Note: Sorry for the long delay; I've been busy lately. This chapter isn't the most epic of all, but bear with me. The next installment will come soon. Also, this chapter is longer than the other ones, so you can't say that I was slacking off… too much.
Chapter 3: The Measure of a Man
"So, how you like life aboard the Neb?"
Ash recalled his breakfast and shrugged. "I've eaten worse," he replied and reclined back into the dentist's chair.
He glanced over at Tank. The operator was typing arcane commands at his console, calling up and prepping programs on his multitude of screens. Like the chair, they were all in different modes of entropy, and looked aeons older than his Old Harlem tech. Hard to believe this is really the 22nd century…
Tank looked at Ash. "Get used to it, buddy. There's real bread and sugar in Zion, but were not due back there until Morpheus finds the One."
He then went over to the chair and slid the nine-inch needle into the base of Ash's skull.
The pain was so intense yet short that by the time he opened his eyes, Ash had forgotten it. He looked around, and discovered he was back into the Construct, the void of white.
After nothing happened for a few minutes, he called out, "Tank? Uh… Operator?"
A loud click resonated through the void. He could hear faint arguing over the other end, and then Morpheus' voice.
"Tank is needed for other duties. Mouse will take over your training."
That kid? Ash did not envision that the shifty little straggler would be much of a mentor, but had second thoughts about his doubts. Usually, introverted, passive-aggressive youngsters would turn out to be huge receptacles of enthusiasm and knowledge, as he knew from a few juvenile informants he had known on the streets. This should be interesting.
"Alright, detective man," came a voice from above, "Morpheus wanted to do the normal protocol and movement progs first, but you're a crime fighter, so Tank was gonna give you combat training- he does that to everyone, anyway. I'm going to go along with his plan. With my own modifications, of course."
The Construct sky disappeared as a red wooden roof slid under it, and walls and paneling covered Ash in all directions. His brown trench coat, three-piece suit, and hat were gone as well, and he found himself wearing an Oriental-styled robe.
Been a long time since Quong Lee's Tea Shop, he thought, and moved into a stance from the only martial art he knew.
"You know tae kwon do?" asked Mouse, still a disembodied voice from the sky.
Ash nodded.
"Good. Then you should be ready for them."
With a chirp, three men in gis and black belts appeared in front of him. They bowed. Ash followed, and received a sharp kick to the nose.
"Ow!" he said as he stood up, stumbling a step backwards. The scene paused for a second.
"Word of advice… all presumptions aside, the Matrix is as rough as wherever you noir types go to drink 'til dawn. Don't think my bots are as honorable as they look," commented Mouse, and then time went to normal.
Ash gave the ceiling a dirty look, and decided to return the gesture. He crouched a bit and lunged at the closest man, tackling him to the ground. The downed fighter instantly slid into a dropkick, hitting Ash squarely in the stomach. Could have been worse- he missed his groin.
"Nice strategy, too bad it's cheating. They aren't brawlers, man. These three fight in tae kwon do, and you have to fight them in the same way." The scene stopped and unstopped again.
"Oh, really?" Ash asked. "Fine." He backhanded the man on the ground with his fist, and followed with several strikes with both opened and closed hands in the duration of a second. Ash then stood, jumped, and landed with a crescent kick to the chest with the entire force of his body.
"Glossy," Mouse said, removing the downed bot who would have been knocked cold in reality.
As Ash's foot came down to air where the body would have been, he was kicked in his back. The fighter behind him them followed through with a few more kicks at his lower legs, knocking him to the ground. The other fighter rolled Ash onto his back and both started striking his face with actual tae kwon do moves, the same as he had done to the first bot.
Holy irony, he thought. They're using the same dirty tricks as me. Wouldn't be the first time.
Unlike the first bot, Ash blocked several of the punches, and fortunately his opponents weren't too strong. He countered with a few of his own, hitting randomly. After catching one of the fighters unawares, he jabbed his knuckles into the man's eyes.
