Back To The Writings of Robert Underwood
The council members had done what many of the citizens had considered unthinkable—even sacrilege…For the first time in the history of Zion, a machine with artificial intelligence was given safe haven through the gates of the last human city. It was a gesture of good faith from the humans to the machines, one returned from many gestures made by their former enemy.
Since the end of the war, the machines have allowed the humans to unplug everyone from the Matrix that was willing to purge themselves from their mental prison. Yes, they still fed off those dependent upon their artificial reality, but plans were being made for compensation. Also, since peace began, the machines had provided Zion with actual pieces of human history—literature, art, electronic devices, and so on. Little was known about history itself—what history created in the Matrix was the product of human endeavors and what was the product of human imagination? Surface raids for the century the war had lasted had drudged up fractions of what humans were actually like before, when times were good, but these paled in comparison to what the machines had placed at their doorstep—ancient documents, photographs, videocassettes, digital video discs, compact discs, musical instruments, telephones, record players, phonographs, magazines, and many more items salvaged that the machines deemed unresourceful to use or dispense. Along with all the granules of human achievement came the answer to a century-old question: who started the war?
Of course, the answer wasn’t clear cut, much like all of history. If the machine aspect was to be believed, the war was initiated by man, who’s selfishness had denied artificial intelligence any form of rights. When the machines struck back, the war began. The human aspect was divided among three major popular beliefs: that the machines were correct, that the machines were feeding them misinformation and couldn’t be trusted, and that the war was started by the machines, stating that they would have fought regardless of their enslavement.
Despite the scrutinizing and beliefs, all three theories agreed upon the catalyst: an early model B1-66ER robot killed his owner, Gerrard E. Krause, Krause’s thirteen dogs, and Mr. Koots, a robot wholesaler after overhearing a discussion of his own termination. What caused the B1 model to act in such a fashion will be forever lost in history’s trek through the ages, and as the gates of Zion closed behind the first welcomed machine, no one cared. The war was over; that was all that mattered.
As yet another show of good faith, the machine sent to the heart of the human race was a primitive model robot, designed exactly as his predecessors and not a circuit more. Its design was that of an English gentleman, including a metal bowler derby attached to its head, a monocle, and a metallic bicycle mustache that rested above a circular speaker wire mesh in replacement of a mouth. The upper body was encased in an outer shell fashioned in the likeness of a tuxedo. The only difference was the exposed arms, showing every bit of circuitry, cables, appendages, and joints. The lower body was just as exposed, save for an outer casing for the shins.
The robot, historically and respectively speaking, was met by three individuals, all captains: Niobe, Morpheus, and Lock. They looked at it suspiciously but otherwise showed no outer signs of discomfort. No doubt, they weren’t thrilled to see another machine so soon, especially one carrying a rather bulky metal suitcase. Niobe passed a scanner over the robot and case, found nothing, and frowned disappointedly. “He’s clean,” she reported.
“Very well,” Lock replied. “A chairperson from the counsel is awaiting your arrival…” He hesitated. “What is your name?”
“I have no name,” the robot answered. “My designation is unimportant to our meeting; however, since humans have a need to refer to intelligent life—“ Niobe raised her eyebrow at this “—by a personal preference, then feel free to simply call me Six-Six.”
Lock nodded, then turned around and walked away, followed by the rest of the group. He led them through catacombs, catwalks, stairs cut from rock, and finally though a heavy set of doors that led to the council’s meeting chamber, where the counsel member sat, waiting in anticipation.
The three humans and one robot made their way down the stone steps to the counsel floor. The humans remained behind while the robot continued forward. It stopped, turned around, and made his way back to his accompaniment.
“Stay where you are, please,” a feminine voice said behind him. He returned to face the councilperson. The words were spoken by an elderly lady with salt and pepper hair tied in a bun centered at the back of her head, which was adorned by a jewel-studded headpiece. “I only wish to speak with you. It is our understanding that you have important information for Zion. As a show of trust, we have allowed you into our city as opposed to merely meeting one of our ships, since it was insisted by the Machine City that the information you have must be delivered in person.”
“That is correct,” Six-Six said. “The package my information is carried in is quite fragile, and it is my understanding that the more electronics it is around, the worse off it will be. Therefore, my masters have determined that its best method of delivery was by foot. As a machine, I am able to travel over the rough terrain of the surface with more ease and grace than any human.”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “You recognize other machines as masters?”
“My programming is limited to that of my predecessors of a century past. If I do not recognize someone or something as my master, I cannot follow orders; I cannot function according to my design.”
“So, Mister…”
“Six-Six will suffice, ma’am.”
The chairwoman paused, taken aback by his politeness. “Very well. What is so valuable, so fragile, that it must be hand delivered to Zion?”
