I ran across Rashel two months later, on one of my late night shifts. It was late. The Logos was parked in an obscure corner

for fear of sentinel attack. Inside the air held the intensity of a freezer, but while a freezer circulated white scarves of

coldness, on the Logos it just sat, a solemn vacuum. I was wearing three sweaters and drinking what Ghost called the Logos

Sports Mix, a brew of moonshine liqueur and god knows what, the equivalent of coffee in the Matrix. It wasn't as strong as

Dozer's, but still seared your throat and threw fumes up your nose, hit your brain like a dash of ice-cold water. I couldn't

take it two months ago. Now, I drank it like it was water, wrapped up in three hand me down sweaters from various members of

the crew, text messaging Trinity, asking her how life was on the Neb. I wasn't paying much attention until my trace program

began furiously blinking on my taskbar. I typed brb and clicked to see what my program had found me.

Guilty of nearly every computer crime in the state of California. Most notably the notorious Fukai virus that infected more

than 50 thousand computers across the country. 17, my age. Class of 2006. Madison High. William Watson the 3rd, the Matrix

had given him, and I suppressed the urge to laugh out loud. And since I was particularly bored I ran my trace program further

over him, found out he liked anime, Jennifer Lopez. His favorite foods were Chinese and Thai. He drank Heineken and was an

expert in pool, poker and foosball. Boots were the shit. His penis measured five inches. I stopped my program immediately

after that.

In the morning I showed Niobe what I had found. She was impressed, but not impressed to the point of unplugging him

immediately. Instead she assigned me the job of watching him. It never happened. Two days later a second version of the Fukai

crashed Wall Street and Microsoft. Niobe didn't need anymore convincing.

"This guy had potential," she told us at breakfast, "and since she was the one who found him, Nausicaa will do the

recruiting."

Everyone's sporks clunked into their bowls. I winced at the sound, the hollow, smarting thud of disbelief.

"No way," said Sparks.

"Too damn young," scowled Lock.

"I haven't gone on a single recruiting, and I've been out longer than that dipshit," Bella didn't like the fact that I was

stealing her thunder,

Even Ghost was skeptical.

"Are you sure? It's one thing to be able to delete a figment of the Matrix, another thing to get a coppertop to listen." His

tone was calm, steady, like Morpheus, but not quite. Morpheus didn't need to ask anyone if they were sure.

"Positive," said Niobe, laying a hand briefly on my shoulder. It was warm. Then she straightened, her five-foot frame

commanding all authority.

"And no questions asked."

Trinity had told me about recruiting. All the stories and rumors. Contacting myths I needed to avoid. Always be sure of

yourself. Once the captain gave the order, you had to contact right away. Never use phones or text messages until you were

dead sure no agents were on your tail, and then again, always keep the messages brief, just enough to brain fuck the poor

coppertop bad until you met. Different captains liked to use different spiels to lure the coppertop into. This and a lot more

that I drilled into my head as I lowered myself into my chair. Now, I had to lift my hair before Sparks slid the plug in. It

was a little past my shoulders now, it wouldn't be long before it went back to Rafaela length.

Sparks jacked me into the reception hall of a deplicated, abandoned old hotel.

"There's a laptop for you in room 88," he said once I had checked in.

"Alright."

I snapped my cell phone shut. Sparks' idea of a joke. 1988 was the year I was born in. A Dragon. Star sign: Leo.

I started up the stairs, pleased to find that I made no sound as I jogged on the creaking, rickety steps. All those hours in

the Construct had paid off. As I went I ran the procedure over in my head. Hack into his computer, type in a few messages to

seriously brain fuck him and then hope to god Lock and Bella would do their hungry customer thing and lure him out of his

apartment. As I reached room 88 I tried to think of what I would say to him. Trinity enjoyed using Alice in Wonderland. I

preferred Wizard of Oz.

Room 88 reminded me of the dorm I slept in on my 6th grade trip. Windowless, an unmade bed dusted with gray, the furniture

covered in sheets. A silver gray laptop sat on the desk. I lifted the screen, switched it on, reached for my cell phone.

"How is everything?" I asked Sparks as I waited for the laptop to boot up.

"Coast is clear at your place. No sign of Agent movement anywhere near."

"Good," The screen blinked on. I quickly typed my way online, "what about my target?"

"Target arrived home at oh nine hundred hours. Had dinner with his parents, threw a fit about college majors. Now he's

stormed up to his room and locked himself in."

"Why the hell would he fight over something like college majors?" Hell, I wished my parents cared enough to think about my

college majors. Rafaela would have, but she had died before it was time to think about it.

"Search me," said Sparks, "either way he's in his room now. But he hasn't switched on his computer yet"

Perfect.

"Ok, thanks Sparks. Call you when I need you." I hung up, hurriedly typed into my laptop. My skills had since improved from

the time I had deleted the figment of the Matrix. And with the added tricks Trinity had taught me hacking through Rashel's

firewalls was like browsing the Internet. In less than two seconds I was through, was typing my first message.

Things didn't go too well with the parents, huh?

I waited for several more seconds, before a message flashed back to me.

What the fuck? I smiled.

Don't stress them out. Parents who care are hard to find these days. The message came after more seconds.

Who the fuck are you?

My smile widened.

I, am larger than biology. I do not bleed. I am the virus, the broken strand of mutated gene. I, am the Lord Almighty.

The answer came back immediately.

That's bullshit.

I grinned, waited a few seconds before typing the next message.

What is the Matrix?

I could almost see his face, his jaw slackening, his eyes widening, could almost hear the cogs turning in his brain. What the

hell, he'd be thinking.

