Chapter Text
There’s a piece of eridium in Jack’s trophy case.
It’s small, naturally, since why waste a valuable resource, but it’s undeniably radiant: a little reminder of the material’s unbelievable power, and of everything Jack’s accomplished with it. Rhys can only wonder why it doesn’t have more pride of place. It’s sort of shoved over to one side, tucked behind other artifacts. Maybe the associated memory isn’t as bright as it once was. Or maybe someone just got sloppy while dusting. Who knows.
Rhys keeps staring at it nevertheless.
He’s still anchored in Jack’s chair, trapped in place while Jack's AI goes off after…something. He had been laughing, before he left. “Oh, I’ve got such plans for you, Rhysie,” he’d said. “You just wait right there while I get everything ready. Some tools, a set of schematics I worked up just for you…it’s gonna be awesome.”
Then he’d winked out of the monitors, leaving Rhys feeling lost and small and very alone in Jack’s enormous office, wondering when Jack would return and what might happen when he did. That matter is still unresolved. Of course, there’s also the question of just how gone Jack actually is, now that he has access to the whole of Helios and, presumably, its entire security-camera system.
Rhys remains very, very aware of the glint of a camera lens in the eye of one of the room’s enormous statues. Jack’s still watching him, metaphorically and literally. Rhys doesn’t give him much to work with, though. He keeps his gaze locked on the eridium instead.
An odd, low buzz in the back of his head keeps reverberating as he stares, because there’s something…important…about it. Something that wants his attention.
He doesn’t find out what it is, though, until after something else happens: a sound that reverberates through the entire station, one that literally shakes the floor, that sounds like a growl of nearly animalistic anger and pain. It sounds…oddly familiar. Rhys sits bolt upright, sweat prickling on his forehead.
“Jack?” he says anxiously. “Is that—“
There’s a brief flicker of static on the nearest monitor. Rhys sees Jack there, grimacing at him with no pleasure and even less patience.
“Change of plans, cupcake,” he says. The growl still runs through his voice as a dangerous undercurrent. “No—not a change. A delay. I’ve got…” He trails off, working over the words with effort. “Things to deal with first. You sit tight.”
Rhys fires his reply back, trying to sound more angry than scared. “You can’t just leave me here.”
Jack’s mouth twists. “Oh, yes, I can,” he says, and the monitors go dim.
This time, the silence is so absolute that Rhys is sure Jack actually is gone. He has even less idea what to do now, though, so he isn’t sure how that helps.
No matter if the cameras are still watching, he pulls futilely at the wrist restraints, hard enough that it hurts. Finally he falls back, hitting his head once against the chair in utter frustration, and shuts his eyes. It’s hard not to wish for another hit of dopamine—anything to take the edge off. It’s just that he trusts absolutely nothing anymore that this chair might do. Or what Jack might do. Or…what anyone might try with him, really.
Even me? something whispers. Rhys doesn’t even know what said it. He looks around, eyes darting frantically, but there’s no one else there. Just a flicker of light, weirdly purple, like an afterimage of the eridium. His eyes are probably playing tricks on him. Or else he’s just losing it. Seems pretty likely at this point.
He shuts his eyes against it all, trying to think through options. Trying to think of anything he can do.
In his mind, that low, persistent sense of urgency still burns, trying to make him understand something, but it’s still too far away for him to grasp.
—
Somewhere along the way, he dozes. When he wakes, it’s like struggling up through layer upon layer of heavy fog. Maybe the chair did drug him with something while he was out.
Or maybe it’s just the futility sinking in.
Don’t think like that, something in his head whispers. You need to focus. You need to escape.
“How?” he says aloud, his tongue thick in his mouth. He doesn’t get an answer, but seeing as he's talking to a voice in his head, that isn’t surprising. Yep, he thinks dourly. He’s definitely losing it.
He also has a headache the size of Elpis, an awful taste in his mouth, and a nagging need to pee. He really, really hopes his situation changes before he has to do anything about that. Even just getting one hand free would do—enough to unzip his clothes and aim, anyway. Pissing all over Jack’s desk would be oddly satisfying.
I don’t even blame you, but you need to think bigger than that.
“Okay, what the hell,” Rhys says, trying to sit up straighter. That time the voice had sounded much clearer, much richer, much more distinctive, and he isn’t sure whether to be worried about that or just plain pissed off. “I have had enough of disembodied voices haunting me already. Either shut the hell up and leave me alone, or tell me what’s going on.”
