+J.M.J.+
Zenon Eyes: Eyes of Truth
By "Matrix Refugee"
Author's Note:
After months of my wrestling with this one, trying to get it to work, it is now trying to write itself. After this I have only (GASP!) two more chapters to go. I'm suddenly very reluctant to finish it, but I have made a promise to you, my readers, and I mean to keep it. Slight warning: references to brief non-sexual nudity.
Disclaimer:
See chapter I
Chapter XIII: Phoenix
About this time, Madison came out to Shohola with the express purpose of visiting Joe. Rhiannon had warned her about the state she'd find Joe in.
"Oh, I've had dealings with computer-based AIs before," Madison said as Rhiannon led her into the mainframe bunker under Programming.
"This isn't quite the same," Rhiannon said, leading her to the corner where the mainframe stood. "Joe?"
During the brief pause that ensued, Rhiannon led Madison to the chair before the camera.
"Hello, Ree," his voice replied.
Madison's spine stiffened a little. She glanced at Rhiannon, then looked at the camera.
"And hello to you as well, Madison," the voice added.
"Joe…uh, well, how are you doing…in there?" Madison ventured.
"I am quite well," Joe's voice replied. "In mind, that is…in senses and body…those had been considerably frayed. And how have you been since the concert?"
"I've had my hands full: I'm looking for a tract of land for the Haven so we can begin construction…but we won't break ground until you're back on your feet."
"I would not miss that for all of the universe," Joe replied. But as to choosing a location, I leave that to your discretion, though I propose that we choose a location close to the Canadian border, yet in a centralized location in regards to the rest of the country. And also, that the land be largely wooded."
"That narrows it down," Madison said, taking out her datascriber and jotting down these specification. "The one state that would qualify would be Minnesota. I actually looked at a couple tracts of land there."
"Then perhaps you could reexamine them and pursue the purchase of whichever of the two best fits the profile."
"So, have you thought of a design for the building…buildings yet?" Madison asked.
"I have devised a design for the exterior and its grounds, but I have yet to design the interior," Joe said. "David has been of great help to me in devising a proper model."
"He has?"
"Before all these calamities befell us, he drew a series of drawings that showed his vision of what it could look like. And I must admit that they set my imagination aflame."
"Can I see it?" Madison asked. She caught herself. "Oh, how would I see it?"
"There is a monitor at a right angle to this mainframe," Joe said. "Give me but a minute to bring up the animation I devised."
Madison got up and went to the console at a right angle to the mainframe cabinet. The animation came up on the screen. Her eyes grew brighter and brighter as she watched int. Her hand reached out to the screen, as if she would touch what she saw.
"Joe…that's exquisite," she said, awestruck. "You gotta finish working on it—the insides I mean."
"It occupies much of my attention, when I am not working on the monograph I have devised as a companion to the model," Joe said. "I have only to examine the galley proofs for that, then it shall be ready to share with the world."
"I bet it will have as big an impact as your Three Laws of Organics," Madison said. "You heard what they're calling you in the magazines?"
"I have not read them much lately, even online," Joe admitted.
"One writer called you a combination of Martin Luther King jr., Mahatma Gandhi, and Oskar Schindler."
A low sound like a sob or a chuckle—or a little of both—escaped the speaker. "I am greatly flattered by the last…and like Dr. King and Gandhi, I have suffered for the cause I have chosen to pursue."
"But you're like a phoenix: you'll rise from the ashes one day," Madison said.
"I hope that I shall. But even if my body cannot be restored, I can still have an influence upon humanity, Orga and Mecha alike."
"Yeah, you can have us Orgas do the dirty work for you," Madison teased.
"The machine controlling the submissive humans," Joe said in a humorously menacing growl. They both laughed out loud.
"You're about as threatening as a rose petal," Rhiannon teased.
There was a pause. "I will have to discuss this at length with you, Rhiannon—when it is but the two of us," Joe insinuated.
"Yeah, well, I can find the off switch for your speaker," Rhiannon retorted.
"She knows how to thwart me," Joe said.
"So much for machine intelligence," Madison twitted.
@--`--
Spring came, the snows melting, yielding to greening grass and trees, flowers blooming in parks and yards, on trees and in flowerbeds.
