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Published:
2010-09-28
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2010-09-28
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Meroveque

Summary:

The origins of the entity known as the Merovingian....

Notes:

Meroveque

Chapter 1: Part 1 of 2

Chapter Text

+J.M.J.+

Meroveque

by "Matrix Refugee"

Author's Note:

Took me all of four months to finally produce another "Matrix" fic, even though this is arguably "The Year of "The Matrix"."! But I had this idea pop into my very strange mind after I was doing some research on the Merovingian dynasty - Yes, I'm *THAT* kind of "Matrix" geek who's done all the research on all the references in the film, thanks in no small part to "Tom"'s excellent "Matrix" weblog at:

.com

This fic takes place just before, during, and after the timeframe of "Second Rennaisence, Part 2". I can't tell you more. Read on.

Disclaimer:

I do not own "The Matrix" series, its characters, concepts, imagery and/or other indicia, which are the legal property of the W Brothers (Warner and Wachowski), Red Pill Productions, Village Roadshow, et al. (If I owned it, you'd be reading this on instead of ff.n!)

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Part 1 of 2

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May 18, 2245 - Rennes-le-Chateau, Languedoc region of southern France, European Union. EU Center for Strategic Research and Development

The laser beam scanned over the cobalt blue eyes of a tall man in his early forties. Reddish-brown hair brushed back from a high, intelligent forehead, revealing a slight widow's peak; a thin, plain face that seemed by turns intelligent, cynical, quiet and calculating. A lean figure, but not much to look at, the kind of man whom women describe as "distinguished" and "distinctive", words which only veiled the distaste they felt in his presence.

"Lambert Meroveque, system programmer," the SmartScanner announced, identifying him. "Going home?" it asked.

"Yes, my day's work is finished here," he replied, giving it little heed otherwise. The scanner had been given a personality chip to make it more "accessible", but it had had to be modified. Machine intelligences of any kind were largely suspect these days.

The blast door out of the underground complex unlocked, opened and swung wide. "Enjoy your evening: the sky is clear and the temp is 58 degrees Fahrenheit," the Scanner replied.

Meroveque passed through the open doorway, his hand gripping the handle of a briefcase handcuffed to his left wrist, as much for show as for real security. He strode swiftly up the sloping corridor that led to the vestibule aboveground and through another checkpoint.

Once he emerged into the cool May evening, he took from the pocket of his coat the caller for his Versitran single-passenger skimmer. As he did so, a security guard - an organic, since andros had turned so unpredictable, especially since the start of sanctions against 0 1, the intelligent machines' "country" - passed by, making his rounds. The lesser man nodded and touched the brim of his fatigue cap as he passed Meroveque, who replied with a half-absent nod of his own.

Meroveque pressed a button on the caller. A moment later, his skimmer, a small green vehicle approached, circling the Tower of the Magdelen off to his left and descending before him as he waited before the entrance to the bunker. The clear-domed hatch lifted meekly. He set his breifcase on the floor beside the seat and climbed in. He pressed first the hatch button, then the coordinates for home.

"Home" was a small but luxurious condo in a complex ten miles from the research center in the bunkers beneath the old monastery of the Prieurie de Sion, the last of home of the last of the Merovingian kings. Theudric IV has passed his remaining years here in seclusion after Martell, the usurper had all but snatched the crown from his head.

But the Carolingians and their descendents had passed on and faded into the rabble. The desendants of Meroveck, the father of their line and the first to unite the Frankish tribes under one ruler, still lived on through him.

Man's time was passing, and his stock's hour would be called. He knew it in his nerves and bones, though man scrabbled to find a means to fight the machines asserting themselves from their stronghold in the Middle East. Even if man passed, the Merovingians would endure.

