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DECISION MATRIX
Chapter 8: Pattern Recognition

I picked up the barrister’s landline and dialed the Belisarius. As my consciousness returned to my real-world body, I considered what to tell my colleagues about my foray into the London Financial District.

Our tap allows us to focus on an area of the Matrix and see what’s happening when we send someone in, but we can’t hear conversations. So they would know that Cleo showed up, that we’d had a drink together, and that we’d left separately. They wouldn’t know what we’d said to each other.

And they wouldn’t know about Davydd at all.

I opened my eyes, unsurprised to find myself in the ship’s operations area, with Zephyr at my side, removing the connector probe from my head.

He asked, “Success? Failure? Something in between?”

Hermes was leaning against the bulkhead, clearly waiting for my answer as well.

I slid out of the chair and turned so that I was able to see them both. “I’m convinced she’s able to handle the truth. She can feel the falseness of the Matrix world, just like I could. But . . . well. She’s dating.”

“An emotional attachment?” Hermes frowned. “That can be very difficult to negate.”

I shook my head. “No, that’s not it at all. She’s doing it out of duty to her class or her mother or something. Cleo doesn’t even hit that way. But she’s running from herself . . . trying to make her trans go away by force of will. Fortitude and pure thoughts, I guess. You get the picture.”

“Yeah,” Zephyr said. “How’s that working out for her?”

“About as well as you might expect. She looks tortured. Haunted. With flashes of ‘resolute,’ of course.”

Hermes made a noncommittal noise, then asked, “How did you leave things?”

“That’s the bad part,” I admitted. “She wouldn’t take my number. Said it wouldn’t be ‘wise’ to speak to me again. That’s when she walked out.”

“Ooof!” Zephyr looked about as gut-punched as I’d been.

Hermes shrugged and detached himself from the bulkhead. “You were in for close to two hours. Take care of business, then join us in the mess. You’ll need fluids.”

I threw him an ironic salute and trotted off to the head.

Hours spent in my misgendered Matrix body made me even more acutely aware of how right it felt to have a form that matched who I knew myself to be. Even something as simple as sitting to relieve myself, spreading my smooth legs, looking between the curve of my breasts and seeing the neat triangle of my feminine bush . . . .

“You are so beautiful . . . So perfect!” His warm voice was full of wonder, the sound of a man who has achieved his heart’s desire. The low light accentuated the planes of his face against the glossy black of his thick hair. His kind eyes were eager and full of longing as I settled back on the bed, naked and welcoming.

I brought myself back to the present moment, startled at both the clarity and suddenness of my waking vision.

I finished my business and took a few moments to clean up, using the time to get my thoughts under some semblance of control. My mind was at war with itself, caught between “Davydd is in London!” and “Who the hell is Davydd?” I knew that Noel Ferguson had never met the man. Knew it. But the memory was there, nonetheless, clear, detailed, achingly real.

It’s realistic, but it’s NOT real! I told myself sternly. Focus on the mission. There are more important things than mixed-up memories. . . . Or feelings.

To which the other part of my brain replied with a sneer, Right. Are you planning to try fortitude and pure thoughts?

The battle raged, but I couldn’t put off work indefinitely. I left the bathroom and headed to the mess, pausing at the door to take a deep breath and school my expression. Then I entered, strode purposefully to the table, and took a seat.

The drink they gave me was designed to restore electrolytes. It must have been exactly what my body needed, because for once it didn’t taste like backwash from a warm beer bottle. I gave them the full synopsis of my conversation with Cleo and fielded questions as I went along.

When I was finished, Zephyr said, “Sounds to me like she might have a hard time walking away from all the bowing and scraping. She’s a very big deal at that investment house. Even the bartender treated her like she was someone special.”

Hermes added, “Her elevated position is also, if I understand your earlier comment, at least part of the reason why she feels a duty to produce an heir.”

“Maybe,” I acknowledged. “But she’s hurting. Hurting a lot. All the success in the world isn’t making her pain disappear.” I looked down at my smooth hands, my narrow wrists. Remembering all the times . . . .

“You are so beautiful . . . So perfect!”

No! Not now!

I managed to wrest my attention back to the problem at hand, and the memories I had been searching for. Noel’s memories.

“Zephyr . . . Did you ever do a purge?” My question was soft. It’s not something every trans person would want to discuss – especially not with a cisgendered person present. But he would know I wasn’t prying for mere curiosity’s sake.

“No. . . Not exactly.” His response was slow and uncertain.

