MATRIX The Diamond - Cycle Standalone Matrix fiction C.S.I Lord of the Rings Miscellaneous: |
Into The Dark
Prologue "Nancy Garner!" Graduation.
I've made it! I'm sitting here with
all my mates, waiting for them to call my name. Since this year they do the
alphabet backwards, I'll be the last. How fitting: I've always been the last,
the slowest, the oldest. It's not
because I'm stupid or - as they like to call me here - slow witted. But all the
others here are pulled from the pods. They have jacks in their heads so they can
pump information into their brains at dizzying speed. I have to _read_ and learn
by heart. What they do in about 3 months takes me a year or
so. "Hideo
Funemono!" So I
watched many of them graduate while I was still learning like crazy. But today
is my day! I can see Gordon on his crutches sitting in the rows together with my
sister and my big brother. They are damned proud, I know. I wish my parents
could be here... "Nicholas
Chandler!" I'm an
awesome hacker, no doubt. And I've always dreamed of being a fighter, like my
brother George. They call him Dozer out there! Still dunno if they do because he
can look pretty tired or because he's build like a
brick-shithouse. "Michael
Boudreaux!" That's me.
I get up and I surely grin like an idiot when I receive my diploma and my
dispatching form. I am now officially an operator, and in three days from now
I'll be on my first ship. Whoa! But first we'll have the ultimate party
tonight. I can
hardly wait to run over to my people. When I finally do, they all embrace me. I
lift up my sister and whirl her around. She is proud but also sad: she knows I
will leave soon and may get hurt or even worse. Gordon is
an ever-present reminder: We had planned to graduate together, but I had been
sick during the finals, so I had to repeat the last year. While Gordon lost most
of his right leg during the first months out in the
sewers. Boy, that
was hard on him! I mean, he's an impressive appearance: 6'4", slender, long
jet-black hair. Quite a Casanova. And now he's 21 and crippled. Zion had lost
one of its best pilots. If he's lucky they will give him a prosthesis and he can
go back on duty instead of spending his life here, doing some job on welfare
like most veterans. By the way:
Gordon is definitely my best friend. We grew up in the same street on C-level.
We know each other so well that most of the time we know what the other one is
just thinking. Psychic! First Day There she
is! The Mayflower. The ship I'm supposed to be the operator on. Here at the
docks it is always very busy, ships coming and leaving, getting maintained. Damn
bright lights all over the place and now that I am standing in front of that
flying monster I feel very excited. I can't
remember if I've ever seen a newly built ship. This one, like every other, is
obviously aged. Buckles all over the hull, signs of repair like patches of
steel, fresh set bolts directly beside rusting old ones and a hatch that opens
with reluctantly with screeching hinges. But these
things kinda fly. Isn't that amazing? Nature has not planned to make us ever fly
- we'd have wings then - but mankind has forced this privilege no longer to be
one of the winged creatures. Makes me feel proud in a way. OK, our
ancestors have screwed it, really. But I am positive we have learned from our
mistakes. If you think of the stories from the past, about all the
discrimination and other stupidities, as I see it we have definitely learned a
lot. I mean,
look at me: black and gay. Or Nick Chandler: muslim, half chinee (nobody knows
about the rest, really!) and blind. We should be struggling minorities. But we
aren't. We are of the same worth as any other. Somehow at Zion you always belong
to some ethnic, religious or whatever minority - so there's no sense in
discrimination. "Hey, what
are you waiting for?" a red-fuzzy-haired guy calls down from the hatch, ripping
me out of my reverie. I hurry up
the stairs, offering my hand with a smile. I think I'm a nice guy and most
people like me - just as I like them. Besides, being polite is a crucial thing
if you want to get along with others. At least that's what I've
learned. "Hi! I'm
Mich -errm, Tank." I have to get used to these aliases! The guy
just nods and turns away while he starts talking: "Nop's the
name. Come-on, I have to show you your room." I follow
him to a small single-room that is supposed to be my 'home' for the time being.
