J.M.J.
A Little Child Shall Lead Him
by "Matrix Refugee"
Author's Note:
This is, except for a somewhat horrific scene toward the middle of the third part, largely a very innocent fic, featuring -- as I have told various people online -- "the least innocent character and the most innocent character in the 'Matrix' series". It's a rather odd combination indeed, but the idea came to me at work one day and it struck me as being so oddly beautiful that it begged me to write it.
Also, happy birthday, Dark Puck!! Enjoy your day and enjoy this fic.
Disclaimer:
I do not "own" The Matrix, its characters, concepts, imagery or other indicia, which are the legal property of the Brothers W (Warner and Wachowski), Village Roadshow, Joel Silver Pictures, Redpill Productions, et al.
The First Morning: Unwelcome Companion
"Good morning," said a child's voice in the darkness.
His eyes ached so horribly, he thought at first he had a hangover. He managed to raise his eyelids and look up.
A small Hindu girl clad in a yellow dress stood beside his head, smiling down into his face.
"Who are you?" he demanded, without rising. Pain pulsed in every code-strand of his being, so strong he did not venture to move. Cause and effect: that rogue gatekeeper had hijacked his awareness, now his system tried to restore itself, always a painful process.
"My name is Sati. Your name is Mero. The Oracle told me you're looking for something. Are you looking for something?" she asked.
He pulled himself into a sitting posture and looked around him. He lay on the top step of a flight of stairs leading to the doors of finely built public building, like a museum or a library. He looked down at himself: he still wore the slimline blue-black frock coat and the blood red shirt he had worn the night everything had gone horribly wrong, the night that rogue gatekeeper had crashed his way into the Chateau and forced his way into the consciousness of every program he encountered. Including his own. The front of his shirt still bore a large rip from the struggle that ensued when the gatekeeper had attempted to overtake him. Dust and grime covered his clothes.
He pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead, banishing the headache that throbbed in his temples. "So then, the fortuneteller sent you to me."
The child shook her head. "She told me about you and how you were alone. She said I didn't have to go to you if I didn't want to. But I didn't want you to feel lonely."
"In that case, you can run back to her and tell her that I am not lonely and that even if I felt this, I certainly do not need a child to alleviate this loneliness."
He stood up, turning away from this small nuisance, feeling under his shirt for the chain around his neck from which hung a key, the key that would lead back to his realm in the hinterlands of the Matrix, high up in the mountains.
"What's the key for, Mero?" asked a small voice behind him. He looked over his shoulder to find the child still there.
"This key will lead my back to my realm in the mountains," he said, and he inwardly cursed himself for letting out this information to her.
"Do you want to go there, or do you want to start looking for what you lost?" she asked.
He ignored this question and descended the stairs to the street below, following it till he came to the nearest alleyway, which he followed, seeking the first back entryway he came to. He didn't have to walk far before he found the perfect spot: the back door of a pawn shop.
He fitted the key into the dead bolt and unlocked that. Then he started to insert the key into the lock below the knob. Something tugged at his coat. He looked down to find the child beside him.
"Mero, do you really want to go there?" she asked.
"Of course this is where I wish to go," he replied, almost snapping at her. "I created the realm which this key leads to. I tenanted it with beings who would have suffered deletion if I had not found other purposes for them to fulfill."
"Is that why my papa had to talk to you? He told me... someone didn't want me living here, and that was why he had to see you about finding me a safe place to live." She clasped his leg with her hands, looking up at him with her eyes bright from a fear-memory.
"Yes, that is why he spoke to me," the Merovingian replied, trying to keep the note of irritation out of his tone.
"Then that must be why I'm here with you: so I can help you find what you lost," she said. "Can I help you, Mero?"
"No, you may not," he snapped, tugging his leg free of her hold. She looked at him with sad eyes, but she did not cry or start to whine at him for his abruptness.
He turned the key in the lock, then turned the knob and pushed the door in.
He stepped through the door, expecting to enter his office in the Chateau by way of a cupboard there... But to his horror, he found himself standing in the midst of ruins. The windows had blown out, letting in an icy wind that stabbed through the rends in his garments. The furniture had been overturned and smashed. Someone had wrenched the double doors leading to the hallway off their hinges. It would take hours and energy to repair the damage, but he had little of the latter at that point, at least until his system completed its restoration.
"Was this your home?" a small voice asked. He looked down to find Sati by his side, standing amidst the wreckage, hugging herself to keep warm.
"I ruled from here: I saved dozens of programs from deletion; in return, they served me," he said. The exiles must have wreaked this havoc before they left, while he still lay unconscious immediately after the last reload. "That rogue gatekeeper and that foolish young human..." he growled, thinking out loud.
"You mean that very bad man and Neo? Did they do this?" the child asked.
"No, but they caused the disorder that led to it," he said, kicking at a fragment of what had been a marble bust.
"Maybe the Oracle would know what to do. But we have to find what you're looking for first," she said, clearly trying just to be helpful.
"And as of now, all I am looking for is a way to rebuild this realm I created." He sighed with annoyance and turned away, retreating for the door. He wondered what other disruptions the anomaly and the rogue had caused by way of their death-match battle in the clouds.