The buzz comes back, but this time it’s focused, making Rhys’ head jerk as if he can get away from the surge of sensation that’s crackling out from his data port. It’s entirely futile. His vision fragments for a horrifying instant, shot through with streaks of eridium-shaded magenta, and it takes a few seconds before the lines resolve into something. His physical eye can’t see it, but his ECHO eye can: a faint, ghostlike digital image of a girl’s face, watching him and smiling almost sadly.
“Hello, Rhys,” she says.
He yelps and jolts back so hard he almost tips over the chair.
“It’s okay. I’m here to help,” she says, all in a rush. “Please, calm down.”
“But you—you’re a—“
“Sorry we had to meet like this,” she says, and she actually does sound apologetic, not that it makes him feel any better. “I wish I could be there in person, but…well, there’s not much left of me anymore, I’m afraid. I’m just bits of information now. But when Jack hooked you up to Helios, I was able to slip in past him and connect with you directly…and if I can reach you like this, it might be enough.”
Rhys, understanding maybe one word in three, goes for the obvious, desperate question. “Who are you?”
She gives him that smile again, and tilts her head like she’s indicating something. Rhys’ gaze slides across Jack’s desk, confused, not sure where to focus. The monitor? The arm? But then he lands at last on the photograph. Something prickles through his sluggish brain. It’s the picture Jack hadn’t quite wanted to talk about, the one that made his expression soften into something almost wistful, at least for a handful of seconds. The photo of that strange little girl. “Angel,” he says, remembering. He’s slowly putting it together. “You’re—wait, you’re Jack’s—“
“Daughter,” she says. “Yes.”
Rhys stares at her, his mind reeling. He hadn’t guessed wrong about that photo, then. Jack really does have a daughter. But how had Rhys never known about that? How had no one in Hyperion known? And—
Wait.
She’d said there’s not much left of me anymore.
He makes another guess and a small mental correction, changing the tense around that sentence. Jack had a daughter. Had.
“Oh, shit,” he whispers, before he can think up anything better to say.
“It’s all right.” Angel’s voice is still gentle, but there’s a certain firmness creeping in, a tone of insistence. “I’m on your side. There’s no reason for me to be on his.”
“I wish I could call that comforting, but…”
“Jack’s just found out that I’m dead,” she says, awfully matter-of-factly under the circumstances. Well, at least it means he won’t have to break that news to a second person. Once was more than enough. “His AI wasn’t up to date enough to have that memory. But Jack had the information in his private files here on Helios, and now his AI’s accessed everything. That’s why he’s…upset. And it means we’ve got some time while he’s distracted. It won’t be long, though. So I need you to listen.”
“Wait a second,” Rhys protests, wanting to understand what’s happening first. “Are you an AI too? Another one?”
“More like…a shadow.” Her image flickers. “He collected data about me for so long. Years of captivity, monitoring, testing, experiments…all that information is still here. Enough to make a ghost of me, anyway. Or something like one.”
“But data can’t self-actualize.”
“It’s not exactly ordinary data,” Angel says, her voice soft. Finally the other things she’d said sink in: Captivity. Monitoring. Testing. Experiments.
He feels sick to his stomach. “What did he do to you?”
For a second, there’s no reply. There’s just another buzz of electricity and a break in her image, one that makes her look like she’s in terrible pain. But before he can react, it resolves, and she returns to that steady, calm expression as if nothing had ever been any different.
She tells him, even though he knows it’s a lie, “It doesn’t matter.”
He wants to protest, because oh, God, it does. He can’t think of anything right now that matters more. Part of what he's feeling is horror for her sake, and as for the rest…well, he’s obviously been captured and put under monitoring himself. The testing and experiments part? He doesn’t want anything to do with that.
“The important thing,” she says, echoing his thoughts, “is that I’m not letting him put anyone else through this. We have to get you out.”
“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “Yeah, we definitely need to do that. But how?”
“There’s not much I can do for you in this state, unfortunately. But…”
Angel pauses. Rhys focuses in tight on her, as if his ECHO eye can bring her into full resolution, make her more solid somehow, make her real. It’s enough to make her eyes shine at him when she replies. They’re a brilliant blue, they’re as wide as the world, and oh, God, they look so sad.
“I might have a terrible idea,” she tells him.