He was faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, could leap over skyscrapers in a single bound, and was completely unrestricted by the constraints which bound most of humanity, making him a Superman in both the comic-book and the Nietzschean senses of the word. At the same time, however, Neo was still part of a military hierarchy in which he had a relatively low rank due to his inexperience, and that meant he was often assigned menial tasks, which was why he found himself staring at an array of screens filled with luminescent green characters in a never-ending cascade. Everyone had to take their shift monitoring the Matrix for potential changes, be they Messiahs or not.
Neo felt like he was experiencing his life outside of time; it had been several months since Morpheus and the crew of the Nebuchadnezzar had freed his mind, but in some ways, it seemed like it had only been a few days. Of course, learning that the reality he’d experienced up until that point was an artificial construct created by malevolent Machines hell-bent on the subjection of humanity had been mind-blowing enough, but to find out that he was some sort of prophesied Messiah who was destined to restore humanity to its former place of dominance was almost too much for him to believe.
But at the same time, he knew it had to be true; Smith had pumped him full of bullets in that hallway, and he had been completely and thoroughly dead at that point, yet he’d been revived, like some sort of cyberpunk Jesus Christ, and with his resurrection came the ability to exploit the Matrix like no one had ever seen. And like most Messiahs, he had his contingent of disciples, of whom Morpheus was without a doubt the most vocal: indeed, at times, it seemed that the black man’s devotion bordered on the fanatical. At the very least, Neo was certain that Morpheus’ faith in the One was much stronger than his own. The possibility that his nominal leader might be willing to do anything in his name (including committing religious atrocities) had begun to creep up in his dreams, but there was always a possibility that he was confusing his own life with that of Paul Atreides.
This musing, however, prompted a rather interesting if somewhat sophomoric question: Why would the Machines would allow a book like Dune to exist within the Matrix? I mean, the Man-Machine War is basically the same thing as the Butlerian Jihad, except Frank Herbert had the humans win. Of course, it’s been a while since I’ve read that book, so I could be wrong. Maybe I can get a copy of it from the Construct…. God, I’m such a geek. This train of thought was the kind of thing he’d expect from someone like Mouse.
Thoughts of the short, skinny hacker led rather quickly to memories of the circumstances surrounding his demise — namely, Cypher’s betrayal, with had in turn led to his own demise. In the following months, as the Nebuchadnezzar underwent extensive repairs from the sentinel attack that had come with the betrayal, the word “Cypher” had become a fairly common curse word among the denizens of Zion, and he’d become a reluctant celebrity/religious guru. Truthfully, every night he went to sleep half-expecting to wake up once again as Thomas Anderson, the wimpy computer nerd whose only thrills in life came from hacking into whatever heavily-firewalled mainframe he’d recently found.
Not that he wanted anything like that to happen, of course. As confusing as his life had become, there was no way he’d ever leave it. Not now, not since he’d met Trinity. When the Oracle had told him that being the One was like being in love, she hadn’t been kidding: Neo’s realization that he was the One had coincided exactly with his realization that he was in love with Trinity. In fact, despite the rhapsodic praises of Morpheus, Neo often felt as though he was defined by his love for Trinity (who was also his nominal superior in military terms) rather than his status as the One.
But as much as he wanted to dwell on his lover, his attention was suddenly drawn to the screen in front of him showing the “digital rain” of the Matrix’s code. They were changing something — or rather, they were making preparations to change something. What that “something” was, he wasn’t entirely sure of — and considering that he was better at interpreting the Matrix’s code than any other human being (at least as far as he knew), his total uncertainty was rather unnerving. All he could say for certain was that whatever it was, it was big. “Morpheus?” he called out to his captain. “I think you need to see this.”
“Have you heard the news?”
The Oracle looked up from her oven, where a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies was baking, to see an athletic Asian man wearing a white tang and John Lennon-style sunglasses (of course, technically speaking, it was the designated RSI of a highly sophisticated challenge-handshake authentication protocol and not an actual man) standing before her with an unusual amount of emotion showing on his face. What made the situation even more unusual was the Oracle’s reply: “What are you talking about, Seraph?”
