Chapter 11
Nebuchadnezzar, circa 2199

Neo's eyes blink open and he is staring at the metal wall, a few rusted rivets only inches from his face. For the first time in a week, he isn't surprised to see them. In fact, the dents and scrapes on the wall, etched through flaking paint and makeshift rustproofing seem almost familiar to him, like home.

As he does every morning, he eases himself up with some difficulty; his muscles are still stiff and sore from an ironic combination of training, and not actually moving all day. He brushes a hand over his head, growing used to the prickling at his fingertips and the plug in his skull. And as he does this, his eyes read over the well-known words that are carved into the steel just above his pillow.

- Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are:

One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Nebuchadnezzar, 2189 - To The Trinity. May she always know

That which she is

She is

Neo thoughtfully rubs his fingers over the jaggedly-slices letters. There is something about this poem that affects him more deeply every time he reads it, though he cannot fully identify the reason for his persisting interest. At first it was just the mystery of it that had attracted him. It was a relic of Trinity's past life when she'd occupied this cabin, and Neo had to wonder at who had written this for her. A past lover, one who had shared this bed with her, a long time ago? A man who knew her heroic heart well enough to immortalize its 'equal temper' onto the unyielding metal of her cabin wall in a wildly romantic gesture of devotion?

But as the days went by, Neo gradually came to realize that he'd missed the point. It is the poem itself that is most engaging. Each day he spends on this ship, he understands it a little more. It is a call to arms, a battle cry beaconing old and tired soldiers to an impossible mission. "To sail beyond the sunset… until I die."

He shivers at the chilling realization that he is sailing with them. That their nearly suicidal mission is now his own. And as inspiring as the final few lines are, Neo cannot match the steely resolve expressed by the poet. He'd seen the agents. He'd seen the sentinels. And the crew had told him all he needed to know about their odds. They were on the losing side of the war, and new minds like his didn't last long out here.

At precisely five minutes to six, Neo hears Trinity stir on the other side of the wall. He has to smile. Right on time. Indeed, one of the more engaging distractions from his insomnia has been to memorize the First Officer's sacred routine, and never has he known someone as neurotic as Trinity. At 5:55 every morning, the mattress will creak, and she'll make the bed (he can tell because she's a tucker, and the box spring will moan again as she lifts each corner to whip the covers underneath). And she's remarkably fast. He'd timed her once, and the job was done in eleven seconds. By the twelfth second the water was running, and by the time a minute was up, she was on her way out.

But beyond this, she is a mystery. He's never followed her down the hall, though for the past few days he has toyed with the idea. They haven't spoken much since that night in the cockpit, and he's begun to yearn for her company again, much as he had when she'd stopped haunting his apartment in the Matrix. To get her attention, he'd teased her a few times, hoping to provoke some sort of response. First, he'd done the obvious thing and bent her spoon, which she didn't acknowledge. Nor did she bend it back to its natural conformation, eating her slop at every meal with a warped utensil and a flawlessly impartial expression on her face. He couldn't tell if it was part of her game, or if she genuinely hadn't noticed. Frustrated, Neo then upped the ante by preparing her dinner one evening when she was scheduled to work the graveyard shift, leaving the gift by the operator's chair for her to find, crooked spoon and all. But when he'd seen her subsequently, Trinity had politely thanked him for the gesture, but asked him not to trouble himself again, as she preferred not to set a bad example by eating near the computers.

In short, she'd broken up with him. She'd tossed him aside and doesn't he know that Trinity is probably moving on at this very moment, wafting though the life of the next target, the next Tom Anderson, confusing him, terrifying him, tormenting him with her unearthly tricks (the lucky bastard).

At the thought of this anonymous rival poddie, Neo throws the covers off his body and hurries into his clothing. He can't let it happen. He won't stand back while she silently slips through his fingers, baking cakes and god knows what for some other battery. And yes, he knows he's being ridiculous. But the truth is he misses her, and having never really missed anyone in his entire life, Neo feels he's entitled. He has spent thirty five lonely years in the Matrix. Not again. Not this morning.

