Hands shake him, and Raven turns his head away from the light.
"Wake up stupid."
"Wha . . . ?"
"You have to get up now. We're docking."
"Docking?"
Nuala rips the blankets off him and retreats to the door as he reaches for them.
"Get up, brush your teeth, then come to the lower deck. Within half an hour we'll be in Zion."
~~~
For a split second there is silence. After the constant hum of engine has stopped, the quiet rings in his ears.
Then, Sparrow grins. "Hear that?"
Raven listens. Through the hull, a sound he thought he'd never hear again.
"Voices!"
Skat drops through the hatch, closely followed by Bluey, Impala, Luther and Sparrow. Nuala steadies Raven with a hand on his arm before jumping down herself.
Dirt. His boots scuff up dust. Something natural. Nuala leads him out from under the ship and into the open. Very slowly he looks up.
Levels upon levels rise up into darkness, the atrium spanned by bridges and catwalks. People are everywhere, talking, laughing, hurrying, working. As Raven follows his crew through the throng, children bump into him and continue, laughing as they play.
Nuala smiles. "Welcome to Zion."
He just stares around him, not noticing the looks people give his plugs. They all look much the same to him, all dressed in greys and browns, all with dull natural hair colours, all with a purpose and a task at hand.
"Skat! Hast du unser Verabredung vergessen?" a voice calls.
The captain waves and calls back, "Nein, ich könnte Sie Morgen sehen, ja?"
"Ja. Tschüs!"
Impala laughs at Raven's befuddled expression. "It's a very multicultural city. Just about every race, creed, culture, whatever, has been concentrated into this one little place."
"How does everyone understand each other?"
"They speak sign language."
Two women seem to be arguing in what could be Arabic off to his right, and Raven can hear what sounds faintly like Japanese from the level above him. A headache is beginning to throb in his temples, and dizziness threatens to tip him over.
"Where're we going?" he asks Nuala.
"To report you. It's not everyday we get a power-plant escapee in Zion."
~~~
Nuala listens closely, trying to hear what's happening inside the office without appearing obvious. Beside her Raven fidgets, pulling at threads in his sleeve.
The door opens suddenly, and Skat, Bluey and the Zion official come into the waiting room.
"Would you two come with me please?" the official, Anguine, beckons to Raven and Nuala. They stand, and Raven glances over his shoulder at the crew behind him. Skat looks worried.
~~~
"Where exactly are you from, Raven?"
"Uh, the power plant."
"The power plant."
"Yes."
"Is this where you found him, Nuala?"
"Yes ma'am."
"And you expect me to believe this story?"
Raven nods. Nuala studies the dented steel desktop.
"Have you got any proof at all?"
In answer, Raven pulls up his sleeve. Fluoro lights catch and reflect off the metal rings in his forearm.
Anguine barely blinks. "They do match the sockets found in the specimens from the fields," she murmurs. Looking up she says louder, "I'll discuss this with my colleagues. Be back here by 1600 hours."
"Yes ma'am."
~~~
"There's someone Skat thinks you should meet."
"Who?"
Nuala doesn't answer. Raven has no choice but to follow her up level after level, through narrow sloping passages. Small children in doorways look up at him with huge eyes and one little girl trots after him, reaching for his hand. When she sees the rings set into the muscles of his wrist, her mouth drops open and she draws away from him quickly.
"In here," Nuala stops, drawing a ragged curtain aside for him. Raven ducks through the entrance, trying to see something in the dark.
"Who is it?" a harsh voice whispers.
"Just me," Nuala says as she follows Raven in. "And I've brought a friend."
"Oooh, visitors. I hardly ever get visitors. Come closer child, closer."
He can barely make out the shape of a person hunched, wrapped in blankets. Raven decides, from the sound of the voice, that the stranger is male, and old. A thin hand reaches for him, shaking, and Raven carefully takes it. Fingers trace the lines of his sinews and veins, then reach the plug in his forearm. Unlike the little girl, this person doesn't let him go.
