Search Results: 19 messages were found

The Gift

“My goodness, Father Sheehan, you’re up early,” said BrightAngel cheerfully, as her colleague and fellow Machinist operative strolled into the base cafeteria. “I know, I know, you’re not a priest anymore, so don’t call you Father,” she continued, before he could say anything, and took a big bite of her breakfast. “So *John*, you’re up early. What could have possibly gotten you out of your bunk before noon?”

“You’re awfully perky this morning,” he replied, unable to keep from smiling, even at this (ungodly) early hour. “And you should know why I’m up. The new supply shipment came in last night, and I want some of that fresh coffee before Lyr drinks it all.” He paused. “She hasn’t drank it all yet, has she?”

“Don’t worry, she hasn’t even been down here yet.” BrightAngel said, pushing what passed as a coffeepot towards him. “She’s probably still geeking out over that package she got.”

“Package?”

“Yeah, it came with the rest of the supplies.” She stirred the food around on her plate, then took another bite. “From what I heard, the Machines were searching through some of the ruins on the surface, looking for Zionites and EPeeners. They didn’t find anyone, but they did find some old stuff that wasn’t too damaged in the war, and they brought some of it back.”

He blinked. “What, did Lyr teach the sentinels to ninja loot?”

BrightAngel laughed. “I dunno. After they sorted through it, I guess someone found something they thought Lyr would like. I guess. I mean, who knows why they do anything they do?” She took another bite of the not-quite-eggs. “She was on the radio last night thanking someone – or knowing her, something – for it. She sounded really happy.”

He nodded, as he poured himself a cup of the newly-delivered fresh coffee. “What was in the package?”

“A book.”

“A book?”

BrightAngel snorted. “Yeah, some old geology 101 textbook. Can you believe it? She was nose-deep in it all last night, except when she’d come running out of the recreation room to tell us how the moon isn’t always full, or that hotspots drift, or that Mars had sedimentary rocks, whatever the hell that means. I mean, she’s a geologist, shouldn’t she know all that stuff already?” she asked. “I swear, it’s like when ReProgrammed and Sneaker start talking about astrophysics.” She rolled her eyes. “’The Boring World of Niels Bohr? *That* sounds interesting!’” She grinned. “Y’know, I really wanted to take that book and hit her over the head with it.”

“Well, Lyr *was* a geologist as a bluepill,” he offered, taking a sip of his coffee. “And hitting her over the head with it wouldn’t be a good idea. That book’s probably hundreds, maybe almost a thousand years old, and it might be damaged if it connected with that thick skull of hers.”

BrightAngel shook her head. “Nah, the pages are made from some kind of recycled plastic polymer, not paper -- it looks brand new. Lyr said it’s from right before the Man-Machine war, though. Hey, I guess humanity got off its butt about recycling and conservation by then, too bad we had to go and screw up the planet in a whole new way.”

The ex-priest raised an eyebrow. “The book was from right before the start of the war, you say?”

“Yep. ”

“I see.” He paused for a moment, then took a second cup and filled it. He had a good idea where he would find the hovercraft captain, and it wasn’t in her quarters. “I’ll see you later. I’m going to see if Lyr would like some coffee.”

He was right. He found Illyria in the first place he looked – the same rec room BrightAngel said she was in last night. She obviously hadn’t been back to her quarters…she was fast asleep on a couch, the book still grasped loosely in her hands. On the low table in front of her were the notes she’d taken before falling asleep. Curious, he set the two cups on the table, then began to read.

Lyr’s first notes were rather dry...information on convection in the mantle, new fossils discovered, that sort of thing. Things that normally would be of little interest to him, if it wasn’t for the list of dates that followed each line of text.

All were dated after 1999.

“So, BrightAngel, I guess she really didn’t ‘know all that stuff already’,” he mused, turning the page. As he read further into her notes, he found the topics were becoming more interesting (in his estimation), and the writing less neat. Here were things Lyr obviously thought were of greater importance -- evidence of ancient oceans on Mars, hydrocarbon lakes on one of Saturn’s moons, planets revolving around other stars. The recovery of actual tissue from bones that were millions of years old. Gene sequencing on ice age mammals buried in permafrost. Proof that birds were the descendents of dinosaurs. Each item had a citation of chapter and page, and again, each was dated to 2000 AD or later. Some had multiple exclamation points after them. But it was the next section of her notes that really caught his attention.

Historical Events.

