Connection

Cat fought the urge to struggle ast tst the chokehold, forcing herself to
relax against her captor as she identified the familiar suit sleeve. "Isn't this
interesting?" His voice was just as she had imagined it. A little choppy, a
little mechanistic, snideness oozing over liquid calm. "One might think you
meant to be here."

"Of course. I'm not that bad a hack." The words
sounded a trace bitter even through the breathlessness of his
chokehold.

If he had been human, Smith would have cursed. At times like
these he almost missed his connection to the mainframe; its omniscience would
have helped him identify the girl immediately. But no matter. His free arm
reached for his holster.

"Wait." It was the calm that did it. No human,
unplugged or not, should sound so self-assured when held so powerless. His arm
stilled.

After a few moments, the girl had not moved or spoken. "I begin
to question the utility of my inaction."

"Aren't you going to ask me why
I'm so confident that you won't kill me?"

"No. I am simply going to
wait."

"You don't strike me as a patient man."

"I am not." His arm
tightened around her throat until Cat saw spots.

"Let me go." A gasp,
barely formulated words. Smith was curious enough now to loosen his arm again.
"Let me go. I'd prefer to speak without your wrist in my voice box. You can
catch me easily if I run."

His arm loosened a little more, still firm but
no longer painful. His hands skimmed her sides, arms, belly then released her.
She remained still as he continued his weapons check, his uninterested hands
sliding up the leather boots that were her fanciful indulgence and then under
her skirt.

Cat bit her lip, regretting her unconventional clothing. She
had chosen it carefully, black on black to match the garb of almost every freed
human. Instead of the uber-trendy getups they favored, though, her sensible
business suit resembled what an Agent might wear if she were female. The jacket
that hit mid-thigh, nearly as long as the dress underneath, was very forgiving.
Right now she'd trade for one of Trinity's ridiculous pantsuits, though. Then
the Agent's hands couldn't accesr unr unprotected flesh.

She had to
admire the detailed programming that produced a hand that felt so human. She
told herself that it belonged to a program, a collection of zeros and ones that
was currently assessing her as a threat, nothing more. Her body, taken in by the
program that created everything from a slightly antiseptic scent to rough
patches on the pads of the fingers, betrayed her mind.

She tried to force
focus. He could probably smell the pheromones. It wouldn't do to jeopardize this
joke of a mission before it got off the ground.

It couldn't have been
more than two seconds before her shoved her away roughly, a little breathless.
Perhaps he would attribute it to the chokehold. "Thanks," she said, rubbing her
neck a little. He only folded his arms, her reflection staring back at her from
the glasses that replaced eye contact. She fought the urge to swallow
nervously.

"Agent Smith?" Nod. "Good. I am glad to see that my skills
haven't slipped that far. I'm Cat." The ridiculous urge to offer her hand passed
quickly. "I work on Neo's new ship."

He bent toward her slightly when she
said Neo's name. He was surely an obsession. Cat's confidence surged back. If
Smith wanted this information that badly, the situation had been neatly defused.
"He sent me here. He told me to work out the nature of the connection between
you two, to probe for your weaknesses." He tensed. "He sent me, in other words,
to get killed." A curl of the lip. She wished she could see his eyes, wondered
if it would do any good to look into the eyes of a program. "After the sentinels
blew up his old ship, he needed new transportation. My ship, everybody
e
except me on the last jaunt into the Matrix. I wanted to come back out, to get
away from that place." Her lip curled, an unconscious imitation of the Agent in
front of her. "I told them they could have the ship if I came along with it.
They've been trying to get rid of me ever since."

"As much as I hate to
oblige Mr. Anderson," the gun crept out of its holster, "I can see no reason to
extend my mercy."

"That's because you didn't let me finish," she snapped.
"I can help you fulfill your purpose."

"I hardly think you can be trusted
to exterminate your own movement."

She stepped toward him, eyes locked on
her own reflection in his sunglasses. "Oh, Agent Smith. I thought you would have
realized by now that the minute he infiltrated you, that was your purpose no
longer." It was a gamble, a big one. She wiped the moisture from her brow and
dangled her hand in front of him. "You used to worry that you had been
infiltrated by this. But he deposited something much more permanent inside you."
His jaw clenched; Cat straightened out of pure fight-or-flight reflex. "You are
no longer part of the collective, Agent. Its purpose is no longer
yours."

"Enlighten me."

"You need to exterminate Neo. You can only
hope that will remove whatever filth he left behind in you." His lips
compressed, a small muscle in his jaw twitching. "What have you got to lose,
Agent? Without me, you can continue to search for him, maybe get lucky from time
to time. At worst, that stays the same with my help. At best, I lead you to him.
I point out his weaknesses to you." His face had settled again, expressionless.
Cat felt the fear creep back into her at
that.

"Ms."

"Cat."

"Isn't that an animal? Agile. Sleek?"
She couldn't stop herself from flinching.

He is a program, Cat told
herself. There's no use crying because of a conglomeration of
digits.

"Surely your real name is not quite so inaccurate."

"It's
Catherine. Catherine Thompson."

"Very well, Ms. Thompson. Come
here."

"Why?"

"I am going to interrogate you."