The Last Exile: Chapter 23
Les derniers seront les premiers
Trinity sets the phone down and shakes her head at the receiver. With Neo, that makes three children. Three. How much more mothering can one person be asked to do? Which is why she takes particular offense to the overwhelming number of Long-Lost-Child-of-The-One fictions she has discovered. She has reached her quota of offspring, thank you very much. How terrifying a notion, to have a digital daughter pop up out of nowhere with some ridiculous story of how she was separated at birth, wanting to help her and Neo save the world (again). How preposterous! How cliché!
The unknowing mother of four returns to her computer with a fresh cup of coffee.
"Fuckers," she mumbles, eyes glued to the screen. She'll just read a few more Trinity/Persephone stories, and then decompile the entire site.
Suddenly, a dialogue pops up:
SYDNEY ANDREWS, you have received a PM from I COULD BE NEONE.
She raises an eyebrow. One of the freaks has come out to play? How interesting. She clicks OK. The message reads,
HeyRU a fangurl? Wanna chat here?
Trinity frowns. "Oh, I'm a fangirl alright," she says aloud, following the link to one of the site's empty chat rooms. "I'll fangirl the shit out of you."
SYDNEY ANDREWS has joined the conversation: NEO AND TRINITY DEBATE
I COULD BE NEONE has joined the conversation: NEO AND TRINITY DEBATE
Warning: For your safety, never give out your name or any other personal information online. Exchange files at your own risk. Have fun!
I COULD BE NEONE says: Hey :-)
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: I like the name.
I COULD BE NEONE says: Thnx2u. It works like, 3wayz. lol.
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: Yeah, I got it. Ha. Ha. Ha.
I COULD BE NEONE says: :-)
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: So you could be the real Neo, eh?
I COULD BE NEONE says: I'm not supposed to give out my real name, remember So let's just say, I could be The-One-and-Only… that is, if Neo is the type… you could really… click with?
Trinity scowls. "This guy is an asshole."
I COULD BE NEONE says: U still there?
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: Yes.
I COULD BE NEONE says: Just to be sure. You're not… uhm, a guy, are you? (I have to screen for e-males, if you know what I mean)
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: … Excuse me?
I COULD BE NEONE says: Sorry. I'm new here. So RU, I can C. Reading any stories U like?
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: I can see you have edit on your favorites list already.
I COULD BE NEONE says: Oh yeah. Have u read it? The One is such a pimp. Heh. Go Neo! He's so kewl.
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: Oh, please.
I COULD BE NEONE says: What? You don't think The One could do it?
Trinity leans back in her chair and stares at the screen. Does she think Neo could edit the code of her RSI to induce spontaneous orgasms? She'd be lying if she claimed that in nearly twenty years with the man, she hasn't given the idea some thought. But Neo is much more conservative in how, and when he uses his abilities than other people seem to think. He'd find the idea distasteful, on both a professional, and romantic level.
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: I'd really rather not discuss it with you.
I COULD BE NEONE says: You're not one of those girls who think he's a specimen of masculine perfection?
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: There are times when I'm not even one of those girls who finds him masculine.
ZINCK has joined the conversation: NEO AND TRINITY DEBATE
ZINCK says: Hey, Syd! I totally agree! Neo sucks!
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: How dare you! Shut up!
I COULD BE NEONE says: Yeah, shut up!
ZINCK says: You two are freaks.
ZINCK has left the conversation: NEO AND TRINITY DEBATE
I COULD BE NEONE says: So Neo's not masculine enough for you, "SYDNEY"? Not manly enough, battling agents and blowing up sentinels, saving your sorry ass from the apocalypse and getting no thanks for it whatsoever? Personally, I'd bet that Trinity – his beautiful, sexy, kick-ass wife - thinks very HIGHLY of Neo's masculinity, and she probably enjoys it IMMENSLEY on a triweekly basis!
