Precious Cargo, by Garama of Recursion

I dread walking slowly up the steep stairs yet another time.  But it is what I'm good at.  Stealth, intuition, and protection.  And a burst of energy if it's needed.  That is me, that is what I do. 

Turning to look over my shoulder at my cargo, I make eye contact, then put my index finger in front of pursed lips, trying my best telepathically to communicate the word "quiet."  What I was trying not to convey was danger ahead.  I need him to believe we'll make it, and move quickly.  And we are only at the start of our long path to his freedom.

The shortest route to the safehouse is seared into my brain.  We can stay indoors most of the way, running through an alley, more buildings, and up another shorter set of stairs when we finally make it to the right address.  But since my cargo today is a thinker, there's not much brawn to him.  I'll have to scout ahead every so often to take out the local crew--without alerting the agent programs to what I'm up to.

My cell phone chimes like the ticking of a clock.  I press answer and hold it to my ear.  "I see you have the target.  Move as fast as you can.  Keep your wits about you.  I'm having trouble deciphering the encryption." I whisper back the names of colleagues in the area and ask the operator to contact them.  We might need their help, especially when we hit the extraction point.  "I'll put calls in.  They'll contact you directly.  Good luck, ma'am."  Ahhh, there's the reminder of how old you are, I think to myself, of how long you've been in the Matrix.  But then I remember.  My operator is just a kid, a freeborn, not able to see the matrix for himself.  Of course, I'm his "ma'am."  What else would I be?  It's just a show of love and connection, like I would call him "kiddo" or "youngster."  Or "freeborn." 

I'm sidetracking, and I need to stay focused.  Tonight is too important.

We make it to the door leading to the roof.  I turn back to Mr. Thinker and once again make eye contact.  "Stop following me."  Thinker hunkers back as I turn the doorknob and push the door outward a crack to look out.  I don't see the gang members who usually hang on the roof.  Why not?  Cautiously, I step outside and peer around the corner.  It's too still.  What's happening?  In the shadows I spot a pipe leading to the ground.  We can use that and make it down, then go inside the next building.  I creep back to the doorway and look at Thinker.  "Follow me," I say.  "Quietly," I add.

As I lead him to the pipe, I notice him shivering.  I think to myself how frightened he must be, not knowing what experience he's about to go through.  "Look, these people will take care of you--the real you, the you that you were meant to be, the life that you were meant to live," I whisper.  "You will finally know the truth.  Isn't that worth it?"  Thinker looks me squarely in the eyes, piercing into my mind.  He says in a low voice "I don't know if I'm ready for the truth.  I just know something is wrong."  Just like every other bluie I've been responsible for, those words will never leave me.

We walk our way down, holding the pipe and stepping down the wall of the building.  I see the local gang thugs beyond the wall.  I hurry with Thinker into a door leading to the next building.  Up the stairs and through another door is a bar and pool hall.  "Stop following me," I say to Thinker.  He wanders up to the bar.  As I leave through the front door, I yell back at him "No alcohol."  Then I open the door and venture out.

My cell phone ticks again.  I listen.  "Evening, my love.  I hear you want help?"  It's Jeremy, he lives in this neighborhood.  "J, I may need you.  I'm doing an escort out to the edge, the safehouse."  I glance down the throughway between buildings.  No one in sight.  What the hell gives?  "Anything for you, my love.  Where should I meet up?" Jeremy asks.  "J, we've made it past the barrier.  Be at the access node.  Oh, and I've got a Thinker.  Very precious to Zion.  He's skittish.  Not a fighter.  I must get him inside the safehouse, whatever the cost."

"Now, you know I'll make sure everything's passable for you and you get him there alive," Jeremy assures me.  Then, as if he reads my feelings, "Still sensitive about the ma'am thing, are you?"  Oh, very funny.  "You know what, J?  There was Richard Pryor, and then there's you!"  We both laugh.  But yeah, I'm still sensitive about the ma'am thing.