He stepped out into the alleyway and closed the door behind him. He had just replaced the chain with the key to its rightful place around his neck, when he felt a small hand in his free one.
"What do you want with me, child?!" he cried, jerking his hand out of hers.
"I want to go with you. I want to help you find whatever it is and I want to help you find her," the child begged.
"Her?" As soon as he asked it, he know what or rather who the child referred to. But how could she know...
And then he recalled the initial meeting between himself and the child's "father", Rama-Kandra, the power-plant waste system manager. Why a program in charge of something so pragmatic and vital to the inner working of the Matrix would resort to something so ephemeral as creating a child defied all logic and rational thinking. Still, Rama-Kandra had shown some sense in approaching him regarding the child's place within the Matrix.
The creator of this child had brought his wife and their daughter to Le Vrai one afternoon. The presence of the child had mildly irritated the Merovingian at first, but it gave him a chance to see what this bargain pertained to, and for that matter, she behaved so well and sat so quietly between her parents, that he had no cause for complaint.
But throughout the initial exchange, he noticed Persephone, at his side, gazing on this child-program with something like a tender envy edged with sad, maternal longing.
The child's voice cut into his thoughts. "That pretty lady who was with you? She looked so sad, I wanted to hug her and make her feel happy. You love her, don't you?"
"Yes, I do love her," he said, but even he couldn't ignore the absent tone in his voice.
He realized that this child spoke the truth, that part of him, only a small part, sought for his wife, the last being he had spoken to before all this had happened...
Where would she be now? The last place he had seen her, the last time they had spoken, they had argued in the hallway leading to her bedroom. She had embarrassed him completely in front of their guests at Club Hel, and her interference with his last bargain had cost him the Anomaly, the 'one' who could seal his place in the system. The Merovingian had let his wife know how much it had cost them all. Persephone had listened to his ragings in stoic silence; she'd grown accustomed to his fits. He swore, though he hardly admitted it, that he had detected a slight smile of triumph in her eyes and tweaking at the corners of her mouth.
Then it happened.
Something struck the fringe of their realm. The walls around them trembled. The lights in the chandelier swaying above them went out.
Then he, or rather THEY had come, stepping silently down the hallway, surrounding them...
He banished these thoughts: no sense in remembering pain unless it was another's pain inflicted in retribution. He thought of where else she might be... She had been especially fond of Le Vrai: she once said it reminded her of the early days when he had courted her attentions and won her heart. Perhaps he would find her there; she had the intuition that he lacked, one reason he had sought her out and claimed her in the first place. Perhaps she could fathom what had happened.
He stepped out of the alleyway, and continued down the street, heading toward the more opulent section of the city, his destination the high-rise hotel which housed the alternate gateway to his realm.
"Mero! Mero! wait for me!" the child called out. Her feet pattered a rapid beat on the pavement behind him. He lengthened his strides, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and this irritant.
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Yellow "caution" tape blocked off the entrance to the hotel; he ducked under it and entered, finding the lobby dark and largely deserted except for a crew of maintenance workers clearing debris. Of course the elevators were not working, which obliged him to take the stairs, all one-hundred and one flights of them. No matter: he wasn't human, thus the exertion could not tire him unless he allowed it.
At length, he reached the landing which gave onto the 101st floor. The door to the hallway stood propped open with a long board under the door knob. He stepped out into the hallway: glass shards and broken tiles from the ceiling and the light fixtures littered the floor. He picked his way through the wreckage and approached the open double doors leading into Le Vrai.
More maintenance workers cleared away the wreckage -- sweeping up broken glass, piling fragments of smashed furniture -- as another group of men in hardhats assessed the damage. One of them, a stocky man with dishwater-brown hair, looked up from the small group he stood conferring with and looked up at the Merovingian.
"Sorry, but you can't come in here: it's kinda closed indefinately," the building inspector said.
"I own this building," the Merovingian said, stern-voiced. "I have every right to assess the damage with my own eyes."
The building inspector looked him up and down, slightly incredulous. "I'm only sayin' this for your own protection, sir. We'll send you the reports as soon as we kluge 'em together, but I better warn you: this place took a beating and we're trying to figure out why. It ain't gonna be cheap to fix it, either."
"Very well: back to work with you," the Merovingian replied and turning away from them, strode out into the hallway.
When he reached the ground floor and stepped out into the daylight, something like tiredness started to weigh down his avatar. He shut down these sensations.
The day had waned into late afternoon. In a bid to conserve energy, he had shut down his appetites -- something he loathed to do, but he had to do something to maintain his focus and use as few resources as possible.
He felt a small hand take his. As he looked down to find out who it belonged to, he pulled away.
"There you are, Mero! I thought I'd lost you," Sati cried, clasping her hands in delight and relief.
"Rather, you found me instead," he said, turning away and advancing along the street.
"But you still didn't find the lady who loves you," the child said, coming up alongside him.
"She may not wish to be found as yet," he said. "And I have more important things to attend to."
"But what's more important than finding the lady you lost?" Her voice called from a widening distance.