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: EXCUSE ME? It isn't your business what Trinity enjoys, or doesn't enjoy, and how often. It is exactly people like you who are responsible for websites like this! Neo and Trinity have a daughter, for God's sake. Did you ever stop to consider her?
I COULD BE NEONE says: I'd thank you not to bring Rorie into this.
SYDNEY ANDREWS says: Her name is Aurora to you, NE-ONE. And you stay away from her, or else.
Her scathing rebuke hangs, unanswered, for a few long seconds.
I COULD BE NEONE says: … Trin? Is that you?
"…What?"
I COULD BE NEONE says: Oh, shit. Disconnect!
"What?"
"I said, disconnect!" Neo yells as he runs from the bedroom to the study, reaching over her shoulder to look into the monitor. "Oh, shit! Shit!"
"What's going on?"
"I sent you a virus!"
"You did what?"
"I didn't know it was you, for God's sake. Oh, shit!"
"That was you?" Trinity stands up and slaps him. "I can't believe that was you! You-" she hits him again as he frantically types at the keyboard, and the screen begins to scramble. "You were…" (slap!) "…flirting with me…" (slap!) "…You pig!"
"I wasn't flirting!"
"You were punning! I know what that means! You were…" (slap!) "Punning at me, you horny sonnovabitch!"
"But you love it when I pun at you!"
"You didn't know it was me. What the hell are you doing, on a site like this, looking for fangirls? You make me sick, Neo! Sick! What, you get some kind of big kick out of this?"
"I don't see why you should care!" he fires back, tossing the keyboard aside and throwing his arms in the air. "Most of the time, you don't even think I'm masculine!"
"No, you're not masculine, you're a pimp! The-One-and-Only! Who is enjoyed by your sexy wife three times a week! How dare you broadcast that!"
"Why not? It hasn't been true for months. Not that it's my business what Trinity enjoys… or, doesn't enjoy, and how often. So, is that it, then? You don't enjoy?"
"That isn't the issue here. I'm talking about your childish banter with who you thought was a young woman obsessed with you."
"I was only flirting a little to keep you chatting so I could send you a virus."
"Oh, please. You were a few messages away from sending me Chlamydia!"
"Hey, whoa- none of this would have happened if you weren't doing the same thing I was," he yells after her as she marches into the bedroom. "So don't try to pin it all on me. We're on the same team, here! Trinity! Trinity!"
He ducks as a pillow flies towards him, followed by a blanket. The bedroom door slams in his face.
Trinity is an expert when it comes to affairs of the heart. At least, she is largely recognized as such for sinking her claws into a top-notch man and keeping him hooked for nearly two decades, a feat most Zionist women can only dream of achieving. Which is why Knight feels good about taking her advice. She's your romantic compass, said the Oracle. Your personal Cupid – I wouldn't call her that to her face, mind you. But with her, you can't go wrong, kiddo. Yessiree, stick to that woman like grim death. Death likes that one. The Oracle shrugged and took a long drag on her cigarette. So does life.
So Knight relights the candles and puts on his favorite Celine Dion playlist – her French collection, irresistible to the ladies (at least to the ones who don't speak French). Then he chills some cocktails and mixes up some strawberry-flavored army gruel, just in case Evey is feeling especially playful. He calls her, grovels mercilessly for cutting their evening short, and asks her to join him for a special surprise. He isn't quite sure what the surprise is, besides him, wearing too much cologne, his head dripping with maxi-curl product. In a panic, he tries to dry it by turning on the aft engines and sticking his head near the exhaust vents.
The blast deafens him in one ear and fries his hair, turning his once glorious curls into something of a golden afro.
It's a miracle Evey doesn't reject him on sight. But she laughs when she sees him, and covers her mouth with her hand. "Oh, what happened?" she asks, half-concerned, half-amused. "Did you electrocute yourself, Knightly? Should I take you to the hospital?"
Evey is a tiny thing, built like a paper doll of a real woman. Knight likes to joke that he could fold her like a sweater into his luggage and take her with him on missions.
