The Last Exile, Chapter 25
It's paper bag princess, with a touch of skin cancer

My first impression of Zion was that it was everything you said it would be, and a great deal more. It was huge, hot, crowded, noisy, filthy, claustrophobic, impoverished, beautiful, exotic, proud, desperate, hostile, sad, hopeful, and a gigantic headache that has lasted for about twenty years, but hey, there's no place like home.

My second impression of this city was that it really didn't like me very much. I remember I said this to you once before, and you shrugged and offered by way of explanation, that's because people have seen you dance at Temple gatherings. I have to be honest with you, Trin. That hurt my feelings. In a place where over half the population deals in computers, I expected a little more empathy.

I like to think that Zion and I got off on the wrong foot, that's all. It didn't help that I arrived on a ship carrying the bodies of five war heroes, or that I hadn't a clue of how to behave at the docking ceremony. I was interrogated, poked and prodded by councilmen looking for a scapegoat-slash-Messiah, bullied by the local believers, arrested, cuffed, read my rights, fingerprinted and given a public defender who checked my reflexes and recommended I plead insanity. A guy in the next cell called me Alice, and wanted to know, would I like to follow his white rabbit?

That being said, Trin, those first twenty-four hours in the last human city were some of the best in my life. You were beautiful, I remember that. I remember thinking, yours were the sexiest rags in all of Zion. It's an art: nobody pulls off the aesthetic of a nuclear holocaust quite like you. Do you still have that dress?

It was a halter top and ankle-length sheer skirt. Yes, I still have it.

Put it on. I want you wearing it as I write the rest of this.

Yes, Master Neo. Alright, I'm in costume. You may proceed.

Seriously? Shit, Trin. I didn't think you'd actually do it.

Surprise.

Now I can hardly concentrate. Where was I?

You were taking, Nothing but Shit from Zion for five-hunded, but you didn't have a clue. Allow me: When released from Councilman Hamman's chambers, this Zionist Savior got lost on his way to the elevators...

Who is Neo. Who is Poor, Younger Neo.


Zion. Circa 2199

A saying goes, the journey into Zion's epicenter is like being swallowed by one hundred giant, red serpents. Anyone can see why. The mouths of the outer caves open like jaws, with stalactite canines and stalagmite incisors, some of which meet to form pillars of calcium carbonate – strings of rocky discharge from the salivating beasts. Dusty, rolling tongue. Sulfurous breath. Long, meandering gut, lit with bare-bulbed lamps, carelessly screwed into the rock. This isn't what Neo expected at all.

The rusty earth that surrounds him, the aragonite crystals which web like giant snowflakes above his head, the crude iron catwalks all seem more native to a Martian landscape than the center of the earth. Tunnels wend and knot like the confluence in an ant colony, rather than the organized, concrete hallways he'd expected from a wartime shelter. Trinity was right when she said it was beautiful. And yet he can begin to understand why she has never felt at home here. Theirs is another culture, another century entirely – here, even the blanched pallor of his skin seems out of place.

These are the first moments of solitude Neo has encountered since the Neb docked six or seven or eight hours ago, and the silence is welcome. He walks slowly, in an awe-filled somnambulance, taking in the startling geological formations dissolved out of limestone and acidic water – things with names like bottlebrushes and popcorn, showerheads and soda straws – designations too defiantly logical to be credible scientific lingo. Better to call them something nobody could ever remember or pronounce. Then, people would appreciate the centuries of chemical gardening it takes the planet to grow them, or at least the five-to-ten years it takes planetary science scholars to earn their PhDs.

The wonders of this mineralogical womb are lost on Neo, and will remain a mystery until his daughter takes it upon herself to alleviate his ignorance, fifteen years later. He is here completely by accident and without any idea how to get out, though he has not yet admitted that he is lost. Quite simply, to be lost would be too cruel. Too unfair. The universe couldn't possibly allow it. So he trudges on in denial, trusting in fate, praying for a change in his luck that he knows will not come.

