Chapter 5: In Which Smith is Captured
"How are we going to do this?" Roland asked Morpheus in the small conference room off the main deck. Link, Trinity, and the Hammer's operator, Orion, were there as well. Link once again had spent hours analyzing files and experimenting with broadcast frequencies.
"Sirs," Link spoke up. The two captains turned to him. He continued. "Sirs, I should probably tell you that it's very important that we capture the original Smith."
"Why?" Trinity asked.
"We need to have the most complete program that we can get. Each time he copies himself, and then the copies make more copies, their files degrade a little more each time. It should be relatively easy to find the original…I have his code pattern here," he brought up the streaming code on the conference room's small display screen.
"Each copy that he made has almost the exact same pattern, but it varies by a very small degree. Barely detectable. See?" he tapped the screen again. The code didn't appear to change.
"You can't really see it with the human eye," he explained. "But the computers can definitely detect it. It's the file degradation. If you feel like sitting in front of the screens as long as I have today, you might be able to pick it up eventually."
That pulled a smile from Morpheus. "We appreciate all that you have done, Link."
"Thank you sir…but I'm not quite finished yet. I think I've found a way that we could trap him."
Everyone in the room leaned forward in their seats with intense interest.
"Do share," Morpheus said.
Link took in a deep breath. "Okay. Well, I've found that we can insert a frequency variation directly into the Matrix. It would create something of a virtual trap. Once he moved into this trap, we would be able to lock onto his code pattern and download him into some sort of little prison. In our database. I was thinking maybe a blank construct."
Everyone was looking at him in shock. Morpheus was smiling knowingly, as though he was the father of a child that had done everything that was expected of him.
Roland got up out of his chair and clapped Link on the back. "Link…you are a genius. It's amazing what you've discovered. Get to work on this right away and I will make sure that you are commended when we get back to Zion."
"If it's still there when we get back," Trinity muttered under her breath.
She was ignored.
"Tell me what you need, Link," Morpheus said eagerly. "This isn't going to be easy."
"We're going to need a decoy."
*****
Orion, the operator for the Hammer, had volunteered to be the bait. He was to lure the original Smith into the trap that had been laid. Link had traced Smith's location and sent Orion to a relatively close position, so he wouldn't have to go tromping all over creation to track him down. The trap had also been set nearby, so that Orion could get to it before Smith got to him.
And now Orion was stalking down the street thinking about what the hell he had gotten himself into. He was almost there…Smith was on a park bench about a hundred feet away. Orion slowed to watch him. It appeared that Smith was observing a small mockingbird chase a crow. It flapped frantically after the larger bird. The humoring element was that the crow was allowing itself to be chased away.
Ha, Orion thought to himself. This place is so full of freaking irony.
Ignoring his inner voice telling him to flee for his life or otherwise get the heck out of there, he held his breath, suppressed his fear as best he could, and casually sidled up to Smith. Without any warning whatsoever, Smith suddenly received a swift kick to one of his shins.
"Come and get me, fuckface," Orion hissed at him. And then he ran for his life.
Smith stared at the figure running away from him, ostensibly in shock for a split second. In an even shorter amount of time, he lunged from the bench and took off in pursuit.
It was a retaliant. He could see that right away. For some reason or another, most of them chose to project themselves in dark clothing or something made of leather. Or both. Smith supposed it had something to do with looking "cool."
He too had a sense of style. He had changed his manner of dress as soon as he had been reassembled and came to the realization of what had happened.
Instead of wearing the brown suit symbolic of his agent past, he sported a black ensemble. He wanted to maintain a professional appearance, but felt the black suit gave him a sharper, more dignified appearance. He wanted an image that would demand respect.
He had changed his glasses as well. The standard issue rectangular agent shades had become a faux pas to him. He fashioned himself a pair that had abnormal geometric lenses. They slightly slanted upwards as well, emphasizing his threatening appearance.
They bounced slightly on his nose now as he chased the retaliant into a deserted alleyway. He was close enough now to shoot the ignorant human. He reached under his jacket to pull out the pistol that lay hidden in its leather holster…
…he was confused. The moment he pulled out his pistol to shoot the retaliant, he lost his grip on it. Smith never lost his grip. Ever. In fact, if anything, Smith had too much of a grip. But there it was. His gun had slipped from his fingers and fallen to the ground with a clatter that echoed down the alley. The retaliant stopped to look back at him. A small smile crossed his face.
"See you later, asshole," he sneered, then without another glance, he took off running in the opposite direction.
"Damn it," Smith said through his teeth. He bent to pick up the pistol, fully resolute on chasing down the human.
His hand passed right through his gun. He froze. He stared as the ends of his fingers began to disintegrate…his eye twitched.
"No," he muttered.
Ignoring his demand, green code began to spiral up and out of his hand. It moved up his arm, leaving a trail of nothingness in its path.
A look of what might have been fear appeared on his face as the rest of his body began to fragment as well, code blowing this way and that, like dandelion puffs in the wind. He let out a horrific yell as he was seemingly erased from existence.
A moment later, with the swiftness in which he'd been disassembled, he had become whole and intact again. He waited for the tip of his shoe to finally swirl back into place, and then slowly turned to identify his surroundings.
White. Nothing but white. There were no recognizable walls or a ceiling. He knew where he was immediately. He was standing in a blank program construct.
His lip curled in furious realization. He was being detained against his will. He had no way of communicating with his one significant copy…but that was okay, because his copy was exactly that. And he would know what to do.