He practically marches down the hallway, mustering his nerve with every step towards the mess hall. Good morning would be an appropriate greeting, he decides. And oh, did you notice the bent utensil? So nice of you to do me the courtesy of bending one back. I have two perfectly straight sporks in my dish-bag, for goodness sakes, Trin. Would it have killed you to deform at least one of them? How can you be so cold? Was it something I said?

But at the sight of her sitting at the table, all concerns about cutlery instantly dissolve from his brain. She is sitting Indian-style in a chair, typing on a laptop computer, mug of steaming liquid in one hand. Her short hair is damp, wetness lacing her hairline, and a few errant drops dew her bare shoulders. He has never seen her without a sweater on, and the tight, thin-strapped top shows off the striking muscle tone of her arms and the ivory perfection of her skin. Apparently, her RSI isn't 'all ego,' as Cypher had snidely claimed.

As Neo stares, she looks up from her work, eyes alert and intense, even at this hour. "Neo. Are you alright. Is there anything you need?"

Oh, yes. There is something he has needed for a very long time, and suddenly Neo is painfully aware of the fact. Ever since he got here, Trinity has been reawakening his long-abandoned desire for physical intimacy, in a way no woman ever had in the Matrix.

He idly wonders if sex is any better in the real world, and that thought branches to the unpleasant realization that technically, he's a virgin. "Shit."

"What's wrong?"

He shakes his head. "Aren't you cold?" Please, put something on and stop torturing me, for God's sake.

She looks down at her scantily dressed state and shrugs, running fingers through her hair and rubbing to dry it a little more. "I'm used to it. Wakes me up. Speaking of which, what are you doing out of bed? As I recall, you're a late sleeper."

He frowns. As she recalls. As if it weren't only a month or so ago that she'd reset his alarm to keep him from being late for work. Now a distant, trivial memory. "That was Tom," he insists.

"Ah." She raises her eyebrows, and goes back to her screen in a gesture of scepticism. This smugness bothers him, and he takes a seat opposite her and stares, hoping Trinity will look up to see his distaste. But she doesn't, and this irritates Neo even more.

"Tom slept in every morning," he states evenly, in a voice he didn't even know he had. "And Tom spent all of his time shuffling around in a one room apartment. He didn't have friends, and he didn't like his coworkers. And Tom never, ever, approached beautiful women."

Her sapphire eyes snap up from her work, and once he is satisfied he has her attention, he holds out his hand. "My name is Neo."

Her mouth is slightly open as she gapes at his offer for an introductory shake. He knows he has surprised her, an in fact he has surprised himself. He secretly congratulates himself for finally saying something a little more suave to her than 'I thought you are a guy.' And though she hasn't taken his hand, she is beginning to smile, either because she is nervous, or embarrassed, or maybe he has just made a fool of himself and he doesn't know it. All three are equally probable in his mind.

"Heya, Trinity."

They both jump at the sudden greeting as Mouse scurries into the room. "Oh, and hey Neo. So, what are you two doing up together?" He chuckles at this, as if he has just said something very clever. "And you look radiant as always, Trinity… must be that new cucumber and ginger face mask you put on at bedtime…"

"Excuse me?" She shoots the young man a dangerous glare.

"Just proving a point, Trin." Mouse holds up his hands and glances at Neo. "You see, she doesn't like to be bothered in the mornings. We all keep away. It's sort of... an unspoken ship rule. Sorry, buddy. Should have told ya about that one. None of us thought it would be an issue, though, what with you being such a late sleeper and all."

Neo exchanges a look with Trinity, whose smile has blossomed completely at this last statement. "No, Mouse. That was Tom," she says, eyes locked with Neo's as she corrects Mouse's mistake. "You see, the man sitting across the table from me is Neo. He gets up early all the time, and apparently has no trouble approaching beautiful women."

