AUTHOR"S NOTE: Apologies for the slight delay in updates-all the chapters have been sitting on my desktop for ages but coursework and other unsavoury things have been keeping me away from uploading them.
Enjoy,
Morithil.
NOTICE: Unfortunately,I do not own any of the original characters from the Matrix trilogy. HOWEVER: All other characters in this fanfic do belong to me, as they're all products of my overactive imagination.
6. Her Maker, Her Corruptor.
Hermes made his way to the bridge, hoping that for once he wouldn't be made subject to the condemning tone of his superiors. Rebel in the Matrix, still rebellious in the face of authority when he wasn't in it. But then who ever got unplugged because they were content to do what everyone and everything else told them to do?
He crossed his fingers behind his back and emerged onto the bridge of the Olympus.
He'd been part of the crew now for about two years, still a greenhorn to some of the more experienced members, who'd spent almost decades fighting the war against the machines, a few of them even longer. He couldn't begin to imagine what that must be like. Two years, he thought to himself, that's all you've spent as a freed mind. As he stood awaiting what he prepared himself to be a sound berating, it dawned on Hermes that today was his birthday. Not the date of his birth as an energy source, immersed into the Matrix and grown like millions of others in the human fields, but the date that he was unplugged.
Happy birthday, he thought miserably. Its all downhill from here on in.
Then he stopped, stopped in the middle of his self pity. What about her? The girl. He wouldn't mention her name now, even to himself for fear of provoking more feelings of overwhelming sadness. How long had she been unplugged? She was so young, to young even by the war's standards to die. Hermes considered. Why had she been picked to go in? Why her, perhaps the least experienced of the Olympus' crew?
It should have been him who died trying to get the disc to the dropoff and running in vain to make it to the exit in time.
But it wasn't.
He'd been way ahead of her, already at the exit, knowing full well that there were agents abroad in the vicinity. He'd raced, darting from street to street, before deciding on the safer option and making his way to the ringing telephone via the city rooftops, thus avoiding the horror of confronting an agent at street level. At any rate, he hadn't been the one carrying the disc, so the agents must have disregarded him.
The disc. The Exodus. What had been on it? Hermes had pondered for days afterwards. He could still imagine how she must have clung to it desperately, as if she knew its full significance, when she couldn't, only being the carrier, the transporter. Get the disc to Zion. It must be in the hands of the last city's leaders by tonight, they'd been briefed. So why had he been chosen as the one to watch her back, and she given the more dangerous position of the transporter?
Hermes sighed dejectedly.
He should have gone back for her; he should have retraced his steps to where they'd become separated. She'd been scared almost witless, holding onto the disc so tightly he feared it might break in two. But then the call had come, and their operator warned them of the approaching agents. They'd decided to split up and regroup at the exit.
She said she'd make it.
Hermes had asked her if she was sure. After all, she was so young, and hadn't played such a major part in operations of late.
When was her birthday? How long had it been since she'd been unplugged? Hermes shook his head. He'd never asked her. Now he'd never know.
Why had she been chosen?
Hermes made the error of voicing this question to the previously empty bridge.
"Because the Oracle advised it".
Hermes looked up to find the captain staring him in the face. He stammered, attempting to begin several sentences before producing the apology.
"Sir, I apologise, sir".
The captain smiled grimly.
"You're not the only one who's been asking that, Hermes".
Hermes straightened into a ramrod straight position, head held level, eyes averted in respect.
"Sir".
The captain waved off the formality.
"At ease, soldier. The Oracle predicted, to some extent, the events that would unfold surrounding the discovery of the Exodus. She said that only with the youngest could the countdown to the destruction of the Matrix begin. That's why we chose-"
The captain set his jaw in a firm line to avoid biting his lip.
"-her. But, it seems", here he rose from his leaning position, "that the Oracle was mistaken. After all, she is a programme. how could we ever fully trust in something produced by the Matrix".
There's a weary bitterness in his voice, the voice of one who's realised that the end never quite justifies the means. Hermes shifted uncomfortably, arms folded behind his back.
"You've probably been asking yourself why you don't get the high risk duties as often as the rest of the crew, Hermes. Once I might have explained this by referring to your inexperience. Now, now I see fit to grant you more responsibility. You've proved your abilities enough. The next time we need to warn Zion and get a message to a dropoff point, you'll be making the run. Do you understand me, Hermes?"
"Sir, completely, sir".
That grim smile appeared again.
"You'll be able to live up to your namesake".
Hermes nodded politely. Dismissed, he proceeded off the bridge, but the captain's voice called him back a few steps.
"And Hermes? Happy birthday".
Hermes allowed himself a rueful smile.
"Thank you sir".
* * * * * * *
Carlisle and two other agents approached the door of the restaurant kitchen and waited with a patience not unlike that of people studying a coat of paint dry on a wall before them.
The door opened, and instead of a small cupboard where cleaning materials were kept, they were greeted by a lavish hall with twin staircases leading up to the first floor, ornate weaponry and statues adorning every available space on the walls.
Carlisle blinked slowly behind the safety of her dark glasses. There it was, rearing its tiresome yet familiar head again. The shades of memories she felt compelled to relate to herself. She had been here before, and yet her databases contradicted this assumption.
She shook of the unwelcome thoughts with a sharp turn of her head that made the long ponytail of brown hair sway rhythmically against her shoulder blades. She waits outside the room where the programme Persephone is being questioned about her involvement with the now non-existent Keymaker programme. Carlisle knows that the agents are unable to act in the light of her release of the programme to the rebels, including the human Thomas Anderson, hacker alias Neo. When Persephone had approached the doors to be politely questioned, she had paused before her, and studied her features with much the same look that the entity Smith had done. Something bordering on recognition and curiosity. But there was also a hint of pride in the look that Persephone had given her, as if the programme had been responsible for something. Then she had sashayed into the room in much the same fashion as she now left it.
Again she paused before stalking across the marble floor. She tilted her head a little sideways and half smiled at the emotionless agent to her right as if in farewell, and then walked away.
Carlisle was suspicious of this programme. Persephone. There was an aura of unpredictability about her, she considered. Not to be trusted. And then-again, the familiarity of that aesthetically beautiful face. What was wrong with her? Carlisle ran over the thoughts that plagued her grudgingly. It was an error of judgement; a decision painfully human to want to remember or discover the reason behind these unfortunate images and sound files that permeated her system. Yet Carlisle was becoming almost wistful in her desire to know the full truth.
A rumble in her throat as she attempted to block out the anomalies from her consciousness. A hint of annoyance as she reminded herself that the following day Smith would be monitoring her work in the field. How aggravating.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Preview of coming attractions: next up, Smith and Carlisle at large in the Matrix. However will they cope? …