11: AFTERSHOCK

The spy makes his third attempt.

The two werewolves holstered their weapons and surveyed the mess they had created. The prisoner had her head in her hands and was shaking violently, pressed into the corner. Werewolves and ghosts stared at each other, vying for supremacy, and the Twins won, as usual.

'We will inform him what has happened. You two will take the bodies to the dungeons. We will send for Tiger to take care of the girl.'

'Why does Tiger always get the best jobs?' grumbled Abel, eyeing the little human.

Cain slapped him over the head, and he yelped. 'Use your head, for once?'

'What? Oh, I get you.'

All four programs watched the human girl. The concept of twinning was well known to them, as was Tiger's situation. Respect was sparse between those in the Merovingian's employ, but there were one or two who were considered worthy. Vlad and Cujo commanded it from their respective sides, as did Tiger, the Outcaste vampire. He was actually more intelligent and a better fighter than Vlad, but had declined the position of command for reasons known only to himself.

He had also chosen to abandon the vampire clan, who had consequently disowned him. He was now one of the Merovingian's favourites due to his neutrality.

Cain fingered the hole in his forehead, withdrawing his fingers and sniffing his own blood. This earned him a disparaging look from the Twins, who stalked down the corridor to the staircase. Cain wiped his fingers on his sleeve, 'You take him.' He pointed at the Pakistani man's corpse. Abel hoisted the body onto his shoulders without too much trouble, and Cain grabbed the Asian woman. 'Nobody shoots me and gets away with it,' he muttered, slinging the corpse across his shoulders.

They turned towards the library door, and met Tiger coming the other way. Either the Twins' telepathy extended to beyond each other, or the scent of blood had spread fast. Cain nodded respectfully, and the vampire returned it. 'They tried to rescue her. Two bodies here, and the girl needs a room change.'

'There're a couple of free racks downstairs where you can put them,' Tiger said quietly. Cain nodded and slipped through the opening in the wall, Abel at his heels.

Tiger closed the bookcase behind them and sniffed deeply. The scent of fear led him to the human girl, crouched sobbing against the wall. She was covered in congealing blood, although it was not her own, and the carpets and walls were stained with bright sprays of it. The smell played havoc with Tiger's senses.

He mastered himself and strode across to the human, kneeling beside her quaking form. 'I've been instructed to take you to another room.'

The girl lifted her head and looked at him, her breathing harsh and her pupils dilated with horror. They looked neutrally at one another. She said nothing, and Tiger tilted his head and looked quizzically at her. 'Can you speak?'

The girl lowered her eyes and tried to control her heaving chest; she swallowed, but no recognisable sound came from her trembling lips. Her eyelids became heavy and her gaze unfocused. She slipped into unconsciousness, and Tiger caught her as she fell forwards.

He picked her up gently, cupping her as one would a small child, and carried her towards the stairs, all the while probing the feeling that kept on assailing him.

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Spess removed Vriha and Sphere from the entry chairs and laid them side by side together, covered with rough blankets. He shook his head. They had known it was dangerous, yet they had tried anyway.

'So close... So fucking close.'

He was furious with himself for not stopping them, for not insisting that he should go with them. The anger kept his tears back; he would not grieve for his friends until they were avenged.

Phoenix hadn't said a word since her scream at the moment of Vriha's death. She too seemed to be quietly fuming, putting off the grief until there was time. It was a good system, reflected Spess. Emotions about one or two lives were best left until they had made progress saving the entire human race. Vriha and Sphere would have wanted them to carry on, to continue what they had started, to get Aerial out. Alive.

There were only four active crewmembers left: Mimic, Spess, Phoenix and Genius. Mimic called them together again, in view of the Matrix feed. Phoenix kept her eyes on the screens as she listened.

'Right. We are going to need every bit of energy we have for this, so I suggest we start the night cycle again, now. In six hours we'll meet back here and plan out how we're going to get Aerial out of there. Tiresias may have decided to return by then, so we might have his brain to help. In light of current events, it sounds harsh, but we all know this is what Vriha and Sphere would want us to do. Okay?'

They nodded, all too aware of the lifeless forms in the small bay.

Three hours later, several screens illuminated a lone figure in the gloom of the main deck. Genius completed the command string and executed it, then dialled a number. He held a brief conversation and hung up, then waited for ten minutes exactly and dialled a second number.

'Tiresias? It's me, Genius. Listen buddy, something real bad happened to Vriha and Sphere just a couple of hours ago. Mimic is just outside waiting for you. If you can get outside the Oracle's, she'll pick you up, okay? ... She wants everyone back in the real world so we can work something out. ... Yeah, Aerial's here, but she's asleep right now. Just be outside in about two minutes, okay? Nice one.'

Genius waited until he heard the click as Tiresias hung up, then peeled off the headset. He switched everything off except the Matrix feed and resumed his watch. If this failed now, who knew what would happen to Aerial...

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Tiresias made his way down the flights of stairs, slightly unsure of what he was doing. The call from Genius niggled away at his mind. Why had Mimic not come up to get him? Maybe they had finally decided to grant him a little independence. But what had Genius said? Something "real bad" happened to Sphere and Vriha? If it was this serious, why hadn't she come in for him?

The questions hovering in his head, clouding his thoughts, dispelled in an instant as a flash of... something hit him. He could not see anything, but he heard things; a soft sound as a blade encountered the resistance of flesh; gunshots; a scream. He pressed himself to the wall, fearful of falling, until the "vision" subsided. A chill rush swept through him as he realised what had happened to Vriha and Sphere.