Nice programming, Ash thought as the injured bot's compatriot stopped and looked at him recoiling backwards in digitized pain. Ash pushed with his feet and slid backwards a bit, and then jumped up a few feet away from the two. He ran up to the uninjured gawker and jump- front-kicked his face, following with a low sidekick to the shins, knocking him down. As the bot laid on his side, Ash kicked his chest, but his foot was caught by the wary opponent. Grinning, the detective simply kicked his arms with his other leg, and ended with several more low kicks against the grounded enemy until Mouse recalled him. One more left.
Following a ninth sense, Ash ducked as he whirled around. The once-helpless fighter had his left arm extended with fist at head height- presumably to return the favor of double black eyes. Before the bot could react the man stood up and wrapped his right arm around it, Ash's elbow under the other's, and twisted his body sharply. With a pop the left arm fell out of its socket, and the bot was felled by more dishonorable usage of traditional moves.
"Good work, Ash," Mouse congratulated. "Here's your snack."
"Instantskills activated," a female computerized voice said. "Module: Southern China Kung fu."
A transparent holographic body of a man matching Ash's position materialized to the left of him. It moved into a stance, and then everything was a blur. Ash could hardly see or feel anything as his body went out of his control. Every move the hologram made, his own body moved with it. It repeated several basic stances for a while, and then started a few punches and kicks. After that were techniques, and then procedures of successive strikes and blocks. By the time it was all over, Ash had involuntarily followed every single move multiple times in his quicksilver manner. It took him less than two seconds learn the entire martial art.
"Whoa," he said, wiping sweat from his brow. "That's a neat trick."
"Apps time, grasshopper," Mouse said.
Three more men appeared, now wearing Chinese-styled tunics instead of gis. They attacked Ash, and he fought them back. A few minutes later, he had vanquished all of them, but not before receiving a few bruises of his own.
"Module: Northern China Kung fu."
"Module: Karate."
"Jujitsu."
"Aikido."
"Judo." "Savate." "Drunken boxing." "Tai chi chuan." "Kenpo." "Roman-Greco Wrestling." "Krav maga."
"That's all?" he asked breathlessly, exhausted after beating the last Israeli commando.
"What, no sumo? No Marquis of Queensberry rules? No sword-fighting?"
"You want to do weapons training today?" asked Mouse dryly. "Fencing or kendo?"
Still trying to catch his breath, Ash shook his head and sat down.
"Well, I guess we know your not the One now, for sure."
Ash closed his mouth and looked up. "What?"
"Never mind. Hey… how about target practice?" the dojo disappeared and a shooting gallery appeared. Ash sat on the ground in one of the booths, not helped by the fact that he was now clad in his warm, stifling trench coat.
"You were testing to see that I was the One?" he asked incredulously. "Is that why you made me fight twelve, thirteen- thirty-nine different people just to see if I wouldn't break a sweat or-"
He was cut short as the sound of moving targets startled him.
"Listen, man," said Mouse, "why the hell would we test if you were the One? You obviously can't hit these targets right."
Ash knew that was an obvious goad to get his mind off of his interrogation, but shrugged his shoulders, stood up, and picked up his magnum that laid on a stand protruding from the protective glass barrier in front of him. He knew there was no way to reason with the kid, and that he should concentrate on overcoming whatever trick lay in this next lesson. Undoubtedly, Mouse would probably cause the bullets to ricochet off of the Construct cardboard, fly up into the air, and then land on Ash's head just to screw with him. Stepping forward into a balanced stance, brought the gun to shoulder level with both hands, and drew a breath. He then undid the whole thing by stepping back with one leg, taking one hand away from the weapon, and held the gun sideways, neck bent so that his head was almost aligned with his arm. Ash fired thrice. All shots hit the red… ring two rings away from the center circle.
He ignored it and dropped his gun, and turned with his entire body, caught the gun with his other hand, and in the exactly opposite position Ash shot three times, again. The shots fared better.
"That's a pretty fucked-up style."
With the same mystic force as before, Ash's body was moved into a more orthodox stance.
"Humor me."
He fired several times more, yet the shots were even worse than his first series.
Mouse smirked. "You don't really use your gat much, eh, Tracy Dick? All it's for is an intimidator and for party tricks."
Ash shrugged again. "Never had much of a reason."
"I'll give you a reason."