In a reference to the textbook’s chapter on natural disasters, there was information on a hurricane that had flooded the city of New Orleans in 2005. The death toll and damages were staggering, as were those of an earthquake and tsunami in 2004. There were multiple listings for these natural disasters, but what was worse – much worse, even though the actual death tolls were lower – were the notes for the text’s chapter on environmental hazards that were man-made. Deaths from long-term effects of chemicals and radiation were horrible, but what struck him most was an account of a terrorist attack in 2001 New York, something that had killed several thousand people that day, and then many more as the long-term effects of the airborne toxins did their damage.

“Bloody religious fanatics,” he muttered, then winced. But he hadn’t woken her up; Illyria was still sleeping peacefully on the couch. He looked down at the textbook, still in her hands…it was open to a page that showed a picture of the full moon, but the pattern of light craters and dark ‘seas’ didn’t look quite like those on the moon he knew.

He wondered, briefly, if whoever had given her this gift had known what he was doing – that he’d given her and the rest of the redpills a little piece of their lost history back.

He picked up his cup and quietly slipped out the door, not wanting to disturb her. The Machines documented everything. Of course they knew.

Illyria

Everyone is invited to The Collective's fourth anniversary party -- Club Vault, Saturday Nov. 24th, 10 PM Eastern/7 PM Pacific on the Recursion server. Hope to see you there!

Illyria

Everyone is invited to The Collective's fourth anniversary party -- Club Vault, Saturday Nov. 24th, 10 PM Eastern/7 PM Pacific. Hope to see you there!

Illyria

I did...something...to my chatbox settings last night, and now nothing will appear in the system chat box. I did a search on this forum and found a thread that referred to this problem, with these instructions:

ShadowSK wrote:
K...

Good news: I figured out which file is affected.
Bad news: It's the same file that stores your hotbar data.

Default path to file is:

C:\Program Files\Monolith Productions\The Matrix Online\Profiles\ACCOUNT NAME\CHARACTER NAME\cui.cfg

If only I could read jibberish.

So in theory, deleting that file would bring the system messages back right? But on the downside you lose all your hotbar stuff right?

So if I was willing to lose all my hotbar stuff and have to redo it again, I would delete that and it would bring system messages back supposedly...Are there any other known side-effects of doing this?

- Ð

Yup, the only side effect is losing your hotbar settings.

Is this correct? Deleting this file will restore the system chatbox to normal?

I don't mind losing my hotbar settings, I can set them back up in a few minutes, I just dont' want to lose anything else.

Illyria

Bring any teal pills you want, to trade or give away. Need a specific pill? Looking for someone to code that new ability? Decided to try out another tree? We'll have coders available for everyone.

This is an open invitation to all, experienced operatives and newly awakened to join us. Come greet those you know, meet others, and remember old friends returning. Bring any Teal Pills, code bits and frags you want, and enjoy the evening!

Illyria

Bring any teal pills you want, to trade or give away. Need a specific pill? Looking for someone to code that new ability? Decided to try out another tree? We'll have coders available for everyone.

This is an open invitation to all, experienced operatives and newly awakened to join us. Come greet those you know, meet others, and remember old friends returning. Bring any Teal Pills, code bits and frags you want, and enjoy the evening!

Illyria

Bring any teal pills you want, to trade or give away. Need a specific pill? Looking for someone to code that new ability? Decided to try out another tree? We'll have coders available for everyone.

This is an open invitation to all, experienced operatives and newly awakened to join us. Come greet those you know, meet others, and remember old friends returning. Bring any Teal Pills, code bits and frags you want, and enjoy the evening!

Illyria

Is this still going to happen? If so, when and where?

Lyr

Survivor's Guilt

He found her in one of the common rooms in the base, the one nearest to the small cafeteria and kitchen area. He should have guessed she'd be there...the captain of the Ishtar, sitting cross-legged in a deep, plush chair, sipping on something in a mug.

"Hey," said Illyria, glancing up at him, then looking back down at her drink.

"Hello Lyr," he replied graciously, taking a seat on the couch across from her. "How are you today?"

"I'm ok." The answer was brief, noncommittal. Most of the others would have taken it at that, and left her alone. But then, they didn't know what he knew. They only knew that she'd had a major hand in what had seemed to be a spur-of-the-moment operation: the deletion of their former liaison program TIMCAMM, affectionately known to them as Tim. His capture by Merovingian forces had been hard on them, but even harder were the orders Agent Gray had given over a month ago -- that because their liaison's programming had been compromised, any Machinist operatives who found him were to delete him on sight.

