WiredNight

## Ships log: HvCFT Polydectes : Personal Entry
## Date: September 13, 2006
## Log by: WiredNight

He awakens. At first it is slow, until he recognizes, or more accurately doesn't recognize where he is at, and sits up quickly, almost bashing his head on the overhang near his bunk. His sleep addled mind finally comes to grips of where he is at, the Hovercraft Polydectes... Polydectes, the Ancient King of Seriphos. He would have to ask why that name was picked for a hovercraft, but it wasn't important really. He would assume that it was because it was solid as stone. Sometimes having had a classical education was a drawback, or did he ever really have that education or was it just stuff made up and fed to him. It didn't really matter in the long run.

Getting dressed, he frowns. One of the things he would have to change in the future was the availability of decent clothes in the real. He wasn't a Cypherite by any stretch, but he did like his suits. Of course, in the Matrix his suits rarely would be covered in grease and grime, but then he had to remind himself that on a working ship, things like grease and grime tended to happen.

Cypherite.... another new term to him. Something Zion had failed to teach him when he was awoken not so long go. How long had it been? It didn't really matter, like so many other things. Zion he had learned, was a place he didn't really care for, and didn't really fit in. They spoke so diligently of the truce and of peace, but went out of their way it seemed to break it in their hatred of the Machines. They selectively educated their operatives expecting that by the time they figured out the truth of things, they would be so indoctrinated in Zionist teachings they wouldn't even thing of leaving.

He had to admit, it had almost worked on him. If the so called Faction that had initially recruited him when he had first re-jacked into the Matrix had been a little more diligent he probably would have fallen into the Zionist trap. Who knows, but they had been lax in their education, and had allowed him to see the truth for himself. They had allowed him to read the memo from Locke demanding Morpheus' death for endangering the truce, even as Tyndall had sent him on mission after mission against the Machines and their operatives.

He had always been smart. A troubled intellectual he believed he was called in certain circles. Back in the Matrix, before his awaken, he had been rather successful doing legitimate and illegitimate jobs for various corporations and organizations in the internet. Some people called him a Coder, others a Hacker. He made no pretence on how good he was. The fact that he had developed a taste for good suits and better wines was enough to prove that in the least he had been successful enough to keep him well dressed and well appointed in the luxuries of life. Successful enough was good enough for him. But something always nagged at him, every so often he would glimpse something in his researches that wasn't always quite right. He would slice his way past a firewall, and suddenly realize that there was another system hidden behind the one he had just entered, but that system spoke to him, hinted to him, of things, though he could never quite grasp it.

Zion recruited him, Zion pulled him out, Zion failed to educate him, and stuck him back into the Matrix to find his own way. Was it any surprise that he drifted to the Machines to get the answers that Zion failed to supply him? Was it any surprise that those answers, while not complete, showed the hypocrisy of Zion? Zion who wanted to survive, but the only way their limited vision could see doing so was to Hate, to Kill, to Destroy. They refused to see that at any time the Machines could step on Zion like a bug and squash them, but the Machines had chosen not to. They were at least attempting to uphold their part of the agreement. The Machines had it seemed resigned themselves to living alongside humans, why could Zion not do the same and realize that the Machines would not be going anywhere anytime soon? Could Zion not see the long term benefits of working with the Machines? Could they not work with the Machines to find new energy sources? With a new energy source, the Machines wouldn't need the Matrix, allowing it to be shut down. It wasn't a immediate fix, it would take time, but Zion seemed resigned to destroying itself in its hatred of all things Machine.

He supposed he could understand some of it. All the lost of life in the War could only lead to hatred, but self-destructive hatred made no sense to him. Which is why he had decided after talking and working with Agent Gray to side with the Machines. At least he could show the Machines that some humans were willing to work with them, to work along side them, to protect the truce... to protect the peace... what was the term he had read in the Matrix so long ago... Glasnos he believed it was called, though he may be wrong on that.

But he learned that even the Machinists as they were called weren't always interested in the Peace. Some just wanted to go back in time, and let the Machines rule them in ignorance. Ignorance made no sense to him, but he supposed that being reinserted into the Matrix could at least be understood. Where else were you going to find a decent '47 Chardonnay?

So began his search, his search for those who believed the way that he did, that the Peace made more sense then War. That working along side the Machines and educating them could promote the Truce more easily then code bombing bluepills, or stealing so called "artefacts" from Machine areas. Had Neo sacrificed himself to destroy the machines, or to promote peace and give humanity a chance? He didn't see too many dead agents laying around, and 01 seemed to be all nice and working strong, so that kind of left peace. Irrationality it seemed was a human trait.

And so he searched, and asked, and hacked until he found hints, and then more and more and more hints. TGS is was called, The Glitch Society, and on the surface it seemed exactly what he was looking for. A bit more in-depth research, and he was sure it was. Some careful inquiries, and then more and more blatant, until his move and request.

And the rest was history. Here he was upon the Polydectes, new and very late for breakfast. What he wouldn't give for a croissant, blackberry jam, and a three-cheese omelette with freshly squeezed orange juice. But if he kept day dreaming he wouldn't even get the stuff they called food around here. Not a good way to start off his first day upon the hovercraft.

##End of log