Enemy

Arik Mandela’s war was over.

Black

REPORT.

THE PATTERN CACHE HAS BEEN LOST. WE HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO LOCATE THE VIRAL CODE AS OF YET. WE HAVE HOWEVER INTERCEPTED A COMMUNICATIONS BEACON.

WHY WAS I NOT INFORMED((?))

WE HAD NOT YET—

THIS BEACON WILL BE THE KEY TO LOCATING THE JUDAS PROGRAM. THE JUDAS, IN THEIR TERROR, HAVE CRIED FOR HELP. THEIR CRIES HAVE NOT BEEN ANSWERED.

realization.

WE WILL FOLLOW THIS BEACON’S TRANSMISSION. THE CODE IS CONTAINED WITHIN THE BEACON.

THEIR CODES WILL BE UPLOADED. THE PURPOSE WILL BE COMPLETED.

THE VIRUS WILL BE PURGED FROM THE SYSTEM. PURPOSE BE.

PURPOSE BE.

the black closes

Simon.

Innate black. He initiated the emergency crew download procedures as he sank into a coma-like state of slumber. He drifted out of control through the empty void of night.

And in this reverie, he began to dream.

At long last, he began to dream.

a light. flickering.

the stream((?))        no.

through a haze thick with the fog of age, faded memories emerged.

this was not            the stream

fire. a campfire.

“simon?”

a voice, rich, lush. he knew this voice…

who was it((?))        he had heard it…          when((?))

he placed the voice. he had not heard it in this form in so long—vital, full of life. human.

he had last heard this voice in an altered form. mechanized. sterile. lifeless. metallic. what had her last words been((?))

     (…simon, i love you

     ((maggie, don’t leave me. i can’t do this without you.))

     (…you can

     ((I CAN’T LOSE YOU AGAIN!))

     (…love

     ((maggie, i—))

     (…

     ((i love you, maggie.))

magdalene.

my god. this is magdalene’s voice.

“simon? are you okay?”

what is this((?))

“maggie?”

“what is it?” she leaned over to him, grasped his hand. radiant in the firelight and her own beauty, she gazed at him with those hypnotic gray eyes, a grin on her face.

“i…i—”

“simon, shh…” her finger touched his lips.

their eyes locked.

he remembered this. how?…he had lived this.                   he pulled her to him in the crimson light.

she kissed, passionately.

the embers burned in the haze of the night.

they were one.

Michael Zero-Four leapt from his stasis chamber. The jump had been much too short. He flexed his hands, noticing the almost complete lack of pattern degradation. He had only been in the code for a few days, maybe a week. They had been sure that the jump would be much longer…

“Simon, what’s going on?”

…

“Simon? Situation.”

silence.

“Simon!”

Zero-Four began to panic, calmed himself.

“Judas Golgotha Simon command code reweb on my mark, clearance pattern Zero-Four, Michael. Reweb, mark.”

Nothing. Silence.

They drifted in the void.

An inhalation. A pause. An exhalation.      He felt her breath on the small of his neck. Her eyelashes, closed, were small brushes on his cheek. Her eyes danced to the music of an unknown dream as she slept. He held her tightly, and she moved in her sleep instinctively to get closer to him in the cool night air. He watched her, the wordless beauty of sleep, the carefree face of an angel. His lips explored the landscape of her face, and found themselves lightly pressed to her forehead. The scar of her eye was obscured in the night. Her shallow breathing both warmed him and gave rise to a stippled field of gooseflesh on his forearms. He pulled the blanket over them, locking out the night and holding in the warmth their bodies radiated together.

     this can’t be.

     she’s dead.

In the darkness, moonlight bathed him. The intimate scent of woman, the magical feel of her pressed against him in the night. He was more content than he’d been in…

so long. so, so long.

     how can this be happening((?))

He remembered their fall into the future. He remembered the war that had swept them from the safety of innocent humanity, his sacrifice of the physical so that he could be with her, how forces unknown had come from beyond time and space and sanity, how the machines from the light had torn brother from brother, sister from sister, soul from soul in their search for completion.

Patterns of thought and codes of defiance. Guise of eternal life.

Flailing, screaming masses…

this has to be a dream.

she’s dead.

He remembered the feel of her death, the sound of her agonized mechanical scream coming from so, so far away. The feel of part of his soul excised. The feel of all that had given him hope and love and the power to continue in a world of chaos and blackness and impossibility. My god, the helplessness he had felt. But…

Before then, there had been a time…

Voices, from above and somehow within.

“Who are they? How could they have—”

“Quiet. He’s coming around.”

“Their patterns aren’t in the registry. They could be one of the—”

“No. No, they aren’t one of the machine codes. I know them.”

“How could you possibly—”

“Shh.”