Protector of Men Ch something

Zandra lay asleep in the corridor between the cockpit and the hallway. She rested with her knees to her chin, her head leaning lopsided against the cold metal of the doorway. It was a fitful sleep; she would only lay quiet for half-hour intervals before startling herself awake again. Stress had finally begun to take its toll on her: despite her fatigue, she could get no rest.

Kesia sit silently at her captain's chair, staring at the pipeways in front of them. She had done so for almost six hours, and hadn't felt the urge to rest. She was what they would be dependent on now – she was the only one who knew how the ship worked, and how to fly… Zandra may have been the master of the Matrix, but when the time came, it would boil down to Kesia's efforts. She was their way home, not Zandra. The sentinels had lost interest a few hours before and had disappeared, but Kesia was still vigilant. They hadn't seemed satisfied with their readings - hovering a few hundred yards off, moving right and left. It was like they were squinting, as if trying to get a better view of the formless source of electricity that they could feel so slightly. After almost forty minutes of checking and rechecking, they finally drifted off, a few of them rescanning as they retreated into the pipes. Kesia knew they would come back with more; it was only a matter of time.

Shade had volunteered for the task of gravedigger. He was quiet as he trudged into the Core, coming up on both Cover and Trim's bodies; dreading the task, yet willing to perform it.

It was almost completely dark in the main deck; only one faint blue emergency light cast a glow from the center of the room. Shade held his breath while checking their straps, making a point to look at their arms and not their faces. Kesia hadn't done anything to them since the day before - they were still strapped in with their needles still inserted. For a short moment he stood back and gazed at the two of them, unfocusing his eyes with a foolish hope that maybe, just maybe they had been alive the whole time, and were waiting to be taken out…

But it was a foolish hope, and Shade still had a job to do.

He walked to Trim first, his plan clear. A grimace grew on his face as Shade undid the many straps on his chair, remembering his actions the day before. Trim deserved death… and not much more. It had been so much work before - trying to be polite, trying to skirt the plain truth that Cover had hired Shade for the sole purpose of replacing Trim. It was supposed to be easy, Cover had assured him, it would be a gradual 'fade-out'. But it hadn't turned out that way: though Shade tried to be as amiable as possible, Trim was always pointing out his shortcomings – his inability to do work on the ship, his newcomer status. It was always a job staying civil, and now, it was useless. It was time wasted.

Shade held his breath again while taking out the needle. There was blood all over the chair, some on the metal of the wirework behind it – and though it had long fallen from the air, he still was repulsed by the sight of it. Shade wrapped his hand in the sleeve of his shirt to take it out, all the while staring at the blast in the side of Trim's skull. The only wound he had ever received – and it was self-inflicted. He was a waste of a rebel.

It was hard to manually opening the bay door, but Shade worked diligently to be as quiet as possible. He then half-carried Trim's bloody body out of the ship and into the pipeways. He took his time and made sure to put it a good distance away out of disgust, and trudged back to the ship with blood on his clothes. Half the job was done.

Shade looked to Cover with longing. He lay peaceful in his chair. Shade took care in unbinding him and taking out the needle, trying not to move him unnecessarily. He carried him into the captain's quarters and laid him on his bed as delicately as he could, which was fairly easy because of Cover's small frame. Shade turned and looked one last time at his fallen leader; once tired, but now at peace. He looked regal; like a warrior of old – and it seemed like he needed a sword at his side to commemorate his glory. He had been a good leader. Cover was at peace, and that was what mattered. Shade sighed lovingly, looked away, and closed the door behind him.

Zandra woke with a start as Shade approached the cockpit a few minutes later, after changing his clothes. She sighed and started to get up, but he stopped her, gesturing for her to stay sitting.

"Back?" she whispered as he took a seat next to her. Shade gave a weak smile.

"Just had stuff to do," he replied, taking her hand. Kesia looked back at them and smiled, surprising them with its intense sincerity.

"Did they come?" Shade asked. Kesia turned around again and shook her head slowly.

"Nothing," she said, "They're coming eventually, though." She looked out to the pipeways and sighed. "We have to go back," she continued, looking to Zandra, "This is too much. There's nothing else we can do."

Zandra said nothing; Shade squeezed her hand.

"Did Neo tell you anything before it happened?" he asked. Zandra shook her head, avoiding his gaze.

"Is there any point in trying that virus?" Shade continued, now looking to Kesia. She shrugged.

"It looked clean, but I don't know what it'll do. Trim could have overwritten it." They all paused at the mention of his name, but Kesia started up again.

"The Matrix isn't stable – the last time I saw it. With all those Smiths in one place, and then all those agents in the open – people are going to start questioning. I think they already have."

"Should we try?" Shade asked. Kesia shook her head in thought.

"We might as well," Zandra said, lifting her head from the floor, "We have nothing to lose, now."

They all nodded.

"We should at least wait though," Kesia said. "We can't let you go in, and then have the sentinels come back. You have to go alone, and you have to be fast."

Zandra now nodded alone, having expected her guidelines. Slowly they all became dormant again; Zandra leant on Shade's shoulder and slipped into shallow sleep, Shade stared blankly at the wall, and Kesia continued her everlasting vigil.

It was cold in the ship, and it continued to get colder. Without the heater the temperature would drop almost twenty degrees, hovering only fifteen above freezing. There was no food either – without power, their single-cell would freeze into an inedible gelatin. For now, they were relying on themselves, their bodies only, to survive. Within an hour Shade brought back blankets for them to cover themselves with. Zandra accepted the token gratefully and curled up against him, savoring the body heat they shared. Kesia suffered silently.

They were the last dregs of Purgatory; the survivors. Every moment was a reminder of their mortality, and it was as if they were waiting for the inevitable. Death was waiting for them, and they knew it. A dark silence invaded the ship, and throttled their hopes. And thus they waited, cold and alone, for another seven hours.

A/N – again, sorry for the delay. Last week I not only got the stomach flu, but went to the all-state convention in San Antonio. It's been an extremely busy week – I've been at tutoring every day before AND after school to do makeup work, and that's not including choir rehearsals and CONCERTS. I have choir competition tomorrow. I'm tired.