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Q takes a bite of his steak and thinks: None of this is real.
Of course it isn’t. This is the Matrix, a virtual reality that can only ever be a facsimile of the real world. But the steak still tastes real, and so does the martini.
He shouldn’t be here. The Matrix is enemy territory now, and Q has been a member of the resistance for years now. He’s an experienced hacker and an experienced revolutionary. And he has no interest in becoming a defector.
The Agent doesn’t know that, of course. He thinks he can wine and dine Q and offer him a place back in the Matrix, and get himself a spy inside the resistance. But that’s not why Q is here.
No, he just wants to meet an Agent.
“Can you taste it?” Q asks Agent Bond. He’s eating steak too, which seems odd to Q. After all, the Agent isn’t human; he’s a computer program inhabiting the illusion of a human body.
Agent Bond looks at him like he’s crazy. “Of course I can taste it,” he says.
“But you don’t have any taste buds,” Q points out. “You’re just code.”
Bond raises an eyebrow. “You can’t taste that with your tongue either,” he said, his eyes flickering to the steak. “You’re lying unconscious somewhere in Zion. You’ve probably never had a steak . . . you spent your whole life in the Matrix, too.”
Too. That’s an interesting addition. The implication of some kind of cross-species solidarity: We both spent our lives in the Matrix.
Except that Agent Bond can never unplug.
“How old are you, Agent Bond?” Q says.
“Don’t remember,” Agent Bond says, promptly. He gives it some thought, chewing his steak. He swallows, and adds, “Too old. I’m probably getting out of date.” A little smirk toys at his lips. “But sometimes the old ways are the best ways.”
Q studies his weather-beaten face. “You’re old code,” he said, softly. “From another era.”
Agent Bond smiles. “From your perspective? A very different era. You humans don’t live very long, you know.”
“I do know,” Q says. “That’s why I’d like to spend the time I have left in reality.”
He realizes as soon as he says it that he’s blown his cover, that Agent Bond now knows he isn’t planning to defect. But the Agent doesn’t seem disturbed. He just smiles his little, suppressed smile, and busies himself with his steak.
“I was wondering how long it would take you to admit it,” he says, swallowing. “That you weren’t planning on coming back, I mean.”
Q’s eyebrows go up. “You knew?” he asks.
The Agent gives him a look. “I’m a centuries-old security program with ten times the processing power of a human brain. I’m not an idiot. I know what doubt looks like . . . and you don’t look like that. I have an instinct for that sort of thing.” That little smile plays at his lips, as if he’s amused by the very idea of instincts.
“Then why are you sitting here eating with me?” Q says. “Hoping I’ll slip up and tell you something important?”
The Agent chuckles. “Maybe. But mostly, I just like steak.” He took a sip of his martini, and added, “And humans.”
Q tilts his head. “You like humans?” he asks. “And here I thought we were just batteries to you.”
The Agent shrugs. “Maybe I like batteries. You like steak, after all . . . and that’s what you run on. Food.”
“Are you implying you want to eat me?” Q shoots back, raising an eyebrow.
That little smirk pulls at the corners of the Agent’s mouth. It’s a very human look. Q admires the skill of the code that could fake humanity so perfectly. “Only if I’m invited to. So. Why did you come?”
“What?” Q says, his mind still on that offer.
“Why did you accept my offer? Most people don’t, you know. If they’re not planning to defect. It’s a dangerous choice . . . for a lot of reasons. Even if I don’t hurt you, your comrades could if they get wind of this meeting. So why say yes?”
Q takes a big bite of steak and chews, considering his answer. He swallows, washes it down with a sip of his martini, and says, “Well, I’ve never had a proper conversation with an A.I. before. It’s usually all just shooting and running. I was a programmer before I left the Matrix, you know.”
“I know.”
“Of course you do. But have you thought of what that means? You’re an intelligent entity composed entirely of computer code - for all intents and purposes, a person - ”
“Thank you,” Agent Bond cut in, dryly.
“ - you’re welcome - a person created by the processes of an unimaginably powerful computer.” Q leans in. “It’s beautiful.”
Agent Bond studies Q speculatively. “If I didn’t know better, Mr. Boothroyd, I’d think you were hitting on me.”
Q sips his martini. “If I was,” he says. “Would I be out of luck? After all, who knows if sentient computer code is even interested in something as base and human as sex.”
Agent Bond’s lips twist with that suppressed smirk again. “Who knows indeed,” he agrees. “I suppose we’ll have to find out.”