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Chapter Six: There is No Spoon
If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time.
- Marcel Proust
She wakes up, she goes to the bathroom, takes a shower, and gets dressed. She makes the bed, tucking and folding, smoothing and fluffing, until it looks like the maids have already gone through her room. Next, she clears her bathroom counter of her personal items, and scans the space one more time in case something is surreptitiously left behind. Out in the living area, most everyone is up and a breakfast spread has magically appeared. They are all unnaturally quiet - not anxious, but focused. Determined. Eames stands in front of a mirror hanging near the penthouse door, absorbed in the movement of his hands - how he holds his glasses, how his fingers rest just so on the lapels of his blazer, how they move when he speaks, which is also different. Ariadne blinks at the complete replacement of one accent for another.
The plan proceeds. They arrive at different times, in different cars, to the airport. They check in and wait in different areas. She wanders through the airport shops, reading the backs of novels, buying rolls of flavored antacids and a magazine. She represses the urge to noticeably lift her eyes at a familiar face. When the announcement is made that first-class passengers are now able to board, she is one of the first on line, debating the entire time if she should smile or take on a bored, elitist attitude. She ends up opting for the former - the attendants are irresistibly nice as they take her ticket and stow her suitcase away. Her seat is like an alien pod - there are speakers on the sides near her ears, and vents for warm and cool air. With a press of a button, her tray table unfolds itself from the left side across her lap. There are electrical outlets for charging laptops and chargers for all kinds of mobile phones. She presses another button and an ottoman materializes so she can prop her legs up.
Behind her, there is the shuffling of feet, slight vibrations as weight settles into seats and the snaps of belts being buckled. There is coughing and murmurs of acceptance or decline on the offer of complimentary champagne and fresh strawberries by flight attendants. The first-class cabin holds ten seats, but she doesn't turn around to check on her neighbors. Saito suddenly walks by and takes the seat directly in front of her; on her right, across the aisle, there is a bright blob that surely must be Cobb. She continues to flip lackadaisically through the in-flight magazine.
Then, there's the shuffle and a "Oh, I'm sorry." That's when she allows herself to peek at Cobb, sitting directly behind Fischer. She must not have been the only one because while he isn't making eye contact with any of them, he makes a thumb's sign up with one of his hands. Her bronchial tubes dilate and it's the first time all morning that she is able to draw a deep breath. She allows herself to make sparing glimpses at the man whose life she has studied like a college entrance exam. Seeing Fischer in person is disconcerting; she thought he'd be taller, for one. He's focused on his smartphone, and has the aura of a man who doesn't want to be disturbed.
Having never boarded a flight so early in her life, they are simply waiting for the main cabin to finish seating themselves. A second round of champagne is offered (this time, the flight attendant brings her seltzer) and she gets up to go to the bathroom, more to distract herself than to relieve a physical urge. It's good to know that even first-class cabin bathrooms are ridiculously small, even if it does have a nailed down bowl filled with individually wrapped chocolate mints. On the way back to her seat, she passes Arthur. He turns his head away from the window. Their eyes lock briefly. Then he's back to gazing out at the air strip. On the other side, Yusuf raises his glass of champagne to her, to which she responds with a faint, bemused shake of the head.
The plan proceeds - once they are in the air, Cobb continues with the next phase. She can't breathe again and stares at her TV screen until her eyes water. However, it is executed flawlessly - Cobb is suave without seeming insincere; he manages to appear both respectful and curious. Harmless. Fischer's voice is muted, low. She hates that she has to keep curbing the tendency to tack on the adjective "nice" to his description. Within twenty minutes, the target's head is lolling against his seat. The PASIV is brought out and Arthur has it set up and ready in his usual, no-nonsense manner. They administer the somnacin and he inserts the needle into Fischer's wrist. He then turns to Ariadne. She pushes up her sleeve and places her bare wrist in his hand. It is warm and dry. She knows her eyes are probably taking up half her face at the moment. "Time to take the blinders off."
"Now or never", she quips back, hoping that her tone sounds more breezy than it does trepidacious.
One of his hands has the needle poised right above the puncture zone; the other hand's thumb is gently tracing invisible lines from right to left, left to right on her exposed skin. "You can still turn back, you know."
She laughs. "What, and, miss out on all the fun? No. Give me the red pill."
She catches him smiling as he turns his head down. He presses the needle in. "Just remember, stick to the pla-"
It's raining. She is a wearing a sweatshirt underneath her jacket and she flips the hood over her head. A quick look at the street sign tells her she is about two blocks away from where Cobb is supposed to pick her up. Hunching her shoulders has as much to do with attracting as little attention as possible from the projections as it is in avoiding getting rain in her eyes. She hurries over to Water Street and stands at the curb, waiting and wondering if they have already moved on to the next phase. She begins to devise a way to get to Rendezvous Point Astor when an SUV pulls up in front of her. It's Cobb - she climbs into the passenger front seat. "Everybody in?"
