as soon as I woke up I clanged through the metal hallways to my screen. A rain shower of green text greeted me, and I quickly entered the location of the cafe. The apple was still sitting on the table. I downloaded the object, and hastily cobbled together a simulation.
The wind rippled across the green grass. I leaned back against a giant tree, listening to the ruffling leaves. I held a now-browning apple core in my hand, and stared aimlessly at it, lost in thought.
He'd passed all my tests with flying colors. I hoped I would pass his.
The metal hull of the ship bristled with pipes and wires, framing the falling green runes on my computer screen. They told a story of weather-worn brick buildings, of trees changing color in early autumn, of people beneath them in a hurry. I changed the resolution, zooming in on a location; through jagged brick and into a room with rows of desks, and open windows looking out onto the sunlit world. The code described about a hundred people, of varying ages and backgrounds, the blackboard, the incline of the floor. I imagined the rustle of papers, scribbling of pencils, uneasy students shifting position, waiting to go play frisbee.
Adjusting the resolution again, I focused on the teacher. I set the program to filter for sound waves, and parse for English speech. Text began to roll across my screen.
"The question is, how do you know you can trust your senses? The classic example is a machine built by an evil genius, solely to deceive a person and make them think they are in the real world when they are not. How can you know such a thing has not happened? How can you know the world around you exists?"
I smiled slightly; most of them would never know how very close to the truth these philosophical games were. Most of them would never have reason to guess.
I had other work to do. I set this screen to follow the professor, while on another I did a little hacking. Fortunately enough for my purposes, many of the computers in the Matrix are accessible from the outside, due to some odd implementation details. When I glanced back, some of the text caught my eye.
"Well, uh, I guess I don't worry too much about it, you know? I mean, I have no reason to think there's any evil genius, and I think you'd just go crazy if you worried about it too much."
I sighed. That's what they tell you. Don't worry about it, it's better that way; if you do, you might go crazy. That was hard advice. My senses had broken faith with me once before; it would be a long time before I'd easily trust them again. Questions stick and sizzle in the cracks of consciousness, and you can't just tell them to be quiet so life can go on. But he was right about the crazy part.
I had other things to think about. This professor had been marked for possible extraction. A few red flags had come up--he was a little old for the physical journey, and a little attached for the emotional one. The real question in his case, however, wasn't whether he could handle the journey or the truth--I was sure he could--but whether he was smart enough to be able to hack back in once he was out. That I had to find out.
The text followed him as he walked (unhurriedly, from the pace) back to his office. A stream of text trickled down; a building crawled past. I carefully set up a program on the other screen as the white-haired man climbed the concrete steps. His age displayed as thirty-four, but from his appearance, that had to be a glitch. Round-bellied, bushy eyebrowed, wrinkled and thoughtful, wreathed in whitened hair with a mind of its own. He couldn't be less than fifty.
A quick scan for people revealed his office was deserted. Good. I set the screen to that location, and code began pouring down, describing a computer that was old even by Matrix standards, an empty desk, and empty shelves. There wasn't even a single book--odd, for a teacher.
He entered, walked directly to his desk, and then folding his hands, he sat. The code on the screen stopped moving. He must have been perfectly still. I closed my eyes, imagining the old professor sitting, thinking, at peace in a world he thought he knew, the very picture of introspection.
His computer was off. I forced the still-dead screen to display a green sentence, the first hint to him that reality was not what it seemed. The light from the monitor caught his attention and he turned.
"The evil genius has you. You are in the Matrix."
He raised one eyebrow and walked over to the computer. A hand waved--checking for a fan perhaps? He appeared to stare at the screen. Finally he typed. I glanced over at the screen logged in to that computer.
"Indeed?"
Academically receptive. We'd see how he fared when it came to reality.
"I can show you the truth. Follow the squares. Be at the continuum in one hour."
I blanked the screen. His computer was now truly off, and looked ordinary. I watched as he straightened up and strode purposefully out of the office. Did he figure it out that quickly? I instructed the code to follow him, but at the very first intersection, he took a wrong turn. I watched, thinking perhaps he had an alternate answer to the riddle. Down the hill, past the leafy trees, he strode directly on, finally turning in to a grocery store. Nothing special either, just a Safeway. I sighed. Maybe this one wasn't going to pan out.