He quickened his pace a little, lengthening his stride. "There are many things more important than that, but I cannot elaborate on them here: you could hardly grasp an inkling of them even if I took the time to spell them out for you."
"Mero! Mero, come back!" the child called out. But he did not reply.
He kept walking deeper into the city, penetrating the warehouse district, a place where no child should walk alone. Perhaps some peril would overtake her and rid him of this pest without his needing to lift a finger.
He found this district, like most of the city, strangely untenanted. For that matter, not much traffic had passed by him all day, and the buildings everywhere had looked largely dark and deserted.
At lenghth, he came upon a decayed hotel, the Lafeyette, a derelict building that had clearly once known pride and elegance, and yet this showpiece had gone horribly to seed: windows broken, doors kicked in. Entering it, he found its interior in no better repair, its elegance putrefying. Unless he found a way, he knew that in due time, his realm would fall to pieces like this maggot-eaten carcass of a structure. He ascended the main staircase to the first floor, entering the first room with an open door: Room 101.
The front room stood almost empty of furniture, except for a sagging armchair and a pedestal table that looked ready to fall over, in the other a chest of drawers, a cabinet, and a four-poster bed with a dished-out mattress. A layer of dried mold and algae covered the inside of the sink and the bathtub. Cockroaches rustled in the walls, just in back of the faded reddish wallpaper hanging from the shattered plaster in strips.
He seated himself on the one chair in the room and assessed the matter at hand. His realm had started to collapse, his wife had vanished -- possibly of her own designs, in which case let her have it until he needed her at his side again. He had not seen a single gatekeeper anywhere, thus it appeared they had returned to the Source for deletion or reprogramming. With the System unsecure in this fashion, he could easily make the move he had worked toward since he had fled into exile. And yet, the perils remained and he had no safe passage. The Keymaker could have provided him the key that unlocked that door, but the small wretch had made him every key but one particular key. And his wife, that pretty serpent, had allowed the Anomaly and his companions to snatch the Keymaker from his grasp. If she had not denied him his dues as her husband, he would not have had to seek it elsewhere, including the company of that vapid blonde at Le Vrai that fateful day. During that time, the serpent he had espoused had led the Anomaly right to the Keymaker's cell, allowing the Anomaly to reach the Source...
And yet, the Anomaly weakened himself in the process, using his new talents too brashly. This had left the young human trapped in limbo, perfect for capture. Since the key to the Source had slipped from his grasp and the Keymaker had been destroyed, the Merovingian had claimed "the One" as the spoils of war. If the rebels wanted their savior, there was something they could bring him in trade: les yeaux de Oracle, They would show him the path he must take. A simple bargain. But clearly the rebels valued the fortuneteller too highly to buy back their treasure... at least until that woman enamored of "the One" had bound his hands with an ultimatum of her own, and again, the deceitful creature he had chosen for his mate had forced his hand.
And that choice had left him bereft of almost everything, now that the reload had taken place yet again.
He rose and paced to one of the window, pushing back the ragged curtain that covered it. He gazed unseeingly at the derelict buildings that surrounded the hotel. The sunlight had waned, fading on the rooftops as the sky above darkened by stages to deeper and deeper shades of blue. Too late to continue the search: he would resume it in the morning when daylight returned.
Someone tapped at the hall door. He half-turned, following the sound, but he did not stir from the window enclosure.
"Mero, are you in there?" a child's voice, Sati's voice, called to him from beyond the door.
He did not reply: perhaps if he kept silent, this irritating little creature would leave him in peace and go back to the fortuneteller's abode, where she belonged.
The door opened and the child pattered into the room. "There you are, Mero!" she cried, running up to him, a basket on her arm.
He held her off, his hands on her shoulders. "Not so quickly, child. What are you doing, following me around?"
Her little hands cupped his forearms. "I thought I lost you, so I went back to the Oracle and she told me where I could find you."
"Of course the fortuneteller would know where I am at all times," he said, thinking out loud.
"She knows because she loves you, Mero," the child said.
"And did she tell you that?" he said, slipping his arms from the child's touch and folding his arms on his chest.
"Not out loud, but when I asked her about you, she looked sad and worried. She wants to help you find what you lost, but you have to go and see her," the child said, setting the basket on the table.
"Yes... there is something that I am looking for," he admitted. "But you wouldn't understand it if I described it to you."
"My papa says I'm very smart," she said. "I could understand it, if you told it to me."
"You are still a child, and there are things you cannot comprehend because you have the mind of a child," he replied.
She looked at him, her eyes a little confused and saddened, but that look soon faded away. She set to work unfolding the large red and white checkered napkin that lined the basket. "The Oracle asked me to bring this to you: she said you needed it."
She took a second napkin out of the top of the basket and spread it on the table, then she took out another napkin wrapped around something. She unfolded that one to reveal a small loaf of bread, cut into slices, still steaming a little; she set that on the table, then took out a bottle of grape juice and two dark red plastic cups. He rolled his eyes slightly at the bottle of grape juice, but the warm, grainy aroma of the fresh bread nearly set his mouth watering.