"Yes, they just picked up Fischer five minutes ago. They're in a cab about a block away."
"And we've got everything ready for the next layer?"
Yusuf, sitting in the back, lifts the silver briefcase he is holding. "Yeah. I just need to mix the chemicals once we're stationary."
She sags back and is about to muse how remarkably smooth it is all going when they hear very distinct sounds to suggest that they may have to allow for some flexibility in the plan - pops and pings and the drill of automatic assault weapons. As they close in on Fischer's cab, the smell of smoke is laden over the rain. Cobb swears and accelerates the car forward, but before they advance three feet, a train slams into their front side, sending them spinning into oncoming traffic. He maneuvers the car in a way that would impress race car drivers and manages to avoid getting hit further. They wait, blind and deaf on what is happening on the other side of the train, a moving wall with no end in sight.
Her fingers clench into the seat belt strap across her chest. "This wasn't in the design." An insistent tapping in her mind keeps her fixated on the train, its frame, its coupling rods shuttling to and fro. She has seen this before. It is familiar, yet not quite a memory.
Cobb is hanging over the steering wheel, as if proximity will make the steam-engine locomotive run faster. He loses patience and slams the car in reverse, speeding in the opposite direction in which the train is moving. They finally reach a point where they can cross. "Hold on", is all he has time to say.
The cab with the rest of their team is boxed in by SUVs - Ariadne sees a projection point his rifle and fire. She doesn't even know if she screams or not; nothing registers except watching the cab's windows splinter into small, sharp shards that fan inward, outward. Cobb growls; they surge forward, and she flattens herself as far back into her seat as she can manage when it becomes apparent he is going to press deeper on the gas pedal the closer they get. They slam into the closest SUV with enough force that they surely would have cracked through the front window had it not been for the restraint of their seat belts. It is worth the ensuing whiplash, though, since it creates enough of an opening for Arthur, who is behind the wheel of the cab, to squeeze through.
Ariadne can't stop thinking is everyone okay? and why the projections were so violently aggressive. They make Mal seem neighborly. Cobb runs red lights and drives in circles before they end up at Rendezvous Point Astor, an abandoned warehouse located in a desolate, industrialized part of town. They drive straight inside, past Eames who then slams the car door closed and everyone is exploding out of cars, with questions spilling from their mouths. Ariadne stops short when she sees blood on Arthur.
"Oh, Christ. Is he dying?" This from Cobb. For a second, she can't believe Cobb would ask Arthur that question about himself. Then she focuses on Saito who is lying on a table and his front side is soaked in blood. Her knees nearly buckle.
Arthur is saying something to her. She doesn't have to actually know the words to know what he is asking. His tone is terse, and he is standing with every tendon and muscle braced. Train. That's what he's asking about and it's what she is wondering about too. She has seen that train before but she doesn't remember from where. Could it have come from her subconscious? A memory she doesn't remember that, nonetheless, is buried deep within her?
"Because we'll be together."
A memory flashes. Not her memory.
"I'll tell you a riddle."
Her eyes swivel to Cobb - he is arguing, first with Arthur, then with Eames.
"You're waiting for a train."
Yusuf getting into the middle of it now.
"A train that will take you far away."
Arthur, angry. Eames, angry. Cobb, insistent.
"You know where you hope this train will take you, but you don't know for sure. But... it doesn't matter."
Cobb finally looking at her. Cobb, relentless. Fevered.
"How can it not matter to you where that train will take you?"
After it's been decided, although it's clear even to Ariadne that there really isn't much of a choice, to move forward with the plan, Arthur and Cobb set the stage for Eames in the next phase. She stays with Saito, following Arthur's instructions to put pressure on his gunshot wound in an attempt to slow the bleeding. "If this is a dream, I should be able to convince myself this is not happening", he says, panting in between every few words.
"Shh. Drink some water." She holds out a water bottle.
He sips from it and manages a weak laugh. "Even in a world where supposedly nothing is impossible, we find ways to limit ourselves." He looks around. "I wonder if I shall see my son here."
"What was his name?"
"Takeshi. He would have been a little older than you by now. Do you have any siblings?"
She tells him about her parents, her childhood, about walking through Central Park on weekends in the fall, and her grandfather moving in to live with her and her parents when her grandmother died. She talks about the two of them working on science fair projects, her father taking her to the zoo every Father's Day weekend, and how they were all there to see her graduate and all there again at the airport before she moved to Paris. She rambles on, because she doesn't know what else she can say that would provide him any small measure of reassurance or comfort.