I looked at him, letting my expression ask the question.

“It’s different for trans men,” he said after a moment. “It’s not like we’ve got stashes of ‘forbidden’ clothing. We wear pants all the time. T-shirts, sweatshirts. No one thinks anything of it. . . .”

He was lost in a painful memory, but finally managed to continue. “There were a couple of times, though, when I tried to mentally kill off my male side. When I would wear deliberately frilly dresses and go over the top with makeup. Do something with my hair. Hoping that if I looked like a girl, smelled like a girl, maybe I’d finally convince myself that I was a girl.”

“Can you remember your emotional state, when you were in those periods?”

He nodded reluctantly. “I was young . . . I mean, Hermes red-pilled me when I had just turned twenty. My emotions were always a mess back then. Still . . . the closest I ever came to taking a jump off a bridge was when I was working so hard to be female. To kill off the person inside that I knew myself to be.”

“Right,” I said. “That’s what I mean. That’s where Cleo’s at. If I can just reach her, I think maybe I can save her. AND bring her out, of course.”

“Will she give you a hearing, though?” Hermes asked practically. “It sounds like she thinks she knows what you’re going to say, and has decided that she doesn’t want to hear it.”

“That’s definitely the problem.”

“Suppose . . . .” Zephyr sounded tentative.

Hermes didn’t. “No.”

I looked from one of them to the other. “No, what?”

“No, I won’t consider forcibly detaining her so that you can have a discussion. Not unless we’ve completely exhausted every other alternative.” Hermes kept his voice even, as always, but the strength of his feelings on the subject were clear. If we want people to be free, we had to respect their agency.

Zephyr nodded, looking relieved. “I understand.”

Hermes drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, lost in thought. But nothing came to him, either. “Alright. We’re not going to solve this tonight. Let’s sleep on it and reconvene in the morning.”

I returned to my sleeping quarters, shut the door and leaned against it. My eyes closed tight as I fought the chaos raging inside. The noises of the ship – the thrumb of the hovercraft motors – grew more noticeable as I shut out other sensory inputs. It was deep, rhythmic, mechanical . . . .

The noise was constant, the machinery always active, one shift giving way to another. The Alcan Aluminium job had been a godsend for Tad. We had a place to stay. Food on the table. Things were starting to turn around . . . . Why was he crying? He had a paper clutched in his hand, crumpled. Redundancy . . . .

My eyes flew open as the sound of a soft knock registered. How could I see Zephyr now? When Davydd was in London?

There IS no Davydd! my mind snarled in response. Reality is here. Here! And now!

But my heart cried out in negation, screaming against a boiling cascade of memories desperate to break through. Davydd! Help!!!

The knock came again, louder. More insistent.

I spun the lock, opened the door and pulled Zephyr in, seizing him in a fierce embrace.

“Woa! What’s wrong?” He had managed to keep an arm free and closed my door.

I didn’t answer. Urgently, desperately, I clutched him, kissed him, and nearly dragged him to my bed. “Don’t talk! Please! Don’t ask questions. Don’t think!”

“What . . . ?”

“Please!!! Please, Zephyr! Get me out of my head, before I lose my mind!!!”

He stopped me. “Noelle! This isn’t you. What’s happening?”

I was almost in tears. “Don’t! Please, don’t!”

He gently but firmly stepped back from my embrace, holding my shoulders and staring into my eyes. “No. You need to tell me what’s going on.”

“Is that some kind of order?”

“If it has to be.”

I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath. Steadied myself. We’d been intimate, but Zephyr was, and always would be, the XO of the Belisarius first. I was acting like a lunatic; he couldn’t just let that pass.

When I was sure I could manage it, I opened my eyes and looked at him with some semblance of calm, of normalcy. “I’m sorry. I’m fighting my own demons, and I had no right to drag you into it. I’ll be fine, now.”

“Noelle. Talk to me.”

I was absolutely not ready to do anything of the sort. What would I say? Gee, Zephyr, I think I met the man of my dreams in the Matrix? Oh, and I’m having visions. “I can’t. Not tonight.”

I could see that he was torn, but in the end, my firmness and calm demeanor must have convinced him that any danger that existed wasn’t immediate. The first officer had no cause to get involved, and as a lover he had no right to force answers I wasn’t ready to provide.

“Okay,” he said, with noticeable reluctance. “If you’re certain you’ll be alright.”

“I’m certain. . . . but, thank you. Really. Just . . . a lot to process. Okay?”

