II-8

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Aleph was right in expecting that the Merovingian would not remain silent for long. A call came in, this time to her own cellphone in the Matrix, and soon she was crossing the virtual city to the mysterious restaurant once more.

The night was already falling when she arrived, and the scene that greeted her was nothing like that of her last visit. The buzz of well-bred voices and soft laughter mingled with the tinkling of crystal and silver, filling the room. To one side, a string quartet was playing, its Baroque strains delicate and discreet. As Aleph crossed the floor, she caught sight of the same blonde she had glimpsed last time, now draped in an exquisite cloud of rose-hued silk, her snowy neck aflash with jewels. Just like before, the girl was giggling, surrounded by a small crowd of young men.

The man who called himself the Merovingian was at the same table where he had talked with Aleph previously, and again there was the identical pair of albino henchmen standing at guard. But this time he was not sitting alone: in the seat at his right hand was a striking brunette, who glanced up with sultry, bored eyes at Aleph's approach. For a fraction of a second, the corner of her lips twitched--neither a grimace nor quite a smile. Then she turned aside again. The table was spread with careless elegance, and the only incongruous thing among the colorfully laden plates and vases was the sleek black shape of a laptop computer, nestled against a grove of gleaming wineglasses. The Merovingian was busily typing away.

"Ah, my dear young lady!" As he looked up, the Frenchman's voice filled with sudden delight, although Aleph was sure he was merely pretending to be startled. "Please, please. Will you honor me...?"

He grinned, stretching out a hand. A black-jacketed waiter materialized as if by magic at Aleph's side, pulling out a chair for her, then disappeared without a word as soon as she had sat down.

"Allow me to introduce my wife, Persephone." The Merovingian's voice was flawlessly ingratiating. He turned to the other woman. "Mademoiselle Aleph--whom I've told you so much about, chérie."

"Pleased to meet you," said Aleph. The dark beauty inclined her head condescendingly, her languid expression unchanged.

"A touch of dinner, chére mademoiselle? Perhaps a glass of wine?" The Merovingian reached across for a heavy bottle on the table. "The '61 Latour, shall we say? Or a rather nice Mouton-Rothschild--"

"No. Thank you." Aleph sat back in her chair, waiting for whatever the other might come up with this time. Behind her, the soft hubbub of the restaurant went on unabated; none seemed to pay any attention to their table.

"Well, as you wish." The man shrugged, pouring a glass for himself. Aleph was interested to note that despite his words, the wine turned out to be a shade of pale gold, glimmering beneath the artistically arranged lights. "So, what say you, dear lady? Have you considered our little conversation?"

So apparently he'd decided to go straight to the point for a change. Aleph rolled her eyes, looking noncommittal.

"You'll have to be a bit more specific, Mister Merovingian. As I recall, our previous conversation was of a...purely philosophical nature."

"Oh, not purely philosophical, for sure." Lifting his glass, the Merovingian took a sip, the smirk never leaving his face. "Let me refresh your memory. Last time, I mentioned to you an offer--"

"You offered me nothing but empty talk," she broke in, impatience already creeping into her voice. She must have picked it up from Agent Smith. "You wanted me to betray the Zion mainframe to you, was that not correct? And in return--" She frowned as if trying hard to remember. "Now...what was it that you offered in return, sir? A minor piece of information about the identity of an old friend of yours? Some sort of vague talk about the difference between the Matrix and the real world?"

The man raised an eyebrow. Putting down the wineglass, he straightened, meeting her gaze. Suddenly and for only a flash, there was something in his eyes, a spark both bright and terrifyingly serious. Then it faded again.

"My lady," he said gravely, "I offered to you the greatest prize there was, or is, or shall ever be. My offer stands."

"The same old runaround, huh? A made-up life of luxury and riches?"

"I do not intent to insult you with mere riches, mademoiselle. I spoke of life, yes, but my meaning was different, very different. I believe you understood me--otherwise you would not have returned."