Under the street lamp is a local ganger.  Of course he won't bother me, he can sense I'm too powerful.  But if I bring Thinker through the door, he'll be all over him, and probably call in a couple helpers.  I give him a look, I draw my rifle, and shout out "Say a prayer because your life is over."  Two shots take him down.  I look around because those shots were loud.  Anyone there?  I see no one.  Only his lifeless body sprawled on the ground.

I re-enter the building and head for the bar.  To Thinker I say, "Follow me."  I lead him outside, and into the next building.  We pass the elevator and the security staff room.  We get to the door leading outside.  "I'll go out again and clear the way," I say.  "Stop following me."  Thinker looks at me hard.  What's with this guy?  I'm helping him out, doesn't he realize even that?

I look out the door and there's a cluster of gang affiliates.  I phone J.  "We could use you about now.  We're blocked in."  Jeremy, optimistic as ever, gives me his song-and-dance.  "I'll be there before you even know it."  And true to form, he's there and kicking butt.  I join him to defeat the last of the gang.  "I better take my Thinker and get going before any agents show up."  "Good idea," he agrees.  I go back to the building's door, pull it outward, and look inside.  I spot Thinker, lock eyes, and say loudly, "Follow me."  Thinker obeys, and we head into the next building.

One more building after this, and we're home free.  I stop and pivot.  "Now is the time to be at peace.  We've just about reached the extraction point in the next building.  So now is the beginning of the rest of your life."  Thinker gives me the deer-in-the-headlights look.  My God, I wonder to myself, what is happening in this darn war?  I know this guy will be a help at the end of it, but at what price?  And isn't he just a child?

We pace through the building.  At the door to the outside, I stop and leave him there again.  I go through the door, to a hail of gunfire.  My colleague J jumps down from the roof.  I sweep gunfire back and forth to help kill the gang members.  We defeat them, and J says to me "All right, Zion for the win this time out."  Yeah, I think to myself, this time out.  Then he says "Ma'am, we got your target to the extraction point.  Zion will cover them from here."  Well, I couldn't really argue with that.  Another Zion operative in the making?

We make it into the last building.  We climb the stairs to our floor.  Zion operatives control the room that we enter, and they grab Mr. Thinker from me.  "You did it again, ma'am," an operative says to me.  I'm proud to give them Mr. Thinker, a life that perhaps will further free Zion minds and strengthen them against the simulation.  He says "Thank you," and "Please keep in touch."  Oh, really now?  Well, that's a first.  Perhaps I will, perhaps that is my destiny.

"Great job yet again, ma'am."  Yes, well, perhaps I have judged wrongly.  "Ma'am" is not a pejorative, it's a recognition of my importance to Zion.  Thinker has made it to the outside, he will surely be instrumental to the arguments against the system.  I glance at him once more before he's moved to his custom jack-out seat.  He looks deeply into my eyes, clears his throat, and says distinctly "Ma'am, thank you.  For saving my life."  I stare back at him, the Mr. Thinker, the Zion baby, and answer sincerely "You're welcome, Kiddo."  Yes, I'm sensitive about ma'am.  But Zion always comes first.

Tonight, Zion wins!  Long live Zion!

THIS MESSAGE IS BEING POSTED ON VESUVEUS' BEHALF

My apolagies for my inactivity. A hectic work schedule has prevented me from re-subscribing. However, the contest will continue. All rewards will be awarded after the stories are judged. GammaRage, I cannot access your story. Please re-post it or e-mail it to me: <VesuveusMxO@ yahoo.com>. There will be no penalty. Having said that...

Here is a quick review of the entrants and their stories.

13 Authors entered stories. Names alphabetically and their stories:

10011 - Hello, my name is Addict...
Austrian - Best Laid Plans & What's Mine Is Mine
Covenant - The New Bunk
deeboTheReturn - Cerberus for the Child
EndlessVoid - Der Doppelgänger
GammaRage -
Garama - Precious Cargo
Illyria1 - Survivor's Guilt & Waking Dream
Merchant - Freelancer
Mobyias - The Runner
Neoteny - Conflict, The Story of Jonathan Reed
Skyscream - To reach for the sky
Tygrius - Wake-Up Call

15 stories were entered for a total of:

96 total pages (when formatted to 12pt font, Times New Roman, double spaced on Microsoft Word) (so far)

Again thank you to those who entered.