"I see you're enjoying one of our reheated, reconstituted, artificially flavored coffee-like beverages," the former priest observed casually, in an accent that threatened to cross back over from fake upper-class English to his usual Irish brogue. "Excellent choice, madame."

That made her smile. He had a feeling it was the first time she'd smiled since she'd jacked into the Matrix yesterday...since she and a few other Machinists just happened to be in the right place at the right time, discovering the location where their former liaison was being held by a mixed group of Merovingian operatives and EPN terrorists.

"Yeah," she replied. She swirled the contents of the mug, watching the steam rise from it. "You know, I've been told that coffee in the first Matrix actually tasted the same way it smelled. Perfect world and all that." She took another sip.

He nodded, but decided he needed to get to the point, before the conversation could be sidetracked any further. This was too important. "You, er, haven't said much about what happened last night, while you were in there."

She shrugged, still focusing her eyes on her drink. "What's there to say? We did what we had to do."

His brow creased slightly. She was clearly repeating what had been said to her multiple times since she'd jacked out last night. "Just because you had to do it doesn't mean you had to like doing it," he pointed out. "I *was* your operator, you know. I was watching the monitors while you were fighting."

This finally made her look up. "Father Sheehan, you really should try to control this eavesdropping problem of yours," she said dourly, placing the cup on the low table in front of them and crossing her arms.

He smiled, noting her obvious attempt to change the subject, but willing to play along for the time being. "You don't need to call me that, I'm not a priest anymore," he said. He'd told this to everyone, many times over, but the appellation had stuck -- even if the articles of faith hadn't, he'd thought sardonically. "And if it weren't for my ‘eavesdropping problem', as you call it, I never would have ended up taking the red pill. Same as with BrightAngel."

Illyria rubbed her chin. "BrightAngel wasn't so much an eavesdropper as she was a voyeur," she said thoughtfully. "Are you here to thank me for bringing you into the real world?"

"Not exactly, but I would like to remind you of how we met."

"How you met me, you mean, because of your eavesdropping," she corrected. "I didn't meet you for a while after that, not until after you were extracted from the Matrix."

"You should be more careful where you decide to hold private conversations," he chuckled. "But I remember it like it was yesterday. I was in a booth in a restaurant, in a quiet corner near the exit. I'd just come to the US, and to the MegaCity, trying to get my head together. I'd given up trying to reconcile my religion with what I knew was true from history, science, and archaeology, and I was wondering where to go next," he mused. "I was thinking of studying at the university -- maybe learn some actual history, not just the ‘real civilization started in ancient Greece' line that we're always fed. I'd come in to get some dinner, maybe take a quick look through their brochures, when two people came in and sat down at the booth next to mine. It turned out it was you, and someone else."

"Oh really." He'd never told her the exact details of his first encounter with a redpill before, only that he'd overheard an odd conversation of hers that most bluepills would have either ignored or laughed off. But now she was curious. "Who was the other person?" she asked.

"I don't know, I never saw his face. But there was something he said that was quite strange, and made me stop and listen...really listen, and on purpose this time."

"What did he say?"

He looked her straight in the eyes. "I remember this as if it was yesterday too. The man in the booth with you said, ‘When one of your shipmates out there does this, he's touching your hand. But when I do this in here...I'm touching your soul.'"

She blinked. "Oh yes, I remember that," she said slowly. "We were talking about whether a redpill's mind actually left the body behind when it entered the simulation. He said that in the Matrix we were all pure consciousness, just souls laid bare." She cocked her head. "Why are you bringing this up now? It's been a while since you were extracted."

"I'm bringing this up now because sometimes we need to be reminded of things that we already know," he replied.

She arched an eyebrow. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"I was the one monitoring you while you were fighting last night. It was all there -- your reactions, your heart rate, your brainwave patterns. You soul, laid bare. So, I...know." He paused gauging her reaction. It was just as he'd expected...surprise, irritation, maybe even a little anger. That was good. "Have you told anyone?" he asked pointedly.

"Have I told anyone?" she repeated. "Of course I haven't told anyone, they were too busy congratulating me and the others for what we did." She frowned. "For...what I did," she said, her voice becoming quieter. "It was all over so fast. I barely had time to think about what I was doing...I just kept hitting him and hitting him," she said softly. "Like nothing he'd done in the past mattered. Like we were in Mara and he was just going to get up again once it was over, just like he was one of us. It wasn't until afterwards that I finally realized what I'd done." She shook her head. "When I first heard the order, I never thought I would be part of the team that carried it out. But I was. We killed him...*I* killed him." She swallowed hard. "I did it, even if I wasn't the one who got the final blow. I was there, I was part of it, I was the one that grabbed him so he couldn't be teleported out." She was trembling now, staring down at her hands, her fists clenching and unclenching. Unable to meet his gaze, she shook her head again in both disbelief and horror. "Oh dear God, I killed Tim..."