The councilmen's interviews – the official inquiries- were nightmarish. The ceremony at the dock was wrenching, even to one who did not know the deceased – the forced composure of families and orderly arrangement of soldiers filled the sterile dome of giant machines with pulsing human warmth. He uncertainly took Trinity's hand, which she discreetly clasped throughout, keeping her expression poised in the kind of neutrality he recognized from many of their first encounters. She was somewhere else, detached from the moment, barely existing at all. He knew only because he'd seen her at the other extreme – he knew how deeply she could feel. But it was their secret, and she kept it well. She folded five flags striped in a pattern he'd never seen before and handed them to people who mirrored her solemnity with much less success. He sensed she was resented for her composure, or maybe for something else, for surviving at all, for holding his hand, for refusing the honor of wrapping the bodies after she'd been forced to live with them for the past ten days. "You can't expect people to understand," she said to him after an old woman was removed from the crowd for screaming that Morpheus is a murderer, and should be hung for treason. "They don't know what it's like out there. All they know, is that we're losing."

But Neo can't find it in his heart to be as forgiving. Where was their warm welcome home? Where was the gratitude for their labors? Where, at the very lest, was his map and visitor's guide?

There are no signs, no street names in this strange place. There is nothing that might help a lost traveler. It is an affront on all pod-borns, and more specifically, to him. The circumambient natural beauty does nothing to soften the insult. He grumbles audibly and glances down at the directions she'd scrawled onto his palm – level 300, no. 393. Left from the west quarter elevators – see you soon. T.

The promise of love does something to alleviate his mood, if only a little. How endearing that she felt the need to sign the note she'd written on his hand. Another assertion of ownership, he likes to think. He remembers, she hesitated before quickly adding the capital letter and period, and then flickered an ironic smile as her parting goodbye. After an eternity of enduring the interviews together, a few unsatisfied councilors had requested a private audience with him. Neo actually considered saying no, but after being told by a chamber page in no uncertain terms that he did not have a choice in the matter, he agreed. Trinity decided to take the opportunity to pay her personal respects to Dozer's wife and sister. "I'll see you at home," she said. The soft word with its warm sound and rounded vowel pulled at the corners of his lip. "That is, if they ever let you go."

Indeed. By the second hour, he was ready to start taking hostages. At one point, he attempted telepathy to move the questions along. Beautiful. Woman. Waiting. At home. Can't you see the note on my hand? She wants me, for God's sake!

And then what did he do when he was finally given his freedom? Well, he felt like running, clapping, prancing, leaping… and rather than pay attention to where he was going, he was thinking of what he was going to do when he got there. Now, every tunnel looks like the one before it, and he can't remember enough to go back the way he came. Yes, okay – he is lost, and Trinity isn't going to believe this. But he is jumping ahead; there must be someone he can ask.

It is with great relief that he hears voices echoing from some distance ahead. He wipes his hand on his trousers and memorizes the address, not wanting to show strangers what he considers a private message. Still carrying his duffle, Neo hurries ahead, coming to the mouth of a huge hollow space, lit by candles cupped in glossy conulites. He continues to walk with his head arched up, then, wanting to appear local, he adopts an air of easy indifference. He sets his bag aside and put his hands in his pockets. Two men are standing in a huddle, the din of their conversation lost to the vacuous space.

"Excuse me?" he ventures in a tone he hopes isn't too forlorn. "I'm sorry to bother you. I uhm…" he forces a careless chuckle, "I think I took a wrong turn or something."

The one on the right – the second to turn around and acknowledge his question, is tall, double-chinned, and inhumanly hairy. Distracting puffs of brittle hair escape from his ears and nostrils – it's curly and black, like pubic hair. The poor man has pubic hair growing out of his nose! Neo forces himself not to smile as the man folds his ape-like arms across his chest – Neo notes he is free-born like the other – and looks him over with something like surprise and distaste. "I should say so, officer," he says, with an accent and intonation that makes Neo wonder if he isn't drunk, or mentally handicapped. "A long way from the dock, oi?"