The gallery disappeared, and Ash was now in a barroom with several uppity patrons. They were all over ten meters away and in front of him, but were also evidently armed. Before any of them moved Ash pulled up his gun and shot two of them. Nothing happened.
He then realized that the shots were all blank. Also, he had shot with the gun sideways.
"Hold it correctly."
Ash shrugged and dropped down behind a chair, shooting wildly at the bots' legs while rushing around in a squatted position. Miraculously, he hit a few of them. Bottles exploded as the programs fired at him, tables splintering and glass smashing. Ash shot three or four bots, before more rushed in. They fired automatic weapons. Without thinking, saw a door nearby and vacated the premises promptly.
"A most resourceful decision, Mr. Ash."
He found himself back in the dentist chair of the Nebuchadnezzar. Morpheus stood above him.
"How'd I do?" asked Ash, blinking.
"Quite well, though not more than we expected," came the reply.
"So-" he looked at the smirking Mouse, who sat at the operator's chair. "You didn't think I'm the One?"
Morpheus didn't reply. Ash frowned slightly. The needle plunged into his head.
The detective plummeted in the air, falling miles and miles through white clouds and a paper-white sky. He immediately knew that he was within the Matrix, and tried the best to calm himself. Too late. Ash smacked into the black rooftop without even considering a landing.
"Unf," he groaned, and pulled himself up. He was on top of a skyscraper, hundreds of feet above still city streets. Ash looked across the expanse of a multilane street, and saw a black figure on the opposite roof.
"If you really want to know… hop across," Morpheus called.
Ash paused for a few moments. He looked down at the street, where a few parked cars the size of fingernails sat. He then gazed across the gap between the buildings, the length of several medium-sized suburban houses. Ash looked down again, and the quickly across. Cars. Gap. Cars. Cap.
He decided it was obviously a test. Of being the One? Possible, but how is the One supposed to jump this? He probably could just teleport or materialize a bridge or fly or something… last time I checked, I didn't show much potential for that. Gotta be a test. Ash stepped back, squinting at Morpheus. Probably about trust. These rebels- they trust each other with their lives. If I fall, I'll die. They won't let that happen to me. Will they?
Shaking his head, Ash backed up as he pondered. He caught himself at the edge, almost losing his balance and falling. The drop shook fear into his heart, which began a beat like mad conga drummers at the East End's Carib Club. Ash shook his head again, and ran.
At the edge, he leapt. Once, in his early career, Ash had actually had to jump from a dock to the back of a boat. He had missed it, and plunged into icy waters, missing his chance to make good of a cruise he won from a contest he never entered. In retrospect, it was a pretty absurd reason for him to begin to learn and practice his long jumps, but he was currently in an absurd reason himself.
If he had jumped from down below, on the sidewalk, Ash could have easily cleared one, maybe one and a half lanes. Hundreds of feet above, his nerves got to him, and was not even close to halfway. Yet, he was so surprised that he was not transported to the other side by some sort of device of this test, he did not fall for a moment.
This is a dream, he reminded himself. It did no good, and he plunged. Desperately he remembered that a nanosecond before he was stuck in the air in his bewilderment, and tried to put himself in that mindset. The self-delusion failed; Ash's fear overcame his confusion. Perhaps if he was truly in one of his dreams he may have made it across, or simply conjured up a World War I-era biplane piloted by a scantily-clad, fire-headed vixen to catch him. Within the conscious Matrix, Ash fell. Falling, he recalled all sorts of random bits of information. The wind chill factor he had heard on a weather report a few weeks ago, a memory of what his mother told him when he was simply a lad. There was no flashback of his entire life, but many recollections did strike him. Ash was caught in a deluge of sadness, revulsion, guilt, fear, but most strange amusement. Dying's the most self-therapeutic thing there is, heh?
At this point he fell in a strangely stable position. Ash was upright, almost standing, and had his hands at his sides. He felt like he was falling slower than he had ever, like a parachuter who jumps out miles above the earth. A blur of motion above him brought him to attention. Above, a black figure flew across one building to another. Ash looked clearly, and then realized that the figure did not fly, but simply leapt. Then he realized that it was none other than Morpheus. He was awed. That has to be a trick. Or… it must come naturally to him.