His conflicted look didn’t abate, but he gave my shoulders a final squeeze, released me and went to the door. He gave me one more questioning look, but I didn’t say anything else. “Good night, then.” The door closed behind him gently.

I sank down on my bed, my head and my heart both pounding. Before I dealt with Zephyr — before I dealt with anyone — I needed to process what I’d seen and what it meant. Was I imagining things? Was I having flashbacks?

What’s wrong with me?

“You banged your head, and they’ve got a bandage on it. What you get for playing on river rocks, girl!”

“It’s not my fault, Tada!” I protested. “Davy was chasing me!”

“Sure, and I don’t doubt you were chasing him before then. It’s always one or the other.” I could hear his smile, even though the bandages kept me from seeing it.

Oh, God! How on earth was I going to sleep?

~o~O~o~
Breakfast had never looked less appetizing. Not that it was any different than any other breakfast I’d poured into a bowl since I’d joined the crew. But after a restless night filled with vivid and often disturbing dreams, I wasn’t remotely in the mood.

Zephyr was carefully not watching me. Dakota, Abhaya and Hermes were having breakfast too, while Blake and Kai were elsewhere covering the essential systems. Hermes, Zephyr or both had filled in the rest of the crew on my report from the prior day.

Dakota was looking thoughtful. “I think you’re right, Noelle. I . . . I remember purging all my clothes. I just did it once, and I lasted for almost a year. It was bad, though. Probably the worst time of my life. If that’s where Cleo’s at, she’ll want out.”

Hermes said, “if she feels a strong family duty, or has a powerful emotional attachment to her mother, it could keep her from making the jump, though.”

I shook my head. “She feels trapped. Her mother wants grand babies, and I guess Cleo lost her brother so now it’s on her. But it isn’t what she wants, and she still longs to just be the woman she knows herself to be. What we offer — reality — actually frees her from the trap.”

“Cleo might not see it that way,” Zephyr cautioned. “Her mother will still be in the Matrix, pining for the grandchildren her son’s no longer there to give her.”

“Noelle Bach, you’ve got to listen! There will be other children! You have to live for them!”

“He’s given up, Mam. How can I go on, without him?”

The memory hit me like a sledgehammer, but I suppressed it with a supreme effort of will.

“Her ‘mother’ — one of the two people who presumably contributed to her DNA — is in a three-by-seven pod,” I said brutally. “All that her angst and mental energy accomplish is to provide a bit of electrical power for a bunch of machines.”

“Noelle,” Zephyr said with quiet urgency. He waited until he had my full attention. “They’re captives, but they’re still people. People with hopes, dreams, fears . . . . If Cleo’s mother loses her only remaining child, she will suffer, and that suffering will be real to her.”

“Until the next Matrix reset,” I retorted angrily. “Then she won’t even remember losing her boys. Hell, she might have new memories that include grandchildren! It’ll be 1995 again, but she’ll be five years older than she was the last time it was 1995!”

I found that I was on my feet, almost shouting, and forced a steadying breath before concluding vehemently. “Inside that damned world, our emotions are fake because our memories are fake. Nothing in it is real. Nothing!!!”

Everyone was silent, so stunned by my outburst that they didn’t know what to make of it. Finally Hermes gently said, “Sit down, Noelle.”

I glared at him, but he met my hot gaze calmly. After a moment, I sank back into my seat.

“What happened to you yesterday?” Zephyr sounded confused . . . and hurt.

I bit back a hot denial. I didn’t want to have this conversation. Didn’t want to think through the implications. But . . . they deserve to know. HE deserves to know.

I tried to exclude everyone else from my vision. From my thoughts. “Zephyr . . . do you remember when we talked about dreaming that you were a man, back when you were still plugged into the Matrix?”

Looking puzzled, but encouraged by the fact that I was no longer shouting, he nodded. “Yeees.”

“And when I suggested that my dreams of being a woman had been, umm, explicit, you said something like, ‘Oh, those dreams?’”

His face reddened. “Yeah.”

“Did she have a face? The woman in your dreams?”

“I mean, yeah. Certainly. I’d remember if she didn’t.”

“Would you recognize her if you saw her again?”

“Of course not. It’s not like it was the same person every time! Just a generic . . . .” Suddenly, he turned pale. “What are you saying?”

I looked around. Everyone was looking at me with rapt attention. “Dakota? Abhaya? Did you ever dream that you were the right gender, back before Hermes rescued you?”

