Chapter 15,Part 1

(A/N: if you haven't read "Chapter Four" yet, it's recommended you do so before continuing.

These chapters should fit together like two puzzle pieces!)

The Matrix, circa 2200. Two Months After the War Ended

It was two weeks before Christmas in Montréal, and from what she remembered, this city had always been beautiful during the holidays. Ms. Jordan Andrews walked down de Maisonneuve Ouest, high heeled boots making punctuated triangles in the freshly fallen snow. Even though she was ten minutes early she walked quickly, the sense of urgency in her clickity-clackety step sounding familiar and yet alien at the same time. It wasn't a matter of her moving fast. From Jordan's point of view, everything else was just too damn slow.

Her gloved hands were warmed by a double mocha Diablo to go which smelled like heaven, and with every sip it became more and more believable that she'd been without this sacred tonic for the better part of thirteen years. It felt good to drink coffee again, to eat good food, get drunk and have sex again. Sometimes, it seemed that none of it would ever be enough, that she'd never find enough life to fill the void of everything, and everyone she'd lost.

"Salut, bébé."

Demitri was standing outside her building, ruggedly unshaven, jingling the keys to a brand new motorcycle in his hand.

"Don't call me that," she said evenly, taking the keys from him. He slithered an arm around her waist and pulled her into a deep kiss, an effective reminder of the night before.

"Where is it?" Jordan asked, pulling away as quickly as she could.

"Around the corner, like you wanted."

"Good." She pitched her half-empty coffee cup into a nearby trashcan and turned to leave, but he kept her by the arm and yanked her back.

"I thought we could go up. Finalize the transaction," he breathed, hand sliding down her torso.

She caught his wrist and slipped him a compact disk. "Give this to your boss. I have somewhere to be."

"Hey, whoa. Hold on there," he said. "It wasn't easy to get my hands on that ride for you."

"Later. I'll call you." Jordan let him kiss her again, though she knew she'd never call. Like the others, she'd tired of him quickly. Nothing he could do would thrill her for a second time.

She left him on the sidewalk and spun the keys around her index finger a few times in anticipation. The doctors had suggested she avoid motorcycles for awhile, but Jordan couldn't wait. This is what Ghost would have wanted, she thought. He would have wanted her to live.

She took a shortcut through the ally behind her upscale apartment complex, treading carefully around patches of black ice. One either side of her were old brick walls with barred windows, and a police siren in the background echoed down the street. Feeling uncharacteristically insecure, Jordan listened carefully to the din of the city, holding her breath. Someone was following her, she realized. And it was not the first time.

She slid her hand into her jacket and wrapped her palm around her Beretta 84. Taking a few more careful steps ahead, she waited, silently challenging her stalker to come to play. A few people brushed past her, chattering excitedly about an upcoming Christmas party, calling for a cab at the intersection. Still, Jordan waited. She bent over, using one hand to adjust her pantyhose.

"Come on," she whispered. "Come on."

She could see him from the corner of her eye. He was a well-dressed man in a black wool coat, pretending to be engrossed in a copy of yesterday's La Presse. He'd been reading the same paper this morning and yesterday afternoon, Jordan observed, though he never knew she'd noticed him. On the bus. Outside the bakery. At work.

He closed the paper and tucked it under his arm, checking his nonexistent watch before finally walking by her, subtly touching the fabric of her skirt as he passed. But before he knew what was happening, she spun around and yanked his arm behind his back, awkwardly pushing it up towards his head as she slammed him chest first into the wall.

"Pourquoi tu me suis partout?" she demanded, shoving the barrel of her gun into his back. "Eh?"

"I don't speak French."

She glanced at the francophone newspaper on the ground. "Interesting reading then, double-oh."

"You still don't recognize me."

"On the contrary. You've been a fixture in my life for weeks. You're the geek from the movie." Jordan plunged her hand into his coat pocket and found his wallet. Opening it and glancing at an expired Illinois-issued driver's licence, "Mr. Anderson. Or do you prefer just Tom?"

"Jesus Christ, Trinity. Don't call me that."

She froze, breath catching in her throat. She was weak in the knees. "How do you know that name?"

"Unfortunately, that's the only name I knew. Do you know how difficult it was to find you? In fourteen months, would it have killed you to tell me 'Jordan Andrews'? It really isn't that bad."

Mind spinning, she put away her gun and stepped back, letting him turn around. She wanted to see his face. This handsome stranger with eyes the colour of cocoa was looking at her in a way nobody ever had before, in a way that affected her deeply. He looked at her as one studies a fine piece of art, gazing past the exterior to find some hidden meaning, to identify the true essence of its beauty. Whatever he was searching for, Jordan finally decided, was irrelevant. Whatever it was died a long time ago.