Hang on... If he was supposed to be the Oracle, why was he getting visions of the past? Unless this was the dual aspect: he got the past while the Oracle got the future. Confused, he felt his way down the last flight of stairs and to the door. The night air was cold and smelt of petrol fumes. He could hear the throb of a car motor.

He lingered in the porch. Something wasn't right. Mimic, her usual pitying self, would have come to him by now, gingerly taking his arm. If Aerial was here, she would have spoken; any of the crew would have spoken. So why was there silence?

He stepped uncertainly out of the safety of the porch, and was immediately grabbed from either side, his arms held tightly by long-fingered hands. Tiresias struggled violently, but he was held firm; his kicking legs met no target. He silently cursed his useless eyes.

The lying little bastard...

Tiresias thrashed about like he had never before, his fury a fire in his heart. 'Fuck you, Genius!'

'Manners, Oracle.' The voice was smooth as glass; the accent southern English.

Tiresias found his arms twisted behind his back and held securely. 'We are instructed to blindfold those we take, but in this situation it's superfluous really. Don't you think?'

He said nothing, instinctively ducking his head as he was forced into the back seat of the waiting car. If he ever got out of this alive, he would strangle the arrogant little viper... And he would get out, wherever he was being taken to. The Oracle must have known about this, and Seraph would be sent to get him back. Slightly more reassured about his predicament, he lolled his head back against the headrest and started to count the turns they made.

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Aerial awoke to find she was lying on a double bed in an ornate, uncluttered room. The drapes were half-drawn and strong sunlight streamed into the room. She struggled upright, feeling weak and cold. Her own scent repulsed her, and she tore off her coat and flung it from her. The stench of old vomit lessened, although her top was covered in blood.

Tears sprang to her eyes as images flashed into her head, Vriha sinking slowly to the carpet in a lake of blood, Sphere's body jerking as she was shot, the careless way the two men in black treated them. And then the lack of hostility from Tiger that could only be called kindness. She recalled his face, the faint shape of his eyes behind the dark lenses of his shades.

The door opened suddenly, and Tiger looked in. 'You're awake.'

Aerial tried to thank him for his thoughtfulness, but her mouth would not move. The program remained at the door, 'Still not speaking, hmm? I suppose it's shock.' His eyes looked her over, and found the coat discarded by the bed. 'You are a hostage, and are to be looked after. I will arrange for a change of clothing for you, if you wish.'

Aerial managed to nod. Tiger inclined his head to her; his long hair falling forwards like ebony water, then exited the room silently.

Aerial had just swung her legs over the side of the bed when the program reappeared. 'You should know that the human Oracle has been captured and is being brought here directly.' He lingered, and his gaze became sharper as though he were seeing her soul. Then he was gone again, as suddenly as he had come.

Shit... Aerial flopped back on the bed, her fists clenching in anger and despair. So they had captured Tiresias. She tugged out her ponytail and sat up, releasing the tension on her scalp.

The Merovingian must want Tiresias because of his Oracle abilities. That must have been who he meant when he said he didn't expect me. But what's the Merovingian's interest in all this? Why does he want to know about the fate of the Matrix as well?

Aerial turned this over in her mind. Falcon works for him, he must do. Falcon is a program; so are those albinos, and I bet those men in black are too. The only possible explanation for the club-to-palace problem is that this place does not obey the rules of the Matrix. But, it has to exist within the Matrix for it to exist at all, because it certainly doesn't exist in the Real World. Does it?

She was ejected from her train of thought by the door opening a third time, but it was not Tiger. Instead, the female program from the club stepped inside, a bundle of something over one arm. She turned and closed the door, then swept elegantly over to the bed.

'Abel was sent to bring you these, but I persuaded him to let me.' Persephone gave the hostage the clean clothes. The girl was still shaking, but she couldn't tell if it was from fear, cold or shock. She concluded all three. The warmth of the blood split over her during the corridor scuffle had long turned cold and steely, and her face was flecked with it.

The Merovingian had given no clear instructions on the treatment of the girl, but she seemed to be eliciting a gentle response from all who came into contact with her. It was Persephone's belief that, as a hostage, the girl should be treated fairly and courteously. Assuming she would be released, she was a guest, and such social quirks as hospitality held sway even here.

The girl inspected the clothes. Tiger had thoughtfully programmed them to be replicates of the garments she wore now. Persephone was a little concerned for Tiger, for since the arrival of Falcon's twin he had been very quiet and brooding. He never showed it in front of any of the others, naturally, but Persephone had caught him playing the piano in the reception room last night. He was improvising, and improvising well, and that bothered Persephone. Such things as music did not normally hold any significance for programs, especially as it was an expression of emotion.

Then again, the majority of residents in the château were here because of their emotions.

Persephone realised the girl was staring into space, the clothes forgotten in her arms, tears shivering off her cheeks. The program sat beside her, marvelling at the similarities between her and Falcon. The same curve to the spine; the same shadow-dark hair.

Gingerly, Persephone put her hand on the girl's narrow shoulder. The little human tensed under her touch, and lifted her eyes to her. Persephone made a small smile, as reassuring as she could be, and relayed the message she had been told to give.

'My husband wants to see you later this evening. He hopes you will join him in the restaurant. You intrigue him.'

The girl still said nothing, and Persephone stood up. 'Someone will come for you at about six o'clock tonight. The rest of the day is your own, but I would advise you not to wander too far.' She left the guest room, annoyed at the girl's lack of response, and attempting to crush the pity in her simulated heart.

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