So… they just liked the sound of water, then.
Then she drove loudly, aggressively, and quickly toward the main entrance of the fortress. She stopped before the enhanced ground car reached the moats and stepped out, throwing her travel bag over her shoulder. It was heavy, which made adopting an aggravated persona all the easier; carrying her wardrobe, makeup, and weapons of focused destruction was no easy task.
“Hello?” She raised her voice. “Why isn’t anyone here to greet me and take me to my quarters? When my father hears about this shoddy treatment, there will be hell to pay!”
She stomped boldly through the moat areas, taking care to keep her feet on the raised paths that nearly breached the water’s surface, continually shouting and demanding to be allowed inside and showed to her room.
The door opened beyond the final waterfall, showing a woman with a baffled looked on her face. “Mrs. Light?”
“Ms. Silver, thanks. That lout called Mr. Light wasn’t Mr. Right after all; he abandoned me for some imagined glory and got himself killed. Don’t call me that name ever again. Understood?”
“Er, yes, I suppose, I didn’t know, so—”
Deirdre held up a hand to silence the stammering. “You’re here to escort me to my quarters?”
“I…” The woman paused. “We weren’t expecting you, Ms. Silver.”
She put her bag down and stood there, hands wide in the air. “You’ve got to be kidding. Tell me you’re kidding. I just finished a tour of New Venice and the only transport they had for me was a ground car—can you believe it?—and I’ve been driving it here all across Western lands for days. And you’re telling me you weren’t expecting me? I need real food, a decent set of clothes rather than the rags I’ve been living in…” She waved dismissively at the bag at her feet. She sniffed loudly. “And a hot shower. No horrid shampoos or soaps, either. Good stuff. Fluffy towels.” She glared at the bag. “And somebody to carry this.”
“I…” The woman looked concerned.
Deirdre marched past her and into the entryway for New Phoenix, noting the same boring, blasé’ interior design she’d been rushed through during her “welcome” to New Venice. She could see the tunnels for normal residents, which probably didn’t involve being dumped down a chute, stripped, and doused with water and cleaning chemicals. She started down one, stopped, paused for a moment, and then walked back toward the open door. She raised her hands in an exaggerated manner again, scowling at the woman who’d opened the door. “Well, what are you waiting for? I’m not going to know the route to my room on my own; I just got here. And grab the bag before you show me the way; it’s too heavy for me to carry after my long journey.”
With a resigned sigh, the woman bent and picked up the bag, staggering a bit, and grunted out her response through clenched teeth. “Of course, Ms. Silver.”
Deirdre followed the aggrieved woman through the tunnels and primary activity areas, trying to casually get an idea of the layout and route she’d taken. She wanted to make it seem like she understood that each of the fortresses had a similar layout—they did, by her observation—and might vary only by the names assigned to the various interior “streets”—they did. She mumbled, in what she hoped was an annoyed tone, about how what had been called “Erie Avenue” in New Venice was “Canyon Boulevard” here, and how she’d have get a map to make sure she understood where everything was.
She wondered if her bluster would prevent anyone from checking in with New Venice… or her father. And she wondered what would happen if they did. Would New Venice report that she’d turned traitor and stolen one of their vehicles, risking that she’d uncovered at least a portion of the leadership there actively working to thwart the Phoenix Group’s plans? And if they contacted her father, would he come get her, ignore the information… or tell them to lock her up until further notice?
Focus on the mission at hand and let whatever happens on those fronts just happen.
The woman entered the residential area and stopped before a door. “We’ll have to get you an access card for the room, but this particular room is available.” She pushed the door open—apparently they only activated locking mechanisms when rooms were claimed and occupied—let Deirdre walk inside.
Deirdre looked around the room. It was simple, comfortably furnished… and there was a private bathroom there that meant she could shower without an audience. But she forced herself to make a disgruntled face, curling her lip, before sighing loudly. “I suppose this will do. For now.”
“If there’s nothing else, Ms. Silver, I’ll just be—”
“Please let whomever is in charge of this facility know that I’m here.”
“Of… course.” Deirdre understood, now, that nothing this woman had done since encountering the newly arrived diva was normal, including alerting the leader of the place that an unannounced visitor had already been escorted to a private room. “I’ll be—”
“And please tell them I’d like to dine this evening with any of my father’s friends who probably have only recently arrived. Catch up on old times, you know.”
“If that’s—”
“And send me an alert as to the time I should arrive. And where. I need some extra time to get there since the names here are different than at the other fortresses I’ve toured.”
The woman looked at her.
Deirdre waved her hand dismissively. “You may leave now.”
She did, letting the door slam closed. Or perhaps she’d given it an extra assist as she left, no doubt muttering about spoiled rich girls and obnoxious guests.
Deirdre sighed. It was hard to act that way now. But it would be in character for the Deirdre most of them knew, or knew of, and that would keep everything outside the bounds of suspicion, at least until people started dying randomly.
