Curled up in a ball in the corner behind the wardrobe, Ree sobbed herself to sleep, worn out by grief and hurting from the attack by the man she'd trusted and depended on. Several hours later, someone else woke up. As she regained consciousness, her first awareness was of stiffness, the muscular protest against enforced inactivity in an artificial position on a hard surface. She opened her eyes, finding herself trapped in a narrow box. But even as she arrived at that disturbing conclusion, she realized that it was wrong. She could see the opening ahead of her.
Starting to get up, she discovered that she hurt, in very intimate places. Gingerly, she crawled out of the space, into a small, cramped bedroom, barely large enough for the furniture it contained. The wardrobe took up most of the space. A valet's room, she thought. She wandered around, looking for some clue as to her identity.
Two doors entered the room, both locked, but the keys were on the inside, reassuring her somewhat. She opened one, and peered out into a hallway, then the other. That was a large modern bathroom, an open door leading to another room from whence came the sound of loud, raucous snores.
Reluctant to approach that door, and the unknown sleeper in the connecting room, she was nevertheless uncomfortably aware of the drying stickiness between her legs. She steeled herself to go shut and lock that door, then began to clean herself up.
Part of the problem was blood. With the light on, she could see that the back of her gown was similarly stained. Pulling it off with sudden revulsion, she grabbed a washcloth and scrubbed at herself, trying to get clean. She left the gown on the floor of the bathroom, walking back into the room in which she'd first awakened.
By now, she was beginning to feel angry, frustrated and very afraid. She rummaged through the chest of drawers, finding a lot of frouffy underthings, but also some sensible exercise bras and underpants. She chose black and pulled them on. Looking further, she selected long dark pants and a long-sleeved dark shirt, in spite of the warmth of the night.
Feeling somewhat better and more in control, she continued her search for some sense of identity. Picking up a book off the bedside table, she opened it at random.
'The great cabin was filled with gaily dressed people; the handsomest among them was a young prince with large, dark eyes'. She could almost see him. He'd have long, dark curls that twined around your fingers. Skipping several paragraphs, she read again.
'He laughed and smiled and shook hands with everyone, while music played in the still night.' She remembered that. They had danced until the music stopped then raced off into the night to ... where? Frustratingly, the memory failed her there. Closing the book, she looked in the front. Someone had written, in large letters that crawled upward 'Ree, her book'.
Silently, she tried the name. Ree. Was that her name? Almost. Almost, but not quite. Ree. Ari. Yes, that was it. Ari. Ari Adler.
Pleased, she smiled and nodded. She was Ari Adler of the seaQuest. The last part took her by surprise and she glanced down at the book in her hands again, thinking there was some connection. 'The Little Mermaid'. There was a picture of a ship on the cover, with the prince looking down over the edge to the mermaid gazing up from the water, a party around him, and the gathering storm.
She knew this story. The boat would sink, losing all hands, including the prince. He would die and the mermaid would live, condemned to serve for three hundred years without him.
No. That wasn't right. That wasn't the ending to this story, but another. She shook her head, refusing the false lead of the storybook, and put it firmly back on the table.
The seaQuest, she thought, going back to that thought. She remembered it. Faces flashed across her memory, one in particular, the prince, again and again. She knew him. She knew them all.
More and more memories appeared, too many for her to follow, like an avalanche, a sensory overload. With an inarticulate cry, she slid off the bed, shielding her head with her arm as if to ward off the now painful cascading neuron impulses, as her life came back to her.
Later she reflected that it was probably for the best that she hadn't lost consciousness, but at the time, Ari felt as though her brain was as bruised as her body. Cruelly, she remembered everything. Everything. Not only everything that had happened to Ree, but the events on Hyperion, as well. Everything.
She and Miguel had made love again, there before he'd left on his final mission. Nothing planned, no protection, just defiance in the face of death. Ari pressed the palm of her hand flat against her empty stomach, closing her eyes and waiting for some emotion. Some sorrow or tears. But there was nothing there. It was all frozen away somewhere else.
Distantly, she knew that she should be crying, mourning for child whose existance she had so blindly denied. If she'd believe them, the doctors who said that she was pregnant, would this child be alive, even quickening, now? But Miguel would be dead. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. He was dead, the baby was dead, Ree was dead and maybe, from the feel of it, she was too, down inside.
She'd been here for three weeks, on top of the weeks she'd been with seaQuest. Seven weeks in a cavern, accessible only by an underwater passage. No fresh water, no light, no food. There was no hope.
Abruptly, she stood, wanting to look down at the man who had killed all her hopes and trust. She tripped on a pillow on the way out. Picking it up, she took it with her, once more through the connecting bath.
General Miguel lay sprawled out on his back, his arms wide, his mouth slightly opened as he snored loudly. She hated him. She hated him so hard there was no room for any more tears, for anything at all except cold, hard hatred. She hefted the pillow consideringly.
It would be such a simple matter to put it over his face and hold it there until he died, she thought. He moved, a satisfied smile on his face, and sleepily murmured "Ree". Goaded, she moved to take action, then paused, reconsidering.