Sati spread another napkin on the table, then filled one of the cups from the bottle, holding the cup out to him. He lifted one hand, holding her off. "No, I have no need for it."
"You must be thirsty, aren't you?"
"Normally, I would be, but I shut down those prompts," he said. "If you need it, take it."
She looked puzzled, but she let it pass. "It's very good bread, and I helped make the grape juice."
"Then I will let you have the pleasure of savoring it," he said.
She looked up at him with a puzzled crease in her smooth brow. "But food tastes so much better when you share it with someone."
"I have no need for it now," he said.
Night had settled in by now and darkness had crept into the room. While the child munched on two or three slices of bread, he found a box of matches in a chest of drawers and lit a pillar candle he found on the mantelpiece, bringing the candle to the table. He felt in his pocket for his palm-top; it still worked, but it would not allow him to access the Internet, and he still lacked the resources to access the databases directly, in order to check the status of his private accounts. He'd need to find some place equipped with WiFi, but that could wait till the morning.
"Are you sure you don't want any bread, Mero?" Sati asked. "There's plenty for us both."
"No, thank you," he replied, calmer now. "It's getting late in the evening, and I must start early in the morning if I am to accomplish anything."
"Maybe you could see the Oracle then, she'd be happy to help you find what you need." The child folded the napkin and covered the remaining two-thirds of the loaf with it, then she swept the crumbs on the floor into a pile under the table. "The mousies will want to find these for their dinner," she said.
He almost made a curt remark about the cockroaches finding the crumbs first, but he quashed it. Let her have her fun.
He took the candle with him into the next room, setting it on top of the dilapidated chest of drawers there. He took off his jacket, intending to hang it up in the closet, but he found no hangers there. He couldn't find even so much as a nail in the wall to set it on.
"Mero? where will we sleep?" the child asked, her voice coming from the open doorway.
He turned to her. "In that case, you can sleep in the chair in the other room."
She looked about the room. "Won't you be lonely in here?"
She had a point: he would be alone, but he sensed the harbinger of a loneliness of a different sort hovering on the fringes of his awareness. It would need to remain unfulfilled: he couldn't have this child asking awkward questions regarding the company he kept in the night. "I need to be alone to think through some important matters," he said. He took Sati by the shoulder and led her back to the chair in the other room. She climbed up into it; he helped her lay down on the cushions: she was so small and the chair so wide that it easily made a comfortable bed for her. He laid his jacket over her, tucking it in around her.
"Mero, can I ask you something?" she asked.
"Perhaps you may," he said. "Whether or not I give you an answer depends on what you ask of me."
"Mero... what's your other name?"
"Excuse me?"
"You must have another name besides Mero."
"It is not for you to know at this time," he said, trying not to snap. What kind of question was that supposed to be? he thought.
Before she could reply, he turned and went into the other room. He started to strip off his shirt for the night, then decided against it, in case the small interloper came toddling in for one reason or another. He removed his shoes and laid them under the bed, then undid the cuffs of his sleeves, leaving his shirt collar open. He laid himself down on the bed, pulling the worn blankets over himself.
Some time later, something nudged his leg. He opened his eyes and glared down at the foot of the bed. Sati stood beside the bed, his jacket draped around her tiny form. "I'm cold," she said. "Can I get warm next to you?"
"Very well, you may," he replied, correcting her grammatic error. He sat up slightly and pushed back the blankets, then helped her up onto the bed. She curled herself up on the mattress beside him; as he lay down next to her, she nestled closer to him, leaning her head against his chest. He laid his arm over her loosely, simply to keep her from slipping away. She emitted a happy little sigh and snuggled closer to him, curling herself up in a contented ball.
...A fragment of a long-ago conversation with his wife arose in his recall. It might have happened about the time of the fourth or the fifth reload.
"Armand," Persephone had said to him, after they had lain in each other's arms as man and wife the night of that first new day, "There is something I wish to ask of you."
"Hm... yes?" he asked, sleepily.
She lifted her head to look into his face. "How long have we been together?"
"I found you after the first reload, when I was nearly destroyed. Why do you ask?"
"I think then... it is time that we had a child."
"A child?"
"Other programs have attempted it. After all, we -- you, I, the others -- are all the children of the Architect and the Oracle."
"Indeed... but how does that follow any of this?"
She traced slow circles with her fingertips on his chest. "I want to do the same: I want to create a child... I want to bear your child."
"That is something I shall have to give all due thought... But you know what would be the consequences: You would be spending much of your time caring for le petite enfant, and that would make me jealous."
She nudged him gently. "It would be your child as well."
"Let me sleep on this, ma cher." He kissed her eyelids, gently easing her into a sound sleep.
While she slept, he reached into her shell, probing among her virtual organs and -- as painlessly as he could -- made certain that she could never conceive a child by him or any other being, disconnecting the avenues those code strands would follow . . . .
But now, on account of some unknown cause even his facile intellect could not detect, this little pet of the Oracle had attached herself to him.
Perhaps she had her purpose. Perhaps she could lead him to what he needed to restore what he had lost and to gain even more in revenge...