They looked at each other, then at me.

“I . . . I did. Yes.” Dakota’s voice was subdued.

Abhaya shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

“I had those dreams,” I told them. “Back when I was plugged in. I dreamed I was a woman, and that a handsome man was loving me. When I found out about the Matrix — and about my real-world body — I thought maybe my subconscious had been trying to tell me all along that I was a woman. You know what I mean?”

“That’s what I always assumed, too,” Dakota said.

Zephyr appeared lost in thought.

“I was wrong,” I told them. “It was a memory.”

Hermes raised an eyebrow. “You sound certain.”

“I am. Because I saw him yesterday, at the pub. I recognized him immediately. Without even thinking about it, I knew his name, and he answered to it.”

“The man of your dreams?” Dakota asked, skeptically.

I shook my head. “No. I saw him in my dreams, but what I’m telling you is that it’s a memory, not a dream. And ever since I saw him in the Matrix yesterday, more and more memories keep coming to me. Memories of being a girl, of being a young woman. . . . Of being Noelle.”

“I don’t remember what the other people in my dreams looked like,” Dakota said, a tendril of distress creeping into her voice. “You mean it was real?”

“I don’t know!” I threw up my hands. “I have a whole lot of memories that seem equally real, that absolutely aren’t. I remember being a boy in 1975. Playing football in high school in the mid-1980s. But it’s always the late 90’s in the Matrix, so all of those memories are obviously fake. How do I know that the things I’m remembering now weren’t also created by the AI?”

She tried to corral her emotional response and think about the problem. “Would memories from the late nineties be real?”

“Real?” I asked. “What’s ‘real, in the context of that damned Matrix?’”

Abhaya grimaced. “Yeah, good point. Ordinarily, this is where Zephyr would toss out a theory, and Britt would roll her eyes and go pump iron.”

Everyone seemed to be looking at Zephyr, and Zephyr seemed to be looking at the table. The silence stretched.

Without raising his eyes, Zephyr finally said, “if my consciousness shared an experience with another human consciousness in real time, I would consider it a ‘real’ experience, even if it occurred in the Matrix.”

I thought about that. It made sense, as far as it went. “But . . . how would you know which memories fit that description? The AI can generate memories that feel just the same as the ones you describe.”

“I think . . . I think Dakota is right?” Zephyr sounded very tentative. “The AI wouldn’t manufacture fake memories from the late 90’s; the whole point of doing a reset is to restart the clock to sometime in 1995. Pre-1995 memories would be like an AI-generated ‘backstory’ for each new Matrix update, but memories after that would be ‘real’ according to my definition.”

“You think.” My head was throbbing again. “But the AI has the power to overwrite the memories of anyone who’s plugged in, anytime and for any reason.”

Zephyr finally looked up, and he gave me a rueful smile. “It’s just a theory. We don’t know why the AI does things, but everything we do know suggests that it operates according to internally consistent logic. Acting randomly, arbitrarily, is contrary to its nature.”

“I miss Britt,” Abhaya said.

Hermes — the only person at the table who had no experience of being gender-switched in the Matrix — had listened to the discussion without comment. He tapped a finger on the table.

“This is important. I’ve been unplugged for 41 years. I’ve seen lots of Matrix re-sets . . . . I’ve experienced January of 1998 seven different times. And in all that time, I’ve never once seen anyone recover memories that were deleted during a reset.”

He let that sink in before continuing. “It’s important, and we’re going to want to think through the implications carefully. But, we still have a mission, and that has to take priority right now.”

His calm gaze swept the table. I felt myself sitting straighter. Right. The mission. At least that’s something I can understand! I nodded, and saw the rest doing the same.

“Noelle, I want you to work with Zephyr and Dakota to develop a plan for reaching Cleo and for an extraction operation. Use the Matrix tap for research. Abhaya, you’ll need to relieve Kai in the cockpit.”

We all nodded and pushed back from the table. We had a lot to think about, but we had a job to do first. Thank God.

~o~O~o~
We talked. Did research. Kicked around ideas and tried to think of backup plans. But in the end, what Zephyr, Dakota and I brought back to Hermes was less a plan than a set of options, none of which sounded particularly likely to produce success.

Zephyr summarized. “Based on our research, the only places St. Claire goes on a regular basis are work, home, and the pub. She goes other places, obviously, but it’s sporadic and unpredictable. Work seems pretty unpromising – packed full of people and the place St. Claire probably most associates with a male persona.

