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'
The
matrix
has
its
roots
in
primitive
arcade
games
,
’
said
the
voice
-
over
,
'
in
early
graphics
programs
and
military
experimentation
with
cranial
jacks
.
’
On
the
Sony
,
a
two
-
dimensional
space
war
faded
behind
a
forest
of
mathematically
generated
ferns
,
demonstrating
the
spacial
possibilities
of
logarithmic
spirals
;
cold
blue
military
footage
burned
through
,
lab
animals
wired
into
test
systems
,
helmets
feeding
into
fire
control
circuits
of
tanks
and
war
planes
.
'
Cyberspace
.
A
consensual
hallucination
experienced
daily
by
billions
of
legitimate
operators
,
in
every
nation
,
by
children
being
taught
mathematical
concepts
.
.
.
A
graphic
representation
of
data
abstracted
from
the
banks
of
every
computer
in
the
human
system
.
Unthinkable
complexity
.
Lines
of
light
ranged
in
the
nonspace
of
the
mind
,
clusters
and
constellations
of
data
.
Like
city
lights
,
receding
.
.
.
’
'
What
’
s
that
?
’
Molly
asked
,
as
he
flipped
the
channel
selector
.
'
Kid
’
s
show
.
’
A
discontinuous
flood
of
images
as
the
selector
cycled
.
'
Off
,
’
he
said
to
the
Hosaka
.
'
You
want
to
try
now
,
Case
?
’
Wednesday
.
Eight
days
from
waking
in
Cheap
Hotel
with
Molly
beside
him
.
'
You
want
me
to
go
out
,
Case
?
Maybe
easier
for
you
,
alone
.
.
.
’
He
shook
his
head
.
'
No
.
Stay
,
doesn
’
t
matter
.
’
He
settled
the
black
terry
sweatband
across
his
forehead
,
careful
not
to
disturb
the
flat
Sendai
dermatrodes
.
He
stared
at
the
deck
on
his
lap
,
not
really
seeing
it
,
seeing
instead
the
shop
window
on
Ninsei
,
the
chromed
shuriken
burning
with
reflected
neon
.
He
glanced
up
;
on
the
wall
,
just
above
the
Sony
,
he
’
d
hung
her
gift
,
tacking
it
there
with
a
yellow
-
headed
drawing
pin
through
the
hole
at
its
center
.
He
closed
his
eyes
.
Found
the
ridged
face
of
the
power
stud
.