"I don't use that name anymore," she said, lowering her voice. "I haven't for years. And I don't remember you. I probably never will, so just leave me alone."

She held out his wallet, but he didn't take it. He just continued to stare at her with such emotion that she found it difficult to dismiss him so coldly. "Look, you're obviously… someone I used to know," she sighed. "But… I was in a motorcycle accident when I was fifteen, and have been in a coma until a couple months ago. And I just want to get on with my life. So please…"

"A motorcycle accident?" he scowled, thinking. "With a man named Alan Lee? You called him Ghost."

"You…" she scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. "How do you know…"

"Because he told me the whole story. Months ago."

"Look, I don't know who you are, but I don't find this funny," she snapped, cheeks flushed and voice shaking. "Ghost died in that accident thirteen years ago."

"No, no he didn't. You were attacked by some agents, but Morpheus and Niobe got you out; both of you were unplugged that night. In Kansas City, December 3rd, 1977. And you haven't been in a coma for thirteen years. Ironically, nothing could be further from the truth."

"What are you… you're out of your mind," she said, and although she turned from him, she didn't walk away. It was impossible that he knew so much detail about that night. The date, the place, the name of the man she was with…

"You set out to meet Morpheus," he said, carefully stepping closer to her. When she didn't move away, he leaned forward until his chest was against her back, one hand gently cupping her elbow. "And when you found him, he told you that it wasn't really him you were looking for. You were looking for an answer."

"What is the Matrix?" she whispered, recalling the details of her disastrous past with horrifying clarity. She and Ghost had searched for years, and risked their lives on several occasions to find the man known as Morpheus. The God of Dreams. And although she'd struggled to forget that pursuit, the fruitless chase that had claimed her best friend's life, she knew now that it was impossible.

"The answer is in you. It's part of who you are."

"Who are you?" she asked, turning in his arms and looking into deep brown eyes, eyes that in spite of everything, inspired her absolute confidence.

"My name is Neo," he said. "And when you're ready, you'll know where to find me. Trin… "

And then he left her, pulling his coat tight around his body and clutching the collar around his neck. "Wait!" she hollered after him, rushing to the end of the ally and turning the corner. McGill College Avenue was abuzz with shoppers, the snow-covered trees decorated with thousands of tiny red and white lights. But he was gone. And in that moment, Jordan Andrews had never felt more alone.

It rained that Christmas Eve, which was unusual weather for late December in Québec. The midnight mass had just finished, and exactly as he had every night since he'd spoken to Trinity, Neo waited in the final row of the church, staring up at the beautiful stained glass windows which were the pride of Notre-Dame de Montréal Basilica.

Of course, he'd never stopped following her. Every day, shivering on the curb by her apartment building, he watched Trinity leave for work, sometimes accompanied by a man, and it was never the same one twice. It hurt him more than he ever thought possible. The way they touched her, the way they clumsily tried to love her without knowing her, doing it all wrong. He could tell by the way her body reacted to a caress, or to a kiss goodbye. None of them moved Trinity the way he could.

But even in midst of this emotional torture, Neo couldn't walk away. He had to remain close, to be sure she was alright. Occasionally, she'd catch his eye, smiling back with a small wave. It seemed that even though she didn't remember him, Trinity had grown to accept and even enjoy his constant presence in her life. In fact, yesterday her doorman gave him a small box wrapped with gold and silver paper. The tag read, "To Neo, stay warm this Christmas. Jordan." The gift was a beautiful black cashmere scarf and leather gloves, which he was wearing now, thinking of her with a sad smile on his face.

That she still called herself 'Jordan' was discouraging, though he was hopeful. He hadn't remembered at first, either. Ten weeks ago he'd woken up in Chicago, in his old apartment, alarm buzzing seven-thirty in the morning. He'd gotten dressed, and walked to the office, greeting his old coworkers as if nothing had happened. Everything at Metacortex was exactly as he'd remembered, and from Tom Anderson's point of view, nothing from the past year and a half of his life had ever happened.

It was that night after he'd gone to bed that everything came rushing back. Zion, The War, The Machine City, Smith, Trinity. And then there were The Judges. Identifying themselves as the three Masters of the Machine Judicial System, they greeted him from a huge red platform floating above a traditional courthouse room, the jury and audience filled with strange, faceless androids. Neo was vaguely reminded of the B166ER trial, which history recorded had been overrun with AI robots, none of which were eventually permitted in the courtroom.

