a/n:
- Okay, so we're back to our mysterious human anomaly... and our former virus former agent Smith... Enjoy! (NB I've put the translations directly into the text, in the hopes this makes the reading easier)
Chapter 6
Smith gritted his teeth as he marched down the crowded sidewalks of Paris, rudely pushing pedestrians aside as he went. It was taking him a long time to adapt to the New System. Nothing was the same. The humans roamed freely in and out of the Matrix, unhindered by agents, unplugging targets at will. Not only that; the clout he'd enjoyed as a class-1 sentient program was now all but nonexistent. Not a single model from his generation of programs remained operational. His status was useless, vintage, exiled.
Even the local law enforcement seemed to have more authority than he did. The former Agent Smith had returned from his morning errands to find a bright yellow wheel-clamp on the right front tire of his illegally-parked 1999 Audi A4. Frustrated, he'd used all his strength to rip it off, but accidentally warped the frame of the car in the process. After several futile attempts to fix the body of the only car he'd been programmed to drive, Smith gave up and decided to walk it. It was just as well, he needed time to think.
The entire afternoon his cognition subroutines had been caught in a kind of temporal loop – over and over - he couldn't stop replaying the events of that morning in his thoughts. It was troublesome: this inability to sort and store the information properly. The memory files seemed to be recalled randomly, without any sort of trigger. More than that, the unpleasantness of the undesired déjà-vu was compounded with nagging error messages: Futile command: target not recognized. All day they had plagued his consciousness. It was most inconvenient that his program persisted in bombarding him with these censures, these safety protocols which were meant to prevent agents from wasting resources on irrelevant targets. Smith grimaced. What did the humans call it? A conscience? The irony was palpable.
He knew from the moment he pulled the trigger that something was wrong. They hadn't run; they hadn't even shot back at him. It was very unusual, and horribly unnerving to have such an easy conquest. It was almost as if they didn't even know who he was. Him. Smith. Of course, they were young ones. And he'd been held prisoner in that Siberian jail for two decades now. But surely the legend should have persisted. After all, he'd killed The One…their Saviour… and not just once… he'd killed the guy twice, for crying out loud.
Smith tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that Ghost had recognized him. Good old Ghost, Smith had thought at the time, genuinely pleased to see a familiar face. Certainly this one could be counted upon to be properly terrified.
In truth, Smith's encounter with his old adversary only yielded a partial satisfaction. Ghost had, indeed, shown him due respect – after emptying both clips at him, he turned and ran until Smith manoeuvred him into a dead-end. For good measure, he then kicked Ghost into the brick wall a few times before feeding him Synergy's message. Certainly, that he couldn't kill Ghost was unfortunate. But for the time being, he had to do the human's bidding.
Smith gritted his teeth. The human. He had a hard time believing that Synergy was, in fact… only human. In all his years in this System, he had never encountered an entity like her. He couldn't even guess at what kind of systematic error was responsible for her existence. Clearly, Synergy's power was the result of some sort of imbalance in the system – an anomaly not unlike Mr. Anderson. Indeed, not unlike himself.
Smith turned onto a quiet street in the northern part of the Marais, passing several Museums and galleries before reaching his destination, 3001 Rue de Saintonage. The eleven-storey glass and concrete tower was a tribute to modern architecture and design, an attractive compliment to the historic stone buildings on either side. The inside lobby was decorated with a tasteful mixture of modern and classical Art: Pacco Rabanne met Pablo Picasso in whimsical splashes of colour against grey walls and white marble floors.
He nodded at the doorman who doubled as a guard: an attractive, muscular Frenchman with curly, shoulder length brown hair and a cleft chin. The pansy wore a Valentino suit, pink silk tie, and Italian loafers. Smith suspected that the human had personally programmed this piece of eye-candy from scratch. He scoffed as he stepped into the elevator. Surely she could have done better than that.
The elevator doors opened on the top floor with a light whoosh, giving way to a sky-lit atrium accented with abstract oil paintings. In stark contrast to the minimalist surroundings, the doors to Synergy's suite were antique wood, artfully carved in intricate Persian design. Smith considered that in the past few months they'd been living here, the human had redecorated several times. He wished she'd just make up her mind. He was getting sick of complimenting every new addition to the house. And she was always upset if he didn't notice.
"Honey, I'm home." Smith announced his arrival with his usual sarcastic brand of suave. He removed his sunglasses and looked around the richly-furnished surroundings. Several items were new. But before he could comment, Smith was thrown clear across the room, his body smashed hard against the wall.