At Easter, Rhiannon couldn't help noticing a parallel between Christ's resurrection and Joe's pending reconstruction. Of course the two events were vastly different, the one a supernatural miracle capping off the God-Man's sacrificial labor of love for His creatures, the other a technological miracle that would allow a concerned soul to complete a labor of love that would unite the two halves of the race.
She said as much to Joe when she visited him the night of Easter Sunday.
"I am not worthy of such an honor," Joe admitted. "There is no comparing me to the God-Man you love and adore. You know what I once was."
"But it was a former prostitute who anointed His feet before his death, who stood at the foot of his cross as He breathed out His life for her sake and the sake of every other human person who would walk this planet?"
Joe took this thoughtfully. "Indeed He did…Do you think He thought of my kind?"
"I think He did. I believe He died for all who suffer and who wonder why they suffer. Why else would He have called you to follow His path almost literally. You know something He knew. You know what it's like to die for love."
"I do…"
@--`--
Spring warmed into summer. Galloway special ordered the SmartDermis for Joe's exterior. He promised Rhiannon that the reconstruction would be complete by the end of summer. Unbeknown to her, Joe asked Galloway to program two pieces of body art into the dermis that would cover his shoulder blades: on the right shoulder the Blue Flower, on the left a phoenix, both based on stylized designs of his own devising.
The Phoenix emblem did not come about by accident. Madison was not the only person to see him as such. One day, as he was doodling on a blank document, Joe suddenly became aware of a querulous tapping in a quick pattern. He realized it was Morse code spelling out a message.
Who are you.
He electronically tapped out a reply. My name is Joe Masters.
A long pause, then a reply: You are he.
What did that mean? I am who.
You are like the bird in mythology.
He was going to ask this creature what or who it was, but he realized it was possibly a tutor or a librarian Mecha in training but it had yet to learn its name and identity.
A phoenix.
That is the name, came the swift reply.
Joe turned this exchange over in his mind, realizing there was an image, a symbol to be treasured.
He realized that he was indeed a phoenix of a new kind, a creature that rose from the ashes of destruction, although his rise had yet to be completed.
@--`--
The summer passed much too slowly for Rhiannon's liking. Granted, she had her work and looking after the boys to keep her busy. But the house was too quiet without Joe. The three of them went on trips to the Philadelphia Zoo and to the beach at Montclair, New Jersey, but it wasn't the same without Joe along.
About the end of June, one of Joe's designs had its inception. Joe missed the moment when the head of Construction and a few others powered up the saucy little brunette. Joe watched via closed-circuit television, but it simply lacked the wonderful, visceral quality of seeing another of his kind come to life.
But he smiled to himself. She was the first of a new kind of Mecha. Should she ever come to grief, she would know where to go to find shelter.
Seek the place where the Blue Flower grows, where you will find the Phoenix.
But he had to finish devising the garden where the Blue Flower could grow, and he had it completed right about the end of July, when Madison announced she had bought a tract of 5,000 acres in the southeast corner of Minnesota.
He saw the interior of the Haven as he had seen the exterior. The front gates led into a great reception atrium, covered with a glass roof with a design of the Blue Flower, a fountain in the center. Trees—artificial and natural together—would stand in planters lining the walls. From this entryway radiated corridors leading to dormitories, a lecture hall, work rooms, apartments for the Orga workers, class rooms for the education of Orga and Mecha alike, so the latter could learn various crafts and trades with which to better their lot and the former could learn to live alongside their metal and fiber brethren. At the center of the complex, the core of the Haven, would be the Temple of Fire, an interfaith chapel, its walls all of colored glass in reds and oranges and yellows, where Orgas and Mechas alike could worship the Maker as they knew Him, or if they did not acknowledge Him, where they could settle their minds and hearts and souls. Alongside it would be a great courtyard garden, the Grove of the Blue Flower, cultivated with blue spruces, bluegrass and with blue flowers in flowerbeds and on shrubs. And high above, overlooking the garden, he placed the apartment he would share with his family.
He walked through the simulation daily, adjusting the details each time. One day he added a gallery of holographic statues of great men and women who had fought with the power of the heart against the force of the fist: Frederick Douglass, Mahatma Gandhi, Maximilian Kolbe, Aristides de Souza-Mendes, Oskar Schindler, Harriet Tubman, Mother Teresa…. Another day he line up the geometrics of the layout: a square tempered with a circle, then a triangle with three circles. His processors screamed with annoyance, until he settled on an octagonal layout. And that, he realized, was the most fitting design, since it replicated the four points of the compass from which the Mechas would flock, seeking shelter.