"Lyr...Lyr," he said, grasping her by the shoulders, then pulling her close and wrapping his arms around her. "It's all right. You have to let this out. You've been keeping this to yourself, keeping it inside, but it's going to eat away at your soul if you don't let it out."

"We should have found another way--"

"There was no time. You know that. Deep in your heart, you know that."

She pushed away, staring up at him. "The last thing he would have seen was my face. I was the only one close enough to him," she whispered. "He knew exactly what we were doing, what we were there for, and the last thing he saw before his death was the person responsible for it."

"Oh, Lyr..." He drew her back to himself, hugging her again as she finally broke down. Thank God. It would be a long time before she got over this, but at least this was a start. The old platitudes of ‘you were doing your duty' ‘you were following your orders' ‘you didn't have a choice' were meaningless -- aside from the fact that she'd already heard them (and they hadn't made her feel any better), it was like they were telling her she shouldn't be feeling what she was feeling at all. And that wasn't right. "That's it, let it out. Let it all out," he murmured, trying to offer what comfort he could, rubbing small circles on her back until she'd finally cried herself out.

"You know, Lyr," he said gently, a little while later, when her breathing was calm again and she seemed almost half asleep. "There's something you need to remember, that we all need to remember, in times like this. When we've lost someone." He paused. "If there's one thing I've learned, both from my time as a priest and afterwards, it's that a soul isn't destroyed when the body is," he said. "No matter if that body is made up of blood and bone, or ones and zeroes."

A few moments went by before she said anything. "You really think so?" she mumbled into his shoulder.

He smiled. Of all things, this he was sure. "I know so."

I was asked to post this message for someone who wants to remain anonymous.

-------------------------------

Topic title: A warning to all Operatives

Greetings Operatives,

As some may have noticed, the missing Cypherite liason, Viraconrida, has been jacking into the Matrix. This is not the real Viraconrida, it is actually the Scanline crewmember Theptism impersonating her. Do not deal with this Viraconrida, report any sightings to your friendly neighborhood Cypherites or Agents in the area. Scanline is very dangerous and mysterious, be careful out there. Until made known by Cypherite officials, consider Viraconrida to still be MIA.

Regards,

Ms. J

----------------------------------

So whenever you see 'Vira' log in, it's not really her.

Illyria

Whether you're a long-time Machinist, new to the organization, or just curious, stop by the latest Machinist Meet-and-Greet! It will be held on Sunday July 30th, at 10 PM Eastern/7 PM Pacific (MegaCity) time, at Club Duality in Kedemoth. We hope to see you there!

If you have any questions, send an ingame email or /tell to Illyria1.

Lyr

Whether you're a long-time Machinist, new to the organization, or just curious, stop by the latest Machinist Meet-and-Greet! It will be held on the Recursion server on Sunday July 30th, at 10 PM Eastern/7 PM Pacific (MegaCity) time, at Club Duality in Kedemoth. We hope to see you there!

Any questions? Send an ingame email or /tell to Illyria1.

Lyr

There is a CoV free trial going on right now, so I decided to check the game out. I downloaded it and went through character creation, and everything seemed normal. But when I enter the game, only the upper two thirds of my screen works correctly! The bottom third still shows the same, unmoving image as when I first log on. Has anyone ever heard of a problem like this?

Illyria

I just wanted to say how cool the design of the first Pandora's Box is -- I was able to identify bonecutters, bandage scissors, forceps, and needleholders on the outside of it. SMILEY

Lyr

Anyone else in the northeast US snowed in?

Illyria

Standing in the Doorway Part 3
[The End]

“No way.”

“Yes, *way*,” the voice over the cell phone repeated petulantly, as if he’d already anticipated what the operative’s reaction would be. “He says he wants to meet with you, today.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“OK…that’s kind of weird,” replied Illyria, unable to hide her surprise. When she’d requested a new assignment this morning, she assumed she’d get something routine, something along the lines of the other missions she’d been given. She hadn’t expected anything like this. Low-level operatives rarely got to do anything too interesting, and she was far from being her ship’s ranking officer. She couldn’t even hyperjump yet. “Why does he want to see me?” she asked curiously.