Both men frown and stare at his boots as if they'd never seen a pair of shoes before. Neo sees they are barefoot. Will they rob him? He never considered that the city might be dangerous. "I was looking for the elevators," he explains, glancing behind him at his things. "If you guys could just point me in the right direction, I'll be on my way…"

But they are already having a conversation amongst themselves. Pubic Hair nods and pivots to stand between Neo and the exit, while the other keeps him from turning in the other direction. "You people have a lot of clout, cumin' down here, disrespectin' real men like us," he says. "What, you jus' walkin' though, then, oi? Thought you'd take a stroll, oi?"

"He needs directions," the other one sneers, light-haired and freckled with nearly fluorescent eyes, like those of a marmalade cat, which seem to vibrate with some kind of nervous energy. His hair is an offensive orange, complimenting his aggressive, hyperactive manner. "You know, I'd love to give a hybrid like you direction. Tell you exactly where to go-"

"Back to the pod he oozed out of. We'll pulp the half-breed first, then send him back to his makers, oi."

Neo holds his hands up and takes a step back. "Hey, whoa. Take it easy."

"He wants us to take it easy," the carrot-top echoes, as if Neo were speaking a foreign language that required an interpreter. "Metal man doesn't want us to test his meal."

Neo realizes he is outnumbered, and very close to being beaten senseless. Trying to remain clam, he glances around for any witnesses, but they are alone. Impossible that this is happening to him. Impossible! He fights back a wave of anger, knowing this will solve nothing. Is this new-world racism? Would they dare speak this way to Trinity? He'd kill them. "Look," he begins reasonably, "I'm sorry if I've said something to offend you. It wasn't my intention."

"He's sorry," comes the translation. "He didn't intend to."

He is wasting his time trying to talk to them. Without succumbing to running, Neo turns, takes his luggage, then chooses the closest tunnel to make his escape. He ignores the shouts that try to goad him back to the conflict. His eyes close tight as he marches. Just let them leave him alone. He just wants to be left alone. Only now does he realize how close he is to his breaking point. Only now does the exhaustion weigh down on his shoulders and the full frustration of the day gnaw at his nerves. He is very close. Let them just leave him alone.

When a hand grips his shoulder roughly, Neo hears his bag hit the ground before he realizes he's dropped it. He forms a fist and swings, seeing nothing but white as the pain of impact shoots from his knuckles to the front of his brain. The surprised cry of his victim echoes through the Temple.

Three hundred levels up, Trinity is not pleased at all. With a frown, she surveys the categorized piles of clothing and personal effects on her bed. For the third time in an hour, she is attempting a proper filing system that will leave half of her storage space free to accommodate Neo. She doesn't like her things to look crowded. More than three sweaters or pants per drawer tend to interfere with a nice, smooth snap close. Never mind the problems that are bound to arise when trying to open again. And what about the computer desk? She hadn't considered that he'd be using her computer desk. With a shudder, Trinity imagines dishes, clothing… disks askew in their holders, in the wrong holders, or perhaps even left out of the holders. To ban him from that half of the room is an option she can only entertain seriously for a few seconds. She told him he was welcome. But at that moment, his chaotic living habits were the furthest thing from her mind. Trinity aggressively bites at a hang-nail on her pinky. Maybe a chore list would help.

When the phone rings, she jumps, and considers letting the machine pick up. She has many things to do before Neo arrives, namely- her unmentionables are still strewn across the bed, and she isn't keen on his seeing them without the benefit of her careful modeling, in the right light. But it occurs to her that the caller may be Morpheus with an update on how the investigation is progressing, or (more likely) not progressing. They will be keeping Neo another hour. They are taking blood samples. They want to question him under hypnosis. They are attempting a Vulcan mind-meld.