"We speak on behalf of The Source, who has decided to spare your life," the center Justice spoke, an android displaying human features with white face paint and a tall red hat. "After repairing your body, we reloaded your memory files. You may go in peace."

"Where am I?" Neo asked. "Don't tell me I'm back in the fields."

"The ideal setting for recuperation. The eighty percent saline solution infused with hormonal growth factors and antibacterial compounds ensure that-"

"What about Zion?"

"It is our hope that your people have survived the attack."

"It is your hope?" Neo puzzled over the unusual choice of words, wondering if that these three mysterious figures truly did speak for The Source. There was no question in Neo's mind that if Zion had survived, The Source would have been the first to know. Yet The Judges were being evasive. Nor did he expect the Machine High Power to send him to the fields and reinsert his mind into the Matrix. It didn't make any sense.

"Alright," he'd said, deciding not to trust them with further questions. "I wish you well."

"There is one more matter to discuss." This time, the Judge on the right spoke. He was handsome young man with a muscular build and a bald head, though his movements and voice sounded mechanical. "There is the Question of Trinity."

Neo's heart ached at the sound of her blessed name. "You will return her body to me," he said evenly, even commandingly. "And the ship on which we came. You're not to touch her remains."

"We can save her," said the Judge on the left, a young woman with light blue hair and eyes the colour of seaweed. She reminded Neo of a mermaid. With a metallic chirp, "Your love needn't die."

"What?" Try as he may, Neo couldn't keep the desperation from his voice. "You can bring her back?"

"It is within our power," replied the center Judge. "We are prepared to negotiate for her life."

"Negotiate?"

"An exchange," said the mermaid. "A life for a life."

He stood there for a moment, looking at the jury's featureless, copper coloured heads, feeling completely and utterly defeated. "I'll die for her," he said. "If those are your terms."

"No. We mean the life of your unborn child," said the bald man. "Trinity carries a twenty-two day old fetus, a girl. The Third of the Trinity is what we want."

That such a child existed gave Neo a fleeting moment of joy, a poignant instant of such happiness that it was all he could do not to cry. His child… their baby… oh, Trinity. Oh, God.

"But why?" he begged them. "What could you possibly want with her? Just one child… one innocent of Zion…"

"Our purpose is not your concern."

"The hell it isn't. I won't just…" Neo fought for composure, "give her to you. I can't. I won't."

"Very well. Then Trinity and your child will die," the Mermaid said indifferently. "This is your choice, then?"

Neo choked, panic spreading through his body as he stared back into the emotionless eyes of the three machines. The old woman picked up her gavel, and was about to slam it against the desk when he called out, "Wait!"

"Yes, human?"

"Tell me what you want with the baby. Tell me why you're doing this. I need to know what you'll… do to her."

The old woman seemed to think the answer was plain enough, and sighed her exasperation at having to explain anything to him. "She would be treated as an honoured gift of good will from The Human Messiah to the city of 01, to be kept as a symbol of our peace in the heart of our city. And as such, her biochemical energy will service us in the Matrix, of course. If you wish, we will ensure her material comfort with a wealthy family; she will have everything she could ever want. Education, security and peace. All these conditions will be met given the understanding that you will not interfere with her life. That you relinquish all association."

"If you want the baby so badly why don't you just take her?" Neo asked suspiciously. "Why bargain Trinity's life like this?"

"The child does not belong to us," the white-faced android said, holding out a scroll to him. "The exchange must be legal, the transaction binding and unbreakable. We are at peace, and no laws between our peoples will be broken by this court."

"Then let Trinity live, and I will give my life for the baby," Neo proposed. "I will be your prisoner in the child's place -"

The machine slammed its gavel on the desk. "This exchange is non-negotiable. Will you sign it, or nay?"

He examined the document, reading over the terms of the exchange with shaking hands. His options were clear. Either Trinity and the baby both die, or he could save his love at the expense of their child's freedom. Life in the Matrix was a fate worse than death, Neo considered bitterly, unable to accept the idea of his daughter captive in a biopod, a battery powering the very source of her enslavement. But else to have her and Trinity die together where they lay in the Logos?

He couldn't live without her. That was the ultimate truth. That was his fundamental weakness; all nobility and moral strength paled to his need for Trinity. His compass. His love. His Everything. It terrified him to realize just how far he'd go to preserve that connection. It was true. He'd give anything.

"I'll sign it," Neo said quietly, the words cold and metallic on his tongue. "On one condition. That you don't tell Trinity. She's never to know the baby even existed. Let this terrible sin be on my head."