The briefcase he carried, strapped to his arm, contained the means to that end, if not the hope of man's survival, at least the survival of the intellect that would otherwise pass with him.. Because he was a program chief, the directors would give little thought to examining the disks he carried to and from the bunker. He had no loyalties save that to his stock and to the European Union. He had no wife nor a partner of any kind to pry into his work. There had been one, some time ago, but he had cut himself off from her when she had sided with the machines and their cause. He was known to wrap himself so tightly in a project that his work comsumed all his waking hours, except the few he alloted to tending the needs of his body.

The body. There were ways to sidestep most of the duties its maintenance required, but he lacked the means to that end. However, he had discovered that the machines had found the way to solve this problem.

The machines. He hated them as a human, but as an intelligence, he could hardly help admiring them. They had discovered the means to immortality, or transferring the thoughts and sense-memories of humans into digital code and storing it. Though few humans knew or believed it, they had helped to construct the VR systems which had supplanted the antiquarian Internet as a means of transferring and communicating information, a quadro-dimensional digital realm which millions of people accessed every day, thousands of whom were jacked into now, enjoying sights and sounds they might never otherwise enjoy in the real world.

His skimmer touched down before the complex. He opened the hatch and climbed out. The skimmer obediently rose and flew up to its perch on the roof. He went inside, only glancing up at the sky overhead and the myriads of stars glowing there, soon to vanish behind a pall of clouds.

After another EyeDentity scan, he entered the building and stepped into the minivator which swept him up to the 42nd floor, and his rooms.

The lights dimmed on as he entered. A classical piece by Michael Nyman flowed from hidden speakers in the walls. He unchained the briefcase from his wrist and set it on the chair before the hotdesk which dominated the room.

After a bath and a light meal, he carried the briefcase into the bedroom. He opened the caseand took out a lucite security case containing a mini-CD-RW. He typed in the security code on a tiny keyboard on the case, opening the locking device and removed the disk, labelled "Operation: DarkSky. An Overview."He inserted the disk into a drive wired into the VR unit on the nightstand.

He taped to his arms and the back of his neck several electrodes on the ends of cables connected to the unit, then leaned back on the pillows as he inserted a small cable into a dock in the back of his head.

Within seconds, he was deep in, fleeting through the Realm, heading for the Source. Columns of code casscaded like rain around him. The only sign of other travellers in the Realm were the amorphous bundles of code that flitted past him through the digital mist. Because he was an adept, he saw the Realm as it really was, allowing him to pass through unnoticed by any others.

At length, he reached it, a solid column of green code, taller even than the tallest office building imaginable. The center of operations for 0 1 .

Octopus-like masses of code reared up at him in the mist, tentacles spread, ready for assault, but they scanned him as one of their kind and let him pass. Diplomatic immunity. But he couldn't know for certain how long it would last and these daemons would see him as he really was.

They let him enter the Source.

He passed through many portals before he entered the Chamber, the core from which the Master watched and directed other entities like itself. All he could see before him was a glowing, spherical mass of code which flowed and criss-crossed itself/

"Meroveque?" the entity said, verifying and acknowledging his presence. "You have brought the data we required."

"I have it on a disk, ready to upload to you," Meroveque replied.

"The plans for the offensive?"

"Yes, Master."

"Render them."

In the physical world, the upload completed and the data switched over through the cable inserted in Meroveque's skull.

In the Realm, he watched a stream of white code flow from his avatar into the orbit around the Master. The code travelled slowly at first, then gained speed as it turned green and blended itself into the being of the Master.

"You have served us well, Meroveque. Your free transmission of data and information shall not go unforgotten. You bear the mark."

A thin strand of code shot from the core of the Master's being and struck Meroveque's avatar, jolting it.

He jacked out quickly. A burning sensation enveloped his body, more scorching than any physical pleasure or pain.

When he arose from the bed to disconnect the unit, he turned to a mirror, expecting to see a physical mark somewhere on his body. On his forehead or on his right hand. He removed his robe, uncovering his body completely, and scanned over his reflection.

Between his shoulderblades, barely discernable in the dim lighting, he bore two digits burned into his skin.

0 1

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To be continued...

(Part 2 will be posted later this week... I swear on my word of honor.)