Synergy was standing more than ten paces away, hands on her hips, an expression of unrestrained ferocity on her face. Somehow, she was holding him there, with some sort of mysterious energy, crushing his torso and preventing his breathing. Smith's eyes widened with surprise as he realized, for the first time ever, the pain of being suffocated.
"I specifically instructed you – Program – not to kill anyone!" The raw power of Synergy's rage flashed in her eyes like pure blue electricity. "Do you think that I am playing some sort of game? That my instructions are simply suggestions to be disregarded whenever your limited neural network of primitive algorithms decides that it suits you?"
Smith felt her invisible grip on his chest and throat tighten as his feet lifted higher off the ground. The agony was exquisite – the sound of pounding blood in his ears was like nothing he had ever felt before.
Synergy's fury only burned whiter when she caught sight of the stifled grin that had spread across Smith's face. Her bright red fingernails dug into her palms. "You are very foolish," she hissed. "I could dismantle your program. Line. By. Line. It would probably be a good idea – I could write a more sophisticated agent in the time it took you to deliver one simple message."
Smith managed to force a chuckle through his steadily crushing airway. "You… need… me." He managed, tasting blood at the base of his tongue. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision.
If only this sensation could last forever, he thought.
Synergy held him high against the wall for a few seconds longer, listening to time tick away on the huge grandfather clock that imposed on the wall facing her colonial-style mahogany desk. Staring at him with contempt she whispered, "Yes, well. We shall see for how long."
Suddenly, Smith's body dropped to the floor, leaving him coughing and gasping for breath. As he slowly recovered from the asphyxia, his vision was filled with a thousand stars of varying colour, exploding like fireworks in his mind. But these were much more beautiful than any fireworks he'd ever seen.
"Well, get up. For goodness' sake – you're drooling on my new carpet. It's Tibetan wool." Synergy stepped over him, her feet clad in jet-black stiletto pointed-toe heels. In an instant, her mood shifted completely, her anger evaporating like rain off hot asphalt. She gesticulated to the room around her "Now tell me, do you like what I've done with the place?"
Her question activated a cluster of memory files. Some were damaged, incomplete. Another series of error messages rung in his ears. He struggled for clarity as he rose to his feet, adjusted his tie, and replaced his shades. "Hmm – you've obviously been very busy with idle interior décor. While I've been out working."
She bent over to fluff a few pillows on the couch. "Oh, what does your opinion matter anyway?"
Smith's eyes travelled up her legs, clad in black patterned stockings, to the ruffled hem of her skirt. The pure silk flowed from her hips to her knees as if it were some kind of magical liquid. Her perfectly-fitted crisp white blouse and Hermès scarf, tied tightly around her neck, completed the look of Parisian sophistication. Tiny white pearls glowed on her earlobes.
"Your vanity betrays your humanity, Synergy," he remarked.
"My humanity. Is that what you think this is?" The wickedly red lips smiled broadly. "No. This is calculated. You see, Mr. Smith… I was raised to appreciate the Power of Aesthetics." She turned to the large windows that constituted the entire western wall of her vast quarters. Eleven storeys below, autumn colours danced across the streets of Paris. "These contrivances – like so many things here… were created for the sake of appearances. With a purpose."
"Which is?"
"That isn't your concern. Your job… was to get me the One they call Neo. You assured me he'd be here by now…"
"He'll come. With any luck, you'll get them both. The woman follows him everywhere."
"Yes. Yes, I've heard that. Many have spoken of this devotion. The love that crippled an entire army of sentinels." Synergy's eyes refocused, shifting her attention from the late afternoon shoppers to on her own reflection in the glass. "Fascinating."
"Disgusting."
She ignored the comment. "What do you know about Trinity?"
Smith shrugged as he tried to recall. Again, a few links were broken. After some thought, he remarked bluntly, "difficult to kill."
Synergy rolled her eyes. She was quickly coming to the realization that this ancient piece of junk from the Old System was of less help than she originally anticipated. Still, she persisted. "Can't you be any more specific?"
The damaged program pretended to think for a moment, then jerked his head in a few exaggerated twitches. "No. I'm afraid that… my 'primitive algorithms' can't compute your question." He glowered at her through sunglasses that had gone out of style over fifteen years ago. "If the problem persists, please contact your systems administrator."
"Do they install that sarcasm at the factory, or did you have to send away for the upgrade?"
Angrily, Smith paced the length of the room, stopping only centimetres from her face. He caught the slightest waver in her composure and he glared intensely at her young, delicate features. She couldn't be older than twenty, he decided. A mere child, playing a very dangerous game with Programs who had existed for as long as the System itself.