Winners will be announced in about 2 weeks.

GammaRage, I cannot access your story. Please re-post it or e-mail it to me: <VesuveusMxO@ yahoo.com>. There will be no penalty.

Thanks for posting the message for me, Tygrius.

Here is GammaRage's entry for all to read:

Dead. (Part 1)

Timeframe: Matrix, ver. 6.1.-6.2

"Are you done with that *CENSORED* kitchen yet, you stupid *CENSORED*?!" yelled Vincent.

"Baby, I'm just setting up the --" Tia, horrified, replied.

"How many goddamn times do I have to tell you to stop slacking at this time of day.
Every time with you it's the same thing; you never learn your *CENSORED* lesson."

Vincent walked to the hallway closet of his apartment complex in Camon Heights, and took from it
his .12 gauge shotgun that he had hunted buck with in the mountains just last week. He loaded 2
rounds into the weapon and pumped it.

"Now," he said walking back to the kitchen; he didn't realize that she had heard him load the weapon,
"where's that pretty little *CENSORED* of yours hid--"

Tia came around from behind the wall of the kitchen and delved a knife into the chest. She remained
atop him, stabbing, and cutting, and digging into his body with the blade. She had blood all across her dress.
She had been hit before, even knifed before, by her own husband. She wasn't going to get shot by him, nor did she plan
to be threatened by him.

She then picked up the shotgun, put it to her mouth, and gave the trigger
a squeeze.

Then Dedrick came home.
_______________________________

2 weeks later
_______________________________

Dedrick's cellphone began to ring.

He chose not to answer it; that is no different, however, from all of the other calls he had received.
Dedrick was held under Child Protective Services. Not only did he simply not want to talk to anyone
(he had even secluded himself from others in the shelter whose parents were murdered, as well), all incoming
and outgoing calls were monitored by a strange man in sunglasses and a business suit with a nametag reading "Green". Apparently, he was the
only kid in the shelter to be monitored in such a way, and by such a character.

The cellphone continued to ring.

"Why the hell did they give me a cellphone. None of the others here are monitored like I am, and no one
but me was given a cellphone. Come to think of it, the dark woman with the braided hair at the front desk
did give me a strangely knowing look," Dedrick thought desparingly.

Again, it rung. This time it did not stop.

He sighed, "Fine...what's the worst that could happen. Obviously someone really wants to talk to me."

He picked up the phone and opened it.

"Hello?"
_______________________________

3 Days Later
_______________________________

From a distance, Dedrick could see the smoke billowing into the air from the factories in Industry Square.
He felt horribly out of place in this downtown setting; he had become fond of the simple life of his apartment,
where if you opened your window you wouldn't risk contracting a disease carried by the smoke.

"So...this is where I learn that nothing that has happened to me matters, huh? This is where I learn that losing
my parents never really meant a thing?

He continued to walk down Maribeau and into Hampton Green. He felt a presence there; he felt as though he simply
"wasn't allowed" to be inside of the area. Almost turning back, he heard his phone ring again. This
was only the second time it had rung since the night he answered back at the shelter; something must have gone wrong.

"Look Deddy, there's an agent that's been tracking your movements since you escaped the shelter - I'm coming to get
you, but just keep North!"

"But how will you know where I --"

"JUST RUN!"

He heard the sound of a motorcycle revving a couple of kilometers away. He ran towards it; he knew it would be her.
Behind him he could hear a loud thump on the ground, and when he looked back, a car had flown 20 feet into the air.
The sound of the motor got closer - he did as he was told, he just kept running. Then Dedrick felt a very strange sensation;
she was but half a kilometer away when he reached his hand to his heart and grabbed hold of it with all of his might; when
he could see his sneakers turn into shoes like that of the man whose name was "Green". He felt his face twist and turn.
Resisting it as much as he could, he held on.