Neo can't believe she just repeated that, her voice matter-of-fact as if she doesn't know perfectly well that he was talking about her. She is beautiful. Especially with that clever smirk on her lips.

"While we're on the subject, are there any other upgrades to your personality you'd like to inform me about, Neo?" she asks, casually sipping from her mug while never looking away from him. Her eyes laugh for the first time in days, and Neo's heart skips a beat.

Meanwhile, Mouse is pouring himself a mug of hot water. "Well, he's gotten pretty good with the jujitsu," he remarks. "Outwitted Morpheus a few times. Captain thinks he'll be able to go toe to toe with an agent eventually-"

"Mouse." She frowns at him, and Mouse instantly realizes he'd erred, and mumbles something resembling an apology.

"All I meant was, he's good," the young man stammers, his round, murine eyes wandering over to Neo's, and they sparkle with an unwelcome glimmer of hope.

"You are scheduled for oh-six hundred in the core," Trinity reminds him. "If you run, you might only be four minutes late."

As he curses, checks his watch and scurries away, Trinity sighs and closes her computer. "If he weren't one of the best programmers available, I'd use him for sentinel bait."

Neo chuckles half-heartedly, still a little shaken by Mouse's apparent reverence for him. It is becoming more common these days. Every time he has a particularly inspired match with Morpheus, the crew takes notice, and he has even caught Switch glancing at him with latent admiration. And she doesn't even like him.

"You alright?" Trinity asks.

He shakes his head. "I don't know. I don't think I'm quite ready to push off and smite the sounding furrows just yet."

Trinity cocks her head curiously to one side. "Where have I heard that?"

"The poem in your room. Push off, and sitting well in order smite the sounding furrows…"

Recognition dawns on Trinity with a small gasp. "Oh," She smiles sadly to herself. "I'd almost forgotten about that. It's from Ulysses. Tennyson wrote it."

"Were you two close?"

She blinks once and then chuckles. "Hardly. Alfred, Lord Tennyson died in 1892. We never met."

Neo feels his cheeks burn. "Oh."

"It's alright. I didn't have a clue who he was either. I'm not one who studies English poetry. Hate the stuff. But I know someone who loves it…. Or, at least, I used to."

She has a nostalgic look in her eyes, and Neo can sense she has lost something very valuable. He can sense that she's hurting. "I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't have-"

"That which I am, I am… isn't that what it says? The Trinity is what she is?"

"Yeah."

She chuckles and shakes at her damp hair again. "Always with the philosophic bullshit. Tell me if you ever figure that out, will you? Ten years later, and it still baffles me."

As she says this, Neo doesn't quite believe her. It's in her manner, the way she moves and speaks. The Trinity knows what she is. And if she doesn't, there sure as hell can't be any hope for the rest of them.

"You know, what he said about the sparring," Neo ventures, "well, I have been working an awful lot with Morpheus. The Captain suggested I might try a new partner. For something different."

"Oh." Again, the tone is innocent, but he knows she understands what he means.

"The crew tells me that you're good."

She laughs at this and rises from her chair. "Yes, I've been known to send Morpheus running for cover once or twice. But that's only given the proper motivation."

"So I have to taunt you."

"No, you've more than amply accomplished that by ruining every fork and spoon I own."

"So you did notice. I was starting to worry that you'd… you know..."

"Gone blind?"

"Gotten bored of me?"

"Hmm." Trinity looks away and shakes her head. "No, I'm not bored. But we'll see what you can do when you're jacked in. Nineteen hundred, tonight."

"Alright, then."

"One piece of advice." She picks her sweater up from the back of her chair and threads her arms through the sleeves. AS she steps out of the mess hall, Trinity says over her shoulder, "Don't be late. You're going to want to get a head start on me."

He scowls confusion. "I didn't realize I'd be racing you."

"Oh, you're not." Her grin is almost predatory. "But you'll be doing one hell of a lot of running."