It was Synergy's misguided confidence that betrayed her naiveté. Clearly, she believed herself quite powerful. The impressive array of 'magic tricks' she could perform in this virtual playing field gave her a false sense of control. Smith knew better. He'd learned a long time ago that that in this prison, Synergy's sort of power was as artificial as the Matrix itself. When all was said and done, she was trapped here, along with all the rest of them.
"Tell me, Synergy," he said smoothly. "What is your business with the Andersons?"
"That's not-"
"Do you plan to beg them for freedom from this place? You want them to 'unplug' you?"
Synergy opened her mouth to reply, but faltered for a moment. Then, "What arrogance to think that you could understand my motivations…"
He couldn't hold back a laugh. "But it's very simple. You're just a battery, my dear. What other plan could you possibly have? You're just like every other human who has sought asylum from this… zoo. Do you know how many just like you I've shot dead? I was designed to hunt unleashed animals like you."
"How dare you-"
"Do you realize that your body," Smith firmly grasped her arm with one large, powerful hand. "As lovely as it is here… You're real body is nothing like this. It's actually riddled with over twenty metal plugs… you're weak, undernourished, naked. As we speak, your biochemical energy is running my program." He leaned close to her ear and whispered, "I can practically taste you."
Before he knew what was happening, Smith was on the floor over thirty feet away from her, slumped into a hole in the wall, plaster dusting his shoulders and hair. The room shook violently. Books fell from their shelves and glass ornaments shattered, popping like over-inflated balloons. Smith looked up at the elaborate chandelier as it swayed to and fro, the thousands of tiny crystal diamonds clinking against each other like an array of wind chimes announcing the arrival of inclement weather. He inched back just in time to avoid the giant structure as it crashed to the floor.
Smith got to his feet, removed his broken sunglasses, and looked back at Synergy. Her bun had come undone, and long strands of ink black hair tumbled onto her shoulders. She was panting, her tiny frame leaning against the window, one of her hands clutching the drapes. Smith noticed with some surprise that her forehead glistened with perspiration. "Get out," she said finally, not looking at him.
Smith vacillated. For a reason that he could not completely understand, he found himself unwilling to leave her. Indeed, he'd never engaged a human on such a… personal level before. That he could rouse such emotion in her was delicious to him, and every time she lost control, the intensity of her feeling exploded from her body and buzzed through him in a series of shockwaves.
More. That's all Smith could think as he took a step towards her. But before his foot touched the floor, he was frozen in space. There was no pain, no crushing force on his chest, just a strange force preventing his advancement, as if he and Synergy were similar poles of two magnets repelling one another.
"I said go." Synergy didn't even spare him a glance. "I'll call you when I need you."
Smith felt a gentle but firm nudge towards the door before she broke their connection. He balled his hands into two fists. His program was executing a very familiar series of commands, originally designed to boost his motivation beyond the default settings. But this pathway was no longer regulated properly, and often Smith found himself unable to shut it off.
The best human equivalent of the sensation would be… to feel denied.
He studied her for a few more seconds. She looked tired, her hand resting lightly on her forehead as she stood in her ruined suite, staring out the window. He wondered what she was thinking. No… not thinking… what she was feeling. He'd sensed it for only a second as she held him captive in her strange, remote embrace. He tried to define it, and failed. Not anger. Something much more fundamental… and yet beyond his ability to identify. Clearly, it was a sensation his platform was not designed to support. Nor was I programmed to feel pain, Smith considered as her turned on his heel and quitted the room. What kind of human could cause such a malfunction?
Synergy heard Smith's feet crunch on bits of debris as he left, only turning away from the window when she was sure she was alone. The young woman weakly stepped over bits of broken furniture, and her impractical heels caught on the edge of the rug, tripping her into an antique ottoman, upholstered in bright swirls of yellow and gold fabric.
As a mixture of mascara and tears streamed down her ivory cheeks, Synergy found herself missing the Program she'd once called 'mother.' The woman who used to comfort her long ago, when the world was much simpler, back before she knew the difference between human and machine.
"Ne pleures pas, ma petite princesse," she'd coo softly. "C'est tellement mystérieux, le pays des larmes. Ne voyages pas où je ne peux pas te suivre."
Translation: don't cry, my little princess. It's so mysterious to me, this land of tears. Don't go anywhere I cannot follow. (taken from "Le Petit Prince"; see last chapter's endnotes)
Synergy's entire youth was spent in a huge French château, nestled in the isolated beauty of the Alps. During that time, her mother was her closest companion, her most trusted confidante, and only friend. Everything she ever knew about the world, this program had taught her. By the time she was eleven, Synergy was well versed in history, science, art, and literature. She'd learned horseback riding, could play the violin, piano-forte and flute, and was fluent in four languages. In short, she was everything that the young daughter of a wealthy French landowner was expected to be.
