Trinity
My hands are sweaty. Not from fear, but in anticipation. I would be with him in a few days, but two has just been added a few hours ago. The Mariner was given orders by the central command back in Zion to survey the far distant but miniscule sewer region of Sector 7-M. They extended our mission to look out for possible Sentinels within the area for few more hours, but that will still mean several days until our return back to Zion.
Thankfully, with the new fleet of Zion's speed-quotient ships to which the Mariner is a charter member of, the time of travel has been dramatically cut down. If I remember right, when the Nebuchadnezzer was ordered to do a sensor sweep of this same area years ago, it took us two weeks for the round trip. Now, the Mariner can cover that same distance in only 5 days. The downside though for my ship's speed is that it lacks the tough armor of the Nebuchadnezzer, which means if we get a Sentinel attack much like four years ago, we are screwed. Of course, Zion figured our speed would get us away from danger before any such threat could be materialized.
This is the farthest area to which Zion regularly inspects on a constant schedule. Any destinations that are further way need special clearance from central command back in Zion. From what I've gathered, I'm not the only officer who is nervous when having to fly through this sector.
I turned away from my sweat and to that of my ship. My desires for him can wait for a few hours. I left the cockpit, leaving pilot Brimstone to the helm. She's had previous flight missions in this area, so unlike novices, she knows how to be cautious and alert. So far away from friendly territory, one can never assume to be safely out of danger.
As I went over to check out the progress in the repairs of the transmitter device by Diva and Brahma, I checked over the last few messages that the Mariner was able to receive before the damn thing broke. Sometimes, the device would display messages that were captured indirectly by other ships of the fleet, and for the most part, we only got chatter that was insignificant for my ship. Then I re-read the actual last direct telegram we got from the Nebuchadnezzer:
"Recruit Mission Success…Shiva safe and within resistance hands…should make date of return to HQ on schedule. End. "
My heart fluttered. Could there be a possibility that he sent this message himself, knowing that I'll read it? I looked around to see that none of my crew are watching this rare break of my stoic routine. I still hold onto the printout with the strength of importance.
For the last few days, from the messages that the Nebuchadnezzer had beamed towards the Mariner and other ships of the fleet, he has been tracking this "Shiva", and with the machines reacting more and more desperately in trying to stem this abnormal migration from its prison reality, he still prevailed.
"Captain, we have found the problem."
I immediately snapped from my daze. "Good, what was wrong with the Transmitter?"
Brahma took a short breath. "Apparently, in the mass rush to get this ship out to sea, they used simply used coils from older ships of the fleet. Now this busted copper wire that I'm holding, unless I'm mistaken, hasn't been used by any of our ships for over a decade. I see similar conditions with the other parts, which means…"
"…that HQ simply reused some operating parts that were salvaged from the ancient ships that were scrapped awhile back." We may have the would-be savior with us, or with me, but our flying boats are still glorious junk buckets.
Brahma agreed with my analysis. I ordered her to keep trying to make the transmitter back on-line, but likely we'll have to commandeer a new model back in Zion. Unless we dare to attempt to send a message across, without a precise destination, from within the Matrix itself (inadvisable since there is no guarantee that any of our operatives will catch it, and the Agent drones would probably trace it), this ship would be mute and deaf to our forces.
Ten years. I remember serving on the Nebuchadnezzer when we still had those copper wires. Is that how long I've been "free"? For the first six years, it felt like that I've served with Morpheus for three times that length. Though with the last four years, truly there was never enough time for life now.
I make my rounds around my ship, to make sure my crew is present. All 6 are with me, and are performing their duties. Cypher. No, I don't want to remember him now. After a year, I know my crewmates. They wouldn't betray the rest of us simply for a flimsy promise of an illogical return to ignorance. Yet I knew Cypher for 6 years, and never thought he would be our Judas.
Yet my worries for possible insurrection aren't my only concern. When I accepted captaincy of the Mariner, I failed to grasp the possibility that some soldiers will not accept my authority. My second in command, officer Brahma, has been serving on the fleet for as long as I have. He knows that I am legitimate at this post.
Brimstone, who actually served on the Nebuchadnezzer with me for a tour of duty years back, before she was reassigned because she got into a brutal fistfight with Cypher over something I can't remember (in retrospect, I wish Cypher hadn't walk out of that blood bath.) She always has given me due professional courtesy.