“One month ago, in an attempt to end the war between our two species, a ship carrying two humans headed for Machine City. I believe you know of whom I speak.” The chairwoman nodded. “The ship was destroyed by my kind. One occupant emerged from the vehicle, the other had ceased to function.”
The woman steeped her fingers. “We have already been informed as to the fates of Neo and Trinity.”
“Yes, but you have not heard the complete story. Information was withheld until it was safe to reveal it. Death would have come swiftly otherwise.
“As the human designated Neo approached Machine City, the vessel was scavenged by sentinels. When the body of the female, designated Trinity, was scanned for potential use as an energy source, a discovery was made. With the war ending almost immediately after, it was decided that what was found was to be preserved until it was safe to return to the Source.”
“But,” Morpheus intoned, “the Source is within the Machine City. How could you preserve what you found on the Logos?”
Six-Six turned its head around 180 degrees and faced his escort. “You are misinformed. The Source in Machine City is the source for the Matrix—the machine source, if you will. There is a secondary source on this planet—the human source. This is the Source of which I speak.” He rotated his head back to its original position. “The discovery was tended to, protected, and preserved until it was safe for transportation, which began one week ago.”
“You say,” the woman responded, “that your package belongs to the human source. How so? Trinity’s body has already been returned to us. Other than ship parts, what could you possibly be carrying that needs to go through such a drastic means of preservation?”
“An embryo.” Her eyes widened. “The human designated Trinity was with child. When she was found, the life form within her had already been gestating for one month. Due to the condition of the human carrier as well as the proximity the egg was to being destroyed by a metal rod, the embryo was removed through the birthing channel and placed in a new carrier, whereupon it was returned to Machine City. The egg has been placed in a birthing matrix, similar to what we keep humans in, but has no mechanical manipulation save for a nutrient tube attached to the umbilical cord. The embryo remains pure, and it is that embryo that I have carried for the past week.”
Six-Six placed his bulky container on the ground, pressed a button on the handle, and the five exposed sides of the case retracted into the handle. What was left behind removed the breaths of everyone in the room. In the center was an artificial womb large enough to carry a fully developed fetus. Surrounding it was a complex matrix that everyone assumed was in place to protect the life growing within.
“The matrix will last until the life form within fully matures. At that point, an alarm will be sounded, and it will be safe to remove the life form. By pressing this button—“ he pointed to the only button on the matrix “—the nutrient tube will remove itself from the umbilical cord and will slice through the womb, allowing for easy access to the fully matured enfant. You may do with the child what you wish past that point.”
Morpheus could no longer contain himself. He stepped down to the counsel floor and fell to his knees before the unique symbiosis of man and machine. His eyes fluttered over the construct, searching over the unborn child. “Neo…and Trinity…a child?” He smiled, despite the circumstances. “I had no idea.”
“Neither, I am sure, did the human designated Trinity. Your species, without medical equipment, does not show signs of pregnancy until the end of the first trimester.”
Niobe could no longer remain silent. “”What do you make of it, Morpheus?”
“I think,” Morpheus replied, “that the world is no longer as cruel as it used to be.”
“I have more business to conduct,” Six-Six added.
“What is it?” the councilwoman asked.
“With each passing day, humans are unplugged from the Matrix and our power source diminishes. We have already set into motion a plan that will undo the damage of Operation Dark Storm.” Dark Storm was the ultimate human sacrifice—the darkening of the sky. “All the chemicals released into the air to block the sun will be removed in a matter of two months. The o-zone, according to our scans, is badly eroded and will take an additional eight years to repair. Once the sky has been healed, it will once again be suitable to sustain human life. At that point, my masters offer the human race the opportunity to return to the surface from whence they originally thrived. The only restriction—the only catch, if you will—is that we retain the continent formerly designated as Africa to continue our productivity.”
The elderly woman shifted slightly in her chair. “That is a very generous offer. One, I’m sure, the rest of my colleagues will agree to. We will need to discuss the matter before we make our final decision.”
“Of course,” Six-Six agreed. “I have been informed that this offer holds no expiration date.”
The woman nodded. “Anything else?”
“No, ma’am. All the information that has been downloaded into my memory drive I have already presented.”
“Very well. For what it’s worth: you have made a lot of…batteries extremely light-shouldered and have given us much to think about.”
“Then I have performed my function. I bid you a good day.” With not another word resonating from his electronic voice box, the robot known as Six-Six left the chamber with his human entourage in tow. Only the council woman was left behind to stare at the matrix, imagine what could be, and marvel over the irony that the very model of robot that took a life and started the war just left with the byproduct of a life that had ended it.