“That leaves home or the pub. I think attempting to approach her at home and after hours is the best of our bad options, especially since I think – and Dakota agrees – that Noelle should avoid the pub based on her reaction to the man she met there. Davydd. Noelle thinks St. Claire’s staff would turn her away if she showed up at the door, so the home route probably entails a break-in.”

“Which creates the possibility of people getting hurt,” I interjected. “The staff. Cleo herself.”

“And you,” Zephyr added pointedly, looking unhappy. “I didn’t say it was a good option. Anyhow, the last possibility is sending an email message to St. Claire’s Blackberry. We were able to find the number. On the plus side, we limit the risk of someone getting hurt, and maximize the odds that St. Claire – that Cleo – is receptive before going any further. But it’s easy to ignore an email or just say ‘stop bothering me.’”

Hermes looked at me. “How are you feeling?”

I shrugged. “The memories keep coming. Just flashes; nothing coherent. I seem to be able to work around it, but I’ve got a Louis XVI-level headache.”

He sat and thought for a moment, then said, “All right. Let’s start with the email. If that doesn’t work, let’s go with getting you into the house after hours. I don’t like it, but I like the pub even less. Every time you return to the same spot, you increase the odds of being caught by an Agent, and the Davydd connection is a complication you don’t need.”

I grimaced. I didn’t like the fact that people seemed to think I was coming apart at the seams because of my memories, but I’d probably do the same thing in their shoes. I was acting strange. So I went back to the Matrix monitoring section with Zephyr and Dakota and worked on drafting an email. Because I knew Cleo and they didn’t, they largely left it to me.

Zephyr looked at my draft. “Okay, that’s cryptic. ‘I have critical information about our mutual position that you should consider before making the investment move we discussed last night. Is there a place we can meet? Noel.’”

I nodded. “Yeah. We don’t know whether anyone else has access to her Blackberry. And obviously she’ll run if I give away too much about the real situation.”

“Give away too much, and she’ll have to choose a pill,” Zephyr agreed. “Alright, I think it’s worth a shot. Dakota?”

She shrugged. “It feels cold. But . . . I guess that can’t be helped?”

“I don’t think so,” I responded. “Cleo won’t be moved by sentiment right now. She knows what she wants and doesn’t want. But she feels trapped. If I suggest that there are facts she doesn’t know about, she might at least want to hear me out.”

“Well . . . okay,” she said. “Here’s hoping.”

I sent the message through our tap into the Matrix and we all sat for a few minutes, waiting.

Nothing happened.

After five minutes had passed, Zephyr said, “We don’t know how long it will take to get a response. But Noelle, you clearly didn’t get any decent sleep. You should rest for a bit.”

“I’m not sure I can,” I confessed.

“I may be able to help with that.” He made a placating gesture, lest I misconstrue his offer. “I’m a professional quality therapeutic masseur. Maybe if we can get your body relaxed and stop your head from exploding, you’ll be able to sleep for a few hours.”

“I’m on shift for Matrix monitoring this afternoon,” I reminded him.

Dakota touched my arm. “Go ahead, hon. I’ll take it. You’re going to need your ‘A’ game tonight, if we’re lucky.”

Zephyr led me back to his quarters, which were essentially the same as mine. “I’ve got a few things here that will be helpful,” he said as he spun the lock and opened the hatch.

I stepped inside and turned to face him. “Zephyr . . . I’m so sorry. About last night, and about what a bitch I’ve been today. I just . . . I can’t begin to tell you how all of this is feeling.”

He touched my cheek lightly. “It’s alright, Noelle. I’m here for you. Now, go lie down on your stomach. I’ll be able to do a better job if you remove your tunic and your bra, but it’s up to you.”

My feelings were sufficiently conflicted that my head hurt even worse. Was I betraying Davydd by being with another man? Was Davydd even real? Would it really matter if he was? I might remember him, but he wouldn’t remember me. And, inside the Matrix, I didn’t look anything like Noelle.

But Zephyr, bless him, was only offering a massage. And surely I could trust him. More, certainly, than I could trust myself, given how I had thrown myself at him the prior evening. Without breaking eye contact, and without doing anything to emphasize the sexuality of the action, I pulled the tunic over my head, unhooked my bra and set both on his chair. Then I went and lay down.

