Chapter 7 – Leda Atomica Revisited
When she opened her eyes again she knew what to do. Arthur quickly got up from the bed next to her and she saw Eames with a gun in his hand, guarding the door.
"Are we in trouble?" she said to Arthur, taking away the needle and trying to comb her hair from the hours in bed. She felt tired, a headache appearing suddenly. She also felt a little groggy. Her mouth was dry and her skin felt too tight.
"We just ended a dream with hundreds of people inside of it. We're in trouble," was Arthur reply.
Guy was now awake as well, sitting in his bed, recovering and stretching his arms. He looked at them annoyed, rather than angry.
"How the hell did you do that?"
From the look Arthur gave him, Ariadne was certain of what he thought about the guy. And it wasn't pleasant.
"He shot the dreamer," Ariadne explained, receiving a curious look from Nouvelle.
"That's impossible. Nobody dies in there."
"How adorable. In addition of being an idiot, the boy is naïve as well," Eames said seriously, gun pointed at the door and body alert.
"We don't have time to explain to you how the world works, Guy. We're getting out of here. And do us a favor and don't follow us," was Arthur's only answer.
She went next to Eames, while Arthur opened the door so they could leave. Outside, the narrow corridor was, for a brief moment, empty but soon people started to open the colored doors, wanting to know what was happening, confused and still dazed from the drug. They moved quickly, Eames' gun down so they couldn't attract too much attention.
"How did you do it?" she finally asked, too curious to let it wait.
"The employee who watches and supervises the dream doesn't use the drug, for obvious reasons," Arthur said, while watching carefully the corridor. "With the dream collapsing they got no choice but to interrupt the sedative and wake everyone up, it's an emergency system."
"What was that creepy room with the screens, by the way?"
It was Eames turn to answer.
"Why, darling, this is the biggest extraction job ever pulled it off."
Her eyes widen, putting the pieces together.
"They watch everything so they can steal their customers' secrets?"
"Yes. So they can blackmail them later," Arthur said, pressing them forward, they were almost back at the dance floor.
"Someone very smart owns this place," Eames commented, moving behind them. "Get people addicted to this miracle drug and if they try to leave? Well, too late, mate. They have all kinds of dirt on you."
"You sound impressed," she said surprised.
"What can I say? It is very impressing," he insisted, not perturbed by the ethical implications.
She turned to Arthur, realizing what her own presence in there could mean.
"Why didn't you tell me that before?"
"I'm ashamed to say that I didn't know. Yusuf discovered that just a few hours ago," he said and then paused, noticing her worry. "Did you let them see something important?"
"I don't think so… I hope."
They didn't have time to speak anymore, arriving at the main room of the club. She immediately looked for security guards, remembering her training. Luckily the majority of people were shouting and demanding to go back to dream, distracting the guards, who tried to control the crowd with little success. The three of them walked away from the scene in haste, bumping against men and women still slowly awakening.
It was a relief to finally leave the club behind, with its claustrophobic atmosphere. Luckily they made out of there without any confrontation, still Eames and Arthur didn't relax even after they arrived at her hotel. She suspected they risked at lot to come and get her.
Her body felt like stone and when they went inside her room she went directly to the nearest chair, practically falling down on it.
"I'm hungry," she said to them, surprised by the sensation. "I could eat a bear."
"That brings back memories," Eames laughed, "Let me grab you some hangover food, love."
"We can order room service…" she said, but Eames ignored at her and left very quickly. Too quickly, perhaps.
Suddenly she realized she was alone with Arthur, who until now had stared at the windows like a hawk waiting for a prey. Should she thank him? Or be irritated that he didn't give her time alone? Didn't he trust her? Or maybe he was worried?
And why she still cared?
"He's going to check out the street, see if anyone followed us," he said, turning to her slowly. She noticed that he was still tense. And perhaps it wasn't just because of the possible danger.
"Are we in trouble?" she repeated the question. "And not just for interrupting the dream?"
He eyed her carefully and started to move across the place, checking all the rooms on the suite.
"Maybe. Probably. We're competition, in a way. They could think of this move as an attempted sabotage on their business. Let's hope they don't."
"Who are they?"
"All we found out for now is that there are big investors behind Hypnagogia. Questionable ones. People who clearly want more than entertain the bored rich."
He went from the bathroom to the bedroom as he talked, she watched him, feeling more tired by the second. She couldn't help but feel somewhat guilty for putting everyone in danger.