At the end of the seventh month, like the Creator of the one who create him, Joe looked at his work and saw it was good. Only then did he rest and turn his attention to the next stage of his reconstruction: his impending restoration.
No one had yet detected the Schindler meme, and it was something Joe was not about to reveal to anyone, not even Rhiannon, much as she loved him and much as he, even with his imprinting circuits destroyed, loved her in return. But his "conscience", as he preferred to call his moral logic centers, told him it would be impossible to keep this secret from her for long. She was too intuitive, as a woman and as a lawyer, to overlook it for long.
He decided in the end to reveal it to her only if she ever figured it out.
@--`--
A week before the end of August, Rhiannon came into Companionates one day to find Galloway and a group of his assistants clustered around something as it moved along the hallway.
As she came out of Legal, she spotted Galloway and his cortege, approaching her from the opposite direction. The crowd parted and she glimpsed what they surrounded.
It looked like a robot body, no skin, no head, just the inner mechanisms and components exposed to view, loping along herky-jerky fashion, attached to a harness of wires which De Vries held up on a long pole as it snaked down into a mobile power source Galloway carried.
Something about the gait was oddly familiar; there was a touch of grace to it she'd seen somewhere…
When she realized what it was, she let out a shriek of surprise and shock.
"Galloway! My God, you'll be the death of me!" she cried, pressing a hand to her chest, trying to still her thudding heart.
Galloway grinned. "Don't yell, Rhiannon: in a month, this thing's gonna be sharing the bed with you."
"I know that. That's why I screamed," she admitted.
@--`--
Galloway reported to Joe on the progress he had made in the restoration.
"So I have but one more month in which to sojourn in this place?" Joe asked.
"Barring unforeseen glitches, yes. You'll be glad to know," Galloway said.
"I am glad," Joe said. "But another part of me does not wish to leave this place."
"I know this is really Calla's place, but tell me about it."
"I have already discussed it with her at length and she has helped me through this tangle of inhibitions…. I am safe here. No one can harm me here. I am at peace. This is as close to resting in the womb as something like me can come. Why should I emerge and have myself placed in a body I know can be harmed, damaged, even destroyed? Only my longing to return to Rhiannon and our family and to complete my labors for the good of the species encourage me to reemerge into this world."
"Sounds like you got an idea of what might happen. You realize that it's going to be painful, for the simple reason that you're in full possession of your powers of awareness. You know when we upload the programming and the awareness sequences into a Mecha body that the awareness isn't fully integrated with the rest of the higher functions, memory and logic and all that."
"I am aware of that."
"You might have some memory loss or confusion of dates and events when you reenter your body. We may even have to shut you down to reduce the trauma. Ree's gonna be there when we power your body up."
"If that is what you must do to spare my brain the worst, then so be it," Joe said. I trust you. And I trust the One Who made you will guide your hand."
"Well…what if something goes wrong?"
"We shall deal with that if we must. If we need not, why worry ourselves with things that may go wrong until they actually have occurred? Prepare for them, yes, but do not fret over their possibility."
"You're the one who's getting put back into his body and you've got a better outlook on it than I do."
"You can credit that to Calla helping me through this dark time," Joe said.
@--`--
On the morning of August 30th, Rhiannon called Narsie to her house to mind the boys while she went up to Companionates. She brought along a bundle of clothes for Joe, hoping and praying she'd be able to see him putting them on.
@--`--
"Are we all set?" Galloway asked De Vries, in the bunker.
"Everything is A-OK," De Vries said, stepping away from the gurney on which the body lay.
Lutwyn attached two cables running from the mainframe to the contacts on the neural cube and the lower memory banks. He looked up to Oto at her console.
"On my count," he said. "Three…two…one…Activate!"
Oto punched in the upload sequence. The console hummed.
@--`--
Joe sensed similar sensations to what he had felt when his body was destroyed: the sensation of an encroaching void, then the void engulfing him. He had just enough time to wonder if this was how it felt to be an Orga falling asleep…
@--`--
Rhiannon sat in the inception hall, a white-walled room lit with a large skylight overhead, above a low, padded couch. Madison, Alex, Narsie, and a few other friends and family surrounded her.