"Oh, dear," is all she can say, again and again. He grins as milky white fingers pet at puffs of fuzz. "Oh, pookey. That was your one beauty."
He'd hit her playfully if he thought she could take it. Instead, he kisses her on the wrists like a gentleman, and then kisses her on the lips like a scoundrel. "I'm so glad you came back."
"Well, of course I came back. I just couldn't understand why you sent me away in the first place. You know, I didn't come here just to see the ship. Though it is beautiful. Everything is so… clean. Thank you for asking Trinity to let me see it. I'm surprised she said yes. She's so protective of it. It's cute, actually, that she still works so hard."
"You tell her she's cute and you'll fail her class for sure."
"Right." She laughs, and slides her arms around his waist. "So… we have all night?"
"Hum-hm." They kiss, and she tastes of salt and lipstick, of delicate and feminine and demure. "I can't wait."
"Knight, did you hear that?"
"You have to speak into this side."
"No, I mean…" She arches an eyebrow. "I think someone else is here."
But by now Knight has heard the footsteps as well, echoing from the deck below. The clickety-clack of a heel leaves no doubt as to whom it could be. "Knight?" His name resonates though the shadows. "Are you up there? Ouch! Ah, my ankle! No, I'm okay. I'm coming."
"Who is that?" Evey glances down the ladder leading to the loading bay.
"It's Rorie." He lets out a breath of frustration. "I'm so sorry about this. We're having a bit of a spat… it's monumentally stupid. Look, why don't you just go up to the cockpit and make yourself comfortable - I've put out some drinks. I'll get rid of her. Just a few minutes, okay?"
"Well, I… I really would like to meet her."
"Tonight isn't a good time, trust me. Please?" He kisses Evey quickly and nudges her, not quite gently, towards the ladder leading out of the core. "That's it. I'll be right up."
The hem of her dress is barely out of sight when Rorie pops her head out from the lower deck. "Why is it so dark in here?" she asks. "I can barely see where I'm going!"
"Rorie, this isn't a good time." He turns the lights on and reaches his hand out to help her up. The courtesy is purely out of habit, and for a moment when their eyes meet, he thinks she will refuse it. But she takes his hand, only for as long as is necessary, to steady herself.
"Thank you," she says curtly, taking a step away from him. "Look. I just came by to say… to say that I'm sorry, okay?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Well, I'm glad to hear you say that, because you know, this whole thing isn't completely my fault and I'm still mad at you for-"
"No, no – I meant, I can't hear you. Speak into the left side. Look, we can sort all this out later, tomorrow? It's a very bad moment."
Her mouth opens, then closes again. "Fine. That's just perfect, Knight. Perfect! I come all the way up here to apologize and you blow me off…" She stops speaking as her eyes travel around the core – the candles, the music, and his ridiculous hairdo. Comprehension dawns. "Oh, no," she gasps. "She's here, isn't she?"
"Yes. She's here. If you won't condescend to say her name. Now… off you go."
But that was too harsh. Knight cringes at his friend's facial expression. Rorie's cheeks flush and she looks away. "Oh, no," she repeats. He thinks she might burst into tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Damn it. I'll just go. I'll go right now. I didn't know…"
"No, wait." He has to reach out and take her arm to stop her. "Don't go like this."
"No, I'm ruining your night… again. I didn't mean to. God, I am so embarrassed. I can't believe I did this again! I feel so stupid…"
Fed up with the entire argument, Knight takes her more firmly, planting her and her ridiculous shoes into the ground in front of him. Damned if she'll run off and leave him to feel miserable for the rest of his date. "It's okay. Really. Look, Evey is in the cockpit. She can wait a few minutes. Let's just… talk a bit? I don't want to leave you like this. I… I can't. You mean too much to me."
