In Situ
Chapter I
Even after I learned the truth, about how we live two-hundred years into a future controlled by machines, I didn't lose my fascination with the past.
Most trips into the Matrix have military motives; get in, get recruits, get out. Sure, I do that stuff when I have to, but most of my trips are for code to expand the server. I was a paleontologist (Dinosaur scientist) before getting un-plugged. I try to apply my skills in the matrix and the real world to de-cipher what the facts are about Dinosaurs, and what the machines have fabricated.
Things had been going fairly well on this trip; I had been in Westminster, Colorado's College library for over an-hour-and-a-half with no disturbances. It was a good place to hide, and if necessary fight. The building was only two floors, but both were huge. The structure seemed to grow from a large central spiral staircase, which emphasized the size of the building with its open design. You could stand at its foot and see the ceiling through an intricate piece of modern art that hung from the ceiling on steel cables.
I leaned in close to the computer screen I was at, concentrating on the conversation I was having in the new DML chat room:
.b0nes32: So according to this paper, feathers are ontogenically biased? Where can I find a copy?
tetanureabuff: I can give you the URL to the AMNH site where you can access the paper for free. Wait, I can fax it to you. Where are you at?
b0nes32: The fax number at this library is 303-451-8220. Thanks.
tetanuraebuff: On its way.
A minute later, one of the librarians made her way over to me.
"Sir? I believe this is the fax you requested."
"Great," I said as I took it from her ", thank you."
I folded the paper into my pocket and turned once again to the computer screen:
tetanuraebuff: have you got it y
The message had been cut off abruptly. Then another one popped up:
@gent: tetanuraebuff has logged off- permanently. Thank you for the information rearding your location, Bones.
"Information regarding my location.Crap! The FAX number!" I thought.
Another librarian approached.
"Your internet time has expired, sir. People are waiting, so I suggest you log-mphhgrlug!"
The gun was resting against my temple before I could react.
"Goodbye, Mr. Cotton," said the agent as he pulled back the hammer.
I jerked away and fell backward in my chair as his finger tightened on the trigger, and the computer screen exploded in a shower of sparks. I thought ",That could have been my head!" as I threw the chair at him with my feet and rolled backward into a standing position.
As I ran I whipped out my cell phone and yelled ", Operator! Get me a hard line!"
The enemy was reacting quickly; agents were emerging everywhere. Men in black suits and sunglasses replaced college students, little kids, and library workers. The former librarians dropped their books and began pursuit.
Coming up ahead of me was a large set of bookshelves. They stretched nearly wall to wall.
If I went around, the agents behind me would have ample time to aim. If I jumped over, every agent in the building would have a clear shot at me.
Decision made, I launched off the floor crossed my arms over my face. I hit the bookshelf at an insane speed, but on impact everything seemed to slow down, almost to a stop.
I emerged into the first four-foot-wide isle, books preceding me, and giving me cover. I could see them gracefully opening themselves, making them appear to have wings. Some exploded into beautiful slow-motion swirling confetti as they received bullets intended for me.
"Get your head in the game, Bones!" I told myself. Now was no time for distractions.
Glancing at the two agents that were the source of the annoying bullets, I swung my legs around and did a bicycle kick, sending two of John R. Horner's books speeding toward their faces. I never cared much for Horner.
My legs continued to move around to the front, and I planted them into the second bookshelf. Time woke from its nap with a start, and I rocketed off of the toppling structure. My body almost instantly punched through the high ceiling, leaving a convenient hole for me to see the shelves go down like dominoes.
I landed softly, but spared no time to reminisce.
"Operator?" I said as I sprinted for the edge of the roof.
An agent ripped through the roof right in front of me, intentionally using his body as an obstacle to trip me and send me flying to the left, through the wall of the protruding roof access.
I heard a crunch as I hit the second wall, inside of the roof access. I wasn't sure whether the sound came from the cement, or my bones. Probably a combination of both.
I slid down the wall head first, and dinged my head on the railing on the way down. I flopped over and hit the floor painfully, in a cloud of cement dust.
My powder-covered eyes opened to see my reflection in many sets of well- shined black shoes.
