alocin-Many thanks again for another review! Much appreciate it; the feedback is very helpful and also rewarding...So that's a huge metaphorical box of chocolates to you for your dedication in sticking with The Hybrid AND The Exodus so far.
Selina- Ah, the ever enthusiastic reviewer...Well, about the whole present/past issue that's come up. I try to interchange the narration, which is in the past tense, with what could be interpreted as the characters' thoughts expressed in present tense, thus getting rid of the repetitive "s/he said", "s/he thought" attachments. Sorry if it confuses, its just a little thing I picked up from reading stuff by the writer Annie Proulx, who does that kind of thing a lot. I will avoid using it in future fanfics^^
Exobiologist-I make you want to love Smith? Cool. Here's the update you been blackmailing me for! *kidding* I will be expecting Defector Programme to be updated as well, you know. *grins*...
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.
7. Field Tactics
Smith had been hoping that the irksome idea would leave him in peace, but it always managed to entwine itself with the more mundane considerations that he had been processing.
File: http//:www.persis_reciprocate.html/install
Open file?
Cancelled.
She had been so strong, so defiantly powerful, and so silently confident when they had fought, as if she could read his every move before he made it. This was to be expected, after all, he had been imprinted onto her in a time that seemed to worm its way further and further into the past and yet pushed to the front of his awareness.
Carlisle was like an extension of himself, his twin. Except that he knew that the agent that had dismissed him so quickly had once been a human who he had found almost impossible to eject from his system.
He shifted impatiently on the chair. Smith sat, rigidly, his back a vertical ramrod bar, flesh enclosing what might as well have been useless scrap metal, for all that it was worth, for Smith considered himself to be nothing without purpose.
Purpose. It is what drives us, he repeated to himself under his breath.
The human, Thomas A. Anderson had tried to take that from him when he destroyed him. Smith had returned, faster, stronger, and in a veritable multitude the last time they'd fought. Yet the more Smith managed to copy himself, the more his singularity of purpose increased, as if by multiplying himself he could affect his involvement in what had become a personal vendetta against Mr. Anderson.
Smith clenched his fist as the recollection of the human in question upset his equilibrium, the knuckles clicking rhythmically with the small but powerful movement.
He had given Persis the very same thing. Purpose. And she had given him-
File: http//:www.persis_reciprocate.html/install
Open file?
Cancelled.
Smith wondered why the temptation to open the file was so strong.
She had given him solace, Smith reflected. Solace, and an answer to the question he'd put to her. He ran over the events that had occurred during his time spent with the human/agent hybrid. She'd instilled something, imprinted part of herself onto him that had made him more human, more able to reciprocate the emotions that she'd shown him, the complex nuances of the human character. She'd made him more vulnerable.
Yet, despite running several searches to prove to himself that the unexpected vulnerability had been a firmly negative development, the search results always contradicted this.
It appeared that despite this unwelcome weakness, the ability to feel and return emotions had stimulated an increase in his confidence, had aided him in understanding Persis better, on more levels, and, he admitted reluctantly, without the usual measure of disgust and revulsion he confronted most humans with.
Smith sighed softly, and retracted the breath as it became apparent that the sound produced was more than a little wistful. Persis. It seemed only logical that to further understand Agent Carlisle, his understanding of Persis would have to be reinstated, instead of remaining dormant, in his system. Perhaps it would aid him in his understanding of humans in general. Smith told himself that his reasons for opening the file were primarily to assess and enact the destruction of humans, particularly Anderson, through the insight the file would provide. However, his secondary reason was simply that he felt the urge to recall with full intensity, the sensation of having emotional range and ability.
Smith straightened his impossibly good posture and began.
File: http//:www.persis_reciprocate.html/install
Open file?
Confirmed.
Opening file...
persis_reciprocate.html/install
persis_emotionalcapability.html/upgrade
persis_gift.html/install
Processing other relevant documents...
persis_combat1.mov
persis_combat2.mov
persis_combat3.mov ... the list was extensive, Smith noted.
persis_expression1.mov
persis_expression2.mov ...this list went on into the hundreds.
And ultimately, the decision befell him.
File: http//:www.persis_reciprocate.html/install
Install file?
All related files will be duly processed and included in installation.
Searching for potential viruses...
Search Complete. No viruses detected.
Install?
Smith paused before the download would be set in motion, and then tensed in preparation.
Installation beginning...
Time remaining: Approximately one minute.
The installation increased in velocity, the enormous wealth of information flashing briefly, running through the items included before the action was completed.
Installation complete.
********
Hermes was in a state of near hysteria, such was the elation and pride that swamped him the moment he reached the relative provacy of his cabin. He could be making the run to the dropoff in a matter of days. Days, he muttered to himself. He'd spent the morning engaging in as many training programmes as possible, seeking to hone his skills in combat and speed up his reaction times if the occasion ever arose for him to use them.
It would probably be a simple dropoff, though. Perhaps a routine package of information regarding sentinel activity on the surface would the item he'd deliver. Pity that it wouldn't be something more important, he thought, and then berated himself. Sentinel activity wasn't something to be taken lightly, and from the last documents sent by the doomed Osiris, the activities of the machines seemed more relevant by the hour.