What the hell?

I nearly laughed out loud.

The Matrix has you, Rashel.

I waited again before typing another message.

You are not in Kansas anymore... two seconds, Follow the yellow brick road.

Then I signed off, took out my gun, blasted the laptop to smithereens. My hand didn't shake anymore. I didn't blink when the

bullets came in contact with the digital plastic. I reached again for my cell phone.

"Exit."

"Good job," said Niobe when I opened my eyes. Ghost slid out my plug.

I shrugged.

"Just doing my job." I had long learned never to take in praise. Lock would scowl. Bella would threaten to beat me up later

when we were alone.

"How is he?" I asked, before Niobe could say more.

"Come see the code for yourself. All I can say is, you brain fucked him big time."

I went over and took a look. The strings of letters, number and kantaka characters were flying in rivers down the screen. I

caught Yellow brick road, yellow brick road until it all but dominated the code. I allowed a smirk to creep onto my face.

Sparks was right. I had brain fucked him big time.

Later, when everyone had retired to the mess hall, Rashel began to calm, green glyphs in his code slowing to the steady pace

of Matrix code, but he was still confused, I could still catch the what the fucks and yellow brick roads.

He wasn't the only one who was thinking, I sat at the console, hands on my knees, chin on my fingers, pondering my next move.

Behind, I heard a rattle on the ladder.

"So what's your plan?" snapped Bella, her voice more biting than the air. I shrugged.

"I wouldn't be asking that question if I were you," Sparks had come up the ladder, balancing on his head a tray with a bowl

of slop and a tin of water. Sparks, an almost extinct species in his faith and loyalty. He set the tray on the operator's

chair, leaned on the back and watched the code with me. I picked up my bowl, stirred my slop.

"Oh, so she doesn't have a plan?" I knew what was going to follow, and my head hurt just thinking of it.

"I never said that."

"You never said she had one either."

I kept on stirring my slop.

"Nausicaa is smart. She'll think of something."

"Nausea's a dumbass. I don't know why the hell Niobe's giving this Rashel dude to her and not me. Maybe because he's a

dumbass like her as well."

I let my spork spin to a stop in my bowl, dropped it on to my tray, the white substance spilled onto the sheet of scrap

metal. I left the core, shimmied down the ladder and back into my room, where I reached underneath my cot, pulled out the

volume I had picked up in Zion. I held it to my chest, buried my nose in the yellow pages, fragile as skin. Dipshit, Dumbass.

Was that what Bella thought of me? It wasn't that I didn't understand. I understood it perfectly. It was hate. The same

bitter, congealing hate that my mother had harbored before she killed Rafaela. What I didn't understand was why Bella still

hadn't killed me.

I opened the book, found the page where I had left off, Walt Whitman. Oh captain, my captain, fallen cold and dead.

The Emerald City was a seedy bar tucked away in a shady intersection in Hollywood, a shady, deplicated old niche with a

yellow flagged staircase that led to a door decorated entirely in green. The walls were paneled with bits of broken green

glass. The chairs and tables a cracked steady black. I had run into one day when I was 12, on a night when my parents had a

vicious fight and I had run into the myriad of streets to escape the biting lashes. Afterwards on nights when my mother was

out at her mahjong games or alone in the house with her witch brewing spite, or when Rafaela still hadn't come back from her

auditions, I would to go down there with a pen and my notebook, where I sat in a corner booth and wrote amid hardcore and

rock, smoke and leather clad men and women aloof and distant as statues. It was also where I had tried my first puff of hash,

my first square of acid, gotten drunk so badly I ended up puking with a hangover like a credit debt. After I was unplugged I

learned it was a favorite hang out for resistance members.

There were two risks in bringing Rashel to this place, one, he could morph into an agent anytime. Two, if he didn't accept my

offer he would walk away with full knowledge of a resistance drop point. This, along with a number of other reasons, made

Bella happy to the point of high when I announced my plan. She choked on her mug of sports mix.

"No way," she was laughing, "no way it's gonna work. That coppertop's gonna morph into an agent even before you offer him the

pills."

"Any coppertop could morph into an agent before you offer him the pills," snapped Sparks, "so shut the fuck up."

"Bella has a point though," said Ghost, stroking his chin, "Nausicaa, are you sure that's the only place he can go?"

I shrugged.

"I'd be happy to entertain any other suggestions."

Bella opened her mouth.

"Bella, go upstairs and set course for broadcast depth. Sparks, you go with her."

Ghost. Sparks and Bella got up, went out. That left Ghost and Niobe, me sitting crosslegged on the mess table, picking at a

scratch on the chrome metal tabletop.

Niobe spoke.

"Nausicaa, you sure about this?"

"I said I'd be happy to entertain any other suggestions."

'None. Ghost?"

"None here either."

"Well then,"I swung my legs off the tabletop, headed for the door.

"Nausicaa."

I turned.

"Yeah?"

"You have a problem, you tell me, ok?"

"Life's a bitch, Niobe," I shrugged again, "I've gotten over it."

But it was a lie and I knew it. I could still feel my mother's slaps, still hear her voice as she railed at me. I still

missed Rafaela, her tenderness, her care. I could still see my father's face when they arrested him, twisted and hurt. They

were all there, fragments of a dream, hopelessly vivid. My mother. My father. Rafaela. How I wished she was the one who died,

how I wished he could have stood up for himself, how I wished I had told her I loved her. And I hated it, hated them all, her

pettiness, his weakness, hated the Matrix, her love that was never real, my anger crystallizing into hate, my guilt like a

brand.