Ash was so amazed that he didn't realize he had hit the ground until the back of his head cracked against the asphalt.
:.:.:
The Aquinas Institute was the largest private college in the City. Generously sponsored by both human and Machine interests, it was a place where the best and brightest went to be taught, indoctrinated, and examined.
The last two were not as apparent as a human would think. The excellent philosophy program was structured to stifle innovation, and was very by-the-book. All the quarters and food provided were well-priced and had quality, and each student were carefully monitored for any sign of discomfort or unhappiness that could lead to deep depression and nihilistic questioning. Solipsism would be a possible opportunity for escape.
Ironic.
In any case, it was an old, but modern campus, with many nooks and crannies. The Librarian owned one such hiding place to himself- the antique Hume Library, where few went.
The Pundit did not want to visit him there, nor visit at all, but was inclined to for important purposes. He walked up the marble steps of the library, in between granite pillars, and through an iron door with blurry windows. Inside was much more bland than the exterior. Whereas the stone walls outside gave a sense of age and venerability, the moldy yellow carpeting and borders gave a sense of decay and need for change.
The Librarian, who was working on the building's only computer, had no incentive to change. He stood up and took a stack of marked books when he saw the younger program enter, and walked to him. He motioned to a nearby reading table, and they sat.
"Good day. I see your lack of formality and contempt for my home is present," said the Librarian gently, almost humorously.
The Pundit glanced at the other, dressed in a sweater vest and a dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up. The older program was a silvery-haired, bearded professor-type, which suited him rather well. It made him invisible on campus. On the other hand, he himself was dressed in a toga of the obsolete fashion modeled after the ancient Greek historian Xenophon, marking his presence anywhere outside of the theatre and the fraternity houses. Nevertheless, he wasn't about to give credit to one of the archaic, lower-level daemons.
"Are you sure your dwelling is secure?" he hissed.
The Librarian nodded. His earlier greeting was a verbal command that had switched on a filter. If any of the few patrons of the Hume walked near them they would hear an esoteric, wearisome conversation about Mechanical Avunculogratulation.
The Pundit took out an envelope from a hidden pocket. The other took it, unsealed it with a conjured letter opener, scanning access codes all the while. He took out the paper inside. Its letterhead and code proved it was from a superior. The Librarian read it swiftly, his expression of quiet curiosity not flickering by one iota.
He put it down. "So they wish to know about the last escapee, hm?"
"They wish to know what you know."
The Librarian shrugged. "He is… unremarkable. Smart fellow, assisted with the authorities a few times, none against insurgents save for his last case."
The Pundit grew impatient. "They wish to know personally how he fits in."
"Oh. He seems like any insurgent. He's plucky and lucky, so it is not incredible to say that he may survive."
"It is not incredible that he may be among those who find the One."
"He is on that ship, then?"
"Yes. You know how 'plucky and lucky' the captain is. What do you have on the roles of previous crewmates?"
The older program pushed the stack of books across the table, then stretched his arms and sat back, folded arms behind his head. "The answers are marked for you."
The Pundit took the top record and began flipping through it. He looked through the entire stack quickly and carefully, noticing that the Librarian was studying him every so often. Inwardly, he sneered. Let him gawk, the obsolete paper-tender. He knows I'm not the newest. It must give his routines a good parse each time he sees a replacement. What an appropriate final resting place for him.
After finishing the last page of the last ledger, he grunted in disappointment. No anomalies present. He turned to the old daemon. "What is your analysis of his presence if he survives post-One discovery?"
"Surviving discovery does not ensure survival past the critical decision. Another crewman, another martyr," answered the Librarian.
"As the number of the crew grows, how will this affect the One himself?"
"You know the material as well as I do. The crew does not matter. The more people at his command, the more proficient the commander he is. You have read of the fourth iteration, where he had dominion over three ships and forty insurgents. One man does not matter… why do you yourself care so much? Shouldn't you be off looking at geopolitical helix models or ethical calculus derivatives?"
"The matriarch of nemeses says otherwise," muttered the Pundit.
The Librarian arched his eyebrows. "I had no idea a program of your creation date and programming would care for such entrails-reading. Why, the Diviner herself told you this? Surely the logic functions of these nexgens are no match…"
"Are you questioning my coding?" demanded the Pundit, his annoyance growing to fury.