"I really didn't intend to stay. I… I wrote you a letter, explaining everything. Explaining that I was stupid…"
"I just don't understand why you-" "-I said things I didn't-" "-have to make everything into such a-" "-mean and then you called me a-" "-big deal all the time. And then you start-" "-snob. Which I didn't mean to be. I'm-" "-crying and Rorie you know what-" "-sorry. I'm on my period. And sometimes it makes me a little-" "-that does to me. Jesus! I don't have to know that!" "- moody."
"You know, for your next birthday, we need to get you a sister. I'm not qualified to deal with your… cycles."
The corner of his lip twitches upward, and she lets herself smile briefly. "Forgive me," she says. "Please. I didn't mean what I said about your friend. I'm ashamed of myself. That I'm so awful you don't even want her to meet me."
"That isn't… that isn't the reason. I'm sorry I said that. The truth is I… I really like her, Rorie. And girls tend to be… well, some of them are intimidated by you. Us, I mean. How we are together. I just wanted to be sure that she could handle it, that's all."
"Right. Because when the girlfriend doesn't like the friend, guess who gets the boot."
"Is that what you're afraid of?"
Knight knows he's nailed it when she folds her arms and drops her eyes. "I don't know."
"Rorie." He takes her shoulders and slides his hands down to her elbows. "The day that a girl tells me I can't spend time with you is the day I know I've chosen the wrong girl."
"I know, I know. I'm too possessive of you. And a little jealous, too. It's just that you're always a few steps ahead of me. And I'm always struggling to keep up. I wish I could… I'm not as good at connecting with people, I guess."
"No, you're just… selective. Someone like you should be selective. To tell you the truth, I'm glad you're such a prude. It saves me the heartache of being the one left out."
Rorie smiles, one of her brilliant smiles that shows in her eyes. She lifts her arms around his shoulders and hugs him, bringing his attention back to the scent in her hair. What the hell is that? She must spray it on her comb in the morning. "Thank you," she whispers. "And who says you'll be the one left out? Maybe you'll be first on my list."
"No, don't talk to me of lists," he says firmly. "And if there is a list… a very, very short list… I wouldn't want to be first on it. I'd… I'd want to be last on it."
Rorie blushes, but Knight can't see it because she won't let him go. When he says things like this, she always wonders if he delivers the same charming lines to the older girls. She can't imagine Knight would ever be insincere. But how can he, in all honesty, say such a thing to everybody? She doesn't dare ask. She doesn't want to risk getting the wrong answer.
"Well," she says, not being able to meet his eyes. "You forgive me, then?"
"Of course. But can I attach one little condition?"
"Hum?"
"That, if you don't mind, could you promise to not come back here for the next twelve hours?"
She chokes on a chuckle. "Okay. But will you read the email, though? It'll be irrelevant tomorrow – it's just a few sentences and I'd feel so much better if…if …I knew you'd read my note…"
Rorie says the second half of the sentence without hearing the words. Something rises up in her throat, and prickles at the back of her mind. It's a sick feeling. It's a cold, devastating sweat. It's confusion, without her even knowing why. Her consciousness grabs at the reason. The memory is there, vague, flashing a warning signal at her. No. No, she couldn't have. But even as she denies the possibility- the nightmare- she knows what she has done. She sees herself sending the message in haste, selecting the attachment in a hurry, in a moment of incomprehensible stupidity, or perhaps, of Freudian clarity. He must not open that letter! But it's too late. He's already sitting at the computer.
"Knight's communal sacrifice was swift work and over by eleven…"
"No, wait- don't read that! That's a mistake! I sent… I sent the wrong file!"
"An army of angry ex-girlfriends, strong in number and spite, hung him from the low bicep of a willow tree…"
"I wrote that… I wrote that in anger. I never intended you to read it!"
"Well then why did you send it to me!"
"I'm sorry!"
"Death by erection!" he exclaims. "And the state of the corpse left little to the imagination, and even less to be envied! Less to be envied! What the hell does that mean? You think I'm small?"
