The long walk (apologies for no cut, but it probably affects you!)
He sat in his lab, musing as the code cascaded down the screen. For once he wasn't typing away, not working, not occupied.
He was lost in thought.
Were he human, he would say that he were plagued by conscience. With great power comes great responsibility so the saying went; he was beginning to realise this. The more you know about the nature of reality, the less you wish to unbalance it.
Confusion rose in his head. His thoughts were at odds with his Purpose, or so it seemed. He was designed to research, to develop. Perhaps his thought patterns were a new stage of development, a stage of personal development.
So many of his developments lay arrayed around him. Weapons and devices of hideous destruction, developments born through conflict. So many of them too dangerous to use now, he thought.
Were I to misuse them, I could do untold damage.
"Cole, you idiot" he berated himself "This is a funny time to start caring."
With this realisation, he set to work again, his usual creative fury replaced with an almost zenlike calm. Slipping an electrode headset on, placing the overlay monocular over his right eye, he started typing...
* * *
Out in the real world, a group of sentinels changed course and began to speed across the broken landscape towards one of the many blasted machine graveyards left after the war.
Landing amid the piles of broken limbs, engines and human remains, they began to search among the rubble, sorting parts, salvaging what could be saved, what was still functional.
They searched for hours, parts piled, sorted, catalogued into almost innumerable categories. Components...parts of so many, for a new whole.
* * *
Back in the laboratory, permutations of assembly flew through his head, possible schematics of anthroforms, compatability
hacks, assembly procedures, engineering texts, volume after volume...avionics, propulsion, power sources, micro-electronics.
So much information.
Not fast enough.
Need more processing power.
His eyes rolling up into his head, he diverted all unnecessary resources from the construct into processing power. The walls flickered and collapsed into pure code, leaving structures and data floating in nothingness.
The information came quicker now. Streams of information
Better.
* * *
The sentinels worked tirelessly, assembling a new body from that of those fallen in the old war. A humanoid body, augmented by a set of micro nacelles atop the shoulders to allow flight, necessary for travel over this landscape. Processors were implated wherever possible, neural nets merged and hacked together with a surgeon's precision, guided by a singular consciousness. One vision, one purpose.
Days later, the vessel was ready. All it needed was the spark of life.
* * *
How do I say goodbye, I wonder. It's not as if I'm really going.
* * *
The sentinels carried the body to an old communications array that had been used for rebel broadcasts in the machine war. It was soon hooked up to a matrix connection, and cables were laid out just so, a spiderweb of steel. A cradle.
* * *
All that remained now was to leave a legacy. The holding construct that would save his consciousness was ready, set to open but in two instances, when his anthroform was destroyed, or when he returned to the Matrix itself. Communication channels were set up between the anthroform, comms towers and the construct, as well as into the agency network. An interface was constructed to allow access to his knowledge base and rudimentary communication.
It was set. The laboratory returned to normal.
Removing a silver ring, he laid it on the table, stepped through one of the doorways, which then faded into the wall.
Emptiness.
Silence.
The transfer begun.
* * *
His consciousness flowed into the anthroform as systems began to spark into life. Feeling through new unfamiliar limbs he removed the umbilical cables and rose from his cradle. New eyes gazed in wonder at the Real World for the first time, seeing both machine life and that reflected in the half light of the scorched skies.
Pausing in wonder for a moment, his eyes rose to the audience of sentinels looking on in readiness, seeking approval for their efforts. His parents, of sorts.
Time to rise.
Lightning crackled over the nacelles, arcing over the cables and the floor. Guidance systems activated and he rose into the sky, a chromium angel followed by his retinue of sentinels.
* * *
I am free. No, not really. I'm still driven by Purpose to evolve, to grow. This is merely a transitory stage, another experiment.
So much for plan B, he mused, and sped off to the Machine City. To 01. He had an appointment to keep. He had already been notified.