“Who knows why a Machine wants to do anything?” her operator sighed. “All I was told was that your next assignment is to meet with Agent Gray in their building in Tabor Park.”

Illyria glanced at her map, watching as the waypoint appeared. She was near Tabor now, so the meeting place wasn’t far away -- and she *was* experienced enough that the district’s roaming gangs of Exiles wouldn’t be bothering her. That was always a plus. “Did he say anything else?” she asked.

“Oh yeah, Lyr, there was one more thing, something very important that he said I needed to tell you.”

She perked up immediately. “What’s that?”

The operator’s voice took on an ominous tone. “Don’t be late.”

Illyria rolled her eyes, hidden behind her shades. “I’d better get going, then.” She clicked off her cell phone, wondering why in the world Gray wanted to see her. She knew that others in her organization had been called to meet with their Controller, but they’d all been working for the Machines a lot longer than she had. This was a first time for her, and she was just about to set out for the mission area when something occurred to her…she remembered how Zion’s new operatives were cautioned to ‘look presentable’ when they were sent to meet with Niobe, and she wondered if the same rules applied here. //Do the Machines really care how we dress?// she thought.

She looked down at herself. She was wearing one of her typical in-Matrix outfits: high boots, a short skirt, and a shirt that left little to the imagination.

//Better safe than sorry,// she told herself. //Don’t want to look sloppy in front of the boss, even if all this *is* buffed.// She pulled a jacket from her inventory and slipped it on. //I wonder what this is all about?//

In truth, Illyria had very little time to speculate about her upcoming meeting. The Machine building turned out to be fairly close by; so before she knew it she was inside, and the elevator doors were opening to let her out on a floor that was usually off-limits to humans…Machine operatives or not.

She poked her head out and looked around. “Hello?” she called.

No answer. The hallway was eerily silent, with a series of doors evenly-spaced on both sides. Checking her map again, she saw the waypoint now indicated the nearest one to her right.

//Alrighty then,// she thought, stepping out of the elevator and up to the door. She turned the handle, and then walked through it into a swarm of agents.

//OK, not exactly a swarm,// she corrected herself, watching them part to admit her, each moving (presumably) towards his own destination. This wasn’t mindless activity for activity’s sake. All of them appeared to be entirely focused on what they were doing, where they were going, without even bothering to acknowledge the lone human in their midst.

Except for the one headed straight for her.

Illyria smiled, recognizing the approaching agent as the one she’d met in the park a few months ago, before she’d even guessed the Machines were recruiting human operatives. He was the one who’d given her information on how to contact The Collective.

She was grateful for that.

“Hello, Agent Miller,” she said brightly. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Hello, Ms. Dodson,” he replied. He’d obviously been waiting for her. “I’m here to escort you to your meeting. Please come with me.”

Illyria nodded, realizing that his superiors had probably sent him because of their previous encounter. They seemed to be trying to make their human operatives feel more at ease -- not the easiest task, considering all that had gone on before the truce. But at least they were making an effort…unlike many of those on the other side.

“Do you know what this meeting is about?” she asked, as the two began walking through the maze of corridors. For an agent, Miller was almost chatty...maybe he had some inside information.

“I’m not at liberty to divulge that information at this time,” Miller replied. Then, almost as an afterthought, “We’re very pleased with your progress, you know,” he added.

Illyria glanced up at him. The Machines weren’t big on compliments, and hearing more than one from the same agent -- even though the first was several months ago -- was an even bigger surprise than this meeting with Gray. “You are?”

Miller nodded. “We were aware of your potential even as a bluepill,” he said. He sounded almost proud. “*We* knew, even before you were approached by Zion.”

She smiled again. “You guys sure keep a close eye on things.”

“We have to,” he said knowingly. “Are you enjoying your work with us?”

“Yes, I am,” she replied.

“You’re sure?” The agent paused, stopping them both in the center of one of the nearly-identical rooms they’d been passing through. “You wouldn’t rather go back?”

“To Zion?” she replied distastefully. “No thank you.”

“I don’t mean back to Zion,” said Miller. “I mean *back*. To where you were before you were offered the choice, of red or blue.” He leaned in a little closer. “You know now that redpills can be reinserted into the Matrix,” he said softly. “You’ve even assisted some of them, both here and in the real world. You know it’s possible.”