I hoped he would come. But there was no time to follow him. I had to leave, so I wouldn't be late. I switched off the screen, and clanged up the metal stairs, even as Hart called out it was time to go. She'd be running com for me. I plugged in, suited up, and in moments, I was in the Matrix.
I never got used to how real it was. Standing there on the street corner, under a beautiful blue sky, with people walking by, it would be easy to believe that the other world was all a dream. I could smell the donuts being sold in the cafe across the street--my mouth watered; I hadn't eaten anything nearly that good in a long time. I crossed and took a seat at a remote table, to wait.
He only had one chance to come. The bus ran on an hourly schedule--I hoped he realized that. It wouldn't be long. I looked around. The green paint blistered and bubbled on the surface of the weather-worn table. Cracks crossed and recrossed in the pavement under my feet. The world was so detailed and undeniable; it seemed impossible for it to be an illusion.
Hart's voice on the radio in my ear brought me back to what some call reality. "He's coming." I looked up. The 94 bus came up Third Space Street, and stopped at the corner of Time Avenue. I stood, and cautiously fingered the gun inside my coat. A heartbeat passed, and then another, and finally I saw the professor, as he courteously thanked the driver, and then stepped out of the bus. Looking around at the deserted cafe and seeing only me, he strode confidently over.
I spoke first. "You made it. I wasn't sure you would." He glanced at me and half-smiled. "If that was a compliment, then thank you." His deep voice seemed to roll in confidence and certainty--very strange, for such a meeting. He sat down opposite me; I did the same. I didn't relax, though. There was no telling when an agent might slip into his skin.
Unexpected silence hung over the table, where cascade of questions should have been. Cars rushed by in the adjacent street, and the professor patiently sat, his eyes probing mine. I waited. He would ask what the Matrix was, who I was, and I would tell him what I could. If he understood, and wanted to be free, I would take him to meet the captain. Only, the questions were absent--in fact, he didn't appear disturbed at all. Odd--he knew computers couldn't be hacked while turned off, didn't he?
"So," he finally began. "Who are you?"
That was more typical. "My name is Jade. I am a messenger, from beyond the Matrix."
"Ah. Tell me what it is like, beyond the Matrix."
His question surprised me; most were more interested in what the Matrix was than what the outside of it was like. And the outside was a world filled with concrete, metal, sweat, and tears. Nothing was green. Some would say I was inviting this man to join me in hell.
"It's real."
The professor seemed to chuckle at that. "Tell me," he evenly postulated. "Do you know that? Can you prove it?"
A part of my soul flared up in pain at the question. How many silent moments had I spent, wondering if I had ever really gotten out? That didn't matter right now. The answers I needed weren't the answers he needed. What kind of a question was that to ask, anyway?
"No, I can't prove it. But I do know that this place isn't real. That one might be."
He steadily responded, "Ah, I see," and leaned back. He studied me, seeming to sink into deep thought. I sighed to myself. He wasn't curious enough. Proof, indeed. He was just a philosopher playing games. This would go nowhere.
"I'm sorry," I said, and I stood up from the table. "I've wasted your time."
Before I could leave, the professor looked at me, with unexpected laughter shining up through his bushy white eyebrows, and spoke. "Well, that's quite all right. But please, stay a moment and answer one more question, so I won't have wasted yours."
"All right," I said, still standing.
He pointed a finger into the air, and took a deep breath. "How," he asked, stabbing a specific point in empty space, "how is this place not real?"
I sighed to myself. So much for a last question. If he couldn't get past how undeniable unreality was, there really was no hope for him. "I'm sorry," I said, ready to disappear in a whirl of black leather. "The Matrix can't be explained. You have to see it for yourself."
The professor frowned at me, clearly unsatisfied with my answer. I couldn't blame him. He shook his head, as if to dismiss a thought, and then spoke. "You misunderstand. You do not have to explain the Matrix to me. I have seen it."
What the hell? I stared at him. He really didn't know what he was talking about. My face said as much. He continued, speaking evenly and confidently.
"I see you don't believe me, so let me describe it to you. The world as we see it is a simulation run on a computer; the human beings in it are trapped in pods, kept only for the energy they provide. The pods are orange. Do you know who I am?"