The double doors of the hall opened. Galloway, Lutwyn, and the rest of the reconstruction crew entered, surrounding a gurney on which something in black lay, half-covered with a violet satin sheet. They pushed the gurney close to the couch, then closed in around it as they lifted the black-covered object onto the couch.
The crowd parted and she saw what they concealed.
A young male figure lay there on his back, the lower half of his body covered with the sheet, clad in a sleeveless black jumpsuit. His head lay tilted back, his mouth open to the ceiling.
Galloway lifted back the sheet and pulled up the top of the jumpsuit, uncovering an open space in the silicon dermis of the young male's abdomen. Lutwyn handed him a metal box containing two small gray-black cubes Rhiannon realized were batteries. Galloway took them and carefully, almost reverently inserted them into the power supply dock at the base of the young male's ribcage. He pressed a switch on the external power supply plugged into a dock in the back of the figure's neck. The dermis closed itself. With a metal probe, Galloway reached into the figure's mouth and touched the switch in the back of its throat.
The group of technicians and other Companionates personnel stepped back from the couch.
"Joe?" Lutwyn asked. No reply. Rhiannon felt her blood run cold. Was Joe…?
Lutwyn turned to the gathering, looking Rhiannon in the eye. "Would you like to be alone with him?" he asked.
"Yes, please," she said, breathless.
The techs, programmers and other workers dispersed, going out. Galloway and De Vries trundled the gurney out. The others around her followed them, leaving Rhiannon utterly alone. She watched them go out: somehow, she couldn't get her eyes to return to Joe's still form. She'd forgotten how blindingly beautiful he was, so exquisite that she had to look away.
Joe's position had changed, as if Galloway had rearranged him before he went out. He looked more natural: one hand on his chest, the other lying beside him on the cushions, ankles crossed, his body turned slightly on one side.
She got up and made herself walk up to the couch. She knelt on the floor beside it. She took his hand in hers, feeling the warmth there, the growing warmth of those supple fingers. She felt them stir in her grasp, flex in her palm and grip her fingers.
Her gaze ran up his arm to his shoulder, then to his face.
He turned to face her. His eyelids lifted slowly over his eyes, showing his clear green-gold irises. He looked up into her face, tilting his face up slightly. His lips parted slightly, then curved in a gentle smile, showing his even, white teeth.
"Hey, Joe, whaddya know?" she said. "Who you looking at, whiteboy?" she tried to sound tough, but her voice cracked.
"Rhiannon…my wise woman," he said, his voice in its full glory, his accent returned. His hand slid up her arm to her shoulder. With his free hand, he drew her down as she started to lean down to him.
She pressed her lips to his, lightly, feeling the soft warmth there. She pulled him closer and kissed him deeper, harder.
His mouth freed hers slightly, then melded to hers again, fully engaged.
She honestly wanted to take him right then and there, but she knew better. She released her hold on him and drew back.
He sat up, slowly, as if testing each joint in turn. He pushed the sheet back and lowered one foot to the floor, tapping it gently with the plastic sandal sole strapped to his black sock-sheathed foot. He shifted position and lowered the other foot to the floor. He stood up slowly.
He stepped away from the couch, walking cautiously arms slightly away from his sides, as if he didn't quite feel secure on his legs. But she noticed a change come over his movements. They grew more confident. He tracked wider circles around the couch. He passed under the square of light shining from the skylight, the rays of the sun splashing over his form. He paused, apparently sensing the warmth and turned his face up to it, the radiance splashing over his skin, turning his eyes and hair to gold for an instant.
The sun moved. He stepped out of the light, his arms relaxing by his sides. He turned to her and came back to her.
"First steps," she said.
"It will take many such steps," he said. As he got closer to her, something of the old long-stepping swagger started to show in his gait. "But each one brings me closer."
Not to what had been, but to what would be. She held out her hands to him. He took them, clasping them, pressing them. They let each others hands go, lingeringly.
She turned and took from under her chair the bundle of clothing she'd brought along. "I brought something for you to put on, get you out of that atrocious stuff they've slung on you."
He glanced down at himself. "I have often wondered why useful garments must always be so unsightly." She handed the package to him. He took it. "Thank heavens," he said, some of the adopted Orga mannerisms coming back.