"Arthur, why risk the attention? I mean, I'm glad you and Eames went looking for me, because; let me tell you, Guy is out of his mind. But, really, why not just wait to the dream to end?"
He finished his exploration of the room, returning to the window.
"Guy is out of his mind?"
She noticed his attempt to change the subject, but let it pass for now.
"He's grieving. And," she paused, considering what to tell, "And he's arrogant. He could ruin things."
"I agree. But it's not all, right? You saw something there."
She nodded; glad to be able to talk about it. There was no Cobb this time to ask her to keep a secret.
"He's a forger and… He made Carl. Like Cobb did with Mal, but on purpose."
If Arthur wasn't tense before, he certainly was now. He walked next to her, sitting on an opposite chair, hands together in front of his mouth, staring at her with a strained frown.
"He controls the projection?"
"With the help of the drug, yes. But without, who knows what will happen?"
For a long time nothing was said. She tried to read his expression, to figure it out what he was thinking. Was he going to end the mission?
"It's too late," he announced few minutes later. "Edwards is moving out in three days. It's too late to back down now."
"But…"
"The Adlers won't let me take him out of the mission. They don't trust me. Well, the wife doesn't. We don't have time to think of something else."
"Three days? Why did he suddenly change his plans?"
"I don't know."
She bit her lip, worried about how quickly things made a turn for the worse. It also didn't escape her the fact that they needed the second level done in just two days, a realization that lessened her guilt considerably. Arthur went after her because he needed mazes, not to save her like a shining knight on a white horse. Yet she didn't fully accept that was true. It was strange that she could question that conclusion, even if everything pointed towards it. Part of her, apparently, still believed he considered her more than the architect of the mission.
"What about Limbo? You aren't ready," she said, moving to the edge of the chair to get closer to him. After a brief pause, he leaned in as well, their knees almost touching.
"What do you want me to do?"
It was an honest question, his tone genuinely unsure. She wanted him to do a lot of things; most of them could only complicate their life, so she chose to give him a simple request.
"I want you to talk to me. Whatever appeared down there it may help to talk about it."
He sighed, rubbing his eyes. He looked tired as if he hadn't sleep for days.
"It won't help," he said, voice hoarse, filled with inescapable certainty.
"Why not? And how can you be so sure? Why it's so hard to you to accept that I can help?"
Her plead only made him avoid her eyes. Before she could even try again, Eames opened the door, two bags of cheeseburgers in hands. Arthur quickly composed himself, sitting up and she followed his example, increasing the distance between them. Eames gave them a curious look, before tossing one bag to each. In silence, he sat in the last free chair, crossing his legs and putting his hands over his head. It was probably obvious to him that Arthur and Ariadne were having an intense discussion before, but, for once, Eames didn't comment on it.
"So… The place is clean. Nobody followed us. Yet."
"That's a relief," she said, opening the bag and taking a small bite of the cheeseburger. Normally greasy fast food could not be her choice of meal, but today the smell was enough to make her mouth water. She even ignored her Parisian side, who screamed for a nice salad and maybe some bread and cheese. Real cheese.
"They are probably too busy with their angry customers," Arthur said, passing the bag back to Eames and standing. "I think we can leave now, let you get some rest."
"I rested enough," she said, reluctant to let him go once again without a real conversation. "Maybe I should just go back to the loft to work on the second level."
"Are you sure?"
"Aside from a little headache, I'm fine."
"Alright, but no dreams. We don't how much of the drug it's still in your system."
She nodded, finishing her burger surprising quickly. Eames offered her the other one and she accepted, shocking herself on how much she could eat.
"For a petit fille, you eat a lot," he said, smiling with pride at her eagerness.
"It's the drug," Arthur commented, the tone leaving his distaste of it clear.
"Do you know it?" she asked between bites.
"Yes."
The curtness of the answer made both Eames and her raise their eyebrows. While she at first thought that Yusuf told them about Bu Ran, his short statement gave the impression he knew it about it before and not necessarily as something only related to the club.
"Oh, does that mean that stick-in-the mud Arthur experimented in college, perhaps? Did it involve dream orgies?"
"No."
His lack of detailed responses was the perfect bait to Eames, but Ariadne felt Arthur quickly raise his very high walls. She could tell that no amount of teasing was going to reveal his experience with the drug.