And it was under that understanding that Neo left them, waking up in his one room apartment in the dead of night, alone. Alone and unbearably empty. What he'd done disgusted him to no end, and the only thing that kept his battered heart beating was the thought of seeing her again.

Neo took the first flight out to Montréal, not even knowing the name of the woman for whom he was looking. But it was a relatively small city, and he knew Trinity. He staked-out all the major computer tech firms and, recalling her love of traditional Atlantic music, spent his nights hopping all the Irish pubs south of Ste Catherine. But for an entire month, his search yielded no results. With no message from Zion, and no contact from The Oracle, Neo was adrift, lost, and unhappy.

Perhaps it was only natural that she should appear to him then, always emerging from the shadows when he needed her most. In the midst of his depression, Neo bought a ticket to see Star Wars Episode I, squeezing intothe crowded theatre just as the previews began.

"Is this seat taken?" she'd whispered to him, unbuttoning her leather jacket, a Dr. Pepper and an open bag of caramel popcorn in her hand. Neo could only shake his head, no.

Trinity's hair was long and wavy, and he nearly didn't recognize her in a skirt and red lace top, large jade earrings overstating her eclectic style. She floated into the chair, sliding a black purse and some shopping bags under her legs. "Oh, damn," she whispered. "I can't see a thing." Giving him an apologetic look and flirtatiously touching his shoulder, she whispered, "You're tall. Would you mind switching? I'll give you the prize from my Cracker Jacks."

While the opening theme music played, each rushed to shuffle into the other's chair, and as their bodies pressed together in the switch, and Neo felt the barrel of her handgun against his chest. There could be no doubt that this was Trinity, and that although she was as paranoid as ever bringing a gun to a movie, she didn't remember him at all.

According to the Judges, once they finished repairing her injuries, Trinity's memories would be restored just as his had been, a rather ingenious mechanism to ensure they didn't unplug themselves before the machines had finished treatment. So Neo decided to be patient, to follow her, watch her, and wait. The movie was a disappointment, and from Trinity's continuous groaning whenever Jar Jar Binx made an appearance, he knew she agreed. It was a shame, he thought. She was such a fan.

"Excuse me," he'd said after the film was over, picking up her bags and handing them to her. "I was wondering if you uhm… can I have your name?"

She smiled, eyes fluttering around as she slung her purse over her shoulder. "Look, I'm flattered, but I don't think so. You aren't my type."

He didn't know weather to be insulted, or just laugh at her. "Excuse me?" he managed.

"Sorry. I can tell you're a nice guy."

"But?"

"But I don't date nice guys. They're way too disappointed when it doesn't work out. Trust me, it's for your own good." She handed him a tiny plastic compass, the ten-cent toy she'd promised him from her snack. "But I'll see you around, soldier."

Trinity didn't seem to notice her own unorthodox choice of words as she gathered her things and walked away, forcing Neo to stalk her all the way back to her posh building. And since then, not a day went by that he didn't see her, long for her, miss her, and never more so than he did now. It was Christmas day at half past midnight, and the altar servers were tiding up, clearing the wine and locking the Blessed Sacrament in the tabernacle. For the first time since frequenting the Basilica, Neo had attended mass, taking communion as he had when he was a boy. He lit a candle in remembrance of the victims of the Machine Invasion, silently hoping that Morpheus, Niobe, Ghost and Link were alive, and then, for the first time in his entire life, Neo got down on his knees and prayed.

God, please give her back to me. Save me. Take it all if you must. But do not leave me here alone.

"Neo."

She staggered into the empty church, soaking wet and trembling. Trinity wasn't wearing a coat and her long tousled hair was sticking to her face, mascara staining her cheeks. A fallen angel, reaching out to him desperately, stumbling into his arms. "I knew you'd be here," she cried, clutching him with numbed fingers. She'd told him more than once that if they ever visited her city, this was the one thing she wanted him to see. Neither had forgotten.

"You were right. It's beautiful, Trin," Neo whispered, separating from her long enough to wrap his coat and the scarf she'd given him around her shoulders.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry about everything. They didn't mean a thing, Neo. None of it meant a thing. I love you."

"Never mind," he whispered, rubbing her back and arms, still trying to stop her from shaking. "I love you, too."

"I'm alive. They brought me back. I don't understand. Why?"

He held her close, pressing her head to his chest so she wouldn't see the tears run down his cheeks. "I don't know, Trin. I just don't know."

a/n: to be continued in pt 2... pls review:)