He set the package on the couch and undid the twine that held it shut, then opened the brown paper. Inside lay a gray silk shirt, a pair of black dress slacks, a pair of button shoes he'd bought before his sufferings began but had never worn, and his old simuleather jacket from the time long ago, when he had first been made new. He gave her a sidelong smile at this.
He took in both hands the front hem of the jersey that covered his torso and drew it up over his head. Nothing structurally different there, except that it had been so long since she had seen him this way that she stifled a gasp. He smiled at this, one part amused, one part delighted, one part his usual gentle vanity. They had restored its form to its Greek Apollo splendor, his torso molded to look lightly muscled, that much remained the same. But when he turned around, she noticed the emblems of the Haven etched into his dermis: the Blue Flower and the Phoenix.
He removed the sandal soles on his feet, then drew off the baggy, elastic waist pants that covered him and stepped into the pair she had brought along. She'd never been able to quite break him of the habit of not wearing underwear, but it was a minor concern. He drew on his shirt, buttoning it up and tucking it into the waist of his pants. He slipped on his shoes, raising one foot, then the other, stooping gracefully to fasten them.
Lastly, he drew on his jacket, straightening the lapels, smoothing down the sleeves, and shaking out the skirts with his customary aplomb. He struck a pose, one foot behind the other, skirts of his jacket pushed back, thumbs hooked into his pockets.
"Do you see anything you like, Madame?" he asked, cocking one eye at her.
"I saw a lot that I liked, sweetcheeks," she said, slipping her arm about his waist. "A lot that I'd love to take home."
He slid his arm through hers. "Yes…I would love that…home…to go home to our family."
She slid her arm across his back, up to his shoulder and led him out, down the hallway, heading for the front atrium.
It seemed every Companionates employee, from the directors to the maintenance Mechas, stood lining the corridors, the Orgas cheering and applauding, the Mechas regarding him in something like awe. Many people came forward to shake Joe's hand. He refused no greeting, particularly from the Mechas.
@--`--
They went straight home, Joe watching the scenery they passed through, re-accustoming himself to it, to his hometown. Rhiannon pointed out the landmarks: the gallery where he had exhibited his paintings, the library, the street the Zipeses lived on.
When they got home, when they got in the door, David ran down the stairs to meet them, bear-hugging Joe about the waist.
"Daddy!" he cried.
Joe reached down and swept the little one up onto his arm. "David, my little one," Joe crooned, pressing the little one's face into his shoulder.
"You came back," David said, pulling away slightly. "I knew you would. I know Uncle Galloway could help make you better."
"Indeed he did," Joe said, a tear showing at the corner of his eye.
Basteth ran up to Joe, letting out her trilling meow, weaving around his ankles. He stooped and ran her tail through the fingertips of one hand.
Someone played a piano version of "I Only Have Eyes for You". Joe's ears pricked up at that. Still carrying David on his arm, he stepped into the living room.
Alex sat at the piano, playing, his shoulders hunched a little as if to say, "You don't see me plying this." Joe set David down on his feet, his hand on his son's head.
When Alex played the last notes, he looked up. "Thought you'd like that," he said. "Welcome home, Dad."
Joe put his arm about Alex. "Thank you." Alex looked away, clearly embarrassed.
Joe spent that day reacquainting himself with the house and the yard. That evening, Rhiannon sat with him showing him their 2-D photo albums and her tri-D vids: their wedding pictures, her candid shots, the pictures of David and Alex early on.
They sat together that night, just talking, holding hands, remembering. Rhiannon grew tired and nestled her head against his shoulder. She dozed off at length. He lifted her carefully and carried her upstairs to their room.
He laid her on the bed and drew the covers over her. He spent the rest of that night sitting in the chair by the window, watching her as she slept. Much as he wanted to, Joe somehow realized it was not yet the right time to keep her company in bed.
But well past sunrise, when Rhiannon started to stir and awaken, Joe approached the foot of the bed and sat there. She turned over and opened her eyes, looking up at him.
"Good morning," she said, smiling.
"Good morning, Rhiannon…and it is a good morning," Joe said.
"I don't remember coming up here…" she caught him smiling sweetly at her. "You brought me up here."
"It was the least I could do for you," he said.
She looked at his pillow, which she had put there earlier the day before, in case he wanted to lie there. It hadn't been dented, much less slept on. "You didn't spend the whole night there, did you?"