But the true nature of the phone call proves to be worse. No, not worse. Impossible. Impossible this is happening to her tonight! She walks briskly down the catwalk and slides her arm through a closing elevator door, ignoring protests from the other side as she yanks it open. Her finger stabs at the bottom button: the brig. She has been summoned.

Reminds her of her Academy days. But never mind. This time, she hasn't done anything wrong. What could they possibly want with her tonight?

It is a short journey down and a brief walk to meet a peacekeeper at the Law Enforcement and Corrections center entrance. She knows him by name. Annik is a kind, handsome man with a cheerful disposition, and highly respected for keeping the peace in some of the rougher neighborhoods. She locked herself out of her apartment once, long ago when she lived on the lower east arc, and he sat with her outside as they waited for the locksmith. She remembers he told her she was too pretty to be left alone, and when she challenged him to arm-wrestling to preserve her dignity, he let her win. Despite this, she liked him.

"God, what the hell happened to you?" she asks, wincing at the blue swell surrounding his left eye. She offers her hand. "You look almost as lousy as I do."

"I heard about your loss. I'm so sorry to call you at home, lieutenant."

"Jesus, call me Trin." They shake. "And thank you. You need me to help you dress that? It looks fresh."

"Actually, this is what you're here about." He brushes a hand on her back and leads her inside, speaking low. "Got a left hook in the face from a guy who claims he knows you. The others are ready to lock him up for the night, but I wanted to check with you first. I found him wearing boots in the Temple without ID or even a registry number."

Trinity resists the urge to slap her hand to her forehead. "Oh, no." She doesn't want to ask. She doesn't want to know. "And the name?"

"Neo. Again, apparently. Sounds phony to me."

"He hit you?"

"Claims it was an accident. Says he thought I was some guy who was harassing him, but I didn't see anyone matching his… colorful descriptions. You wanna confirm the ID?"

"Yes. I know him. Annik, I'm so sorry. It's his first day in the city. He hasn't gone though registry yet."

"That's what he said, but it didn't seem plausible. I mean, he's… well, he's no spring chicken, is he?"

Her lip curls at his awkward attempt to use matrix-borne lingo for her benefit. "Yes, he's unusually old. Again, I'm sorry. It's my fault. I shouldn't have left him alone."

They arrive at a line of barred detention rooms, and Trinity spots Neo from the corner of her eye, pacing in a cell near the end of the row. Annik follows her gaze before their eyes meet again. "He's been though a lot," she says. "Believe me. He'd never hit you intentionally."

The officer considers this and nods. He looks tired, older than she remembers. "Well, I'm willing to let the infraction regarding his shoes in the Temple go with a warning. And as for this-" he indicates his eye- "I've had worse after twenty years down here. So, if you say he's okay…"

She could kiss him. With tongue and everything. "Thank you. I won't forget this."

"We have enough problems down here without the bother of filing another petty crime. And without ID, his paperwork would be a pain. Damn bureaucracy. See that you get that done, by the way."

"First thing tomorrow. I'll have him collared."

"And housebroken? He says he lives with you." Annik unlocks the iron gate and holds it open for her. "Settling down, lieutenant? Or just taking in strays?"

"It had to happen eventually, right?"

"I had my doubts, after you turned me down, repeatedly."

She grins at their usual banter and shakes her head. "And how is your wife?"

"She's wonderful. A little sad. Last of the kids have moved out. Emerald, our youngest, was just accepted to intern on the Osiris. She's very excited."

He reaches out and holds Trinity's shoulder. "Do me a favor- you two take care of each other. Nothing else matters these days, you know? Everything else… it's nonsense."