"I don't know. I don't… Knight, I'm sorry. I'm sure…" She desperately searches for a way to redeem herself. The words roll from her mouth before she can stop them, and she listens to her mindless babbling with growing horror. "I'm sure plenty of men envy the size of your… well, not that any man has ever seen it. Not that I've seen it, or even really want to. I'm sure Evey likes it, and if not… you know… she should know that size isn't everything…"
It is at this moment that Rorie sees the dainty figure of a young woman standing in the shadows. Her lips are parted, her eyes round, like a doe's nervous curiosity. She is precariously holding three glasses of rosy liqueur in a skilled configuration of long fingers and manicured nails. For a moment, Rorie thinks she might faint. And yet it never occurs to her to reach out to catch her. If the lady does faint, it will be with little more peril than a feather floating to the ground. And she is a lady – Rorie owns the dress she has on, in a larger size.
"Evey!" Knight announces, jumping up. "We didn't hear you come down."
"I uhm…" She keeps her eyes locked with Rorie's, even as she sets the glasses down with an effortless grace that is almost aggressive. "I should go. This is obviously a bad night for you."
"Evey, don't leave. Please, I can explain all this."
But there is no stopping her. She takes her wrap, and holds out her hand to Rorie, saying that it would have been very nice to meet her, but under the circumstances, she is sure that propriety would excuse the rudeness of her leaving straight away. And thank you for the tour, Knight. Call me tomorrow, after you have sorted all this nonsense out. Nonsense is said with a flippant wave of her hand, wafting a rosewater perfume across the room. No, please, don't trouble yourself, Knight, I'll see myself home.
After a long time, and they are sure Evey is out of earshot, Rorie says quietly, "Knight, I am so sorry."
He slumps in the operator's chair, his head in his hands. "No. No, it's my fault. I should never have let you in. The doors to this ship do lock. Knight's stupidity. Not yours."
"Maybe I could go after her? I'll explain everything."
"Rorie!"
"Okay, so you can go after her."
He chuckles mirthlessly and shakes his head. "No, really. I think she's had enough of me for one night. I'll… I straighten it out tomorrow. It'll be okay."
Rorie speaks carefully. "Well… she seems nice. Very… cute."
Knight pierces her with a look she can't identify, and doesn't look away. After a few seconds of merciless staring, he begins to laugh. She doesn't dare join in. She just stands there. Perhaps he's so angry he's gone insane. Finally, he manages by means of explanation, "… she should know that size isn't everything. How the hell would you know?"
She shrugs. "I dunno. I've heard Mom say it." This makes him laugh harder, and it's only after a few moments that she realizes the joke at her father's expense. "Oh, no… I'm sure she didn't mean it like that. Dad's… well… he's… he's The One!"
Now they're both laughing. Knight slips back into a Parisian accent. "Woman, you will zee the death of me! Nom de Dieu! Argh! Alright… alright! Let us see where this goes."
He hands her one of the cocktails that Evey left in her wake. "What's this?" she asks.
"I guess it's an invitation. I know I told you to get the hell out of here for the night but… well, this date is pretty much a train wreck with two survivors. Evey's not coming back. Why don't you join me for whatever is left of this… magical evening? I have uhm… I have some strawberry gruel in the cockpit."
"Strawberry gruel?"
"Yeah, it's actually pretty good when it's spread all over…" he trails off and runs his hands through his hair. "Well, I'll get some spoons."
They find some spoons- oddly bent out of shape, but they'll do - and eat the treat chastely, though there is a moment or two when Knight has to resist the temptation to offer her some from his finger. He is only a little drunk - sober enough to know it's the cocktails talking. And the easiness between them is a welcome return to the old days. She kicks off her shoes, and stands by, pretending to be shocked as he puts them in a vice and takes a blowtorch to the heels – for her safety, of course. To get even, she holds no punches with his hair, effervescing into giggles all over again as he describes the disaster of the hair gel, and the cologne, and that there is still a ringing in his ears from the ship's engine. They even manage to laugh at his disastrous date and Evey's icy exit, which they both agree was an overreaction – come on, it was funny!