To be continued. . .
A Little Child Shall Lead Him
by "Matrix Refugee"
Author's Note:
This is, except for a somewhat horrific scene toward the middle of the third part, largely a very innocent fic, featuring -- as I have told various people online -- "the least innocent character and the most innocent character in the 'Matrix' series". It's a rather odd combination indeed, but the idea came to me at work one day and it struck me as being so oddly beautiful that it begged me to write it.
Also, happy birthday, Dark Puck!! Enjoy your day and enjoy this fic.
Disclaimer:
I do not "own" The Matrix, its characters, concepts, imagery or other indicia, which are the legal property of the Brothers W (Warner and Wachowski), Village Roadshow, Joel Silver Pictures, Redpill Productions, et al.
The First Morning: Unwelcome Companion
"Good morning," said a child's voice in the darkness.
His eyes ached so horribly, he thought at first he had a hangover. He managed to raise his eyelids and look up.
A small Hindu girl clad in a yellow dress stood beside his head, smiling down into his face.
"Who are you?" he demanded, without rising. Pain pulsed in every code-strand of his being, so strong he did not venture to move. Cause and effect: that rogue gatekeeper had hijacked his awareness, now his system tried to restore itself, always a painful process.
"My name is Sati. Your name is Mero. The Oracle told me you're looking for something. Are you looking for something?" she asked.
He pulled himself into a sitting posture and looked around him. He lay on the top step of a flight of stairs leading to the doors of finely built public building, like a museum or a library. He looked down at himself: he still wore the slimline blue-black frock coat and the blood red shirt he had worn the night everything had gone horribly wrong, the night that rogue gatekeeper had crashed his way into the Chateau and forced his way into the consciousness of every program he encountered. Including his own. The front of his shirt still bore a large rip from the struggle that ensued when the gatekeeper had attempted to overtake him. Dust and grime covered his clothes.
He pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead, banishing the headache that throbbed in his temples. "So then, the fortuneteller sent you to me."
The child shook her head. "She told me about you and how you were alone. She said I didn't have to go to you if I didn't want to. But I didn't want you to feel lonely."
"In that case, you can run back to her and tell her that I am not lonely and that even if I felt this, I certainly do not need a child to alleviate this loneliness."
He stood up, turning away from this small nuisance, feeling under his shirt for the chain around his neck from which hung a key, the key that would lead back to his realm in the hinterlands of the Matrix, high up in the mountains.
"What's the key for, Mero?" asked a small voice behind him. He looked over his shoulder to find the child still there.
"This key will lead my back to my realm in the mountains," he said, and he inwardly cursed himself for letting out this information to her.
"Do you want to go there, or do you want to start looking for what you lost?" she asked.
He ignored this question and descended the stairs to the street below, following it till he came to the nearest alleyway, which he followed, seeking the first back entryway he came to. He didn't have to walk far before he found the perfect spot: the back door of a pawn shop.
He fitted the key into the dead bolt and unlocked that. Then he started to insert the key into the lock below the knob. Something tugged at his coat. He looked down to find the child beside him.
"Mero, do you really want to go there?" she asked.
"Of course this is where I wish to go," he replied, almost snapping at her. "I created the realm which this key leads to. I tenanted it with beings who would have suffered deletion if I had not found other purposes for them to fulfill."
"Is that why my papa had to talk to you? He told me... someone didn't want me living here, and that was why he had to see you about finding me a safe place to live." She clasped his leg with her hands, looking up at him with her eyes bright from a fear-memory.
"Yes, that is why he spoke to me," the Merovingian replied, trying to keep the note of irritation out of his tone.
"Then that must be why I'm here with you: so I can help you find what you lost," she said. "Can I help you, Mero?"
"No, you may not," he snapped, tugging his leg free of her hold. She looked at him with sad eyes, but she did not cry or start to whine at him for his abruptness.
He turned the key in the lock, then turned the knob and pushed the door in.
He stepped through the door, expecting to enter his office in the Chateau by way of a cupboard there... But to his horror, he found himself standing in the midst of ruins. The windows had blown out, letting in an icy wind that stabbed through the rends in his garments. The furniture had been overturned and smashed. Someone had wrenched the double doors leading to the hallway off their hinges. It would take hours and energy to repair the damage, but he had little of the latter at that point, at least until his system completed its restoration.
"Was this your home?" a small voice asked. He looked down to find Sati by his side, standing amidst the wreckage, hugging herself to keep warm.
"I ruled from here: I saved dozens of programs from deletion; in return, they served me," he said. The exiles must have wreaked this havoc before they left, while he still lay unconscious immediately after the last reload. "That rogue gatekeeper and that foolish young human..." he growled, thinking out loud.
"You mean that very bad man and Neo? Did they do this?" the child asked.
"No, but they caused the disorder that led to it," he said, kicking at a fragment of what had been a marble bust.
"Maybe the Oracle would know what to do. But we have to find what you're looking for first," she said, clearly trying just to be helpful.
"And as of now, all I am looking for is a way to rebuild this realm I created." He sighed with annoyance and turned away, retreating for the door. He wondered what other disruptions the anomaly and the rogue had caused by way of their death-match battle in the clouds.