If she killed him now, he would die triumphant, possessing everything and she would be left with nothing by hollow victory forever. She wanted to take from him everything he held dear, starting with herself, robbing him of his future as he'd robbed her. And she had everything she needed to do exactly that.
Turning on her heel, she strode back to the other room, leaving the pillow on the floor behind her.
Davide Desejosso groaned at the sound of the door opening, but didn't look around. He couldn't stand to face Malique with his failure. The sounds of merrymaking had died down a couple of hours ago, as the available liquor dried up. Malique had carefully considered how much to allow them, since he didn't want his crack, US trained troops entirely incapacitated. By now, they were all asleep or otherwise in bed. Davide wished he were too."No luck," Malique said quietly. Wearily, Davide shook his head. His leader patted his shoulder comfortingly. "Why don't you call it a night, then? You may have better luck if you're rested."
"This was the best chance we had," the computer hacker mourned, letting himself be persuaded to shut the link down. "It was going on line, and not everything was up yet. If I could have gotten in ..."
He was still complaining when he lay down on the pallet in the room, his eyes already closing.
Malique sighed and shook his head. Now General Miguel had sole, personal control over every weapons storage in the country. Unless the USA and UEO came through with a significantly more substantial contribution, it looked as though his rebellion was doomed.
Jameson was also having a frustrating night. First, he'd been unable to re-enable the security circuits in either the presidential suite or the whore's room beside it, then some damned elusive electronic sneak had tried to break into the Residence computer system. He'd been stalking the would-be intruder, patiently tracing him back over the shielded switchbacks to his location, but now, as though he'd noticed something, he was gone. Vanished without a trace. But Jameson would be waiting when he returned. And then he'd have him.The door to the security room opened. Irritated, he looked up, then smiled. Ree stood there, wearing one of those ridiculously long gowns that Carlos let her get away with, staring silently at him. He could see bruises on her pale, wan face, and more around her wrists, and his smile broadened. Looked like his old friend had finally starting teaching her her proper place in life, underneath a man. He only wished he'd had the opportunity to teach the same lesson to her bitch friend.
"Well, look who got away. Come on, I know Carlos is going to be looking for you when he wakes up, you little idiot. He's going to want to go another round."
Getting heavily up out of his seat, he approached with his hand out, trying to appear non-threatening.
She let him get close enough, then struck. A kick to the stomach to get him to keel over, then a hard chop on the back of his neck. He fell like a puppet with its strings cut. Gasping like a fish, he stared up with uncomprehending eyes.
Ari stepped over him, taking his place at the terminal. Quickly she searched through the list of guards. While she'd been Ree, one of them had said something that hadn't made any sense at the time, but now she hoped was a link to Malique and the freedom fighters. She found him, on gate duty. Perfect.
Then, using the general's private codes, she entered the computer system, changing the passwords and altering programming to accept input only from those with the new codes. That done, she stepped back over Jameson and opened the door, pausing for a moment to look down at her victim.
He wasn't dead. Not yet. She'd cracked his vertebrae and severed the spinal column. If he didn't move, if he was found quickly enough, if the next person in knew enough to secure his head, he could have full recovery. She ought to kill him, she thought. Considering what she planned, that would be a mercy.
But she didn't feel particularly merciful.
Closing the door, she jammed the lock to prevent premature discovery and walked out of the Residence, floating through the corridors and rooms like a wraith. Or a sleepwalker.
Outside, she pulled the nightgown off and shoved it into a vase. Step one complete. Now for step two.
Matteo Ruiz shifted his rifle to his other shoulder and readjusted his stance. Although he, like most of the other Residence guards, purported to hate having night time gate duty, it was where he wanted to be. He wanted to be the one to open the gates when Malique finally gave the word. It had been a difficult thing, swallowing his pride and honor in order to work his way into the honor guard, the Supreme General's own personal guard, but it had been worth it, in terms of the intelligence he'd been able to send back to the commandos. He'd been the one to inform them of Jameson's plans for automating the defense security systems.He heard a rustle and came to alert, peering through the gates into the darkness. Was it time. When the sound came, it was from behind him.
"Senor Ruiz? I believe we have a mutual acquaintance. Darwin? Bad sinks."
The whispered voice could have been anyone. He spun around, prepared to kill to hide his secret. Then he froze. There stood the General's latest mistress, the small, fair, mentally deficient norte-americana. He'd been ordered to make contact with her a, and had managed a few days back, using almost those exact same words, but she'd just stared blankly at him.
"I, ahh, I'm not ... ummm, the future floats?" he replied in stunned disbelief, making a question of the counter statement.
"Exactly. Can you get me to Malique now?"
"I .. ah... the gates...?"
"Leave them open," she directed briskly, walking forward as if he had no choice but to let her past. In retrospect. He probably didn't. "It'll save time later."
The small woman, barely larger than a child walked confidently out of the enclosure ahead of him. She turned to give him a cold smile. "the revolution is about to begin. You don't want to be late."
Without another doubt, Matteo Ruiz jumped to follow.
Chapter 6
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