It was better just to end the conversation and left it to a better, more convenient moment.
"Can I just have a bath and a change clothes before we go? As you can see, I have booze and paint all over me."
"Not a bad combination, sometimes, especially in a looker like you, love" Eames commented. "Right, Arthur?"
"Okay. I'm going to wait for you by the hotel reception," Arthur said to her, most of the time he preferred to ignore Eames' voice altogether. "Keep watch for anything strange."
Eames didn't follow him out, instead, turned to her with a serious expression.
"What?" she asked suddenly worried. He hardly was ever grim.
"Did he apologize to you, darling?"
"Yes," she said, but her dissatisfaction probably revealed itself in her tone, because Eames was not impressed.
"Not enough, then."
"It's not that. I made a fool of myself. It's going to take some time before I'm over it."
"I regret my advice to you," he finally admitted. "I gave him too much credit."
"It's okay. I had already made my mind about it," she couldn't help but smile at his concern. Who had thought that Eames had a conscience?
He nodded, a little more relaxed. He got up, dusting his clothes and stretching.
"Do you want me to wait for you here? Protect the damsel from the evils lurking around?"
She laughed a little, also standing, the second cheeseburger now gone.
"I think I can manage being alone for half an hour."
"Where is your gun?"
"I'm not telling you," she smirked, crossing her arms.
"Good girl."
Eames was leaving but then he stopped and turned around.
"And, love, you didn't make a fool of yourself. You were honest; you laid your heart bare. Something that many haven't the courage to do it. You should be proud."
She smiled, nodding.
"Thank you. You're right."
..a.. ..a.. ..a..
He watched the glass doors open in and out, people coming and going, carrying suitcases and bags, holding their lives in two or three pieces of fabric and plastic. Couples, families and single men and women, all looking for a safe haven in an unknown city, a place where they could come back and rest, no matter what they found outside. A hotel could be considered a home, after all.
No sign of the unusual guy speaking for too long on a cell phone or the man sitting at the corner of the room, newspaper covering just enough of his face to let him see people but not the other way around. No car parking across the street with a driver trying hard not to appear suspicious. Also no trace at all of a woman walking her dog around the block over and over again. Not even a dark SUV lurking around, trying to appear intimidating.
He should count himself lucky for not having another Cobol situation. Once in a while it was nice not having tugs hunting him down.
Still, he kept shaking one of his legs, anxious to get out of there. He felt cornered, with no way out. And that had no relation with the layout of the hotel reception. While the hall had two possible escapes routes and Arthur had a good visual advantage over any enemy coming from the elevators or main doors, he felt suffocated and frustrated.
When Yusuf gave him the report about Hypnagogia Arthur made Eames wish come true. He didn't prepare a careful plan or even considered the risks. He simply told them he was going to get her and turned around back to the car without registering anything else. Only after turning the engine on he realized that Eames had followed him, gun in hands.
It was a reckless stupid thing to do.
Yet, he could do it again in a second.
He had the responsibility to know everything. It was his thing. People expected that from him and he let her walk into a trap. Perhaps not an intentional one but dangerous nevertheless. He should've known better. He was too distracted with Edwards and Adler, that he let the club pass.
"Didn't your mother tell you that if you keep frowning, it will stay forever like that?"
He looked up, finding Eames with hands on his pockets standing in front of him. When he didn't received an answer from Arthur, who decided to better spend his time watching the main doors, Eames sat down in a sofa on next to him. It took awhile, but eventually Eames began his usual baiting.
"You can avoid the subject, you know. But don't think I didn't saw your reaction."
"What reaction?"
"The reaction you said that you wouldn't have. The one that involved turning around and doing something stupid."
He said nothing. Eames knew too much already. Arthur chose to let him speculate freely, it didn't really matter.
"You know what else I saw? It wasn't the club doing extraction jobs on people. It was the drug. The Ran thing."
"Bu Ran."
"Yes, that thing. When dear Yusuf said they were using it you lost it. I wonder why…"
"I'm very anti-drugs. Just say no, Eames."
That made him laugh. Perhaps humor was the answer for stopping his insistence in sticking his overly large nose in Arthur's business.
"I find that hard to believe."
"Mens sana in corpore sano," he said, smirk on his lips.
"Latin quotes, how adorable. But, as the French say: bullshit."