I open the locker, but Nop wants me to come and see the captain first. I follow
him, but I could have done the search myself: most ships are built the same way
so if you change the ship you don't need to study the blueprints to know where
to find the mess or the
bathroom. My captain:
Karma. A bit shorter than I am - 5'10" maybe - piercing blue eyes and black
hair, the usual pale white skin. Quite a remarkable mixture. He's matrix-born.
For some biological reasons I don't quite understand most Matrix-born people
never develop a good build. They always stay skinny and don't have good
articulation or stamina. Physically they're rather weak. I am 6' and
all muscles. I'm not narcissistic, but the looks I get speak their own language.
I've always been a good wrestler at school. But it wasn't too hard to defeat the
skinny 'pluggies'. So like
most of them, my captain is skinny, the plugs in his arms standing out from his
sinewy arms like what they are: artifacts. He musters me
thoroughly. "Zionist?"
it's not really a question. "Sir, yes,
Sir!" man, I'm nervous. "Well,
welcome aboard. We got quite some work for you. You're dismissed." He turns back
to his papers. I give him
a proper salute and leave to unpack my stuff. The First
Week We leave
soon after and I get a short introduction to what this ship's task is and what
the operator's task is here. Not too thrilling: maintain the system and grant
successful re-boots when they have to down the system due to sentinel-attacks
and use of EMP. Man! I can
re-boot these babes even while in a coma! I can dictate you the bootstrap
without seeing the panel, which isn't too easy, but once you really understood
what you do, it's not a miracle at all. The
Mayflower will be out for a long time, do cartography work of unknown - or
better forgotten - parts of the sewer-system. Most time they'll be out of reach
of any transmissions. But I'm
lucky: I get a last mail from my friend before we're out on our own, on the
second evening. Nop carries it in to the mess while we're all sitting at
dinner. We, that
are: Karma, the
captain Nop, the
mechanic Jazz the
pilot with ash-blonde hair that stands from his head in
spikes. Blast,
Krash and Lightning: three fighters. And me.
An all-male
team and all but me grown on the fields. Harsh guys with rude manners, marked by
the life out here. There we sit when Nop comes in, holding a sheet in his
hands. "You got
mail, Tank!" He calls out but won't hand me the thingy. Instead he starts to
read it out loud. What an asshole! This is private mail. Well, I'll just sit and
let him do it, if that's what he wants. No need to argue on the first
week. " 'Dear
Mike! I hope you get this before you are gone for the next months. I'm very
sorry I couldn't come to your farewell-party, but you know how my parents
overreact sometimes. They are happy you're gone and they think I'll be back to
'normal' now. They will never understand that I'm just gay and nobody's to
blame. Especially not you! I will positively miss you and wish that you're going
to find some delicious guy out there to keep the cob-webs off your sweet butt.
Love ya lots, Frank.' " I can see Nop's face twist with disgust as he reads
through the letter. Now he drops it, "Oh man, a fag!" "Why do you
call me names?" I ask Nop. I'm not used to this. At Zion people are tolerant, as
long as you don't cut in on other's rights. Do what you want, believe what you
want, be what you want. And now Nop's standing there, after he read a letter not
meant for him and tries do define my by what I do in my bedroom! What a
narrow-minded view is that? "Man, are
you really a fucking shit-eater? Jeeze, I can't believe what they sent us!"
Krash slaps his forehead. The others
stay quiet while I feel the blood rush to my face. Not because of shame. There's
nothing to be ashamed about. But to call me that! And even if I was, it wouldn't
be his business. I don't question what turns him on, right? OK, I should try to
explain it a bit, since they don't seem to have any knowledge about the
subject. " I'm into
guys, yeah. But I don't eat shit or whatever you think. I mean, I don't call you
bloodsucker, only because you're into women. It's just as clean." I try to
explain to them that there's nothing to be disgusted by or
so. "Watch your
tongue, Tank! Don't ya ever compare me to your perverted acts!" Nop growls with
a risen index-finger.. It's hard
to believe. They act so homophobic like I've only heard of in the stories from
people pulled off the Matrix. In fact, I only came to know that word -
homophobic - when I met a nice Matrix-born guy at the 'RatKing'. That's one of
my hangouts at Zion. A place where you go when you want to be sure not to bump
into straights. The rest of
the dinner passes in silence. But I'm positive they will find that I'm just
another guy and a good operator. They don't have to have sex with me - I'm here
to fight for a common goal - nothing else. And they will come to like me and
maybe forget their fears. The First
Month I haven't
yet taken place in the operator's seat. They have a lot of things to do for me:
clean the recycler, the bathrooms, the showers. Do the dishes and the laundry,
mopping up. In fact since I came here the ship has become much cleaner! It was a
rather filthy place and I doubt they all go and shower
daily. Somehow I
get the impression that they do their best to keep me busy with these low jobs.