But still, now the captain saw fit for him to really become one of the crew. He would be going in. Again. But this time, the decisions would be up to him.
The only person's back he'd be covering would be his own.
Hermes gave a muted whoop and leapt onto his bunk, staring at the metal ceiling of his room. The next few days would seem like an eternity.
********
Smith pulled up in a black sedan, hands pinpointed in the required driving position, mirrors facing in directions, arranged to the millimetre.
Some things could never be forgotten. His agent habits were included in that list.
Carlisle stood, he noted, not without a small degree of impatience.
Smith killed the engine and paused before stepping out of the vehicle. He adjusted his tie. He shifted the tie pin a little further up the strip of material. And studied his own reflection in the rear view mirror.
The same apathetic face stared back at him, only this time, he was aware of the surge of feeling going on behind the cold eyes and the impenetrable features. The tips of his fingers began to exhibit signs of anticipation.
They tingled.
Smith perused his hands, spreading the fingers wide as he gazed at them. They were still firm, still powerful. Still capable of crushing a human's skull, of breaking every bone in a rebel's body. But that was not the sensation that his reopened file on Persis was intent on having his hands recall. Smith closed his eyes. It was truly amazing, that even here, sitting in the car alone, his hands could simulate the feeling of her hair in his grasp, of her skin beneath his, and with a potency that almost took his breath away-
Of her hand clasped in his.
The emotional joy ride his body was going through was almost overwhelming. Smith was beginning to doubt whether he would be capable of simply opening the door, let alone stepping out of the car and confronting her.
Or, at least, what was once Persis, and was now an agent. Agent Carlisle.
Smith frowned before adjusting his tie again and gripping the door handle in one hand. He silently prepared himself to see her, not with the distant attitude of an agent void of emotion, but with one of an agent who had known her before and who had felt what being with her had been like.
Freedom.
Smith opened the door and stepped out in one fluid movement, smoothing the front of his suit as he did so. Carlisle stood, distanced and motionless. The first time he had met her in this way, in this agent form, he had felt surprise, slight confusion, and anger. He had not been able to fully determine or understand the cause of the fury in him then. Now Smith knew.
What had they done to her? What had they done to the human?
His thoughts began to snap at each other's heels. She should have black hair, he practically fumed, black hair, dark eyes, dark like the void he was struggling to conceal in his system as he looked at her. Not this neutral, straight brown hair made to conform in its tight ponytail or the blue eyes, blue like his own that he knew hung frozen behind the dark glasses.
"You".
Her lips parted minimally as she spoke.
"Agent Carlisle".
Quickly, she turned her head sideways, pressing the ear piece to the side of her face as she received orders. Just as swiftly she turned back to him.
"We have pinpointed the location of the next targets. Two rebels, currently about to emerge onto a courtyard, situated-"
"Near Wells and Lake", he cut her off.
Her lips pressed together in reluctant affirmation.
Then they ran.
The two agents, at least, that's what they were to all appearances, sprinted from the meeting place, disregarding the car. They darted down the relatively quiet streets, turning each corner like finely honed racing bikes, all entered at angles designed to increase the velocity at which they ran.
Soon they emerged onto the aforementioned courtyard, which Smith acknowledged with a wince. From a window in the overlooking apartment building, he realised, he had watched as Persis had cut down three agents with the certitude and ease of a superbly designed killing machine, without so much as breaking a sweat. then, she had still been mostly human.
Ironic, that now the figure next to him was nothing but a superbly designed killing machine. Nothing more.
The rebels soon ran into the light, obviously out of breath, looking in desperation for the exit they needed. One look at the two agents in front of them and the blood drained from their faces, though their expressions were hard to determine behind their customary shades.
One, boldly stepping forward, pulled out a gun as he turned and aimed straight at Carlisle's head, shouting at his compatriot to run.
Of course she dodged the onslaught of bullets, dodged them with an air of one who is standing still, though she twisted and split into many Carlisles from the waist up.
A thin smile appeared on her disinterested face.
She ran towards both humans, and then round them, at the last moment turning so that she spun in the air, avoiding a second hail of bullets. She landed, feet splayed, behind the first human and, lowering to a crouching position, spun again, her pointed foot tripping him up as she leapt to drop kick the second square in the chest. He dropped like a stone, and lay, gasping, spitting blood onto the concrete.
Smith could only watch as if frozen, as any shreds of hoped for humanity in Carlisle disappeared with the bullets that left her gun and peppered the back of the defenceless human on the ground. Turning her attention to the first, Carlisle lifted him up by his jacket collar, one handed. She squeezed the air from his lungs, her fist curling around his jugular before she threw him bodily against the wall. Drawing up her right arm she emptied the rest of the clip into him and watched impassive as he slid to the ground, the wall stained a dark red.
A spatter of blood was sprayed across her face. A few droplets slid down the lenses of her glasses.
Smith curled his hand into an iron fist. Enough was enough.
She had to be told. Reminded.
When they reached the motorway footbridge, Smith had become resolute in his decision. He hit her as hard as he could as she walked in front of him, sending her soaring across the narrow pathway and into the handrail. When she made to rise he drew a bead fiercely and she lowered herself back down.
Something flashed across her face. Fear, and for a fleeting second she was Persis, staring up at him from the floor of a phone booth and cradling a receiver in her hands.