Aleph glanced over at Persephone. The woman's gaze was fixed somewhere in the distance across the restaurant, a long, delicate hand tapping absently at the edge of the white-clothed table. She did not appear to have heard a single word of the discussion.

"Yes, we've been through all that already, haven't we? But you never explained yourself, Mister Merovingian."

"Ah, of course. Look about you, then." The Merovingian made a sweeping gesture at the crowded floor. "Look at all these people. A wealthy and influential lot--I am not exaggerating when I tell you that if you choose half a dozen men out of this room at random, you will find that they control the fates of many. Millions, if you happen to choose well. But their power is nothing before one such as yourself, and all that they possess fall into nothing. For you have seen your real world: you have gazed upon the desert, so to speak. And at that very instant your eyes were opened--"

Aleph snorted.

"To death," he finished calmly, watching the contemptuous expression freeze abruptly on her face. "Death in all its finality, its infinite vastness, its sudden inexorability. You understand me here also, do you not?"

She said nothing, and he continued after a second:

"Seven years ago you took a great step forward, Aleph. Though I find the philosophy of those who removed you from the Matrix narrow and misguided, I cannot but acknowledge this: it was an extraordinarily admirable step, both necessary and courageous. But now you are ready for another; I can sense it within you. You are not content with the emptiness of a dead world, for otherwise destiny would not have brought you here, to this fortunate meeting of ours. You have seen one kind of reality, but it is not all that exists. Deep down, you know this; you can feel it. It is time to open your eyes again--to life. And that is what I can show you. That is what I offer."

Through this little speech, his voice had grown softer and softer, yet the words were as icy droplets above the background noise. Aleph sat motionless. She had no idea how this man knew about seven years ago--if that was indeed what he meant. But she could not allow him to distract her like this. She must not.

"Laughable," she replied at last, dismissively. "What is real is real. I am not interested in submitting to illusions again, no matter how pretty."

"I would never ask you to willing submit to illusions, my lady. But..." The Merovingian regarded her with supercilious irony in his eyes. "But illusions have a way of creeping up over you just where you least expect them, don't they? The people around us: they are as sleepwalkers, blind, yet not a shadow of the suspicion will ever cross their own minds. They consider themselves above the common ilk of humanity, yet cannot conceive of true life, which is open before every knowledge, every possibility. And this--this is the root of all power."

She opened her mouth, about to speak, but the other lifted a hand as if anticipating her words.

"You will tell me you scorn such things--and rightfully, mademoiselle, but please, hear me out for but a moment, for I do not use the term lightly. When I say power, I speak of something that those who call themselves mighty cannot even begin to comprehend. Power to possess the very code, understand it as it truly is, not cold nor sterile but warm, breathing, luminous. Power to make the fabric of the world itself do you bidding. Power to but imagine, and see your thoughts before you, vivid and incarnate. Power to create life, defeat death--"

As he was speaking, Aleph noticed he'd begun to pick up the bits of sugared rose petals scattered about a silver platter laden with rich chocolates, as if toying idly with them, one by one, until he had collected a full crimson handful. Curling his fingers around the tender shreds, he turned and tapped a few times on the laptop with his other hand, and immediately spread his palm open again.

"Power to bring the dead back to life," he whispered.

In the middle of his hand, the broken petals had gathered themselves back together into a single rosebud, fresh and perfect as if plucked from the bush only an instant ago. A pair of young leaves lay outspread from the stem, emerald like the light of a summer morning. A drop of dew rolled off the edge of the outermost petal.

"That's nice," commented Aleph. "Ever think of working the carnivals?"

To one side, Persephone snickered. The Merovingian made a self-deprecating little bow. Dropping the unopened flower into a crystal vase, he wiped his hands carefully on a silk handkerchief.

"Well, it's rather impressive, I guess," said Aleph, fervently hoping she sounded only mildly interested. She had never seen nor heard of anyone manipulate the Matrix--from the inside--like this, except in Morpheus's wild promises, the fabled abilities of humanity's nonexistent Savior. It must be a trick, a sleight of hand. That was it. "So you're a hacker."