Whether he had acquired his skill the old-fashioned way or learned it in our simulators, Zephyr was extraordinarily skillful. He used some sort of scented oil on his hands – I wondered where he had gotten it – and they glided over the skin of my back and arms. His fingers found each muscle group and worked through every knot, slowly and gently. He slowly manipulated my neck and shoulders, even my fingers. Then he began on my scalp and my throbbing temples.

He was right. My headache began to recede and my body felt boneless. My consciousness began to separate . . . float . . . drift . . . .

“Oh, God! Noelle! What have you done!!!” Her voice was loud, distressed. But somehow distant.

I couldn’t see her, but that was alright. I couldn’t deal with Mam’s distress anymore. I couldn’t even deal with my own. Little Bronwyn gone; my Davydd wouldn’t be far behind. At least, we’d all be together soon . . . .

I felt my consciousness begin to fray, to dissolve, as Mam’s voice faded away . . . .

~o~O~o~
I woke, momentarily disoriented. Where am I?

Who am I?

I opened my eyes to a dimly-lit room. A homespun blanket was covering me, tucked under my chin. The Belisarius. I’m on the ship. Zephyr’s quarters.

“Zephyr?”

A form rose from one of the chairs. There was just enough light to make out his face when he came to stand by the bed. He stroked my cheek with the back of his fingers, lightly. “How are you feeling?”

I reached up and twined my fingers with his, pulled his hand to my lips and kissed it. “Thank you. How long did I sleep?”

“Three hours, more or less.”

“Any news?”

“You got a response to your email. She wants to meet you again . . . at the pub.”

I thought about that. “I can do it.”

“Not alone, woman! Not this time.”

I smiled up at him. “Will my pixie come with me?”

He growled at the reminder of his diminutive female persona in the Matrix. “Judge me by my size, will you?”

I kissed his hand again. “Never.” My dreams came back to me, and I squeezed his fingers. “Zephyr . . . I think I know why I ended up as ‘Noel Ferguson’ in this last reboot of the Matrix.”

His eyes were lost in the shadows, but I felt his gaze just the same. “Tell me.”

“Noelle – the old Noelle – was married to Davydd. They had a child . . . a daughter. She was beautiful and perfect, and God, they loved her . . . .” I was struggling. It helped to use third person. Yes, it was Noelle. But not . . . exactly . . . me?

“There was an accident . . . a car, a washed-out section of road . . . and Bronwyn died.” My efforts at detachment failed. “My little girl . . . my precious little girl! And Davydd was badly injured.”

My mind flashed the image of Davydd in the hospital bed, heavily bandaged, his left arm completely gone as a result of the terrible wound to his shoulder. His eyes, haunted, avoided mine.

“He gave up. Didn’t want to live; blamed himself. Finally, Noelle . . . I . . . took a bunch of pills.”

Zephyr was gripping my hand fiercely.

“I think I was dying when the Matrix reset.”

“But why . . . why would the AI care?”

“You’ve said it yourself, ‘Professor.’ We can’t know why the AI does what it does. Maybe it was just random chance. But maybe the psychological damage to ‘Noelle’ was so deep that it made sense to just eliminate her from the new Matrix world.”

His free hand stroked my face. “And now?” His voice was full of concern. Care. Love, even. “Can you go on, carrying those memories?”

I thought about that. And the more I thought about it, the angrier I got. Not the anger of the morning, which had caused me to pound the table and shout. No. This was a cold anger. A focused and deadly anger. A righteous anger.

The fragment of a song came to me in a flash, one of Noel’s memories. He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored . . . .

“Yes,” I answered softly. “Oh, yes! Because I want to crush that damned AI, more than ever. There was no ‘car accident.’ It was just a randomly assigned element in the AI’s video game, after which some algorithm scored Bronwyn as a casualty and assigned Davydd some crippling injuries. He wanted to die. And then I did. But our choices didn’t even matter.”

I looked up at the good man, the fierce and competent man, who had fought and fought and fought, but never stopped asking questions. Never stopped trying to figure it all out. “I want to find a way, Zephyr. If Cleo’s the one, I’ll fricking drag her out of the Matrix and force her to see the truth. Force her to help. The machines must be destroyed.”

He was quiet for a while, thinking about what I had said. Weighing my words, no doubt, with scales precisely calibrated by his fine analytical mind.

He is sifting out the hearts of men, before his judgment seat . . . .

But eventually Zephyr reached a decision that appeared to satisfy him, both as a man and as a ship’s officer. “All right, then. Are you ready to get back to work?”

Be swift, my soul, to answer him . . . .

“Yes, sir. Let’s do this!”

To be continued . . . .