He was about to respond when, fortunately, Ariadne ended the conversation by walking out of an elevator, looking much better. Her clothes were new and there were no traces of purple paint in her hair anymore. She didn't seem so tired now. That was a relief; he was worried that she could suffer from the usual after effects of the drug. Apparently aside from the hunger, she was fine.
"We can go now," she said, seeming as anxious as him to move on.
He nodded, getting up, Eames doing the same. On their way out, she touched his arm, looking uncomfortable.
"I left my totem in the loft, right? I can't find it."
It was clear that the absence of the chess piece made her somewhat worried and he didn't know if that was a good or bad sign. At least she was thinking of it.
"You did. It's in your office."
She thanked him absently, appearing less troubled. Their way back to the loft was quiet, with neither Ariadne nor Eames saying much. Usually he liked the silence, but this time he kept watching her by the rearview mirror, trying to be sure that she was okay.
Perhaps he didn't deserve a clear answer on that.
Yusuf greeted them with worry, insisting on taking Ariadne with him so he could make sure she was okay. It made Arthur realize that she had managed in just a few months to win over the whole team. She wasn't just the Architect anymore (not that she ever was only that to him).
Not so long after they arrived, Arthur was preparing alone the equipment for a test run of the first level when Nouvelle appeared. He had an unused cigarette on his mouth and an expression of disdain that was responsible for Arthur's quickly formed annoyance.
"So, thanks for ruining my night," Guy started, walking close to him. "Jealousy is such an ugly thing. You should really work on that."
He said nothing, restraining himself the best he could.
"I covered your ass, by the way. Told them you're just an angry boyfriend. I also paid the bill on your little crazy spree. You should thank me."
He tightened his jaw, gritting his teeth. Again he tried hard to say nothing; thinking it was for the best of the mission not to antagonize the little bastard.
"Where's Ariadne? Is she back here?"
"She's fine."
"Of course she's fine. Why wouldn't she be?"
Arthur faced the boy, crossing his arms. He needed to be calm and leave no room for doubt.
"I hope you understand that if you do anything to jeopardize this mission, and I mean anything, I will shoot you in the head and leave you for dead in Limbo."
Nouvelle looked worried for a second, before shrugging off.
"That's sounds really dangerous," he said, opening a condescending smirk. "But I think of threats like challenges, just so you know."
"No matter what you call it… You'll still turn out brain-dead in the end."
..a.. ..a.. ..a..
Yusuf tested her reactions, her reading comprehension and ability to count. He looked at her with deep worry and maybe with scientific curiosity, while taking notes. It was aggravating in an endearing kind of way. She just really wanted to go back to work and forget about the whole thing.
"I'm really fine, I swear," she tried once more, in vain.
"We need to be sure. There's a reason this drug is called the new opium back in China. I saw a colleague loose his sight, his ability to walk in a straight line. This drug is a slow death."
It didn't feel like death. It didn't feel like anything at all. Which was strange, if she really thought about it.
"Some people feel it's worth it. That dreams are of more value than the flesh and reality. That they're seeking the true meaning of life. But unlike dream sharing, this drug ruins your brain functions slowly. I, for one, think there's nothing philosophical in losing one's ability to know when to stop eating, for example."
"I didn't know that."
"I don't think it's common knowledge here in the West. Still, it's very popular in China and some Eastern countries, most of it because of its religious connotations of helping achieve Nirvana or exploring the soul. Something very tempting to some people."
She said nothing, absorbing the information. She thought of Arthur's reaction to its name and wished more than ever that he would talk to her. In silence, she let Yusuf finish his tests, waiting for him to be satisfied with their results.
Finally he let her go; only advising her to stay away from dreaming sharing for at last a day. She walked back to her office, picking her totem, feeling its weight with relief. It was good to be certain.
In her desk was a pile of folders, full of pictures of what appeared to be Edwards's old house. She wondered how she was going to turn an open field into a maze. The house was small and there were no other buildings in miles besides a barn.
An idea quickly came to her and she stared to draw an aerial view of the corn field, with a pattern similar to ones made by alleged alien visits. It could go on and on, the plants high enough to hide the farm and the pathway quickly becoming confusing to anyone not familiar with her maze.
They could start the dream in the house, protected by long and twisted fields. And because she was the dreamer the maze could change if needed.
She also noticed Arthur handwriting in the back of each picture, detailing his feel of the rooms with quick notes.