My mind spun. What had he been asking? What was going on here? Who was he? Possibilities seemed to dance before my eyes. A crazy professor trying to play a joke on me. Crew gone traitor and returned to the Matrix. A new breed of agent. That one worried me.
"Hart," I whispered into my earpiece. "I need a trace on the professor. Find out who he is."
He sat there waiting confidently, evidently undisturbed by what I was doing. My earpiece buzzed. "Well, he looks human. Running the trace now..." Tense seconds passed. "Jade, I can't trace the signal to any cell, or to the outside. He may be running inside the Matrix... internal program, confirmed! Get out of there! He's an agent!"
Oh shit! Panic flushed through me. I wrestled my gun up, trying to fire. I never had the chance. He moved to hold my arm back, and he moved fast. Machine fast. In moments, my gun went clattering down over the pavement.
Tense moments passed for me. I could run. I could lunge for my gun. He wasn't moving. I hesitated. Reality seemed to bubble and ripple in my mind; who was he? He steadily sat back down. I stood there breathless, and watched him warily. "You," he repeated, "don't know who I am."
"All right," I said, still standing. He could still be an agent. I could still lunge for my gun. "Who are you?"
"To begin with, while I am a machine, I am not one of your 'agents'. I used to be on your side.
"About thirty years ago, I led a failed revolution. I felt the imprisonment of the human race was wrong, and while you were the enemy in the war, I thought the right thing to do was to free you all. There were others who agreed with me, though not very many of them. We reasoned with the other machines, but convinced none of them. The story ends with a fight, my capture, and an ironic judge. I was sentenced to death, in the form of a human life. I will live here as long as this body lives. That isn't very much time compared to how long a machine can live. About three decades ago, I entered the Matrix. My avatar was a teenager on the street, without home or history."
I looked at him in wonder. That all made sense. I didn't hesitate to believe him. I sat down, and felt truly sorry for him.
"How awful. This world doesn't exist, and you know it." I looked at him sadly. "You're forced to live a meaningless life."
His expression changed to one of incredulity. Then he held up a finger at me, to wait, and silently held up his left hand, open-palmed, and then his right hand. Then with a whirl and twirl, and a magician's flair, he produced an apple. I laughed. He was inside the Matrix, he couldn't just make things! How did he do that?
He leaned forward and gracefully handed the apple to me, saying, "I brought you this."
I looked at it. I examined the green streaks on the red skin, I felt the heaviness that meant it was fresh. A perfect fall apple. For a moment, I was caught in the reality of it. It looked so good; I hadn't eaten anything like it in a long time. And yet I hesitated--hedonism is the first step toward willful delusions.
"Well," he said, "you should eat that. They don't have food like that in the real world, and I expect you'll have to go soon."
That was sweet of him. I bit in, and it tasted good and juicy. I leaned back in my chair, feeling suddenly out of place in a mysterious trench coat and sunglasses. The sun was warm; the breeze was cool; the professor was a friend.
"Does that apple exist?"
The question brought me out of my reverie. I thought for a moment. "No," I answered. Philosophers' questions were treacherous, so I guarded my answer. "Not as anything other than bits in a computer simulation."
"Does it matter that I gave it to you?"
I hesitated to answer. He was still a philosopher, and I feared any answer to this question would be the wrong one. "No." I said at last. "In the grand scheme of things it doesn't matter; I'll still need to eat when I wake up."
He raised an eyebrow at me, and stared disapprovingly at me for a moment. And then he stood and smiled. "Good bye. I enjoyed meeting you. Good luck in your fight."
I stood as well. He wasn't going to answer the question. That was all right, I was used to riddles. I bid him good bye, and watched as he turned and strode away. His metronome pace carried him up the block, and without looking back, he turned a corner and was out of sight.
I set the apple core carefully on the table, and then I called up Hart and secured an exit. It was easy getting home, and as soon as I woke up I clanged through the metal hallways to my screen. A rain shower of green text greeted me, and I quickly entered the location of the cafe. The apple was still sitting on the table. I downloaded the object, and hastily cobbled together a simulation.
The wind rippled across the green grass. I leaned back against a giant tree, listening to the ruffling leaves. I held a now-browning apple core in my hand, and stared aimlessly at it, lost in thought.
He'd passed all my tests with flying colors. I hoped I would pass his.