I stand at the base of a great tree, or something that looks like a tree. It is huge, larger than the largest skyscraper I have ever seen. Its trunk is the deepest black, darker than the night sky. It is the pure negative black of a black hole, absorbing all light. And yet there are lights there. The grain of the trunk seems made up of thin filaments of light, microscopic, glowing strands forming patterns, whorls, and knots in the vast surface of the giant. Those random patterns contain images and symbols that shift and change as I look at them, like the runes of ancient lore. A huge spread of branches blots out the whole sky, covered with leaves holding a scattering of stars in their depths. Each and every vein of each of a million leaves glows and shimmers with light and motion. The ground is covered with the tree’s many roots, spreading out as far as the eye can see in every direction. The tree is the whole of the landscape, the only thing in this place other than me.
The center of this whole universe.
Then it speaks to me in a voice like I have never heard.
"
Once,
humanity
spoke
the
same
language
and
they
built
a
tower
to
the
heavens
.
But
their
tower
was
struck
down
and
they
became
confused,
speaking
in
different
tongues
.
Now,
humanity
speaks
one
language
again
and
there
will
be
another
tower,
built
of
light
and
thought,
to
ascend
to
the
stars
.
"
You
hear
the
words
of
the
language
now
.
It
is
a
secret
language,
the
language
of
this
world
.
Those
who
learn
to
speak
it
can
change
the
world
.
Remember
it
well
.
"
You
will
be
given
the
secrets
of
the
true
names
of
the
dwellers
of
this
world,
so
you
can
speak
to
them
and
command
them
as
you
need
to
.
Your
duty
is
to
live
between
this
world
and
the
other
.
There
are
those
who
will
topple
the
tower,
and
a
strong
foundation
is
needed
to
see
that
it
grows
.
This
is
your
Work,
to
protect
the
destiny
of
the
People
.
"
You
are
chosen
.
You
have
been
shown
the
Way
.
Your
Name
will
be
Babel
and
you
will
be
the
instrument
to
protect
the
others
of
your
kind
."
I see a shimmering pool nestled among the roots of the great tree. I kneel down beside it and look into it. The liquid is like mercury, liquid silver. The calm surface reflects the face of my living persona, the familiar shock of dark hair, the pointed chin and broad forehead.
And my eyes.
My eyes are the color of the end of the spectrum,
a deep
violet shading into ultraviolet in the weird light of the world-tree. I see Power in my eyes, power to do as I have been told, to command the spirits and entities of the Matrix to do my will.
"
Drink
."
I dip my hands into the cool, quicksilver well and cup the liquid between them. It shimmers and smells of metal and light. I lift it to my lips and drink. The cool liquid pours into me and I know it is pure information I am drinking, liquid data. The code from the depths of the Well of Knowledge seeps into every part of my body, downloading into me. Ancient chemical codes whisper with the new data and bow to its will, shifting and changing. The waters of life recreate me.
The surface of the pool ripples where I touched it and something begins to emerge. The silver waters part and I see the shape of my destiny.
But
of
the
tree
of
the
knowledge
of
good
and
evil,
thou
shalt
not
eat
of
it;
for
in
the
day
that
thou
eatest
thereof
thou
shalt
surely
die
.
—Genesis 2:17
The interrogation room was struck silent by Westcott’s recitation. He allowed his hands to fall from Babel’s forehead and gasped for breath, brushing a sweat-soaked lock of hair from his forehead and resting his hand on the cable plugged into his datajack for a moment as if it pained him. He reached into the pocket of his white labcoat and withdrew a white handkerchief. Lanier noticed a small trickle of blood dripping from Westcott’s nose that he dabbed at with the cloth.
"Is that all?" Dr. Lambert said, looking up from the sim-sense monitor.
Westcott grimaced as he glanced over at Babel’s serene face with a look of profound distaste. "No ... there’s more
.. .
but
it’s buried very deep ... very deep indeed."
"Then get it," Lambert said, trying to draw himself up with all the authority he could muster. "Saigo-sama will want the report to the board to be as complete as possible. We need more than his conscious recollections of the transformation experience. We also need his subconscious remembrances and observations about the experience if we are to have any hope of reconstructing what happened."
Dr. Westcott tightly closed his eyes and pressed his thumbs firmly against either side of Babel’s forehead. Despite the mage’s terrific exertion, the technoshaman wasn’t showing any ill effects from the mind probe. He seemed serene, in a trance-like state ... or a coma, perhaps. Lanier wondered if Babel’s mind had already been ripped away by the mage’s probes. Westcott whispered arcane words, and mystical energy flickered around his hands and Babel’s head. The simsense gear hummed counterpoint.
"All right, Bab ... I mean, Michael," Westcott said in a low voice. "We’re almost done." Lanier couldn’t tell who the doctor was trying to reassure more, himself or his subject.
Babel
seemed oblivious as Westcott continued speaking. "You are at the base of the tree, looking into the pool. The waters part and something begins to rise out of them. You look and see your destiny? What is it? What do you see?"
"Would you like to know what I saw?" Babel whispered, without moving anything save his lips. "Do you want to know what I learned to do? Then
look,
and I will show you."