As the hours drift by, Rorie calls home to tell her parents she's okay, being careful not to let on she's been drinking (a feat she prides herself on being quite good at). Use small words, if you can manage, Knight says. Does the nerd know any small words? Oh, shut up. Good, that's it. But I wouldn't use those ones on your Dad.
Surprisingly, her father tells her to stay out as long as she wants. Or, you know what? Why don't you just sleep at Knight's place?
"Strange," she remarks, leaning back in the copilot's chair and propping her stocking feet onto Knight's lap. He warms her toes between his palms.
"Oh, poor, innocent Rorie."
"Excuse me?"
"They're having sex, you dolt."
"What? No! Surely not! Gosh, I'd rather not even think about it." She scowls into her empty glass and turns it upside down, shakes it. "How do you know?"
"Why else would Trin let me have the Neb for a date? The Neb, Rorie! She was desperate." He sighs. "After tonight, I think I'm going to know the feeling."
She makes a face, and he pats her on the shoulder. "It's okay," he says. "Look on the bright side. At this rate, you may get that sister for your birthday, after all."
"When I was small, I used to beg my parents for a sibling." She turns pensive as he refills her glass. "I think they tried, but it wasn't in the cards. It was said that I was a miracle."
"Maybe when you were born. Then people got to know you."
Suddenly reminded of something, Rorie chooses to ignore that. "I have this memory of when I was seven or so… there was this… feeling of anticipation in the house," she says. "They never told me anything for sure, it was just… a feeling, the way kids sense things. But one night I woke up to the sound of Mom, sobbing. It was the first time I remember seeing her cry like that, and I've never seen anything like it since. Dad was trying to hold her, but she didn't want him. She had blood on her hands and dress… she kept telling him that they shouldn't have done this. That they should never have tried. At the time I didn't understand what was going on…"
Knight purses his lips and doesn't comment. Rorie says finally, "It must have been a miscarriage. After that, Dad sat me down and told me not to ask Mom for a baby sister anymore. That it made her sad. And she was sad. For awhile, things were different between them. And it wasn't long after that, my parents decided to go back to the army."
"And then Trin brought me home."
"Hmm. I think she sees you as the son she could never have."
"And the brother you always wanted?"
"No, I told you, I wanted a sister. And… and you don't feel like a brother, do you? I mean, you're too…" Rorie takes a good, long look at his profile and grasps for a clarity she can't muster. Something. "You're too blonde to be my brother, you know?"
"True. And you couldn't be my sister. You're too…" Knight turns and gazes at her properly, searching for something in her face to solidify their argument. It is a face that he knows better than his own, a face that a decade of familiarity has taught him to ignore. But something's different. He shakes his head. "You're too beautiful to be my sister."
Her expression turns blank. "I mean, the female version of me would be a bimbo and we both know it," he elaborates quickly. "The blonde genes don't mix well in the ladies."
Rorie wants to point out that his first comment was about her looks and not her intelligence, but instead she just smiles and shrugs as if to agree. Yes, his sister would be an idiot. They chuckle through a few jokes about Knightilda the Slutty Homecoming Queen (a character that Knight invented himself and resurrects every Halloween, much to everyone's chagrin), but the banter fizzles and soon there is an awkward silence. She says, "So, I guess that settles it. If not siblings, we're friends? By… process of elimination?"
"Can we say good friends?"
"We could say best friends." They both seem more satisfied by that. "And don't worry about Evey, Knight. She'd be… a real fool to let you go."
"Oh, I don't know. I don't… I don't know anything anymore. No, correction. I know one thing. I'm never taking your mother's advice, ever again." Knight waves his hand in the air as if to chase away an irritating thought buzzing around his head. "Romantic compass, my foot."