It's hard to imagine somebody can soil a toilet like this and not do it on
purpose. This
morning Blast came up with a blanket, handed it to me and told me to wear it as
a skirt, since I was such a fine lady. I was close
to let him taste my fist. But that wouldn't help. I just ignored him and went to
work. Now I've just finished the weekly recycler-checkup and soak in the spray
of the shower. It's a good feeling to get rid of the dirt and sweat of a long
working day and I'm humming a melody, one of the latest hits at
Zion. The shower
is a metal frame that holds plastic sheets, blind from years of cleaning. I've
never seen a new cabin, but I guess these sheets have been clear decades ago.
And it's rather narrow. Free space is luxury on the ships and everything is
crammed. I constantly collide with the walls of the cabin. The shower
has no regulator for temperature or amount of water. Just a button you push and
then you get water - as is - for 10 seconds. Most times it's rather cool,
sometimes freezing cold. And never warm enough to warm you
up. Of course
they have to keep the shower-times short and the amount of water used low.
Otherwise the recyclers would collapse. It's recycled water anyway - cleaned for
the umpteenth time. Only drinking water is not recycled, well, as far as I know
it's not. As I step
out of the cabin, Nop, Krash and Blast are there. "Hey
Cinderella!" Nop grins. I ignore
him. That's not my name. I'm a bit afraid of what they are into right now. I get
me a towel and start drying myself. It's a very strange feeling to do so under
their watchful eyes. Not that I'm shy. I have a good build, but it's a bit
different if you know you are watched by _hostile_ people. At least that
prevents me from embarrassing situations. With my actual state of mind I
wouldn't get hard, no way! Then I
realize I can't find my clothes. They're not where I hung them on the hook.
Blast has his hands behind his back. I stretch out my
hand. "Gimme my
clothes, Blast." "Dunno
whatcha talkin' 'bout." Blast doesn't stir. "Listen, it
was funny, OK. But now give me my clothes back, it's getting cold." My hand is
still stretched out, waiting for what is mine. The steel floor is damn cold and
my bare feet are freezing already. "Here,
honey: your skirt!" Nop slaps a blanket powerfully at my chest, "Put it on,
Cinderella!" "Fuck off
-" but they catch me completely off guard, a fist rams into my lower ribs and I
double over. Suddenly they are all attacking me. It's my luck that I stagger
backwards into a corner, so they cannot get at me at the same
time. But the
first blows were hard and I am struggling to keep my stand. Finally they leave
me alone, commanding me to better put on that skirt. Like hell I
will! Slowly I
check my body: nothing broken, it seems. Only my ego, maybe...I cuddle up in my
room. That small, dark, cold, lonely room. First had had been disappointed
because it was a single room. Meant no chit-chat with anybody. Now I'm glad I
don't have to share it with one of them! I'm staring
around: the light with the protective grate around it, the buckled locker and
the small wash-basin in the corner. It was quite some work to clean the place. I
can't fight the rust but at least it's as clean as could be. I hung up some of
the drawings I took along from home: my sister, my brother and
Gordon. I wish I
had taken along a second blanket. It's really damned cold out here on these
ships. Partly because everything's made of steel and that sucks up all
warmth. Second
Month They all
call me Cinderella now. We had a rendezvous with another ship that brought
provision for us. I did most of the work while the others were mostly chatting
with the other ship's crew. Not that I wouldn't have liked to hear the newest
gossip, too! That was
three weeks ago, and since we haven't had any contact with other ships. The
Mayflower doesn't go to Zion too often - would take too much time to go to and
fro, they say. I could
spend two graveyard-shifts at the consoles, but since this ship isn't searching
for potentials we hardly ever watch the Matrix. At least I could fiddle around
with the computers, write some small programs. The system is in mediocre shape.