She was stunned that he’d even brought this up. “Why are you—”

“We know you weren’t happy in Zion. We hope you’re happier with us, and we don’t want to lose you, but we also don’t want to keep you here against your will. Forced loyalty is no loyalty. So we offer you a choice -- an informed choice -- as to what you will do next.” He gazed down at her steadily, and when he spoke again his voice was both clearer and gentler than any agent’s she’d ever heard. “Do you want to go home, Kate?”

Illyria took a step back and looked away, staring at a patch of nothing on the wall. She had to admit that she’d thought about it…and not just a few times. But did she really want to go home? Could she willingly go back to her old life, knowing what was going on in the world?

Knowing how tenuous the truce really was?

She’d spoken with others about this, including Zionists, and had gotten mostly nowhere. She might as well have been beating her head against a brick wall -- it was frustrating and infuriating and there were times that she’d wanted to put a bullet right between their eyes, just so she wouldn’t have to hear their bull**bleep** until they’d made it back out of the loading area. (It was Machine technology, incidentally, that allowed them to do this...to not really die when their RSI died, but most of them didn't want to acknowledge it. Most didn't want to admit they owed anything to the Machines.)

The arrogance. The way some of them spoke. It was like they really thought *they’d* somehow stopped the sentinels from destroying the city, that *they’d* fought them off. Didn’t they realize that Zion’s counterattack, such as it was, had absolutely nothing to do with why their city hadn’t been reduced to rubble? Didn’t they know they never could have stopped the Machines?

And didn’t they realize the Machines still knew very well where Zion was?

Did they really think the city *wouldn’t* be destroyed if the truce fell?

She might not have supported their government’s policies, but she had nothing against the ordinary citizens of Zion. She didn’t want to see over two hundred thousand people die just because a handful of them were complete jackasses.

//Like the complete jackasses who denied the early AI’s the rights that any sentient beings -- that any *people* -- should have had. Like the complete jackasses who enslaved an entire race of thinking beings, just because those beings were different than them. It’s all the same, wherever you look at it, just the particulars have changed…whether it’s color, gender, race, or religion. Now it’s species, but it’s really just the same as it’s always been. Someone always has to be the ‘other’, the low man on the totem pole, the one who does most of the work and gets no credit. The one who the people in charge can blame all of society’s problems on, because of course *they* could never be at fault. The ones it’s OK to treat like they’re not human, like they’re not really people, because basically, by your definition, they’re not…//

//It has to stop. It *needs* to stop.//

//Maybe, if enough of us feel this way, it *can* stop.//

//They’ve already shown me the door, now all I have to do is step through -- *choose* to step through. Because how the world is, and how we view it and all the people in it, no matter what kind of people they are…it all depends on choice.//

Illyria looked back at Agent Miller. “No,” she said. Saying it out loud, she sounded a little surprised, even to herself. “No, I don’t want to go back. Not now. I don’t know, maybe someday, if things get better, but right now…” Her voice trailed off, and then she laughed. “I’m sorry, I know I’m not making any sense.”

“You’re making perfect sense.”

“You understood what I meant by all that?” she asked skeptically. The Machines were smart, but not that smart.

“Not exactly,” he replied, and then gestured towards the ceiling panel directly above them.

Illyria looked up, raising an eyebrow. She hadn’t noticed the small device between the lighting fixtures when they’d entered the room; she supposed it had been concealed until now. “What’s that?”

“An RSI scanner.”

“Oh, a lie detector,” she said.

“It’s much more sophisticated than a lie detector, Ms. Dodson.”

“A mind probe?”

Miller considered this. “That would be an accurate description. I hope this doesn’t disturb you…we do need to maintain rather high security in this area, we can’t risk anyone without the proper clearance getting in when Agent Gray is here.”

Illyria wondered what he meant by that, but decided (for once) not to indulge her curiosity. “Speaking of Agent Gray,” she began, “am I ever going to see him? My operator warned me not to be late, and I don’t want to keep the boss waiting.”

“You’re right on time,” Miller assured her. “And in reference to your earlier question, this meeting is to officially welcome you to our ranks. I believe others have referred to it as a ‘rite of passage’ leading to higher status…as well as more interesting assignments,” he said. “We are pleased that you’ve chosen to stay with us, Ms. Dodson. You, and others like you, will be helping to shape the future of the world we all share.” He gave her another very slight smile, as he had at the end of their first meeting. “Agent Gray is waiting for you. You’d best be on your way -- you wouldn’t want to be late, now would you?”

Was he making a joke? “Good thinking,” she declared, smiling back at him. “So where is he?”

Miller indicated the door on the far wall. “Just go through, Illyria. Just go through.”