However, my other crewmen, especially the three fresh recruits that have held less than 6 months of service time, only respected the chain of command, not me naturally as their superior. When they think of me, they don't remember that I cracked the IRS database more than a decade ago. They don't know of my respectable reputation as an officer, nor of my rebel operations within the Matrix with Morpheus and crew. My rising solid-rep for my time as captain means nothing. To their minds, I am simply his mate. Because of him, they serve me.
After my rough crash into the reality of this situation, I hoped that with some flight time, they'd eventually take me by my own merits and abilities. For the first few weeks, I heard all three mutter in hush tones in the back of the ship of their displeasures with me. I couldn't pinpoint who said exactly what, so my hands were tied. Besides, I can wait.
The woman and two men were Pearl, York, and Jackal. I figured that if I were to quicken the end of this silliness, I'd have to break them apart individually. With asking Pearl, my Operator, questions about her daily routines, I wouldn't say anything specific about her whispers. However, I was able to get her to believe successfully that I was onto her, and I haven't heard anymore from her since then, as she's become a worthy Operator. But the boys were more difficult. These two friends plotted in their whininess, but only to go silent when I walk near them.
I caught the weaker and less resistant York saying both my name and a vile word within the same sentence. I got up to his face and I asked him softly, with York quivering in his knees, if he would repeat what he said. He stutters. I grab him and asked again if he could restate his opinion. He gave out in his defiance of me and simply murmured that he said nothing. Apparently he was unwilling to call his captain a bitch again.
The Jackal was more assertive in rebelling against me. I had to force him to perform his duties, but the last straw broke when he simply refused to obey my orders about 7 months ago to work overtime on his shift of overseeing the Operator's terminal. I've had enough with this dereliction. Instead of threatening him again with solitary confinement back on Zion or other consequences, I went for a more direct solution.
I gave him a deal that he won't refuse, with all of his arrogance and pride. I challenged him to a duel within the Mariner's pseudo-Matrix construct. If I win, he'll recognize me and fully carry out my commands like crewmembers should do. If he wins, I'll resign my commission and until we would return back to Zion, he would have unofficial control of the ship. Though honestly, I think the fantasy within his skull of defeating and humiliating me in combat was persuasive enough.
As the rest of the crew, against my instructions, took a delay from their ship duties to watch this fight. If my plan works, as it should, I'll forget about this minor mistake on their part. We both materialize within the generic Dojo. Jackal flexes his martial arts skills with his little "exercise" dance, which was cute only in seeing a 5-year old priding itself because of a simple crayon drawing. He punches and smashes a wood post in the corner of the structure. I wish he would hurry up and try to attack me.
My timing was just right. He leapt at me, and gave everything that his mental arsenal of fight training can provide. I only dodge every attack of his, without reacting in self-defense. Let him get angry, tired, and more emotional in his attack stance. After 5 minutes of me simply escaping his punches of pain, his kicks of coldness, and fists of fury, he was primed for my response.
After he attempted to land a roundhouse kick against me, and as he turned to face me again, I launched my own form of offense. I gave a fierce kick to his groin. He's lost his marbles now.
He cried in pain and limped towards a corner. I stepped towards him. He body language transmits to me that his ego has been broken (and apparently, much more as well), but his face still shows anger and hatred at my humiliation of him. I've made my point, but I must dismantle this possible human time bomb of the future, or else I'll have another Cypher on my hands.
I bended my knees and offered my hand to him. His eyes indicate that if possible, he would tear it off my body with his bare teeth.
"Jackal, I've read your files from your drill sergeants back in the academy. You have the skills and mind to be a great soldier for the great cause. The problem is, you have a problem with authority. Peer beatings, periods of confinement, and other methods haven't worked. So here is my new re-negotiated deal for you, and these are my final terms. Take my hand so I can help you up, and I'll forget the last few months. You go about with your routine military activities, and as I prove to you that I deserve my ranking, you'll likewise show that you deserve a pardon from me. Rejection is not an option, unless being evicted from the fleet, serving a good solid stint of time within the stockade, and then relegated to lowly custodial engineer sounds like a good alternative to you."