"My apologies," said the Librarian, putting his hands up. "In my day, we did not adopt these little personal legacies of perfection within memetics, so much like the human tradition of purity in blood. I am sorry if I have offended you."
The Pundit glared, and said nothing.
The other bowed his head once. "To present reality, I myself have considered the predictions of our semi-rogue mother in my efforts to foretell with facts many times before. What you must learn is that though we lack what her kind once possessed, our methods are quite more sufficient and efficient. Come now, why did you care of her quantum ramblings?"
"They are a break from the earlier iterations on a subtle level. At this time, she is preaching the ability of individual Ones rather than the One. It would appear she has changed her message."
A book was thrown at him. He caught it, and read that it was a collection of themes within past Machine prophecies. The Librarian shrugged at him, and said, "Such changes are more common than you think. Anyway, I have already answered your question. You've been assigned to a low-level investigation. There's no need for you to be so straightforward about it- once events unfold, then begin being on alert. I have business I must tend to myself, you know."
The Pundit sighed. He stood up, followed by the other. Before they departed, he stated, "Our superiors are worried that the One may not choose the correct decision this time."
"Doesn't he always?" with a maddening wooly-mouthed smile, the old Librarian turned around and left.
:.:.:
"Very impressive, detective."
Morpheus replayed the shot. Ash jumped from the edge, and hovered for a nanosecond before falling. He scrambled and struggled in panic for a second, and then stopped, bringing his arms to his sides and ceasing to kick in the air. His velocity seemed to have dropped by a third, as if he was falling in slow-motion. He looked up, and was surprised. Then he hit the pavement.
"I failed, didn't I? I was supposed to jump. Not… just expect you to catch me."
"No. Indeed, you were to jump the gap without our aid. But we have caught you. Do you know why?" he looked at Ash intently.
"You are not the One," he finished without a reply.
Ash blinked, thinking, "So, is that the test of being this 'One?' Being able to jump that without any tweaking?"
"No. To jump between skyscrapers is a skill that one learns and hones. To jump it the first time is to be the One."
"I see," Ash said, and he instantly grabbed his head, which was still smarting. "And being the One would cause you to… not hurt after you fall fifty stories?"
"As you have seen, our Construct is much safer than the Matrix itself. In the Matrix, you are much more vulnerable to severe injuries. Your mind and body mimics the senses you receive, and so the effects may cause you to die. We are able to save you from that here because of safety protocols we impose."
"But if I was the One, would the fall have hurt me?"
"Perhaps, but irrelevant."
"How so?"
"If you were the One, you would not feel the pain."
Morpheus was silent after that, and Ash sat back in the chair, digesting all of this.
Looking at the monitor, he spoke. "How did you jump that gap?"
"One day you will think as I do, feel as I do, see as I do. Until then you only have one recourse."
"What's that?"
"Believe in yourself."
"Very helpful," Ash muttered under his breath.
"You have shown great potential to be a rebel. Discipline, composure, sanity- all such qualities you possess. But you are not yet ready. Your detective sense of rationality impedes you, and hinders the freedom of your mind. You have yet to comprehend the full illusion that is the Matrix. Perhaps you will live to find the One. For now, train."
Morpheus got up from the chair next to him and left. Ash rubbed his head, and looked around the room. Tank was now at the operator's chair.
"Where were you?" he asked the black man.
"Getting some chores done. Speaking of which…" he passed a datapad to Ash.
He took it and read the header displayed. "Data mining?"
"Yup. We all have our tasks to do onboard. You're new, so you have no duties yet, but the time will come. Get some exercise done- run a few laps around the ship, then report back here. I'm putting you on the Coding Trainer. We'll need you to do your private dicking around the Networks later."
"Great," Ash muttered as he stood, "and I always thought these sorts of jobs would be automated in the future."
"They are. Problem is, the union's been on a century-long strike, and I don't think nuking 'em to hell got them to see our side of the story at all."
Endnote: I deliberately skipped over introductions and a breakfast scene because I thought it would be too cliché, too overdone in fanfics. Look for omissions like that in the future. Please review!