Chapter I
Even after I learned the truth, about how we live two-hundred years into a future controlled by machines, I didn't lose my fascination with the past.
Most trips into the Matrix have military motives; get in, get recruits, get out. Sure, I do that stuff when I have to, but most of my trips are for code to expand the server. I was a paleontologist (Dinosaur scientist) before getting un-plugged. I try to apply my skills in the matrix and the real world to de-cipher what the facts are about Dinosaurs, and what the machines have fabricated.
Things had been going fairly well on this trip; I had been in Westminster, Colorado's College library for over an-hour-and-a-half with no disturbances. It was a good place to hide, and if necessary fight. The building was only two floors, but both were huge. The structure seemed to grow from a large central spiral staircase, which emphasized the size of the building with its open design. You could stand at its foot and see the ceiling through an intricate piece of modern art that hung from the ceiling on steel cables.
I leaned in close to the computer screen I was at, concentrating on the conversation I was having in the new DML chat room:
.b0nes32: So according to this paper, feathers are ontogenically biased? Where can I find a copy?
tetanureabuff: I can give you the URL to the AMNH site where you can access the paper for free. Wait, I can fax it to you. Where are you at?
b0nes32: The fax number at this library is 303-451-8220. Thanks.
tetanuraebuff: On its way.
A minute later, one of the librarians made her way over to me.
"Sir? I believe this is the fax you requested."
"Great," I said as I took it from her ", thank you."
I folded the paper into my pocket and turned once again to the computer screen:
tetanuraebuff: have you got it y
The message had been cut off abruptly. Then another one popped up:
@gent: tetanuraebuff has logged off- permanently. Thank you for the information rearding your location, Bones.
"Information regarding my location.Crap! The FAX number!" I thought.
Another librarian approached.
"Your internet time has expired, sir. People are waiting, so I suggest you log-mphhgrlug!"
The gun was resting against my temple before I could react.
"Goodbye, Mr. Cotton," said the agent as he pulled back the hammer.
I jerked away and fell backward in my chair as his finger tightened on the trigger, and the computer screen exploded in a shower of sparks. I thought ",That could have been my head!" as I threw the chair at him with my feet and rolled backward into a standing position.
As I ran I whipped out my cell phone and yelled ", Operator! Get me a hard line!"
The enemy was reacting quickly; agents were emerging everywhere. Men in black suits and sunglasses replaced college students, little kids, and library workers. The former librarians dropped their books and began pursuit.
Coming up ahead of me was a large set of bookshelves. They stretched nearly wall to wall.
If I went around, the agents behind me would have ample time to aim. If I jumped over, every agent in the building would have a clear shot at me.
Decision made, I launched off the floor crossed my arms over my face. I hit the bookshelf at an insane speed, but on impact everything seemed to slow down, almost to a stop.
I emerged into the first four-foot-wide isle, books preceding me, and giving me cover. I could see them gracefully opening themselves, making them appear to have wings. Some exploded into beautiful slow-motion swirling confetti as they received bullets intended for me.
"Get your head in the game, Bones!" I told myself. Now was no time for distractions.
Glancing at the two agents that were the source of the annoying bullets, I swung my legs around and did a bicycle kick, sending two of John R. Horner's books speeding toward their faces. I never cared much for Horner.
My legs continued to move around to the front, and I planted them into the second bookshelf. Time woke from its nap with a start, and I rocketed off of the toppling structure. My body almost instantly punched through the high ceiling, leaving a convenient hole for me to see the shelves go down like dominoes.
I landed softly, but spared no time to reminisce.
"Operator?" I said as I sprinted for the edge of the roof.
An agent ripped through the roof right in front of me, intentionally using his body as an obstacle to trip me and send me flying to the left, through the wall of the protruding roof access.
I heard a crunch as I hit the second wall, inside of the roof access. I wasn't sure whether the sound came from the cement, or my bones. Probably a combination of both.
I slid down the wall head first, and dinged my head on the railing on the way down. I flopped over and hit the floor painfully, in a cloud of cement dust.
My powder-covered eyes opened to see my reflection in many sets of well- shined black shoes.