Of course, as she got older, Synergy began to realize that something was wrong. With each passing day, the large mansion she'd never left became smaller and smaller; the world seemed to suffocate her somehow. Her sleep was plagued with nightmares of things she did not understand, and more and more often she'd find herself the cause of what her mother termed "accidents." One horrible afternoon, after a particularly violent tantrum, the Merovingian returned home to find an entire wing of his home completely destroyed.
"Nom de Dieu de connards d'enculés de ta mere, Persephone!" He threw his arms up above his head in exasperation. "That's it! Fini! I'm done – she goes! The fucking child goes!
(Translation: a long list of vulgar French curses... that's our Merv!)
The Merovingian then turned his anger towards the young Synergy, who was lying in bed with a fever, drained and barely conscious from the experience. He raised his hand as if to strike her, but his wife moved quickly, using her body to protect the little girl. The full force of the blow landed instead on Persephone's face, sending her tumbling to the ground.
What the Merovingian hadn't expected was how far the apparently weakened child would go to protect the only woman who had ever shown her kindness. She'd leapt from her bed and with one broad motion of her arm, sent the man she'd come to hate crashing through the door of her bedroom. His body made a squeaking sound as he slid across the marble floor. Not wanting to stop there, she remembers willing him to die, holding him against the ground and crushing his pathetic body with nothing but sheer will. Had Persephone not begged her to let him go, Synergy is certain she would have destroyed him.
That was the last day she spent in her beautiful, secluded paradise in the north of France. She woke up the next morning in a dark, cold dungeon cell, trapped behind stone walls and metal bars so thick, not even she could bend them. In a place where none of her magic could save her. Synergy's only company was the array of Exiled Programs which shared the cells that surrounded her own– it was from them that she learned the Truth. The Truth about nearly everything: the Merovingian, the Matrix, the War, the Resistance… and about Neo, the so-called champion of 'her kind.'
It was in the underground prison that became her home for six years that Synergy came to the realization she was a human who had been raised by two very powerful Programs which had taken great pains to keep her from discovering who she actually was. And every time she asked her fellow prisoners what possible reasons the machines could have for imprisoning her here, she'd invariably receive the same mysterious reply: Who knows such things? Only the Oracle.
Synergy's brow furrowed as she wiped her tears from her face and pulled her legs up to her chest. The Oracle. She'd travelled a long way from home to seek this legendary Program's counsel. And what a waste of time it had been. Indeed, Synergy had left the Oracle's home more confused than when she arrived.
"My goodness, just look at you." The old woman had said, as if they were two friends who hadn't seen each other for a very long time. The Oracle examined her back and front and smiled, nodding approvingly at the stunning young woman who stood in her kitchen doorway. "You certainly didn't turn out the way they expected, now did you?"
"I'd like to think I've exceeded expectations."
The Oracle chuckled. "You know, she'd be so proud if she could see you now."
"Who?"
The Oracle just winked back. "Why don't you take a seat? Your first time in America, isn't it?"
Synergy put her Burberry purse down on the kitchen table and removed her matching silk scarf and a pair of tan leather gloves. With a wry smile, "Yes, it is. I'm embarrassed to admit that I'm not very well travelled."
"I can imagine. Here, have some tea. Earl Grey, no sugar."
Synergy took the cup from her gratefully. It had been a long time since she'd enjoyed a decent cup of tea. "Merci mille fois; C'est gentil de votre part." As she lifted the bone china to her lips, she said, "Your reputation precedes you, Oracle."
(translation: thank you one thousand times; this was kind of you)
"We have something in common, then."
"Oh?"
"Hm-hum. You've caused quite the ruckus these past few years. You have the Powers That Be very worried."
Synergy nodded thoughtfully. She had predicted that news of her recent activities would travel quickly. She could already sense it on the surface. The machines were concerned. "Do I have you worried?"
"Me? No sweetheart. I have no stakes in this game whatsoever."
"Don't you?" Synergy set down the china and regarded her hostess seriously from across the table. "A sentient program designed to aid the machines in understanding the complexity of humanity. An ingenious strategy on the part of your creators, but perhaps your design was a little too perfect. Do you sympathize with the struggle of my kind, Oracle? In an ironic twist of fate, has the human cause become your own? Indeed, it's the impression of many around here that you're on the organics' side."