Cobb comes out of the interrogation room, pulling the ski mask off as he says to Eames, "You're on. You've got an hour." She looks away for a moment and when she looks back, Peter Browning is sitting in the spot formerly occupied by Eames. He is fully in character - the way he gets up from the seat is clearly that of a man past his prime of youth and vigor. He lets out a scream. Then he and Cobb head back to Fischer; minutes later, Cobb and Arthur exit as part of the next phase of the plan.
"How's he doing?", Cobb asks. He looks concerned.
"He's in a lot of pain." The bandages are soaked - Ariadne isn't sure if it is Saito's body that is keeping the seeped blood warm or if that's from her hand. If this is a dream, and I can make anything happen, then let some of my life force go to Saito, she thinks. She closes her eyes and repeats the wish. Nothing happens.
Arthur stands on the other side of Saito and places his hand over the one Ariadne's got pressed down on the wound. She raises her eyelids at the contact; he is watching the shallow rise and fall of Saito's chest and noting his pallor and complexion.
"When we get you down to the next level, the pain will be less intense", Cobb tells Saito.
He's trying to assure the dying man, and, doing a terrible job out of it. Her hand slips away from Saito and she pulls Cobb into a quiet corner. "You might have convinced the rest of this team to carry on with the job. But they don't know the truth."
He looks at her, uneasy. "What truth?"
Even now, he attempts to hide from her. She's had enough handling him with any delicacy. It is obvious that diplomacy is not the way to go. She confronts him, demands the truth. About him, about how exactly Mal died, and what happened in limbo. It's gone on too long. She should have done this earlier. He must sense that he can't deflect her any more because he finally tells her . About the fifty years of pure creation they spent in limbo; about Mal's refusal to accept reality; and, about Mal's method to persuade him. Her death. Her suicide. This is the seat of Mal's power - Ariadne doesn't understand how Cobb can blame himself for something which Mal chose to do; no matter how much she tries to impress on him his innocence, and, the importance letting go of his guilt will do to his own well-being as well as the others who are now inextricably and unknowingly linked to it, he can't hear her. Or won't. She's so close to making a breakthrough - she can feel it, but the projections - his, Fischer's, Lord knows whom else's - have found them.
"We have to keep moving - Yusuf, start the van. You'll be driving", Cobb says. He severs their link, and reaches for the ski mask.
"Saito, I'm sorry about this. Lean on me." Arthur tries to load the injured man onto the van as quickly and painlessly as possible. Then he hands Ariadne a rifle and for once, she's glad of the mindless violence she engages in. She pretends they are all from Cobb – all his pain and fear and despair personified – and the more of them that go down, the easier the next layer will be. Yusuf joins her after igniting the van's engine; they shoot at as many projections trying to make their way closer into the warehouse.
Arthur and Cobb drag out Fischer. Once the sedation is applied and he is unconscious, Arthur calls out, "Ariadne! Yusuf! Get in - I'll take over." While she climbs in and straps herself securely into the seat, he and Eames work together to clear the area. Soon they are speeding out of the warehouse and down rain-slicked roads.
For the time being, there are no ominous SUVs tailing them. Eames reveals what he learns about Robert Fischer during the time he was imitating Browning. Ariadne has to remind herself that they are here to implant an idea in the target's mind; that being the case, she can't worry about how that idea will impact him, affect his relationships, change the course of his life. She can't think about how nice and sad he looked on the plane. She doesn't agree with the general opinion that Peter Browning is no more than some carrion bird, waiting to feed on the bounty left behind by Maurice Fischer. She wants to point out to Cobb, to Eames, both of them so smugly certain they are doing a favor to Robert Fischer, that she shouldn't have to remind them - especially them - on the complexities of human nature. But Arthur sees that determined look on her face and he shakes his head at her, mouthing, "No." She snaps her jaws shut and stares out the window as the discussion on next steps flows on.
The PASIV is set up and a plan is formed. Eames, employing his unique skills, will be the first to approach Fischer in the second layer; once Fischer is sufficiently distracted, Cobb will establish the Mr. Charles ploy. Arthur, Saito and Ariadne will monitor the environment and keep low profiles, unless projections start a defensive course of action in which case they will engage to protect Cobb. When they receive the signal, they will move on to Rendezvous Point Bigelow.
This time as she is handed the tube and needle, Ariadne feels nothing but a hard knot of pressure and a certain detached distress that she is swimming in murky depths for which not only is there no bottom, but the line which connects her to the surface is drawing tighter around her neck. She closes her eyes, inhales a breath to fill her lungs, and dives in deeper.