[The Beginning]

Standing in the Doorway Part 2

Illyria watched the man out of the corner of her eye, wanting to give him a little privacy as he tidied up the last of his affairs.

He’d had enough. And now, he was going home…back to the Matrix, to his family and friends and what was left of his old life. It was possible to do that now, thanks to the Machines.

The Zionists didn’t approve, of course. Once a redpill, always a redpill. Once a Zion operative, always an operative. Or so they used to think. She only wished she could have been there to see their faces, when they’d first realized the Machines had started their own recruiting efforts among the humans they’d gone through such pains to ‘free’. //But those people had never really been offered a choice about it. Not an informed choice, not one where they were given all the facts and were allowed to decide for themselves who they wanted to support, who they wanted to ally with.//

//And God help those first ones who allied themselves with the Machines.//

She remembered hearing that soon after she’d come to Zion, spoken disparagingly about the redpills who’d chosen this very different path, but she realized now that most Zionists who felt this way were either afraid or ignorant -- they’d been fed a steady stream of propaganda for so long that most of them didn’t even know that the humans had struck first. She was just glad that her guild’s ships usually didn’t have to dock there. The Machines really did reward their operatives’ service, and a safe place to stay was very welcome. Illyria knew there were other bases the Machines had helped build (or rebuild), including those of other Machinist groups…groups that had been formed in the beginning, in secret, with no knowledge of each other until after the political climate had improved.

Illyria took another quick look at the man, nearly ready to go. Even he had asked her, when she’d come to his quarters to escort him to the ship, why she worked for the Machines. Those who continued to support Zion could understand (in a way) why other redpills might want to work for the Merovingian. He offered them luxury, and power – and while the Zionists might not agree with it, they could see how that sort of thing might tempt someone else. What most of them couldn’t understand was why one of their own number would support the Machines. And this man she was helping didn’t understand, any more than the Zion Council or Lock or Morpheus did.

//Morpheus was wrong,// she mused. //It’s not about power.//

//It’s about what’s right.//

“I’m ready,” he finally announced, with a broad smile.

Illyria smiled back at him graciously. “Come on then,” she said. “Let’s get you home.”

Standing in the Doorway Part 1

“Are you coming, Lyr?” came the question over the cell phone’s speaker. There was a more than a hint of concern in the operator’s voice.

“Just give me a couple of minutes,” she replied evenly. “I’m at the park -- the one I passed through earlier.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well, OK, just try to keep it short. We have to get back to Zion.”

“Ten minutes,” she promised, trying to hide her annoyance. //You can at least spare me ten minutes of normalcy, after I spent all morning running from exile gangs and the Merovingian’s henchmen for you.// “I’ll be at the hardline after that.”

“All right. But no more than ten minutes.”

“No more,” she repeated, then snapped the phone shut, shoving it into her jacket pocket afterwards. She was determined to enjoy her brief moments of freedom -- she welcomed any chance to return to familiar surroundings, to forget the squalor of existence underground, if only for a little while.

She’d only taken the red pill a few months ago, but she found herself wondering yet again if she’d made the right choice.

//Thanks a lot, Morpheus. Thanks a whole hell of a lot.//

Before she was recruited, she was fresh out of school with a degree in geology and an eye on graduate school. She’d wanted to get more fieldwork in before applying, but she’d never thought she would end up living beneath the surface of the earth she’d been studying. //Ironic, isn’t it?// she thought morosely. Once in the real world, she'd seemed like a natural for work in the huge caverns that held the human's underground city. However, her previously-unsuspected talent for both firearms and martial arts had made her a prime candidate for operative training…and since then, she’d been running missions for Zion, using every opportunity to return to the Matrix.

It was more real, and more pleasant, than anything she’d seen in the ruined world outside.

She sighed, leaning against the low stone wall that surrounded the greenery. She was close enough to smell the grass and the flowers, and she didn’t care that they didn’t exist in the physical world.

“Physical form has nothing to do with whether something is real or not,” said a calm voice from beside her. “Thoughts aren’t material things; neither are memories, or emotions. And no-one says they’re not real.”

Illyria blinked. She hadn’t realized at first that she'd spoken out loud. “I beg your pardon?” she said, turning towards the source of the voice…and raising an eyebrow when she located it.

From out of nowhere, it seemed, an agent had appeared. “Hello, Ms. Dodson.”