"Bare. Abandonment. Doesn't feel like a home. More like a bad memory left on its own for too long," was one of them, talking about the living room. "Must be a way to make it feel more real, more alive."
Ariadne looked for too long at the note. It was a request for her to work on the decoration; paint the walls like they were brand new, put some new furniture. But it also…
It also made her remember the dream of her house. The red door, the grass, the dumb garden gnome. And how it all lacked life, a bad memory left on its own for too long. Why didn't she project anyone there? Her father at least, some friends or even Arthur.
Just a house. Not a home.
Did that mean anything? Was it a good sign that she wasn't going to fall for the same thing that almost doomed Cobb? Or it was bad that she didn't want to be with the people she loved? Yes, people were complicated and she liked to work better with buildings and mazes. But it wasn't like she made a conscious choice of what she wanted to project. Something deep in her didn't want to see them.
Except she did, she was sure of it.
"Can I come in?"
His voice turned her around; his sleeves were rolled up, a look of worry in his face. His eyes went from her face, to her hand then to her drawings, finally going back to the beginning.
"Yeah, sure," she said, dropping the picture with the note back to its pile.
He didn't say anything, preferring to walk towards her table to see what she was working on. Ariadne could only wait and hope. Perhaps he would finally talk to her.
"I gave you the list of possible evidence, didn't I?"
Disappointment wouldn't even begin to describe her feelings.
"You did. Anything else?"
She didn't care how rude that sounded. Apparently neither did Arthur, who gave no sign of being offended.
"Something else, yes," he said, letting the phrase hang in the air for a few seconds. "Are you okay?"
"Yes."
Yes, now leave me alone if you won't talk to me. Yes, but not right now with you being so distant. Yes, but why do you act like this? Yes, but I want more from you.
No, I'm really not.
He stared at her and a very small part of her wished he could read her thoughts. And say something. But he left with a nod and nothing else happened. If it had been a dream, she would scream in frustration, breaking her pencil in half and kicking furniture. But it wasn't, so she just turned back and got back to work.
..a.. ..a.. ..a..
Two days passed quickly, time distorted by preparations, plans and work, so much work. The levels were done, the kicks tested, Edith Piaf loaded in their iPods, the sedative ready. There were no interruptions. As always, last minute problems appeared, but Arthur managed, like he always did.
They waited for Edwards in a diner across the street from his building. They were an odd group and he couldn't help but worry that anyone was going to notice how strange they looked. Eames was flirting with the waitress (and the cook) and distracting them very nicely. Guy kept going to the bathroom and Arthur wanted to strangle him each time. Yusuf promised not to drink too much. Ariadne remained silent, watching the street by the window.
They hadn't talked at all after her attempt in the hotel room. He regretted that and missed her, but also thought it was for the best. He honestly didn't know what to say to her without appearing to be purposely cold. At least silence, he hoped, could be interpreted as unintentionally cold instead.
The traffic outside worsened as the night approached and by eight o'clock his contact sent him a text message, letting him know that "Elvis was in the building". They entered the place by pairs, a few minutes apart from each other. Arthur and Ariadne were the last ones in.
The contact, Seth, lead them to his apartment, just across Edwards'. He had the man's phone taped and they listened as he called for a pizza. Ten minutes later, Eames had intercepted the delivery boy, proclaiming to be Edwards. He took the food and dressed with the uniform Arthur had bought to make the plan work. He was glad that some people were predictable in their choice of meals.
The pizza was delivered with a healthy dose of sedative and then they waited. Fifteen minutes later, they watched on Seth's computer as Edwards fell on his bed, too groggy to stay awake anymore.
There was no time to waste. Arthur grabbed the suitcase, Ariadne nodded to Eames, who opened the man's door like it was made to obey his command. They didn't have enough chairs, so Arthur and Guy sat on the floor, while Seth hooked them up on the machine, noting they had ten hours in there. Ariadne asked something to Yusuf and he was worried for a second but then…
Then… For once in a long time he felt in control. He knew where he was, what he was doing and why. His next move was clear as crystal water, his objective not muddled by feelings and doubts. This was a dream.
This was a safe dream, one he was prepared to deal with. This was his job. This was something he could make it work.
The first level had begun and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief.
..a.. ..a.. ..a..
AN: And off we go! Thanks again for the reviews! Latin quote Arthur says means "a healthy mind in a healthy body".