It could run faster and more reliable if I had the time and opportunity to
optimize the settings. It clearly speaks of an administrator who never got a
proper training. That's all
delight I get here. They are unfriendly and even my attempt to complain at my
captain hasn't helped. Karma
mumbled something about tough guys and rough jokes and that I shouldn't take it
too serious or personal. Not personal? Even Karma calls me
Cinderella. Their
'jokes' are sometimes raw physical attacks, sometimes mean things like flushing
the toilet while I clean the recycler or throwing dead roaches into my food. War-wise
nothing ever happens. Third
Month "Damn! I
just can't find the bug!" Jazz curses. "Stop
wailing and get to boot this cursed system!" Karma kicks Jazz butt who crouches on the floor below the
table. We had been
attacked by four sentinels and they had shut down the system to use the EMP. Now
they are trying since three hours to re-boot the system. Without the computers
we're deaf, blind and mute. We must re-boot them, pronto. Finally I
cannot longer stand in that corner and watch them. They can't even enter the
proper bootstrap, although they have the manual! "Let me do
that, OK?" I still try to be nice and friendly. I have sworn to myself that I
will not allow them to break me. My ancestors have gone through much harder,
longer ordeals. I owe them to get through this with as much dignity as
possible. Jazz is
about to throw a wrench at me but Karma stops him with a single glance. Asshole
or not, this guy controls these people absolutely. His word is their
gospel. And I
re-boot the babe! On the second attempt I have the kernel up and it starts to
mount its devices. Long lists of stats-info scroll down the screens. I know by
heart what to do. A few minor problems due to obsolete drivers can be solved
within half an hour. 180 minutes
after I had loaded the bootstrap the ship's system is up and running.
Considering the badly maintained components this is surely a record. For one and
a half hour I was like in another world. I didn't
assume to get a praise from them, and there comes none. For two
days they don't bug me after that. By night I
am often awake, thinking of Zion, my friends there and the warm, loving people.
Sometimes I cry until I fall asleep. I haven't known how lonely a man can
be. Fifth
Month I have lost
weight. Not because they withdraw my food. But I am so terribly lonely, so
deprived from any positive social and physical contact, I develop a nervous
stomach and often can't keep my food. They beat me more often these days and
sometimes I'm so weak and tired that I do wear that skirt because they will not
bug me then. These are days I can hardly stand my face in the mirror, when I
would give a finger for a friendly word, a hand for a loving
embrace! I spend
more or less all my time off in my cabin, the door locked. This is the only
place they have never gotten to so far. My castle, my refuge. I have given up
hope we will ever make friends and the next time we meet another ship, I will
try to stay there. My body is covered with bruises of all ages, they should
believe my story. Every now
and then I manage to put an old sheet aside, so I can draw a picture. But they
are terrible: I can't seem to sketch anything positive these days. All I manage
is angry grimaces. Slowly I
get used to the constant pain. They rough me up at least once a week. They never
appear alone - they are still afraid because I am still stronger than one of
them. But they seem to pop up out of nowhere, no matter where I am or what I do.
Sometimes I just don't want to leave my room. I have tried, but they broke the
door open and kicked me out into the hall. Then they sealed the door and I had
no place to sleep for three nights. I cannot
escape them. I have
stopped talking. There's nobody to talk to and nobody who'd listen
anyway. Instead I
have trained my mind to fly: what they provide as work for me doesn't keep the
brain too busy. So I let my thoughts fly home, dream of places to be and things
to do, of loving people and friends. This is my escape, and they cannot take
this away from me. I wish I had taken some books along! Seventh
Month I am sick.
My body aches all over and I have at least two broken ribs. They had tried to
make me eat their feces. But not all their kicks and curses could make me do so.