He stepped out into the alleyway and closed the door behind him. He had just replaced the chain with the key to its rightful place around his neck, when he felt a small hand in his free one.
"What do you want with me, child?!" he cried, jerking his hand out of hers.
"I want to go with you. I want to help you find whatever it is and I want to help you find her," the child begged.
"Her?" As soon as he asked it, he know what or rather who the child referred to. But how could she know...
And then he recalled the initial meeting between himself and the child's "father", Rama-Kandra, the power-plant waste system manager. Why a program in charge of something so pragmatic and vital to the inner working of the Matrix would resort to something so ephemeral as creating a child defied all logic and rational thinking. Still, Rama-Kandra had shown some sense in approaching him regarding the child's place within the Matrix.
The creator of this child had brought his wife and their daughter to Le Vrai one afternoon. The presence of the child had mildly irritated the Merovingian at first, but it gave him a chance to see what this bargain pertained to, and for that matter, she behaved so well and sat so quietly between her parents, that he had no cause for complaint.
But throughout the initial exchange, he noticed Persephone, at his side, gazing on this child-program with something like a tender envy edged with sad, maternal longing.
The child's voice cut into his thoughts. "That pretty lady who was with you? She looked so sad, I wanted to hug her and make her feel happy. You love her, don't you?"
"Yes, I do love her," he said, but even he couldn't ignore the absent tone in his voice.
He realized that this child spoke the truth, that part of him, only a small part, sought for his wife, the last being he had spoken to before all this had happened...
Where would she be now? The last place he had seen her, the last time they had spoken, they had argued in the hallway leading to her bedroom. She had embarrassed him completely in front of their guests at Club Hel, and her interference with his last bargain had cost him the Anomaly, the 'one' who could seal his place in the system. The Merovingian had let his wife know how much it had cost them all. Persephone had listened to his ragings in stoic silence; she'd grown accustomed to his fits. He swore, though he hardly admitted it, that he had detected a slight smile of triumph in her eyes and tweaking at the corners of her mouth.
Then it happened.
Something struck the fringe of their realm. The walls around them trembled. The lights in the chandelier swaying above them went out.
Then he, or rather THEY had come, stepping silently down the hallway, surrounding them...
He banished these thoughts: no sense in remembering pain unless it was another's pain inflicted in retribution. He thought of where else she might be... She had been especially fond of Le Vrai: she once said it reminded her of the early days when he had courted her attentions and won her heart. Perhaps he would find her there; she had the intuition that he lacked, one reason he had sought her out and claimed her in the first place. Perhaps she could fathom what had happened.
He stepped out of the alleyway, and continued down the street, heading toward the more opulent section of the city, his destination the high-rise hotel which housed the alternate gateway to his realm.
"Mero! Mero! wait for me!" the child called out. Her feet pattered a rapid beat on the pavement behind him. He lengthened his strides, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and this irritant.
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Yellow "caution" tape blocked off the entrance to the hotel; he ducked under it and entered, finding the lobby dark and largely deserted except for a crew of maintenance workers clearing debris. Of course the elevators were not working, which obliged him to take the stairs, all one-hundred and one flights of them. No matter: he wasn't human, thus the exertion could not tire him unless he allowed it.
At length, he reached the landing which gave onto the 101st floor. The door to the hallway stood propped open with a long board under the door knob. He stepped out into the hallway: glass shards and broken tiles from the ceiling and the light fixtures littered the floor. He picked his way through the wreckage and approached the open double doors leading into Le Vrai.
More maintenance workers cleared away the wreckage -- sweeping up broken glass, piling fragments of smashed furniture -- as another group of men in hardhats assessed the damage. One of them, a stocky man with dishwater-brown hair, looked up from the small group he stood conferring with and looked up at the Merovingian.
"Sorry, but you can't come in here: it's kinda closed indefinately," the building inspector said.
"I own this building," the Merovingian said, stern-voiced. "I have every right to assess the damage with my own eyes."
The building inspector looked him up and down, slightly incredulous. "I'm only sayin' this for your own protection, sir. We'll send you the reports as soon as we kluge 'em together, but I better warn you: this place took a beating and we're trying to figure out why. It ain't gonna be cheap to fix it, either."
"Very well: back to work with you," the Merovingian replied and turning away from them, strode out into the hallway.
When he reached the ground floor and stepped out into the daylight, something like tiredness started to weigh down his avatar. He shut down these sensations.
The day had waned into late afternoon. In a bid to conserve energy, he had shut down his appetites -- something he loathed to do, but he had to do something to maintain his focus and use as few resources as possible.
He felt a small hand take his. As he looked down to find out who it belonged to, he pulled away.
"There you are, Mero! I thought I'd lost you," Sati cried, clasping her hands in delight and relief.
"Rather, you found me instead," he said, turning away and advancing along the street.
"But you still didn't find the lady who loves you," the child said, coming up alongside him.
"She may not wish to be found as yet," he said. "And I have more important things to attend to."
"But what's more important than finding the lady you lost?" Her voice called from a widening distance.