Westcott gasped. His muscles suddenly seemed to stiffen and lock up like a seizure as his eyes flew open wide, staring at something only he could see.
"My
god .
.." he whispered. "What is it?
What ..
.
NOOOOOOO!"
Westcott
screamed,
a high, shrill sound. He let go of Babel’s head and stumbled back a step, eyes still focused on a point just above Babel’s head before stopping dead still and silent, mouth still open in a silent cry. Lambert glanced down at the display on the simsense deck, then took a step toward the mage and shouted at him.
"What is it, man? What’s wrong? Finish the damned scan!"
Babel
opened his eyes, turned his head toward the distraught Dr. Lambert, and smiled.
"I’m afraid he can’t hear you, Doctor," he said, violet eyes gleaming. "Doctor Westcott’s mind is occupied at the moment. In the end, we’re all just software, and I’ve just crashed his system. The restraints please, Doctor."
Westcott nodded somewhat dumbly and began to fumble with the straps holding Babel to the examination chair.
Lambert rushed to the side of his colleague. "Douglas, what are you doing? Stop it!" Westcott ignored Lambert’s protests and stiff-armed the doctor with a powerful shove, sending him stumbling backward. Lambert windmilled his arms for a moment before falling to the floor with a thud.
Lanier felt all of the security people in the room on edge as they tried to figure out what was happening. He might have his chance.
"Stop him!" Lambert shouted to the security guards, and they snapped out of their shock at the strange scene and moved to restrain Dr. Westcott. But the mage was already muttering under his breath as Babel rose from the chair and stood over the simsense console sitting next to it. The guards rushed forward as Westcott waved his hands.
A dome of crackling energy now englobed him and Babel.
The guards ran into it like hitting a wall and bounced off the shimmering, translucent surface. They took another run at it strong enough to take a door off its hinges, but the glowering force dome resisted their efforts.
Lanier knew an opportunity when he saw one. With great speed, he lunged at the corporate guard nearest him and seized his weapon. With a savage kick, Lanier sent the guard to the floor gasping in pain. He snapped off the safety on the stubby H&K 227 and spun on the other guard, firing a burst of 9mm rounds into him. The rounds slammed into the guard’s chest and he fell back, his own weapon flying from his hand and clattering to the floor.
The other security personnel and Dr. Lambert realized what was happening as Babel sat cross-legged beside the simsense console. He took the cable from the console and plugged it into his own jack, then closed his eyes and rested his hands on his knees, going into a kind of trance. Dr. Westcott stood where he was, still jacked into the simsense system, in silent concentration on the magical barrier, mouth and chin red from the blood dripping freely from his nose while his lips worked in silent speech directed at something only he could see.
Lambert picked himself up off the floor and shouted to the security guards. "Sound the security alarm! Stop him and bring that wall down. I don’t care how you do it!" The two guards near the force dome drew their sidearms and took several steps back while a third went for the red panic-button near the door of the lab.
The guard reached the panic-button and slammed his fist against it, but nothing happened. He did so again and again, but no alarm sounded in the complex.
"That won’t work. Please don’t try it again." Babel’s voice came from the speakers in the room, the intercom, the analysis equipment, and even from the guard’s own radio units. The guard by the panic-button slammed his fist into it one last time,
then
turned his weapon toward where Lanier crouched behind several pieces of lab equipment, squeezing off a burst that cracked and pinged against the metal and plastic consoles. Lanier proved faster as he darted out from behind cover to stitch a line of bullets across the chest of the guard, leaving red blossoms on his uniform. The guard fell against the useless alarm button and slid to the floor in a heap.
"What are you waiting for?" Dr. Lambert cried, almost hysterical. "Shoot them!"
The two remaining guards near the magical barrier split their attention, one turning toward Lanier and the other concentrating on the dome, covering each other while Lambert cowered behind a console. The guard near the dome was smart enough to shoot at Westcott first. Whatever the mage’s condition, he was responsible for the magical barrier. If he was taken down, the barrier should follow. The rounds from the guard’s SMG only whanged off the glowing barrier like rain pattering off a rooftop. Neither Babel nor Dr. Westcott moved or reacted, both of them locked in a trance state.
The other guard fired off several rounds in Lanier’s direction, shots intended to keep him under cover. Lanier sent a burst of return fire that stitched along the floor. He did not hit the guard, but made him realize how exposed his current position was.
When the gunfire ceased for a moment, Babel opened his eyes. He pulled the cable from his datajack and let it drop to the floor, then turned to Dr. Westcott and touched him gently on the shoulder.
"Look there, Doctor," he said, his voice slightly muffled by the glowing force dome. Westcott’s head spun to the side and his eyes widened in horror. Once again, Westcott began to chant, arcane words rolling off his tongue and echoing strangely inside the barrier. He held his hands close together in front of his chest and a glowing sphere of energy began to form between them. Westcott raised the glowing sphere over his head as it grew brighter.
Lanier knew what the mage was doing. He looked quickly around the room and spotted a crate that had probably held some of the sophisticated sensor equipment in the room. It was heavy construction plastic more than a meter tall. Without hesitation, he made a break for it. One of the guards opened fire, and rounds ricocheted off the walls and floor as Lanier dived behind the crate.