Finally they closed my nose and waited for me to open my mouth. I didn't. I was
stronger and finally faded. When I woke
up, I was covered with it. I was so disgusted that I puked where I laid. In the
shower I took off the soiled clothes and scrubbed my skin like
crazy. I can't
seem to get rid of the stench, the feel. Even now, hours later as I lie on my
bunk I can still feel and smell it. I will not
wait until we meet another ship or get home. I will run away if there's any hope
to get away with it. I don't know how much longer I will be able to stand
this. I want to
be dead. I wish I
could cry, but there are no tears left. My body is sore and my soul is numb. I
know that I act more like a robot than like a human being.
I had never
thought it could be like this! I was aware
of the dangers of fighting in a cruel war. But there have always been friends
around. I have never been alone. I can hear them sitting in the mess, joking. I
hear their laughter and long to be with them, to end my isolation. Although I
know they don't accept my presence. I stick to myself whenever I can, dreaming
of better days. There must
be a better time to come! Without
that hope I'd be dead, I'm sure. Eleventh
Month This
morning I attacked Nop. He had come to the bathroom when I cleaned it and he
directly pissed over my hands. With a growl that sounded like nothing a human
throat could produce, I jumped from my crouching position and slammed my fist
directly into his face, breaking his nose and smashing him against the
wall. I wiped my
hands off on his sweater, washed them and left him wailing in the
corner. Now as I do
the laundry, I make plans for my escape. I have attacked one of them and they
surely will not accept that. And I'm not in the mood to wait for their revenge!
I have to leave tonight. I could take along some of the dried goods and some
water. Zion is very far away! But at school you make survival-training and I
just have to remember what they taught us there. Desertion.
They will
incarcerate me for that. Anything
will be better than this ship. What a
nightmare! I like
doing the laundry. It's by far the cleanest and warmest room on the ship and the
smell of freshly washed clothes and curd-soap is strong here. And they seem to
avoid this room for whatever reason. The door
opens and Karma enters, followed by Krash, Nop and Jazz. "What did
you think, Cinderella, to attack my first in command?" Karma
snarls. And without
a warning, all four of them are over me, beating me until I go down, kicking me
into the kidneys, against the head, everywhere. All I can do is lie there,
rolled up and covering my head with my arms. Out of
nowhere a knife appears. They pull me up and cut my pants open, pulling them
down. Gracious
Lord! "No!" I whisper hoarsely. They throw
me over a stool, pulling my legs apart until it hurts. The blade is on my throat
and for a second I take into consideration to push my throat against it to
finally put an end to this. But I want
to live! God, I am
only 20 years old, I want to live and love! What did I
do to deserve this? They take
turns. My screams fill the air. No pain like this!. At some point the pain is so
bad that I fade. As I come
to, I don't move. I just lie there and listen to my body. Pain all over. Like
fire shooting through my body, throbbing. If anybody would have told me how many
variations of pain somebody could feel all at once, I would have laughed. But
this tops it all. Blood
trickles from practically every opening of my body, I spit out a tooth. My lower
lip is split. I struggle to my feet. I feel dizzy and have to steady myself.
Half naked I'm crawling to my room. This is hell, no doubt. I only wish I knew
why I was sent here. But if this
is hell, I can't even die to put and end to it... The
End Glaring
light blinds my tortured eyes. I raise a hand to protect
them. "Get up,
pack your things. You'll be taken to Zion and answer for your attack against an
officer!" It is Karma. I don't
move. I don't care. Let them dump me right here or shoot me - what difference
would that make? Karma kicks
against the bunk, "Get up,
Cinderella! The other ship can't wait." Other ship?
I will get out of here? Oh my gosh! As fast as I can - which is not too much in
my state - I pack my bag. Karma leads me to the main hatch. I can see another
ship is docked. I walk over and Karma bids his farewell, telling them to be
careful because I am dangerous.
Leave a
Light On First Day "Come-on.
The captain wants to see you." A bald white man with a goatee leads me to the
captain's room. There I
stand, staring at the floor. No salute. No trust. "You
attacked an officer, Tank? I should lock you up, that's the routine. But I will
give you another chance. You may move free on this ship as long as you are
obedient and behave yourself. Anything you have to say? Tank?"