He quickened his pace a little, lengthening his stride. "There are many things more important than that, but I cannot elaborate on them here: you could hardly grasp an inkling of them even if I took the time to spell them out for you."
"Mero! Mero, come back!" the child called out. But he did not reply.
He kept walking deeper into the city, penetrating the warehouse district, a place where no child should walk alone. Perhaps some peril would overtake her and rid him of this pest without his needing to lift a finger.
He found this district, like most of the city, strangely untenanted. For that matter, not much traffic had passed by him all day, and the buildings everywhere had looked largely dark and deserted.
At lenghth, he came upon a decayed hotel, the Lafeyette, a derelict building that had clearly once known pride and elegance, and yet this showpiece had gone horribly to seed: windows broken, doors kicked in. Entering it, he found its interior in no better repair, its elegance putrefying. Unless he found a way, he knew that in due time, his realm would fall to pieces like this maggot-eaten carcass of a structure. He ascended the main staircase to the first floor, entering the first room with an open door: Room 101.
The front room stood almost empty of furniture, except for a sagging armchair and a pedestal table that looked ready to fall over, in the other a chest of drawers, a cabinet, and a four-poster bed with a dished-out mattress. A layer of dried mold and algae covered the inside of the sink and the bathtub. Cockroaches rustled in the walls, just in back of the faded reddish wallpaper hanging from the shattered plaster in strips.
He seated himself on the one chair in the room and assessed the matter at hand. His realm had started to collapse, his wife had vanished -- possibly of her own designs, in which case let her have it until he needed her at his side again. He had not seen a single gatekeeper anywhere, thus it appeared they had returned to the Source for deletion or reprogramming. With the System unsecure in this fashion, he could easily make the move he had worked toward since he had fled into exile. And yet, the perils remained and he had no safe passage. The Keymaker could have provided him the key that unlocked that door, but the small wretch had made him every key but one particular key. And his wife, that pretty serpent, had allowed the Anomaly and his companions to snatch the Keymaker from his grasp. If she had not denied him his dues as her husband, he would not have had to seek it elsewhere, including the company of that vapid blonde at Le Vrai that fateful day. During that time, the serpent he had espoused had led the Anomaly right to the Keymaker's cell, allowing the Anomaly to reach the Source...
And yet, the Anomaly weakened himself in the process, using his new talents too brashly. This had left the young human trapped in limbo, perfect for capture. Since the key to the Source had slipped from his grasp and the Keymaker had been destroyed, the Merovingian had claimed "the One" as the spoils of war. If the rebels wanted their savior, there was something they could bring him in trade: les yeaux de Oracle, They would show him the path he must take. A simple bargain. But clearly the rebels valued the fortuneteller too highly to buy back their treasure... at least until that woman enamored of "the One" had bound his hands with an ultimatum of her own, and again, the deceitful creature he had chosen for his mate had forced his hand.
And that choice had left him bereft of almost everything, now that the reload had taken place yet again.
He rose and paced to one of the window, pushing back the ragged curtain that covered it. He gazed unseeingly at the derelict buildings that surrounded the hotel. The sunlight had waned, fading on the rooftops as the sky above darkened by stages to deeper and deeper shades of blue. Too late to continue the search: he would resume it in the morning when daylight returned.
Someone tapped at the hall door. He half-turned, following the sound, but he did not stir from the window enclosure.
"Mero, are you in there?" a child's voice, Sati's voice, called to him from beyond the door.
He did not reply: perhaps if he kept silent, this irritating little creature would leave him in peace and go back to the fortuneteller's abode, where she belonged.
The door opened and the child pattered into the room. "There you are, Mero!" she cried, running up to him, a basket on her arm.
He held her off, his hands on her shoulders. "Not so quickly, child. What are you doing, following me around?"
Her little hands cupped his forearms. "I thought I lost you, so I went back to the Oracle and she told me where I could find you."
"Of course the fortuneteller would know where I am at all times," he said, thinking out loud.
"She knows because she loves you, Mero," the child said.
"And did she tell you that?" he said, slipping his arms from the child's touch and folding his arms on his chest.
"Not out loud, but when I asked her about you, she looked sad and worried. She wants to help you find what you lost, but you have to go and see her," the child said, setting the basket on the table.
"Yes... there is something that I am looking for," he admitted. "But you wouldn't understand it if I described it to you."
"My papa says I'm very smart," she said. "I could understand it, if you told it to me."
"You are still a child, and there are things you cannot comprehend because you have the mind of a child," he replied.
She looked at him, her eyes a little confused and saddened, but that look soon faded away. She set to work unfolding the large red and white checkered napkin that lined the basket. "The Oracle asked me to bring this to you: she said you needed it."
She took a second napkin out of the top of the basket and spread it on the table, then she took out another napkin wrapped around something. She unfolded that one to reveal a small loaf of bread, cut into slices, still steaming a little; she set that on the table, then took out a bottle of grape juice and two dark red plastic cups. He rolled his eyes slightly at the bottle of grape juice, but the warm, grainy aroma of the fresh bread nearly set his mouth watering.