She sat down for a moment and closed her eyes, thinking. Then she moved about the room, opening every door and drawer, pulling back every lampshade and drapery, running her hands over every fixture in the bathroom. She made a show of moaning about the “low class” appointments throughout the room; in reality, she was checking for hidden microphones and cameras. If she found anything, she wanted to be sure everything she did that might be monitored showed Deirdre as they’d expect her to be: annoying, obnoxious, bothered by everything.
She found one microphone embedded in the wall behind the bed, and a single camera above the mirror in the bathroom. It seemed an odd pairing, though she supposed they didn’t really think anything of interest would go on. It was a good setup if those monitoring were peeping Toms; they’d get a view of every bath and shower, and get to listen in should the room’s occupant have a romantic encounter. Creeps. It further cemented her resolve to take out her assigned targets… and maybe a few others, if she could figure out who availed themselves of the audio and video feeds coming from her room.
The only positive? By setting the “bugs” as they had, they made her secret work much easier to conceal. She unpacked the clothes she’d brought—a gift from the second Miriam she’d met recently—and used them to hide the various weapons packed in her bag. She left the bottle of poisoned wine and the jar of Sriracha sauce sitting out prominently. No need to hide those.
There was a sharp knock at the door, and Deirdre, who’d just finished her unpacking, jumped, startled. She made her way to the door, adopted the sneering look she suspected she’d always worn in such circumstances, and opened it.
She found a woman there wearing a crisp, almost military-looking uniform and a name tag bearing the name Leslie. Leslie offered a polite nod. “Hello, Ms. Silver. Per your request I have brought you several items.” Leslie’s facial expression bordered on dreamy, and Deirdre realized that the young woman was a fan, starstruck that someone she’d glamorized via view screen programs was actually here, in her presence. “I… I brought you some outfits to wear and soaps and shampoos.” She blushed. “I… we actually have some of your products, so I made sure I included them for your use. Only the be
st, right?” She laughed nervously, then motioned to enter the room with the cart bearing her offerings.
Deirdre shook her head, instead pointing out just the outfits and supplies she wanted, and setting them down in the room herself. Then she patted Leslie on the hand and offered her a patronizing smile. “Well done, Leslie. If the others here are as competent as you, we should be terraforming the surface in no time, and get everyone safely back on the ground.”
Leslie’s face flushed again, and she beamed with pride.
Deirdre shut the door in her face, picturing the beaming smile turning to a heartbroken look of surprise. She hated to do it. But she had a reputation to protect, after all.
Deirdre spent the next hour in the bathroom, scrubbing her hair and body through several rounds of cleaning. It wasn’t that she was dirty—the sanitization process at New Venice had probably removed bodily grime she hadn’t known was there—but she needed to go through the cleaning process to clear her head, to wash away the past, to forget everything that had happened in the past… month? Six weeks? She’d lost track of the time since life had veered away from normal into this hellacious post-apocalyptic dystopia she now occupied.
And it felt good.
She dried off and wrapped the towel around her body before moving in front of the mirror with the hidden camera. No sense giving the creep watching anything interesting to see. She worked on her hair and added makeup before stepping back, deciding that she looked like the Deirdre everyone would recognize, and nodded her satisfaction. She then moved back to the main room and flipped through the outfits, eventually settling on one that Leslie had brought. It was her own design, after all. Wear the best, right?
She stood before the mirror again, fully dressed. She looked like the dignified, wealthy business magnate and fashion model the world knew.
Her stomach growled loudly. Deirdre looked down at her abdomen and scowled. She’d done well masking her hunger, in part because she wasn’t truly hungry. She’d eaten plenty of calories. But there was no denying the expectation that here, at last, she’d get something truly exquisite to eat.
A rustling near the door caught her attention and she watched as a slip of paper slid into her room. She picked it up. Dinner invitation. She’d be joined in a private dining room—room name and New Phoenix “address” coordinates provided—and she felt her mouth water as she read over the menu items. Yes, indeed, she’d eat well here in New Phoenix while she charmed her fellow diners and poisoned them with spicy sauce and vintage wine.
She glanced at the list of those who’d attend and frowned. She’d gotten one wrong. There were four people listed, but only three of them were on her expected friends-of-Oswald list. No Damien Hyel here, apparently. She wondered what had happened to him. If memory served, he wasn’t so much a creep as an intensely scary man. Your skin would still crawl around him, not because you’d anticipate an unwanted touch, but because you wouldn’t be surprised to find a knife in your back.
So… not having him here was a relief. A surprise, but a relief. She’d need to figure out a way to get word to her new friends, then wondered if they could really hear her. So she murmured out loud that she thought she’d be seeing Damien here, but he’d apparently found other things to do, and so she’d catch up with Yancey instead.
Hopefully, that would give them what they’d need.
She reread her notes on the three original targets, scoured her memories about Yancey, and tried to mentally prepare herself for the inane small talk that would dominate the meal.
She picked up the Sriracha jar and the bottle of wine and paused before opening the door. She turned and looked the place over. It wasn’t palatial or luxurious. But it was the first room she’d occupied for a while without being imprisoned, and, as such, served as something of a home.
And it might be the last home she’d ever know.
She took a long slow breath and opened the door, marching out into the hallway, listening to it slam closed behind her.