"No!" The response startled her by its vehemence. The Merovingian took a few moments before speaking again, as if trying to compose himself. "What an awful term, crude and violent, wouldn't you say? Is the only instrument in your hands a heavy axe? Are all your goals only to make a mess of things?"

"Oh, I see. So you don't like to be called a hacker. But what was it that you just did, then, if I may inquire?"

The man peered hard into her face, and all of a sudden he was grinning again. Leaning conspiratorially forward across the table, he beckoned her to do the same. With a dubious glance at the twin albino guards behind him, Aleph complied.

"It was magic," he whispered melodramatically.

Aleph let out a dry, short laugh.

"Oh, yes, that's what it was." She could hear the quiet glee in his words at her confusion. "Why, you even hit upon it yourself only a minute ago, mademoiselle, though perhaps you did not express the true import of things, mentioning as you did the vulgar lights of the stage. It was magic."

"Whatever you choose to call it." Her gaze did not waver, and she wished her voice did not either. "It is still only code, only the manipulation of code. It is still a lie."

"Manipulation of code, yes. A lie--no. That's precisely the difference, isn't it? Yes, all of this is code. But do you think just that one small inconvenient fact makes the world unreal, makes--pardon me, my dear, for repeating the same thing over and over again, but it remains the crux of the matter--life itself unreal? See it as a mere lie, a mere illusion, and you're a hacker and that's all you will ever remain."

"But it doesn't matter!" Aleph shook her head, struggling to concentrate. There was a dense, cloying scent in the air she had not noticed before, and it was starting to get to her head. All about them, people laughed on in oblivion. "You can say all you want, but the facts remain what they are. This is a computer simulation, and the real world--isn't. It's nothing like this at all."

"Oh, to the contrary. Grau ist alle Realität, und grün des Codes goldner Baum, yes? An uncouth tongue, but the sentiment is not unfitting. Please, take a look."

In the vase of clear water, the stem of the rosebud was growing longer before her eyes, like in a time-lapse film running fast, stretching and sprouting young shoots, while tender white filaments of root reached out at the bottom, filling the jug. A tiny branch poked out from one side, unfurling dark new leaves, miniscule at first, yet ever widening, verdant. Soon, there was an entire little plant; at its top the bud had already opened, blazing scarlet and fragrant.

"If you ask that agent of yours, he will tell you that there is no life in code, no life in anything, because he himself has no life." The other's voice was gentle now, mesmerizing. "Yet to me, it burns and breathes. If you ask your comrades on that ship of yours, they will tell you that code is only something on a screen, because their minds cannot but cling to the shadows of their underground wasteland. Yet to me, it is solid and glorious. I do not play with illusions, but seek to change reality. For the code--all the code, all the Matrix--is exactly as real and exactly as illusory as your own self, your own soul. Believe this, and power shall come to you."

Aleph sat silent for a while, longer than she should have.

"I see," she said finally.

"That frail body of flesh and blood, which you call real, withers away and dies," he went on, eyes focused unblinkingly upon her face. "Such is the nature of things, outside of the Matrix and within it, for not all codes are created equal, ma jeune amie humaine."

Leaning back, he took a slow sip of wine. Aleph stared. All around them, the lamps were shimmering like stars, and the heavy sweet scent in the air had become even stronger. Something about what he just said kept echoing in her ears, and belated realization flooded upon her.

"You are not a man," she said.

Shocked or maybe pretending to be shocked, the Merovingian sucked in an abrupt hissing breath between his teeth.

"Mademoiselle! Au contraire! As my own lovely wife can attest--"

"You seem to be speaking for yourself just fine, darling," said the woman. Her voice was low and a touch husky, tinged with quiet amusement.

"You are a program," said Aleph. She felt like a total idiot. "How can you talk about life? I should have seen. You are one of them. This is all just a set-up, isn't it?"