“The One has returned.”
The elderly black woman’s face screwed up at this. “Neo’s here?”
“No, not that One — the other One. Our One.”
“You mean… Ranma Saotome? Has he been revived?”
“I am not certain — the information is somewhat vague at the moment. I could try to use my contacts within the Merovingian’s organization….”
“That won’t be necessary, Seraph. If Ranma Saotome has returned, I’m sure we’ll learn the truth one way or another.”
“You are not disturbed by the fact that you did not know this?”
“Honey, being omniscient has its perks — no doubt about that — but it’s also boring as hell. It’s been a long time since I was genuinely surprised by something, and let me tell you: it feels good.”
“But won’t this interfere with your plan?”
The Oracle chuckled. “Considering that my ‘plan’ is simply to interfere with the status quo to get all of us out of the rut that that stuck-up determinist wants to keep us in, I don’t see how it can mean anything bad in the long term.” She grinned to herself again; what she wouldn’t give to see the look on the Architect’s face when he learned about this piece of news.
For his part, the Architect was not particularly happy about the possibility of meeting Ranma Saotome, mostly because he knew that the Deus Ex Machina wanted to bring him in as a consultant to try to further stabilize that which should have been stable in the first place. Sure, he had heard all of the arguments that humans had a capacity for “insight” and “intuition” that by definition could never be programmed into an AI, but he personally thought this was nonsense. Then again, he also had difficulty comprehending humanity’s stubborn refusal to accept the mathematically precise vision of perfection he had presented them in the first iteration of the Matrix as well. And though he’d never met the previous Ranma Saotome, he doubted that this one would be able to explain why his species was so damned masochistic as to actually reject Paradise.
Still, the Architect’s first duty was to keep the Matrix operational, and if he could tolerate the Oracle’s notion of deliberate anomalies (which was quite possible the most oxymoronic idea he’d ever heard), he could certainly handle any suggestions that this Ranma Saotome might make. He might not like them, but he’d implement them, and if they worked, he’d gladly keep them. And he supposed he could see the reasoning behind the decision to modify several thousand lines of code to allow this man exemptions from the rules that bound those that were physically plugged in. After all, he was supposed to be another One.
The Merovingian, or “Merv” as he was known to those who wished to disparage him (and there were many such persons), was less than thrilled at the news of Ranma Saotome’s return. As a firm believer in philosophical notions of causality, he held that any given effect could be explained by its causes. He was certain that this was how the fortuneteller managed to predict everything; she may have claimed that humans and AIs had “choices,” but the Merovingian knew otherwise. The universe was utterly deterministic — which was why he could not be held responsible for any of his actions. In a way, he found his denial of free will to be quite freeing, as being unleashed from any sense of moral obligation had allowed him to live a life of decadent hedonism as an Exile.
But this Ranma, he was challenging those notions of causality, by virtue of the fact that the Merovingian couldn’t seem to figure out how the effect of his reappearance had been caused. At first, he (like many of the Exiles who no longer had direct access to the Source) had assumed that the man being kept in stasis had been revived. When he learned that, rather, a teenaged Ranma Saotome had shown up apparently from nowhere, he began to get somewhat worried. Make no mistake, he was certain that there was a logical cause for his appearance, but unless he fully knew the cause, he would remain unable to exploit the effect. This was the main reason he coveted the Oracle’s omniscience within the Matrix: because it was only through omniscience that he could truly gain the omnipotence he desired.
“Merde,” the pseudo-Frenchman cursed to himself softly. If he was to retain his place as the dominant power broker within the Matrix, he’d need more information — and information from outside the Matrix in the Machine World was not always easy to obtain (not as difficult as information from Zion, mind you, but it still wouldn’t be easy). He’d have to call in several favors to get what he wanted, and when those favors were exhausted, he would no longer be able to exert power over those particular programs. And the Merovingian loathed the loss of power, even when there was nothing he could do about it. “Merde!” he repeated at a much louder volume.
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(Posted Sun, 13 May 2007 19:37)
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