Dinner was going to be a hell of a meal.
Or just hell.
Chapter 14
Near New Venice
The sphere was far more crowded now, even with the twins still back on Eden under the watchful cyber eyes of Micah’s robot army. Two full-grown adults simply took up more space than two younger children.
“The irony,” Roddy said, stroking his chin, “is that you’d probably have better luck approaching New Venice unseen if the Ravagers were still there.”
“This was not an eventuality I’d foreseen when I relocated them,” Micah said.
“Not blaming you, Micah.” Roddy glanced at Wesley. “When dormant during daylight hours, they’d be pitch black. With the right color of clothing, you’d be able to approach without issue, blending into the darkness covering the ground as far the eye could see.”
“That works until he gets to the perimeter of the facility,” Mary reminded him. “He still has to cross the moat area and then get inside.”
“Yeah,” Wesley muttered. “Black body suit and face paint and crossing a freshwater moat, even with the stepping stones you’d mentioned? I don’t really see a safe approach option.” He scowled. “How’d you get in?”
“Walked right up to the front door.”
Wesley stared. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Then they grabbed me and threw me down a chute to ensure I’d not brought any Ravagers in. It… wasn’t pleasant.”
“And then?”
“My parents gave me hugs.”
“Must be nice.”
Micah tilted his head. “Roddy, you said you walked in the front door, and that you were treated publicly as a captured criminal while inside the facility, correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“How’d you get out?”
Roddy stomped on the floor of the sphere. “You’re riding in it.”
Micah shook his head. “Sorry, I wasn’t clear. How did you exit the sphere without attracting attention? Where was it stored? This is a unique ship, and only a few of them still exist. Your parents wouldn’t park it in front of the fortress for all to see.”
“Oh, right.” Roddy frowned. “It was well hidden. Secret stairwell from their quarters down below the lowest level of the fortress.”
“And how did the ship leave that hangar?”
Roddy thought for a moment, remembering. “I flew down a tunnel leading from the hangar to the great lake. I exited the water well away from land, and well away from the fortress.” He started nodding, formulating an idea. He glanced at Micah. “How would you like to do some underwater swimming? You’ve practiced that, I assume.”
“No idea,” Wesley said with a shrug. “But if recent history is any indication, I was probably an underwater swimming champion in a previous life. But I do have one question about this plan.”
“Which is?”
“Any freshwater sharks in that lake? Because I’m not going near sharks again.”
Everyone laughed.
Roddy kept the invisibility feature, skimming the sphere across the Western Alliance lands—if such designations mattered any longer—well east of the New Venice fortress. They soon reached the lake, and Roddy directed the ship to hover over the shore directly above the entrance to the underwater tunnel they’d mentioned.
“We can fly you down to the tunnel at a minimum to save time, and even up the tunnel to the facility.” He frowned as Micah and Wesley shook their heads at the same time. “What’s wrong?”
“You said it yourself,” Wesley replied. “You suspect Phoenix higher-ups are in New Venice now. We don’t know if they walked in the front door like you did, or in secret like I’m about to do. And it also means—”
“That they may have sufficient control of the facility that they’d located the tunnel and have it monitored,” Roddy murmured. He glanced at Wesley, then Micah. “You’re afraid that by saving Wesley a swim and a jog we may be putting all of us at risk of capture if the tunnel’s been compromised
?”
“Precisely,” Micah said. He grimaced and glanced at Wesley. “You’ll need to swim for it, unfortunately.”
“Understood.” Wesley looked at Roddy. “Any tips?”
“Swim straight down. I’d recommend staying as close to the shore as you can; you can use the sides to pull yourself down if needed. The tunnel entry is plenty large enough for this sphere.”
“Doesn’t the water in the lake flow in and flood everything?”
“There’s a… wall, for lack of a better term. It’s a gel of some kind. It keeps the water out somehow, but will let other substances through.”
“You’re sure about that? It’s a pretty long way down. If I can’t get through I’m in trouble.”
“You’ll be fine.” He didn’t look at Wesley.
Wesley knew what that meant. Roddy didn’t know if the gel was designed to allow the sphere entry and egress… and nothing else. It didn’t let water in or air out, apparently. He sighed slightly. “So it’s a significant potential risk. At least tell me that there’s breathable air once I get through the gel.”
“Okay. There’s breathable air once you get through the gel.”
“Funny.”
“There’s no water once you get through the gel. The tunnel is connected to the hangar. I breathed perfectly good air in the hangar. I can’t say the air will be particularly fresh. But there will be air present.”
“Good to know.”
“There’s nothing to worry about once you get inside.”
“And here I’d been under the impression I was breaking into a secure fortress in which my intent is to locate the most powerful and influential people and kill them, preferably in a quiet way, and perhaps even survive the whole thing.”
Mary snorted. Micah smiled. John shook his head. Sheila watched without emotion.
Roddy rolled his eyes. “To clarify… once through the gel, there are no complexities about reaching the hangar. Walk up the tunnel until you get there. The stairs there will take you to my parents’ quarters.”
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