"Ah. Now that's interesting. Who are you my boy, what's your name?"
"Raven."
There is a long pause.
"You're marked . . . " a thumb presses against the metal, involuntarily Raven's fingers curl shut. "You're scarred boy, scarred by Their grip upon you . . . "
Raven looks at Nuala beside him, taps her arm to ask a question.
"This is Tristan," she murmurs. "He was taken from the fields years ago."
"The fields?"
"Yes," the voice cracks in what could be a laugh. "You and I are more alike than you'd like to think, my little refugee."
"How?"
"Nuala, Turn the light on will you?"
She hesitates, then crosses to the doorway and flicks a switch.
White floods into his eyes, and Raven blinks, dazzled. When he can see he looks at the figure in the bed.
The man is not nearly as old as he thought. But he's shrunken, and pale. One hand grips Raven's arm, but the other is resting on the blanket, shaking. Thin hair flops limply over the drawn, lined face. Shining stark against the paper-like skin of his arms, plugs reflect the light.
"I'm an example of how people shouldn't be freed. After being unplugged from the fields, I was kept alive. I shouldn't have been. Can you put the light out now?"
Nuala flicks the switch again. Raven carefully sits down on the bed.
"How old are you?"
"I'm an old, old man my boy. Nineteen. I'm far too old to be allowed any more."
Raven frowns. This guy sounds more than slightly crazy.
"So," the pale shape that is Tristan's face turns to him. "You've survived it all. You got out of the plant."
"Yeah."
"Tell me a story won't you? What was it like in there?"
"Can I ask you something first?"
A consideration, then a slow "All-right."
"You know much history?"
"Too much."
"What was this world like in the year 2000?"
"People lived on the surface. There were no machines. Children grew up safe and had enough to eat. They learned useless things in school because they didn't have to learn how to survive."
"Don't forget money," added Nuala.
"Why do you ask, my studded refugee?"
"I think," Raven says slowly, "that the world I came from is like how this world used to be. And I dreamed it."
"Dreamed?"
"Yes."
"Tell me," he can make out Tristan tilting his head to one side. One bony hand still holds Raven's wrist. "Could you do whatever you wanted to do in this world? Because in some dreams you can."
"No, I don't think so. But then, I never tried."
"Why not?"
"Well, people can't fly. So I never tried to fly."
"But if it's a dream you might be able to."
"I can't know now can I?"
"Maybe you're wrong."
None of them move. Tristan smiles slowly, exposing the sharpest canine teeth Raven has ever seen.
"How were you held in this dream? Curled up in a ball, surrounded by red . . . studded, my little refugee, studded with . . . ?"
"Cables. Black cables."
The hand that grips his wrist moves, trailing cold fingers up his arm, across his shoulder and around his neck. Tristan leans forward, pale eyes intense in the darkness as he traces the circle of the plug in the back of Raven's head with his middle finger.
"And what was here?"
"A cable. A . . . jack. Like something you'd put in the back of a computer."
"A jack? And where did it lead to?"
The movement of Tristan's hand massaging his neck is relaxing, and the boy finds his eyes drifting shut. Nuala is out of his line of sight, not saying a word.
"The tower. It led to the tower. All the cables did."
Tristan's other hand lifts his chin, keeping him semi-alert. "This tower . . . hummed?"
"As if alive."
"Alive. As if alive. As if possessing a consciousness all of its own . . . "
" . . . yes."
(alive. they're alive, in their way)
"And They watched you in there, didn't they? That dream . . . it has a name . . . "
(don't move or they'll see you and know you're not sleeping)
Who's They?
(them. the machines)
" . . . yes."
"Do you know its name?"
(something that right now is far beyond your grasp)
"I . . . think . . . "
"Do you remember, Raven?"
(something like a memory . . . something like a vision of the future)
And his voice, when he speaks, is strong and clear.
"The Matrix."
~~~~~
This story is proving my hardest to write yet! Sorry about the time between updates.