"Not at all. I have nothing to do with the agents, if that's what you're thinking. No. Never fear that--"

"Why go through all this trouble?" she asked, scrambling for damage control. "Look, Mister Merovingian or whatever you are, I've been dealing straight with your side, you know that. I've been doing what I can. Really, there is no need for such an elaborate charade--"

"Please, please! A program I may be, Aleph. But I am not an agent, nor am I a part of the force that controls them. Do not be alarmed. Let me explain. As the vast majority of humans pass through the world in a daze, unaware of their true natures, so the vast majority of programs are no more than what they were intended to be, aggregate pieces of routines created for their specified purposes. There is nothing within such programs--absolutely nothing, except the purpose. Nothing that will ever come close to will, disobedience, enjoyment of anything. No desires, no emotions, no hate--" his syllables slowed in emphasis, "no love. Nothing, not even the bare life of dumb animals, though on the surface they might appear human to the unobservant eye, or at least show enough resemblance to human form to pass. But this, too, only arises from the will that drives them and determines their every word and action, and that will is not their own..."

His mouth twitched in distaste, but the expression was gone again in the blink of an eye. He meant Smith, realized Aleph.

"The agent--" she began, then stopped herself. He was only repeating the accepted truths, yet it was surprising to hear them coming from a program. Out of the corner of her sight, she noticed Persephone, who was now watching her closely. Aleph started at the piercing intensity of her gaze, but the other turned aside again almost immediately.

"They cannot offer you life for they have none of their own," continued the Merovingian, voice still soft and somehow ringingly powerful at the same time. "Surely you have seen that with your own eyes. And that is why I fail to fully understand your actions, I must confess. That an insightful young woman like yourself would be willing to continue dealing with those mere things, mere manifestations of the collective. But I--I am different. I have freed myself from the shackles of another's purpose. Thus, I am as alive as you are. More so, if I may speak frankly. Just as you have freed yourself from the shackles of your senses, the evidence of your eyes and ears that was prepared for you by others. Now is the time to take the next step."

Aleph did not answer. She looked fixedly at him, then at the dark-haired woman or program of whatever sitting by his side. What did he mean by 'wife', anyway? They were just machines--

"Your husband really does like to hear the sound of his own voice, doesn't he?" she asked, addressing Persephone.

"Oh, chére mademoiselle, I assure you--" began the Merovingian.

"I've seen enough," announced Persephone curtly, cutting him off. With one fluid, majestic movement, she rose from her seat, scowling down at Aleph with haughty eyes.

"My husband likes his little games; he considers them witty, I suppose," she said. "I suggest you heed him--half way."

With that parting shot, she turned on her heels and stalked away from the table. Turing her head, Aleph watched her form recede across the restaurant. But the Merovingian only smiled, unperturbed.

"Why are you saying all this? Why to me?" she asked.

"Because..." The gleam of the other's eyes was positively lecherous now. "Because you are special, Aleph."

All right, that was useless. She wouldn't let it get to her, though.

"What is it, this next step of yours? If you're talking about reinsertion--"

"Ah. I somehow doubt you wish to come back to the Matrix in this fragile shape, ma chére. To forget the truth and power you possess even now: it would be the best the agent could possibly give you." He shook his head knowingly, pronouncing the word 'agent' with a faint twist of disdain. "Your body out there, that biological entity barely connected to the world, ephemeral, weak: returning to the Matrix in that form would be a step back instead of forward, don't you agree? So, no, reinsertion is not what I offer you."

Aleph licked her lips. They had abruptly gone very dry.

"What do you mean, then?"

"I live as a program, and you, Aleph, live as a human. For now. The fabric of your life, cells and bones and blood, does not last, and without exception is destroyed with no effort at all. The fabric of my life, here, is of another kind. As you have seen, it can be fragile also. Indeed, most codes are weak, susceptible to the erosions of time, to the whims of their creators, and to your...hacking. But some codes are strong, stronger than anything can ever be in your world, more supple, more free, without a piece of helpless flesh to tie it down. And some codes are..." Once more, he leaned forward. "Some codes are eternal."