Still
staring at my toes I neither answer nor do I acknowledge what he said with a nod
or so. I am tired and aching and I don't want to see
nobody. The captain
sighs. "Cypher
will show you your room. That's all for now." I'm
dismissed. The other guy shows me a single room and I collapse on the
mattress. I didn't
move for about 20 hours, I think. I am terribly sore and don't want to move, but
my body has needs: I need to go to the bathroom. But I don't dare, am afraid of
the pain. I am sure my rectum is ruptured. I wait another hour, then it is
simply too urgent. I go to the bathroom and it hurts like hell! I nearly scream.
Then I crawl back to my room and fall asleep again. The next
time I wake, there is some food on the floor. The mere look of it makes me sick.
I have a fever. I need medical help. I should go and see their medic. But every
move hurts so badly, I don't know how to get there,
really. But of
course I don't die of it. I manage to enter the core and move to the med-bay,
only to find it empty. But voices from the mess make me turn and I walk over and
lean against the door-frame, asking them who would be the
medic. My lip is
so swollen my mumbling is hard to understand. They all stare at me, mouths
agape, eyes wide. The medic
is a rather old fellow - in his late forties. There was no need to ask for him:
as soon as he sees me he jumps up. "Gracious
Lord, lad, what happened to you?" the man leads me to the med-bay and closes the
door behind us. "I had a
fight." Mumbling with a sore throat. "Didn't
your parents teach you that fighting millstones is of no use? Take off your
sweater, please." The man tries to cheer me up. But it doesn't reach
me. He checks
my face and says the nose might be broken but since it's not dislocated the best
would be to simply leave it alone. He finds two cracked ribs and countless
bruises - of course. When I tell him about my tooth, he asks me to sit under a
lamp. "I can't,
Sir. I think that I have a rectal rupture. I was bleeding, you know? And it
hurts, Sir." He gives me
a strange look. "Would you
then take off your pants and underwear and lie down on your stomach over here?"
He points at a stretcher. I comply,
undressing with stiff limbs. The stretcher is cold and I shiver as I lie down on
it. He doesn't touch me but he sighs. "Boy, I
need to get some stuff from the loading bay. I'll be right back." He covers me
with a blanket and leaves the room. Minutes later he's back. I can hear the door
open and close again behind me. But he's not alone. He lifts up the blanket. I
feel terribly exposed. "I want you
to witness this, Morpheus. These bruises are of very different ages. - Tank, did
you have more that that one fight?" "Yes, Sir."
"I don't
want to hurt you, Tank. Try to relax." Then his
hands touch my butt, spreading me open. Panic gets a firm grip on
me: They are
going to do it again! With all
strength that is left in me I whirl around and try to beat him while I scream at
them. The medic jumps backwards as the other man gets hold of me. His arms
embrace me like steel bars. I struggle to get free but that's of no avail - he
is so much stronger. "Don't you
touch me! Don't! Please..." I stammer on and on. Suddenly I feel very weak and
tired, guess they have injected some drugs. In the short moment of calm, just
before I fade I can see the medic's face: very pale and sad. And from behind me,
the man who still holds me tight is talking to me: "It's OK
son. Nobody's going to hurt you here. Don't worry, you're
safe..." Week
One I have no
idea how long I was knocked out. I am still in the med-bay, and can remember
several half-wake moments when somebody was feeding me or otherwise caring for
me. Looking around I can't see anybody and the door is closed. The fever is gone
and the pain too, more or less. Raising my hand I try to touch my nose. There's
an IV ending in my vein, but I can't read what it is. Not that it really
matters. The door
opens and I can see the captain coming in with the medic on his
heels. "I am
Morpheus, the captain of this ship. Do you remember?" as I nod he continues,
"How do you feel today?" "I'm not
sure, Sir." My voice sounds less hoarse but my throat is dry, "Please, could I
have some water?" They
patiently wait until I have downed a whole mug of water. That's good, just what
I needed. "Tank, will
you tell us what had happened on the Mayflower?" Morpheus asks me. He comes
directly to the point. I don't; turn my head away. There are a
few minutes of silence, only the sounds of the medic who's working in the
background are to be heard. "Tank,
while you were here we took X-rays and they tell a story. I ordered your file
from Zion and I cannot believe you attacked an officer without being forced to
do so in a way." Morpheus goes on. What does he want? He wouldn't accuse another
officer anyway. What would it change if I'd tell him about the past months?