* * *
The computers ran silent in the lab. Lying on the table was a silver ring.
It bore the legend: "Kallisti"
He was lost in thought.
Were he human, he would say that he were plagued by conscience. With great power comes great responsibility so the saying went; he was beginning to realise this. The more you know about the nature of reality, the less you wish to unbalance it.
Confusion rose in his head. His thoughts were at odds with his Purpose, or so it seemed. He was designed to research, to develop. Perhaps his thought patterns were a new stage of development, a stage of personal development.
So many of his developments lay arrayed around him. Weapons and devices of hideous destruction, developments born through conflict. So many of them too dangerous to use now, he thought.
Were I to misuse them, I could do untold damage.
"Cole, you idiot" he berated himself "This is a funny time to start caring."
With this realisation, he set to work again, his usual creative fury replaced with an almost zenlike calm. Slipping an electrode headset on, placing the overlay monocular over his right eye, he started typing...
* * *
Out in the real world, a group of sentinels changed course and began to speed across the broken landscape towards one of the many blasted machine graveyards left after the war.
Landing amid the piles of broken limbs, engines and human remains, they began to search among the rubble, sorting parts, salvaging what could be saved, what was still functional.
They searched for hours, parts piled, sorted, catalogued into almost innumerable categories. Components...parts of so many, for a new whole.
* * *
Back in the laboratory, permutations of assembly flew through his head, possible schematics of anthroforms, compatability
hacks, assembly procedures, engineering texts, volume after volume...avionics, propulsion, power sources, micro-electronics.
So much information.
Not fast enough.
Need more processing power.
His eyes rolling up into his head, he diverted all unnecessary resources from the construct into processing power. The walls flickered and collapsed into pure code, leaving structures and data floating in nothingness.
The information came quicker now. Streams of information
Better.
* * *
The sentinels worked tirelessly, assembling a new body from that of those fallen in the old war. A humanoid body, augmented by a set of micro nacelles atop the shoulders to allow flight, necessary for travel over this landscape. Processors were implated wherever possible, neural nets merged and hacked together with a surgeon's precision, guided by a singular consciousness. One vision, one purpose.
Days later, the vessel was ready. All it needed was the spark of life.
* * *
How do I say goodbye, I wonder. It's not as if I'm really going.
* * *
The sentinels carried the body to an old communications array that had been used for rebel broadcasts in the machine war. It was soon hooked up to a matrix connection, and cables were laid out just so, a spiderweb of steel. A cradle.
* * *
All that remained now was to leave a legacy. The holding construct that would save his consciousness was ready, set to open but in two instances, when his anthroform was destroyed, or when he returned to the Matrix itself. Communication channels were set up between the anthroform, comms towers and the construct, as well as into the agency network. An interface was constructed to allow access to his knowledge base and rudimentary communication.
It was set. The laboratory returned to normal.
Removing a silver ring, he laid it on the table, stepped through one of the doorways, which then faded into the wall.
Emptiness.
Silence.
The transfer begun.
* * *
His consciousness flowed into the anthroform as systems began to spark into life. Feeling through new unfamiliar limbs he removed the umbilical cables and rose from his cradle. New eyes gazed in wonder at the Real World for the first time, seeing both machine life and that reflected in the half light of the scorched skies.
Pausing in wonder for a moment, his eyes rose to the audience of sentinels looking on in readiness, seeking approval for their efforts. His parents, of sorts.
Time to rise.
Lightning crackled over the nacelles, arcing over the cables and the floor. Guidance systems activated and he rose into the sky, a chromium angel followed by his retinue of sentinels.
* * *
I am free. No, not really. I'm still driven by Purpose to evolve, to grow. This is merely a transitory stage, another experiment.
So much for plan B, he mused, and sped off to the Machine City. To 01. He had an appointment to keep. He had already been notified.
* * *
The computers ran silent in the lab. Lying on the table was a silver ring.
It bore the legend: "Kallisti"