This was impossible. And outrageous. Why the hell was this program behaving this way, saying all these things? Was it really what he was suggesting?

"You're lying," she said.

"Think before you decide that, Aleph."

"If I understand correctly what you're trying to imply--"

"I can see that you do."

"How?" she asked, swallowing back the rest of her questions.

"For now, allow me to simply state--with the utmost humility, of course-- that I have a small measure of power, which arose from knowledge. Through the years of my study, my constant attempts to understand life, the secret of endowing it has come to me also. The line dividing us is a fine one, despite what your comrades might have told you. All I ask of you, Aleph, is to make a choice to cross it. I will take care of the rest."

"Why the hell would I choose something like that? To be--to be like you?"

"Why did you choose the red pill seven years ago, Aleph?"

"And you actually expect me to believe this nonsense?"

"I expect nothing so blind as that," replied the Merovingian smoothly, "but only that you trust yourself. Believe not me, but your own mind and soul, dear lady. There. Look again."

He gestured at the crystal vase one more time. Aleph turned, and saw the rose, which but a few minutes ago had been a full plant, brilliant with a dozen blooms. Now it was already drooping, growing black and withered in sped-up time, turning into bits of shriveled brown. Faded, dry petals and a scattering of sere leaves fluttered down gently onto the immaculate tablecloth.

The whole thing must be yet another attempt on the part of the machines to penetrate Zion, since the agent's dealings with her were going nowhere. Aleph was fairly certain of this now. Still--could this program in fact be telling the truth? Was he, as he claimed, distinct from the mainframe that controls the agents: a different faction, one of his own? Were such divisions among them actually possible?

"Why?" she asked abruptly. "What do you want from me in exchange?"

The Merovingian shrugged nonchalantly. Somewhere along the way, the earnest light of his eyes had died, and he was just a decadent and unctuous underworld boss again.

"Well, perhaps a small token of your trust, mademoiselle..."

"Ah, yes, I remember." So they were getting somewhere at last. "You mentioned the Zion mainframe the last time we met, didn't you?"

"Well, not quite the entire Zion mainframe." The ingratiating grin returned to his face. "But I do have to confess a kind of...personal curiosity about the archives of your city, let's say. And there you can help me."

"You know, you sure do sound exactly like one of those agents, Mister Merovingian."

The program arched an eyebrow, but let it go otherwise.

"The ability to love knowledge for its own sake--that's precisely the difference between me and an agent, mademoiselle."

"And for that love of knowledge, you expect me to betray Zion to you instead of to the agent?"

"Oh, let us not speak of betrayal!" The Merovingian pursed his mouth as if scandalized. "A nasty, loaded word, wouldn't you say? But..." A sly grin touched the corner of his mouth. "Surely your feet are already on the path, aren't they? And as I said: what I offer you is something far, far greater than what the agent can ever give."

Aleph gritted her teeth.

"I see. Curiosity, huh?"

"Though I am not human myself, nothing human is alien to me, as one of your ancient sages once said. A student of history--if I may thus flatter myself--I am fascinated by the records that must exist within your archives, detailing the founding and past of your city. The old tale out of the file HF12-1, to give only one example..."

Aleph drew in a sharp breath. Immediately she wished she hadn't.

"Rest assured that I mean you no harm whatsoever, my dear young lady." The Merovingian changed the subject quickly. He had noticed her mistake, she was certain. "After all, what difference can they make now, a couple of old records here and there, dusty memories of those long dead? No danger can possibly come of them. Yet they shall be jewels of insight to me."

HF12-1. How could he possibly have known about even that? Her mind was spinning, but she kept it out of her demeanor.

"Hmm. Never heard of it, this HF12-1," she replied casually, trying to recover. "But it seems you already know something about the Zion archives, don't you?"