His face resigns to accept my conditions, and I pick him up. While he's been disorderly and rowdy at times, he's stopped with his juvenile twaddle and has become a trusted pillar of brute force for us in tight situations inside and out of the Matrix. Indeed, the files were right. He is a good soldier. Who knows, maybe he'll impress upon me enough to submit documents to Zion for possible nomination for an officer's position within the fleet.
I totally forgot that I still had the last message in my pocket before the machine died on us. Ruffling it with my hand, I try to imagine Neo talking to his pupils and siblings in the kitchen quarters of the Nebuchadnezzer. I could picture The Kid at his surrogate older brother's side. To The Kid's right, I visualize the one-eye warrior free agent himself, Cyclops, listening attentively to Neo's words. The blonde-haired dark skinned Cyclops is wrongfully accused at times of being a mute, but he simply knows when to speak at the right time. Then obviously, on the opposite of the table from Neo, there would be Gendrel. The Dane folds her tall physical frame when sitting on the table, but that isn't of her worries as Neo's words stream into her ears. They talk about their course of preparation in regards to their new comrade.
I then picture all four then standing over Shiva as the girl wakes up from her muscle-reconstruction surgery. She'll probably lock eyes with Neo and fall in love with him, as like others before that Neo freed himself from the Matrix. However, she'll also learn, quite hard, that he's taken already when they reach back to Zion.
My mind then paints my mental canvas with Neo and his best pupils preparing Shiva for her training. Everything that my mentor Morpheus gave to Neo, the student then gave to Shiva. My eyes could actually see the construct, where in that digital dojo, Neo's students each fight Shiva in differing methods of combat in Martial arts, weapons, and firearms. I would hope that she would perform suitably well for a rookie, especially after Tank uploaded into her all the knowledge and skills she needs within the Matrix.
But all that would be a cake walk of course, for then Neo would challenge her to fight. Like the others before, she would hesitate, considering his god powers with these computerized realities. He would impress upon her to fight him. Shiva would remark that she couldn't possibly win against him. He would then ask why she held her ground against three soldiers who's had to fight Agents and the sheep human enforcers on more than one occasion. She takes this under heavy consideration.
Neo would then tell her that simply, this construct, like the Matrix, is like a computer. Some rules can be bended, while others can be outright broken. However, it's her mind that would be her greatest weapon. With the mind within the Matrix, anything is possible. I can then imagine that outside of the construct, Morpheus silently watches the monitors as the grandchildren of his wisdom blossom.
Shiva then fights Neo. She gives it her all, and Neo matches them. He is giving no effort, but as she paces up her tempo and increasing her attack skills, he increases his rate of counter-blocking. This is a video game to Shiva. The more she succeeds, the harder her task will be. Neo tries to act like an Agent to her if she was back inside the Matrix. Eventually, she is desperately fighting with her back against the wall, as Neo carefully increased his tempo. After she attempted to jump across the dojo, with the hope of somehow attacking his backside, he simply levitates to the top of the dojo and catches Shiva in mid-flight. She is defeated, but she now knows the important lesson of today. She fought much better and longer than she originally thought. Shiva will need that small sense of realized possibility later on.
"Captain!" The alarms on my ship are shouting in unison.
My senses are back on the Mariner as York alerts me to something very urgent. I hustle towards the small holographic projector near the cockpit with the rest of the crew assembled at this spot, operator Pearl uploads the data from the ship's radar. Why my ship's alarms are going insane?
Oh my God. I see a dozen of them that are miles away. But wait, they never travel in such large numbers together, traveling in the same direction. The machines usually have them travel in pairs so that more areas can be covered at any given time. Then why for this strange occurrence that I'm seeing right now? I order Brimstone to enhance the Mariner's radar scope to its maximum. We risk possible detection with such a sparse non-concentrated output of sensor rays, but I must find what is happening….
Twenty. Thirty. Sixty of them are in the same sector, all heading in cohesion towards an unknown assignment. Why?
The sentinels then pause. They have detected that they are being scanned. It won't take their instruments very long to realize where its coming from, and by who.
End our use of the scope. Battle stations. Charge the EMP. Engines at full strength. Get back to Zion and our forces immediately. Get the transmitter working again. I don't care if its busted, make it operate long enough for us to give one word to the fleet. Let's get the hell out of here! What? Which word?
"…Sentinels…"