Nothing. "Tank, we
can't help you - " Morpheus takes on again, but I cut him
off. "Help me?
Who do you think you are?" I am terribly angry, "Can you give me that tooth
back? Can you make me whole again, huh? You cannot undo this humiliation and
neither can I. So I prefer to forget about it. I don't want your help and I
don't need it!" my glare cannot stare him down, so I turn away and close my eyes
to make Morpheus understand I consider this conversation to be ended
now. Week
Two I am
healing slowly. At least my body is. Tonight I decided for the first time to
participate their common dinner in the mess. They try hard to behave normal, but
I can feel they don't really know what to do or what to talk about. I can see in
their eyes they know what had happened. Good. Then they'll know also that I'm no
longer willing to swallow. Across from
me sits a teen, hardly 15 years old small, all skin and bones. His name is Mouse
- really fitting! He fires away with questions and strange theories that make me
smile now and then until the guy to my right - Apoc - tells him to shut up. Just
like this. Two words and Mouse shrinks, visibly retreats into his too big
clothes, muttering under his breath. Most of the
conversation is between the medic - they call him Fitter - and the two women who
belong to the crew: Trinity and Switch, now that Mouse has stopped
talking. After about
an hour they disappear one by one. There's nothing for me to do, so I stay on my
place. Finally I am alone with Morpheus. I can as well do the dishes now. While
I work at the sink, Morpheus starts to talk. "You're an
operator, right?" he asks me. "Yes,
Sir." "I thought
we could need you. If you want to, I'd like to keep you on this ship." Morpheus
tilts his head slightly, waiting for my answer. Stay here?
I don't know. I didn't like the way Apoc and Mouse acted during dinner. I could
perfectly see me on the Mayflower in that picture. And here I am again the only
free-born. Why should they be different? "I'm not
sure, Sir. Can I think it over?" "Of course
you can. Will you work with us in the meantime?" his face lights up a
bit. "Sure, Sir.
Thank you for the offer." First
Month They seem
to be rather nice people here on the Nebuchadnezzar. So far nobody ever said
anything negative about free-born. But I am still cautious and won't tell them
I'm gay. We work and eat together and sometimes Mouse or Trinity comes to my
room to chat. Mouse wants
to learn more about computers. He sucks up everything I can tell him like a
dried sponge. He's a funny guy and really obsessed with computers. He is already
coding for the construct, and he does it rather well - as far as I can tell from
outside. Mouse
hardly ever keeps his mouth shut and slowly I can see why Apoc sometimes
silences him. But he has funny ideas about things and he makes me laugh more and
more often Cypher is a
cynical man who tends to stick to himself. But he tries to be
nice. Second
Month "Blondes
with endless legs. Ah!" Mouse sighs "You
wouldn't get one, Mouse!" Cypher chuckles. "What type
of gal you prefer, Tank?" Mouse is asking. This is the type of guys' talk that
really bores the shit outta me. I mean, I get along with women. Some of them at
Zion are my closest friends. But now I'm sitting here with the others and they
are dreaming of things only a straight man may understand. What to say? I would
have never thought that I would conceal my preference in men, but the past year
has told me it might be better. "Ah, you
know, the body is not so important." That's a good answer, I guess. Quite
wishy-washy. "Yeah, in
reality! But what if you could _choose_ the chick of your dreams? Whaddaya like?
Big boobs? Or more the androgynous ones?" Cypher's gestures make clear what
exactly he means. "Chocolata!" Apoc sighs, "no matter what
build." His eyes are sweeping the room. "Watch it,
Apoc, Switch may hear that!" Mouse giggles. "Reminds
me..." Apoc grins and leaves the room, not without a mock slap on Mouse's
head. Ah, damn! I
have no idea! I can't relate to the things that drive them on! Whatever they
tell, it's exactly what turns me off. Big boobs! Heavens, no! I should leave,
the sooner the better. "I'm tired,
folks. Night." I hurry out of the room.