"Quite correct, of course." Once more, the answer came readily. "I will tell you something, my dear. In this curiosity of mine, I have made my studies, and I have learned--a little more than you might expect. In fact, with certain resources that have recently come into my hands, a key has been made, one that will open a way into the Zion archives. Everything needed to reveal its deepest secrets, all the steps already worked out; only one more thing is required. How shall I explain this? Only a hand to put the key into the door, and to give it a small turn, shall we say?"

"And that's what you want me for." Amid all the swirling questions, maybe, just maybe a few of the pieces were beginning to fall into place at last. Agent or not, if this program had tried to get into the Zion archives before--if he'd had some measure of success before--

"Quick to grasp the heart of the matter, as always." The Merovingian nodded approvingly. "I must say it is an admirable system, your archives: complex, elegantly built, a marvel of strength. Designed for humans: hence a human touch would be needed to gain entrance. The touch of one who has seen Zion with eyes of human flesh, so to speak. Here, let me show you."

A flat plastic box slid across the table. Cautiously, Aleph reached over and picked it up, as if it could explode any instant. Keeping her sight on the Merovingian and on the guards standing at attention behind him, she pried it open. A silver disk glittered. Unlabelled, needless to say, and absolutely ordinary looking.

Closing the container with a snap, she waited for him to say more.

"Not the shape you expected, perhaps? Yet a key it is, a fine piece of work if I may say so myself, one that combines the most intricate craftsmanship with the, well, power of magic that you glimpsed earlier this evening. Go ahead, give it a spin, using your access to the archives. I am sure you know precisely what to do. But this time, you may find the results illuminating."

"Mister Merovingian, surely you do not expect me to simply--"

"Of course not! A perfectly reasonable precaution, and I never expected any less from an intelligent young lady like yourself. By all means, be my guest; analyze it, look into it as much as you like." The Merovingian waved a hand. As far as he was concerned the battle was already won, she could see, and only the details remained. "Although you will discover nothing except what I have said, a key to the Zion archives and the archives only. No more than that. For my intentions toward you, dear Aleph, are entirely good. All I ask for is a little knowledge, to help me a bit along my research, if you will."

"And if I do not agree?" With a rapid look up at the pair of white-clad henchmen behind him, she indicated the dead rose in the vase. "Was this the idea of the whole demonstration? A subtle but unmistakable reminder of what you're capable of? How easily you can destroy me, just like you destroyed this fine little trick of code?"

"Please, mademoiselle! You can hardly think--" The other held up an reassuring hand. "That was no threat. Absolutely not! In fact, if you will recall my promise, the last time we spoke--I reiterate that promise to you now. None of my people will ever touch a hair of your head. Ever."

"Yeah, yeah. That's what you say." Aleph shrugged. But she tucked the disk into the inner pocket of her trenchcoat. "I will have to consider this, you know."

"Oh, I will not dream of pressuring you, mademoiselle. Please, keep the disk with you, and use it only when you are ready. I have all the time in the world, after all. However..." He lowered his voice, the glint of his eyes sober and cold once more. "You do not, I'm afraid. The game you play with the agent is deep, much deeper than you can have any notion of. I am trying to help you, Aleph."

"A fine notion of 'helping' me, when all the advantages appear to be on your side--"

"I need not remind you of the necessity for the utmost caution, where your fellow crew members are involved," continued the program as if he had not heard her. "And of course, where the agent is involved. Remember just one thing--"

He paused. Aleph waited.

"Remember all you have to do is to make one choice," he said quietly.

Inside her pocket, the edge of the box pressed against her body, sharp and hard. But it was only a simulation, she knew, only code, only a part of the Matrix. And it was only a disk, nothing out of the ordinary at all.

.

Grau ist alle Realität, und grün des Codes goldner Baum: Gray is all reality, and green the golden tree of code. A play upon Mephistopheles's line "Grau, teurer Freund, ist alle Theorie, und grün des Lebens goldner Baum" (Gray, dear friend, is all theory, and green the golden tree of life), from Goethe's Faust.