"You don't trust me." The Oracle sighed wearily, leaning one arm on the back of her chair. "Look, I'm going to tell you something: program to human. Taking sides is what got us all stranded in here in the first place. And we all got stuck together. So it seems to me… the only way to get out… is together. In time you'll see that."
"So you already know how this is going to end?"
"No – but I can tell you that right now, you're holding all the cards. You've held them for your entire life, although you've only started to realize it now. And if I were you, I'd play my hand very carefully. The fate of This World, The Machine World, and Zion hangs in the balance. Change isn't easy for anyone, and let me tell you, honey. What you're attempting has never even been dreamed of before."
"It's the only way, Oracle. You yourself probably know that. Others will follow in time." Synergy paused to sip her tea again before asking the question she'd travelled so far to ask. "What about the man they call Neo?"
The Oracle smiled broadly and nodded, as if Synergy were her pupil and had just said something quite clever. "Bingo, kiddo. Yes, what about Neo?"
"He's a systemic anomaly that can sense the system the way I do. Like me, he can bridge the gap between this world and the others. He is The One who negotiated the truce with the Machines."
"Yes?"
Synergy leaned forward in her chair, fingers gripping the edge of the table. "My ability to control and manipulate the code… is this because I am some sort of… anomalous event of this System… just as Neo was of the last? Are our purposes one in the same?"
The Oracle raised an eyebrow and pointed to the sign above her door. "You know what that means?"
Synergy read the Latin phrase aloud with perfect fluency. Know thyself.
"Honey, I'm going to tell you exactly what I told Neo a very long time ago. Nobody can tell you who you are. That's something you're just going to have to discover for yourself."
Synergy would replay the Oracle's words many times in her mind, but even now, months later, she couldn't make sense of it. If nobody was going to tell her who she was, then how in the world was she supposed to figure it out? Surely the knowledge would not dawn upon her through some magical post-mortem kiss, as the popular legend went. She doubted that story were even true. Some of the crackpot programs in the dungeons certainly had a knack for invention. A few of them even expected her to believe that Neo-the-Casanova had kissed Persephone as well. Synergy scoffed. That a human could love a program, as cold and unforgiving as the very dungeons she'd abandoned her to all those years ago, was beyond comprehension.
After wiping the last smudges of mascara from her face, Synergy walked into her dressing room, quickly selected the items she wanted from an ample wardrobe, and reapplied her signature red lipstick. When she emerged from her penthouse suite, she sported knee-high boots, a tight black skirt and a matching leather jacket. With a motorcycle helmet tucked under her arm, she strode though the atrium towards the elevators, heels clicking impatiently on the marble floor.
She was surprised to see Smith sitting at one of the benches beside the lift. He was idly playing with his sunglasses when he spotted her and rose to his feet. "Where are you going?"
"To satiate my human vanity." Synergy's tone dripped with contempt as she pushed the down button beside the lift doors. "Chanel is unveiling their 2006 Spring Collection at the Parisian Fashion Festival and I want to be the first in line."
From the corner of her eye she could see him, standing behind her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in what appeared to be a nervous shuffle. Perhaps there was something wrong with his motor subroutines. Wouldn't be surprising, Synergy thought. Everything else on the guy is busted.
"I should come with you."
"Excuse me?" She turned on her heel and quirked an eyebrow. "If you feel the need to replace that awful suit of yours I'd certainly understand. But you should know my response to your question was purely sarcastic." She turned away and reached into the breast pocket of her jacket to retrieve a pair of sunglasses. Although she pretended not to notice, she could still sense him behind her, his stony, dramatic features set in an expression of muted defiance.
"My request was for your protection," he purred.
Synergy laughed as she slid the large black ovals onto her face. "Trust me, Program. I'm the last person who is going to be needing protection today. I have some personal scores to settle, and all bets are off."
"The Merovingian will be expecting you."
She grinned. He caught on faster than she thought. "Oh, I know he is. I hope he has been thinking of nothing else since he discovered I'd escaped."
"You shouldn't underestimate him."
"And you have more pressing priorities right now, Mr. Smith." The elevator doors chimed open and Synergy stepped inside. "I expect the Neo situation to be handled by the time I return. I want them both alive, and not too pissed-off if you can manage that. Try and be polite, if that even exists as part of your programming."
Smith tried step into the elevator, but again found himself repelled by an invisible wall Synergy had erected in front of the doors. "Besides," she added, indicating the helmet she held in her hands, "My motorcycle only has room for one, and as I understand it… you've had a bit of trouble with your car."