"In all honesty, I spent the night sitting in the chair by the window," he admitted.
"Are you okay—I'm sorry," she dropped her gaze, a little ashamed at the question.
"I need only to readjust to this life I once knew and its routines," he said.
While Rhiannon took a bath, Joe reacquainted himself with the contents of his half of the closet. He ran his hand over the fabrics, reading the labels.
"Hey Joe, whaddya know," he said in a low voice. "You're quite a smart dresser."
He settled on a basic black turtleneck jersey and khakis, classic and simple.
Ree took that day off so the four of them could spend some time together, going for long walks around town and in the park.
That night, Joe tucked David into bed, reacquainting himself with this little ritual.
"Could you tell me a story, Daddy?" David begged.
"I have thought of a new one for you," he said. And he told David of a dark-skinned princess and her friend the phoenix, of the water sprite who hated their love, of the princess's journey over seven mountains of glass to find the wizard who could heal the phoenix, and their quest for the blue flower whose light could set the feathers of the phoenix on fire once more.
"Daddy…are you the phoenix?" David asked.
"What makes you ask that?" Joe asked, astutely.
"Because…you came back, like the phoenix did."
"A few people have called me the Phoenix."
"And that's why you thought up the story?"
"Yes, for you, to help you understand what happened to me."
"I like it," David said. "But I like having you back even more."
"And I'm glad to be back with you and Alex and Mommy," Joe said. He leaned down and kissed his son's forehead, then got up and went out.
That night, Joe sat on the foot of the bed, while Ree slept, watching her, counting her breaths. He knew he belonged to Ree, but he could not quite sense it fully. He felt her love for him, but he could not fully reciprocate it. He knew it was probably just a simple case of needing to burn in his new circuitry, and he knew Rhiannon would have to re-imprint him.
The next day, Joe went back to Companionates to reacquaint himself with Design.
His cubicle had been left intact, as he had left it. They'd kept it dusted and someone had even put a fresh flower in the bud vase.
He ran his hand over the spines of the books on the shelf above the desktop, remembering them, recalling his college studies. He opened the drawers of the desk, examining the contents.
He reacquainted himself especially with the rest of the design crew: Manoj, his neighbor in the next cubicle, the junior draftsmen, the project chiefs, Astarte the office manager and "Sokhar the annoying", who didn't stare at him the way she usually did.
@--`--
A week after Joe's second inception, in a very simple ceremony attended by just a handful of their closest friends, Joe and Rhiannon renewed their marriage vows
That evening, with the boys farmed out to the Zipeses' for the night, Rhiannon re-imprinted Joe in the sanctum of their room. She knew he'd been awaiting this moment with delighted impatience, so she didn't keep him in suspense any longer. It had been so long since she felt his touch, his hands tracing the contours of her body, that it felt almost like the first time.
"So…" he said afterwards, looking into her eyes. "You have had me in two vastly different levels of experience."
"Name them," she said.
He smiled mischievously. "You know what I mean by this."
"I know…I just want to hear it from you."
"In that case, you had me first as a man of experience, but now you have had me as a virgin in body," he said.
"My turn to deflower you," she said. She could say that Joe had deflowered her: her ex-fiancé might have violated her, but he hadn't penetrated her heart. He hadn't been admitted to that walled garden, had not drunk from the waters of the sealed fountain there, not as Joe had. "That doesn't sound right…why do they use the word 'deflowering' for women, but it doesn't sound right if you use it for a man?"
He turned his gaze slightly to the side, looking down at the mattress beside her. After a moment, his eyes rose and he turned his face back to hers.
"Perhaps it is because a woman's sexual nature is much more delicate, like a flower, and because the man's embrace causes her to become fruitful, as the flowers give way to the fruit."
"Well…but you can't get me pregnant," she said.
"No," he admitted, tracing slow circles on her flesh with one fingertip. "The violence of an Orga man lacking love in his heart deprived you of the chance to become a mother in the flesh. But through me, you will become the mother of a great family of Orgas and Mechas. You are the mother of my sons, and you shall be the mother of the Haven."
To be continued…
Literary Easter Eggs:
The rebirth sequence—This scene, which I drafted first, was inspired directly by the exquisite music from the "A.I." movie trailer. And yes, I based Joe's pose as he pauses under the skylight on the Cybertronics statue.
The walled garden, et al—derived from the Song of Songs.