"Not
exactly your subject, huh?" Apoc stands in the hall and grins
mockingly. "What you
mean?" My heart skips a beat. Do they know? Was that a
test? "You know
exactly what I'm talking about, Tank." Apoc whispers and disappears in Switch's
room. Third
Month Things are
much better by now: I can eat like normal, my stomach takes everything without
complains. I'm gaining weight and muscles again. All bones are
healed. I like to
be with the new crew. I've signed a contract for this ship. Especially with Trin
and Mouse I spend a lot of time. They're like sister and brother to
me. Slowly I
come to realize how much I had changed during the time on the Mayflower. How
much of a shell I had built up. Now it's cracking and falling apart again. I am
changing back to my old self and that feels good. It's like stretching and
unfolding after being forced to sit for too long in a too small chair
. Only nights
like these, when Switch is with Apoc in his room - right beside mine - are hard.
They are not exactly quiet and the inevitable sounds of lovemaking outline my
own loneliness in a rather cruel, painful way. I realize
that it has been more than one year since I had sex for the last time. One year!
Back at Zion one week would have been a catastrophe. Well, on the Mayflower
there had been nobody I fancied. They were dirty and mean. But here it's
different. There's somebody on this ship... But I can't. For several reasons: it
would mean I had to out myself and besides he's definitely off
limits. I cover my
ears with my pillow until I fall asleep. Fifth
Month "What do
you think?" Apoc asks me. We are watching a potential during a night-shift. Apoc
couldn't sleep and decided to come and chat a bit. The operator's chair has
become my second home, so to say. I am happy here. This ship makes up for what I
have been through before, no doubt. "Ah, forget
it. She's just fooling around in that chat-room." I want to change the scene,
but Apoc stops me. "Wait." He
puts his hand on my forearm to keep me from typing. And then he
leaves it right there. That's a nice feeling and it produces goose-bumps on my
back. He gently squeezes my forearm, "Aren't you
lonely, Tank? All these dark nights you're alone in your bunk..." Apoc
whispers. Oh my gosh!
What is happening here? Slowly I pull back my arm. Not that I like doing it, but
I cannot allow this to happen. A profuse blush covers my face. This was the
first touch in a very long time and I am completely
startled. "What are
you doing, Apoc?" I try to sound as puzzled as possible. Oh, how I
crave for contact! It takes all control I have not to throw myself into his
arms, to finally feel the warmth of another body against mine. What an irony: I
cannot allow myself to get what I want and need because I need to protect
myself. From what? What for? "You know
exactly what I mean, Tank." Apoc rises and leaves without another
word. For days
Apoc tries nothing and this makes me belief it had been nothing but another
test. But by night I'm haunted by dreams. I could drown in his eyes and I would
want to wrap myself around him like
a blanket to keep him warm. To keep me warm. There's only tiny gestures that
might mean something, but then they may not. I wake in
the middle of the night, realizing somebody's in my room. My heart beats like
crazy and it takes some seconds to realize where I am and who it is. Apoc,
sitting on my bunk! "Easy,
Tank." He whispers. I fall back
on the mattress, "Man, you scared the shit outta me!" Apoc's hand
is on my shoulder and slowly slides down my naked arm, making me shiver with
pleasure. What does he have in mind? "I'm sorry.
I didn't want to scare you." His voice is so soft, it is as much of a caress as
his touch. I am melting. How much I need this I realize only now. Apoc's hand
cups my face, caresses my throat, "I wish I could mend your
soul." Something's
breaking inside me. Apoc is tearing down the last remains of the walls I had
built up on that cursed ship and I can finally wash them away with tears I
haven't cried in such a long time. I grab his arm and cling to it like a
buoy. "Don't
leave me!" I stammer between sobs. He won't.
Instead he holds me tight while the last poison is washed out of my soul. And
even after I stop crying, he stays with me, holds me as he slips under my
blanket. Arm in arm we fall asleep. The
End. |