“Hello,” she replied, almost automatically. She’d seen system agents before, of course, usually near hardlines or during missions. They usually showed up as disinterested observers or to offer unnecessary advice about the dangers of working in the Matrix. Most people had trouble telling them apart, but she didn’t; she’d seen this one during a mission to seek out a potential redpill.

“Your performance against the exiles this morning was impressive,” said the AI. “As usual. You fight quite fiercely, for a human.”

She regarded him for a moment before speaking again. “Thank you.” She didn’t really know what to say. None of the agents had ever complimented her before, not even when she’d taken out three simulacra in front of one. This one, in fact.

“We’ve been watching you, you know,” he continued casually.

That was curious. “Really? Why?” It couldn’t be because she’d done something wrong or gone into a restricted area…she hadn’t been shot.

The agent didn’t answer. Instead, he gazed out over the lush vegetation, an island of nature in the middle of the city. “The Merovingian has been re-creating some of the worst of bluepill society among the redpills, don’t you think?”

Illyria shrugged. Inwardly, though, she agreed with him. The Merovingian appealed to some people’s greed and lust for power -- the lowest common denominator for humans. Redpills could be very powerful when they were back in the Matrix, and it was no longer just a rumor that some of Zion’s citizens had begun working for him. In her opinion, the rush to free as many people from the Matrix as possible had led to a dramatic drop in Zion’s standards. Anyone with a hint of Awakening was targeted, no matter their background or circumstances. The latest group of recruits had included an embezzler and a car thief. But that didn’t seem to matter, to the people in charge.

“But it’s not just the Frenchman, is it,” mused the agent, still gazing out over the park. “Even without his influence, most of the negative aspects of human nature would still be present among your people.” He turned then, finally looking back at her. “Many of them still hate us, do they not?”

Illyria looked away, strangely uncomfortable at acknowledging what she knew to be true. But she had never enjoyed lying. “Yes, they do,” she admitted.

“Do you?” he asked.

“Do I?” she repeated. She certainly hadn’t expected a question like that from him.

He nodded once. “Do you hate us?”

“No,” she replied, again being truthful.

“That’s good.” For a program, he seemed almost pleased with her answer, and he paused for a moment before speaking again. “As I said, we’ve been watching you. And we know that you haven’t been…happy…with your situation, as it is now.”

She didn’t bother to deny it. “How did you know that?” she asked. She’d always thought she’d done a good job of hiding what she was feeling from her neighbors and colleagues -- from the ones who hated the machines with a passion to those who’d turned Neo into the icon of their new religion. Illyria had the reputation of being quiet, good-natured, easygoing…mainly because she’d never let anyone else know just what was going on inside of her head. She didn’t want to be executed, or banished above ground to die slowly of starvation or radiation poisoning.

“Let’s just say that there are others who feel as you do,” the agent replied. “And they watch for others like themselves. They offer a choice, different than the one you were given before by Morpheus, because this is an *informed* choice. A choice that perhaps some of your people don’t want anyone to know about.”

Illyria frowned. “So why didn’t any of them come to me in the first place, if they knew how I felt?”

“Because you would have suspected them of secretly working for the Zion council, trying to route out possible traitors,” he said. “A system agent could not have that as a hidden motive. And if you seek them out, you’ll discover that there are many who believe as you do.” He smiled, very slightly, but it was enough to convey his intent. “I can only show you the door,” he said, handing her a piece of paper. “It’s up to you to walk through it. And we’ll be waiting for you on the other side.”

Illyria looked down at the paper; on it was a name and an address in the residential quarters of Zion. When she looked up again, the agent was gone. In his place was a rather perplexed young man, holding a newspaper and a cup of coffee.

“Excuse me,” he said, looking around in confusion. “Has the number 42 bus come by yet?”

“No,” she replied, glancing down at the paper again and then back at him. “It’s down at the end of the block, you just made it.”

“Thank you,” he said, still a little confused, and turned away from the park towards the approaching vehicle.

Illyria read the message again, committing everything in it to memory before hurrying back to the hardline. Once she’d returned to Zion, she’d have to look these people up.

//The Collective,// she mused. //Sounds good to me…//

This competition will be held Friday Sept. 16th and Saturday Sept. 17th on the Recursion server, at Club Avalon in Midian Park. The time each evening will be 9 PM Eastern/6 PM Pacific -- the men's competition is Friday, the women's on Saturday. Anyone interested in entering who hasn't signed up on the Recursion boards yet can either post here, or send Illyria1 a tell in-game!

There is a 1 million $info entry fee, which will go towards the prize for the winners.

Illyria