the door for me.
‘As soon as there’s any news, I’ll call you,’ said Admiral Westland. ‘In the meantime, you need to start building a life of your own.’
I couldn’t build a life of my own; in the twenty-second century, Ryan was my life. My heart felt leaden. I was out of place and out of time.
Chapter 8
For the next three days the vans, reporters and photographers camped outside the Lakeview Hotel. At first, they called my room repeatedly, but then I told reception to block all my calls unless they were from Admiral Westland or the Institute. I stayed in my room, ordered room service and waited for the phone to ring. Admiral Westland had said he would let me know as soon as there was news. Surely he knew something by now? I couldn’t stop thinking about Ryan. What did his lawyer think? What were his chances of being found innocent? Was he scared? Was he missing me? And what would happen if he was found guilty? What would become of me?
The only people I spoke to in all that time were the cleaner from housekeeping and the room service delivery person. I got a woman from housekeeping to show me how to turn on the TV – I had to scan my flexi-card in front of it to activate power and payment – and spent hours watching movies and the news. Ryan was the main story. Half the commentators, it seemed, felt Ryan would be found guilty; the other half believed he must have had a legitimate mission objective to travel back to 2012. It was clear that none of them had any real information. The only other news story? Me.
On the fourth day, the phone rang.
‘Admiral?’ I said.
The screen faded up from clear and a boy’s face projected into my room. He looked about seventeen or eighteen, with skin the colour of wheat, and dark hair that gleamed like black coffee.
‘No one’s ever called me that before.’ His eyes were brimming with amusement.
‘I think you have the wrong number.’
‘You’re Eden, aren’t you?’
‘Are you a journalist?’
‘Do I look like a journalist?’
‘I have no idea. You all look like a bunch of hippies dressed for a beach party if you ask me.’
His eyes crinkled with amusement. ‘I’m not completely sure what you’re saying, but I think you just insulted me.’
I shrugged. ‘How did you get through? I told them not to connect anyone unless they were from the Institute. What do you want?’
‘Sorry about that. I’m calling from Admiral Westland’s office. I’m a friend of Orion. I was wondering if you wanted to get the hell out of that hotel room you’ve been holed up in since you got here.’
‘What makes you think I’m holed up in my hotel room?’
‘There are about a hundred cameras and journos outside the front of the hotel, updating your status every half-hour. The doormen have confirmed that you’re inside and haven’t left the building in four days. So I’m guessing you could use a change of scenery.’
‘How do I get out of the building without being seen?’
‘Leave that to me. Can you call reception and ask them to let me up? I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
‘What was your name again?’
‘Peg. Pegasus Ryder.’
A quick check in the mirror confirmed that I looked like I hadn’t left my room in four days. I was unwashed, grey-skinned, still in my pyjamas. I had a quick shower, ran a comb through my tangled hair and pulled on one of my new outfits, a long green dress with a high neck and no sleeves. The material was soft and light, perfect for the warm climate.
Right on cue, my phone rang and the face of the receptionist appeared on my screen. I stood in front of the screen and listened for the quiet click that confirmed my face had been scanned and the call connected.
‘You have a visitor. A Mr Pegasus Ryder.’
‘Send him up.’
I paced nervously, waiting for his knock on my door, wondering if he’d seen me on the receptionist’s screen. I knew I shouldn’t care, but I really didn’t want Ryan’s friend to form a poor
‘As soon as there’s any news, I’ll call you,’ said Admiral Westland. ‘In the meantime, you need to start building a life of your own.’
I couldn’t build a life of my own; in the twenty-second century, Ryan was my life. My heart felt leaden. I was out of place and out of time.
Chapter 8
For the next three days the vans, reporters and photographers camped outside the Lakeview Hotel. At first, they called my room repeatedly, but then I told reception to block all my calls unless they were from Admiral Westland or the Institute. I stayed in my room, ordered room service and waited for the phone to ring. Admiral Westland had said he would let me know as soon as there was news. Surely he knew something by now? I couldn’t stop thinking about Ryan. What did his lawyer think? What were his chances of being found innocent? Was he scared? Was he missing me? And what would happen if he was found guilty? What would become of me?
The only people I spoke to in all that time were the cleaner from housekeeping and the room service delivery person. I got a woman from housekeeping to show me how to turn on the TV – I had to scan my flexi-card in front of it to activate power and payment – and spent hours watching movies and the news. Ryan was the main story. Half the commentators, it seemed, felt Ryan would be found guilty; the other half believed he must have had a legitimate mission objective to travel back to 2012. It was clear that none of them had any real information. The only other news story? Me.
On the fourth day, the phone rang.
‘Admiral?’ I said.
The screen faded up from clear and a boy’s face projected into my room. He looked about seventeen or eighteen, with skin the colour of wheat, and dark hair that gleamed like black coffee.
‘No one’s ever called me that before.’ His eyes were brimming with amusement.
‘I think you have the wrong number.’
‘You’re Eden, aren’t you?’
‘Are you a journalist?’
‘Do I look like a journalist?’
‘I have no idea. You all look like a bunch of hippies dressed for a beach party if you ask me.’
His eyes crinkled with amusement. ‘I’m not completely sure what you’re saying, but I think you just insulted me.’
I shrugged. ‘How did you get through? I told them not to connect anyone unless they were from the Institute. What do you want?’
‘Sorry about that. I’m calling from Admiral Westland’s office. I’m a friend of Orion. I was wondering if you wanted to get the hell out of that hotel room you’ve been holed up in since you got here.’
‘What makes you think I’m holed up in my hotel room?’
‘There are about a hundred cameras and journos outside the front of the hotel, updating your status every half-hour. The doormen have confirmed that you’re inside and haven’t left the building in four days. So I’m guessing you could use a change of scenery.’
‘How do I get out of the building without being seen?’
‘Leave that to me. Can you call reception and ask them to let me up? I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
‘What was your name again?’
‘Peg. Pegasus Ryder.’
A quick check in the mirror confirmed that I looked like I hadn’t left my room in four days. I was unwashed, grey-skinned, still in my pyjamas. I had a quick shower, ran a comb through my tangled hair and pulled on one of my new outfits, a long green dress with a high neck and no sleeves. The material was soft and light, perfect for the warm climate.
Right on cue, my phone rang and the face of the receptionist appeared on my screen. I stood in front of the screen and listened for the quiet click that confirmed my face had been scanned and the call connected.
‘You have a visitor. A Mr Pegasus Ryder.’
‘Send him up.’
I paced nervously, waiting for his knock on my door, wondering if he’d seen me on the receptionist’s screen. I knew I shouldn’t care, but I really didn’t want Ryan’s friend to form a poor
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