Then, as she was zooming by, she grabbed him by the collar and put him on the backseat. She then pulled out her cellphone

"Operator! Start initiating a killcode on Dead, NOW!"

"Got it."

Just as Dedrick had almost completely transformed into Agent Green, he felt his heart stop. He collapsed onto Niobe's back.
_______________________________

Post Awakening
_______________________________

When Dedrick became conscious on the Logos, he had no recollection of the Machine City, or being unplugged.

"I...I was dead. What the hell just happened to me?" he said.

"Well, 'Just' happened is a bit of a misjudgement on your memory's part. It's been about 4 months since that day," said Spark.

Spark was the only one watching him at the time; someone had to make sure he didn't hurt himself in case he woke up.
The rest of the crew was in attendance at a meeting in Zion, with Morpheus
being the man who had called it. From what Spark knew, this was the 6th time that he had called the same meeting - again, he thought
he had found "The One".

"How...where am I...how the hell am I alive?"

"Look, I'll uh...I'll let Niobe explain that one for ya when she gets back on the ship, alright buddy?"

Dedrick falls back asleep, and Spark takes his bunk in the crew comparements
of the hovercraft.
_______________________________

4 years later, Matrix ver. 6.2.
_______________________________

"They look like they're inside of the Exile's hideout in Uriah; I just seem
to be picking up some weird code coming from inside..."

"It's those *CENSORED* Mervs, you always see weird code coming from them. Get used to it, Jax."

"Sorry; I'm learning, Dead, I'm learning."

"Well next time, come prepared please."

"Yes, sir."

Dead moved into the Exile's hideout with two other crewmembers from his ship "The Mecha".
One of the operatives was named Feynt, and the other Tamed.

Feynt moved in quietly; he went unseen as he cleared the first room of Exiles, as he
signaled for the rest to follow him.

Just before they had opened the door to the third floor, Jax called them a second time.

"Listen...I can't quite make out what's in there, but I swear to you that there's something wrong with that place."

Dead sighed, "What's it look like, Jax?", he asked nonchalantly.

"Sir. Get out - get out, now."

"Jax, don't you poppycock me."

"AGENTS, DEAD!"

Suddenly, twenty suit adorning men swarmed the doorway. They knocked Feynt into submission and carried him
out of the building, with Tamed firing full clips at them and hitting nothing but drywall and wood.

Dead was on his back, watching the events around him unfold in what seemed to be slow motion. He then
rose up, grabbed two of the agents by the collar, and noticed they appeared to be the exact same person.

"Smith," he said, "This isn't real. I remember the day that Neo defeated you. The day that the Nebuchadnezzar sailed
into Zion with news of your destruction, and of confirmation of Neo's being the one. I also remember you to be stronger."

With those words, after defeating Tamed, the 3 other agents gathered around Dead.

"We will never be gone, and we will most certainly never be defeated. In fact, we are now much more
like you humans aspire to be, if you'd prefer to think of it as such. I am now becoming a virus; a plague upon the Matrix,
much like you humans were a plague upon the earth," the Smith in the middle of them said.

"Please, let me know one thing before the deed is done, Smith."

"And what would that be, Mr. Dedrick? Hmm. Another interesting side to your story; no matter
where I looked, I could not find files on your family history or even your last name."

"That story doesn't matter - all I want to know is how you've returned, and how in the hell
you've multiplied.

"Well, one would take far too long - you will have been me by the time I finish telling you the answer. As for the other...it must be shown."

In unison, all of the surrounding smiths dug their hands deep into his chest. A chromelike substance
began to envelop his body.

"I...I've felt this before."

...

"Goodbye, Smith."

TO BE CONTINUED/TO BE EXPANDED UPON.

Announcement of Prizes:

I have read all the stories and have come up with the top 3 rated stories and authors. All stories were read in their entirety and judged based upon the criteria outlined in the first post of this thread. I, Vesuveus, was the only judge.