Trinity catches Neo's eye for the first time, and he looks away instantly, resting his head on the bars. The poor thing. She thinks of a lost puppy imprisoned in a pound- what was that movie from her childhood? Lady and the Tramp. But that would make her the street-smart Tramp, and Neo the prissy, brown-eyed Lady. She makes a mental note to run that theory by him later, when they can laugh about this, though that may not be for awhile. He is miserable as he is escorted out of the kennel, ignoring catcalls from rowdy inmates, shoulders slumped and stare cast down.

"Are you okay?" she asks him some time later when they are leaving, a hand on his shoulder. As they stand outside in the busy avenue, he glances at her wearily – I've been a hell of a lot better – and then seems to notice something, looking her over top to bottom, once, then again. She is freshly showered, clad in Zionist clothing.

"Wow."

Trinity can't suppress a smile. "Yeah?"

"You're beautiful." He steps closer as people flow around them. "And I'm not just saying that because I was in prison."

"Neo-"

"I'm so sorry about all this."

"It wasn't your fault." In fact, she doesn't know what happened, but she isn't inclined to push him for an explanation. If anything, the story is bound to irritate her "Come on, let's walk a little."

Neo weaves their fingers together, and for the second time that day, Trinity battles with the impulse to pull herself free. The avenue is crowded; people can see them – they receive a few passing glances, and one or two grins. Her cheeks burn and she fights to keep a smile off her face. Maybe it's embarrassment, or maybe she's just happy – either way, it seems like an important moment, and she decides to commit it to memory. After all, it may not be long before they will be unable to do this without Neo's being recognized.

After ten minutes or so, he puts his arm around her shoulder and kisses the top of her head. They are passing by a largely unused entrance to the Temple, away from the bustle of commuters.

"Would you like a tour?" she asks. "Some of the smaller grottos are really beautiful if you know where to look."

"Oh, I don't… I don't think so." He glances inside uncertainly. "I think I've angered the 'Temple God,' whoever he is… I'm probably banned or something. Expect to see my mug-shot by the door by tomorrow."

Trinity smiles – she nearly laughs. He asks her what's so funny, and she isn't sure whether or not to tell him. But he will find out sooner or later, so it might as well be now. "Neo, these days, people go to the Temple for all sorts of reasons," she explains. "It's become a public meeting place, and a symbol of our community, our resistance. But primarily, people go there to pray for The One. It is said that it was built one hundred years ago, in anticipation of his return."

"It's my temple?" He says it so ironically she chuckles, and studies his face for any sign of his being overwhelmed, as she certainly would be. But he is smirking. "They arrested me for wearing boots in my temple?" he poses to the air, shaking his head. "Well, that's very nice."

"We remove our shoes as a symbol of our connection with the earth and stone that protects us. It's wonderful to feel the ground on your feet…" She scrunches down and presses her hand to the orange dirt. "It's warm – the lava springs course underneath."

He is already pulling his laces free and yanking his boots off. "My temple has lava springs?" Now eager, he removes his worn and tattered socks, and steps barefoot onto the ground. He smiles broadly- for the first time since they docked. "Whoa."

Trinity slides an arm around his waist. "There's more, if you'd like to see it."

"Alright, a brief tour." He talks into her hair. "Then home, right?"

"Hmm." Trinity half-consciously digs into his shirt with her fingernails, bunching the sweater in her hand, but resists the urge to drag him into the elevator and run with him to her cabin. The city she has come to resent looks different with his arm around her shoulders, with his voice rumbling softly from above- it's romantic somehow, and she is afraid that if she wastes the opportunity, it will never come again.

She brushes her lips against his earlobe. "We have all night," she rasps, speaking to them both, teasing them both. "Just think of that. Think of it constantly." She hums and arches her back as he brushes her, as if by accident, along the side of her breast. "Not now. Soon," she promises, the earthy heat prickling under her feet. "Once we've made a few memories for you that don't include handcuffs and a detention cell."

"Trinity-" he kisses her lips and tightens his grip- "…do you have any idea….?"

"Shh, I know." Golden candlelight glows like molten steel from the candles which light their path. "Don't worry," she whispers. "There's time."