Sati spread another napkin on the table, then filled one of the cups from the bottle, holding the cup out to him. He lifted one hand, holding her off. "No, I have no need for it."
"You must be thirsty, aren't you?"
"Normally, I would be, but I shut down those prompts," he said. "If you need it, take it."
She looked puzzled, but she let it pass. "It's very good bread, and I helped make the grape juice."
"Then I will let you have the pleasure of savoring it," he said.
She looked up at him with a puzzled crease in her smooth brow. "But food tastes so much better when you share it with someone."
"I have no need for it now," he said.
Night had settled in by now and darkness had crept into the room. While the child munched on two or three slices of bread, he found a box of matches in a chest of drawers and lit a pillar candle he found on the mantelpiece, bringing the candle to the table. He felt in his pocket for his palm-top; it still worked, but it would not allow him to access the Internet, and he still lacked the resources to access the databases directly, in order to check the status of his private accounts. He'd need to find some place equipped with WiFi, but that could wait till the morning.
"Are you sure you don't want any bread, Mero?" Sati asked. "There's plenty for us both."
"No, thank you," he replied, calmer now. "It's getting late in the evening, and I must start early in the morning if I am to accomplish anything."
"Maybe you could see the Oracle then, she'd be happy to help you find what you need." The child folded the napkin and covered the remaining two-thirds of the loaf with it, then she swept the crumbs on the floor into a pile under the table. "The mousies will want to find these for their dinner," she said.
He almost made a curt remark about the cockroaches finding the crumbs first, but he quashed it. Let her have her fun.
He took the candle with him into the next room, setting it on top of the dilapidated chest of drawers there. He took off his jacket, intending to hang it up in the closet, but he found no hangers there. He couldn't find even so much as a nail in the wall to set it on.
"Mero? where will we sleep?" the child asked, her voice coming from the open doorway.
He turned to her. "In that case, you can sleep in the chair in the other room."
She looked about the room. "Won't you be lonely in here?"
She had a point: he would be alone, but he sensed the harbinger of a loneliness of a different sort hovering on the fringes of his awareness. It would need to remain unfulfilled: he couldn't have this child asking awkward questions regarding the company he kept in the night. "I need to be alone to think through some important matters," he said. He took Sati by the shoulder and led her back to the chair in the other room. She climbed up into it; he helped her lay down on the cushions: she was so small and the chair so wide that it easily made a comfortable bed for her. He laid his jacket over her, tucking it in around her.
"Mero, can I ask you something?" she asked.
"Perhaps you may," he said. "Whether or not I give you an answer depends on what you ask of me."
"Mero... what's your other name?"
"Excuse me?"
"You must have another name besides Mero."
"It is not for you to know at this time," he said, trying not to snap. What kind of question was that supposed to be? he thought.
Before she could reply, he turned and went into the other room. He started to strip off his shirt for the night, then decided against it, in case the small interloper came toddling in for one reason or another. He removed his shoes and laid them under the bed, then undid the cuffs of his sleeves, leaving his shirt collar open. He laid himself down on the bed, pulling the worn blankets over himself.
Some time later, something nudged his leg. He opened his eyes and glared down at the foot of the bed. Sati stood beside the bed, his jacket draped around her tiny form. "I'm cold," she said. "Can I get warm next to you?"
"Very well, you may," he replied, correcting her grammatic error. He sat up slightly and pushed back the blankets, then helped her up onto the bed. She curled herself up on the mattress beside him; as he lay down next to her, she nestled closer to him, leaning her head against his chest. He laid his arm over her loosely, simply to keep her from slipping away. She emitted a happy little sigh and snuggled closer to him, curling herself up in a contented ball.
...A fragment of a long-ago conversation with his wife arose in his recall. It might have happened about the time of the fourth or the fifth reload.
"Armand," Persephone had said to him, after they had lain in each other's arms as man and wife the night of that first new day, "There is something I wish to ask of you."
"Hm... yes?" he asked, sleepily.
She lifted her head to look into his face. "How long have we been together?"
"I found you after the first reload, when I was nearly destroyed. Why do you ask?"
"I think then... it is time that we had a child."
"A child?"
"Other programs have attempted it. After all, we -- you, I, the others -- are all the children of the Architect and the Oracle."
"Indeed... but how does that follow any of this?"
She traced slow circles with her fingertips on his chest. "I want to do the same: I want to create a child... I want to bear your child."
"That is something I shall have to give all due thought... But you know what would be the consequences: You would be spending much of your time caring for le petite enfant, and that would make me jealous."
She nudged him gently. "It would be your child as well."
"Let me sleep on this, ma cher." He kissed her eyelids, gently easing her into a sound sleep.
While she slept, he reached into her shell, probing among her virtual organs and -- as painlessly as he could -- made certain that she could never conceive a child by him or any other being, disconnecting the avenues those code strands would follow . . . .
But now, on account of some unknown cause even his facile intellect could not detect, this little pet of the Oracle had attached herself to him.
Perhaps she had her purpose. Perhaps she could lead him to what he needed to restore what he had lost and to gain even more in revenge...
To be continued. . .