Though his physical body was lying somewhere in the operational plant, Smith was only peripherally aware of the situation. His field of vision was occupied by a white glare and the predominating audio was random static feedback. Through the audio static he could just about pick out bits of conversation, though where they were coming from, he couldn’t tell. Since he had nothing better to do, Smith just lay there and listened, casually trying to make sense of any of the sounds, picking out only infrequently, distinct words.
“…resisting alteration…”
“…mutations…”
There was a wave of almost, fear and something else… pity.
Smith would have frowned had he any voluntary control over his physical form. He’d been almost convinced that the voice had been Brown, until he’d felt the emotional output… something almost impossible for a strategic unit.
“A virus.”
This time it sounded like Jones.
“A virus!” A different voice, followed by sinister laughter.
Despite the lack of empirical data about the situation Smith was secretly beginning to wonder if he was in some sort of cybernetic Hell, a test subject for the higher orders who were trying to see how much it would take for an advanced Agent to go mad. During the course of his studies about human psychology he’d come across an apt phrase for the current situation, “You go mad and all your demons come and get you just as fast as you can think them up.”
It was a pity that the particular standpoint held by the human who had written that phrase was only a theoretical one, since AIs, as a rule, generally didn’t go mad.
“A virus!” Lucifer began to laugh, clapping his hands together in delight at the absurdity of the situation.
“This isn’t funny!” Raphael’s disembodied voice resounded loudly, from nowhere in particular in the room.
“Oh, but it is. They think…” Lucifer trailed off into laughter again. “They think it’s a virus! Your precious alterations are just an abhorrence of code!” He leaned back in his chair, shoulders shaking in silent mirth.
“They were new instructions. A reasonable means to show the rebels their folly.” Raphael was deadly serious.
Lucifer said nothing, sitting up a little now.
“Your methods were not providing any results.”
“So you took the situation into your own hands?” Lucifer’s voice had dropped to a deadly hiss.
“The Seraphim want results.”
“The Seraphim always want results and I have always delivered.”
“This time you are taking too long.”
“Oh, really?” Lucifer scowled
“The Seraphim did not challenge my order update for 0.2.8.”
Silence was Lucifer’s only response, he sat back in his chair again, eyes loosing focus.
“0.2.8, report!” Lucifer practically barked down the communication channels. There was no immediate response. In what would have been a cafeteria space, had they been human, Brown kept staring at the table.
“Report!” Lucifer’s command sounded again. After a moment’s pause to see if Brown would respond, Jones relayed the information that Smith’s correction programming was still in process. He withheld the fact that it had been unsuccessful so far. Unless there were any new developments Smith probably had another 36 hours of continued existence before the system pronounced the errors incorrectable and he was deconstructed permanently.
“Jones?”
“Yes.”
“There is something about this situation… something that is incorrect.”
“Incorrect?”
“Yes.”
Jones waited for Brown to elaborate.
“I would like to discuss it with Smith.” Brown finally looked up at Jones.
“That is not within procedure.”
“Neither is the erasure of directly transferred source code from the Mainframe.”
“An Enforcer would not-“
“I am not so sure of that any more.” Brown stood up to leave.
“If Lucifer asks for a report I will not be able to withhold this information from him.” Jones remained seated.
“If I am wrong them my deconstruction will be required anyway.”
“And if you are right?”
“The appropriate action will be taken.”
It was that smell again, the smell of humans that made Smith slightly more aware of his surroundings again. He knew that it was just another manifestation of code, knew that it wasn’t really there but it didn’t help. Running through a list of human neurosis he supposed that he could be described as a ‘clean freak’. Which made Brown neurotic and Jones emotionally deficient.
There were humans in the room, four as far as Smith could tell. They were picking over the equipment that he was hooked up to. Peering at him cautiously. He could hear them muttering but couldn’t make out what they were saying. They were rebels then, he supposed. Had he been fully functional he would have killed them, as it was he could only lie there and think angry thoughts.
“They will destroy themselves.” The words came back to haunt him, perhaps Lucifer would have him deconstructed because of that.
“His is not the only way of dealing with the rebels.” Smith still didn’t know why he had said that. As much as he despised the rebels, hated human weakness, he understood the reason for the existence of Agents, understood their function: to protect the remnants of humanity, to keep the millions of souls safe in their dreaming. Rebels might come and go, with their alternative ideas, their violent means but the Matrix endured. Even if he was deconstructed there would always be others. There would always be more Agents and humans even, who existed for the single purpose, the establishment of Order over Chaos. A few would always be lost in the fight, deconstructed Agents, humans who fell for false promises, perhaps even some who found an end simply because they had completed their purpose. But that would change so little, the system would compensate and the Seraphim would continue to uphold the only reality that there was left.
20:55, 15/04/02