DESPERATE  MEASURES

Part Seven:

Sid, not answering, merely stared at Maximus.  It was the first time he'd seen the

General since downloading his programming into himself.  How often he'd watched

Gladiator, how often during the course of the retrieval process he'd seen him in the

arena, both in Zucchabar and in Rome. But now.  It was changed.  Different.  All

of it.

Brianna looked at Maximus, too, noting the expression of controlled hurt in his eyes.

She hated that it was there because of her.

He had come back to the beach to make sure she was all right and, finding Sid busily

unpacking crates, had stood in the shade a long time, silently watching. So, the two of

them were setting up camp, were they? She called Sid by name, seemed to know him.

Not surprising, given what the man had said before sending them here. But why had

he come himself?

Then the man had sat in the sand, sifting it through his hands. Maximus' eyes narrowed

and he stepped out into the sunlight. "What is it you understand?"

Getting no answer, he pressed his lips together and started to turn, not wishing to waste

any more time. Brianna was obviously now in Sid's care and he, himself, needed to find

shelter before dark.

"Maximus! Wait!"

It was Sid, rising to his feet, brushing off the remaining sand that clung to his hands.

The General turned, lifting his chin just a bit, meeting Sid's eyes, his jaw muscles

working.

"You don't need to go," Sid said, indicating the crates with a hand motion. "There is

plenty for everyone."

Maximus' lips curved in a grim smile. "I think not." His eyes shifted to Brianna, then

back to Sid. Then he did turn, disappearing into the shadows of the palms.

Brianna felt almost sick to her stomach. "Oh, God," she moaned, burying her face in

her hands.

He walked through the palms parallel to the beach, coming out on the sand again about

3/4 of a mile from Sid and Brianna's camp. A rocky ridge plunged into the sea, blocking

his passage. The tide was out and the water was not more than thigh-deep, so he made

his way around it, finding beyond its narrow point a secluded crescent of sand. At its

further end, where the bluff cut back to the sea again, the side of the cliff cascaded down

in a series of almost blocky, large steps, some sort of green growth covering big portions

of them. But it was what lay just beyond a large, jagged boulder that caught his eye...a

rectangle of black, shaped surprisingly like a doorway.

He went toward it, wishing again he had his sword. Everything in this place was
unfamiliar. He had no idea if any sort of large animal might find refuge in such a spot.
Pausing just inside, his mouth dropped slightly open at what he saw. It was a cave
unlike anything he'd ever seen before. Rough columns of stone, tapering from wide
tops down to narrower bases, supported the roof of a tremendous room.  For more
than 50 feet the floor was perfectly flat, coated with sand. He walked across it,
craning his head as he studied the ceiling. Afternoon sunlight poured through the
cave opening, illuminating the choppy surface of the columns and the cave walls.

Much further back in the cave, the floor sloped upwards and the texture of the stone
changed to a smoother, creamy color, with patterns formed over the years by seeping
water from above. He climbed up several ledges, going further and further back. One
area directly above him looked like a series of blossoms, long drooping petals made
entirely of rock. A puddle of sunlight off to the right attracted him and he found a

large, chimney-like opening that led to the top of the bluff, a narrow stream of spring

water trickling down one side into a shallow depression in the stone. Squatting beside it,

he scooped up a handful, smelling it, then tasting it gingerly. It was fresh. At the far end

of the depression, the water flowed over in a small fall, then disappeared into the

darkness of a deep crevice.

He kept on climbing the ledges until he was at the very back of the cave and fairly
high. Here the creamy, flowing rock had formed what looked very much like a bed. It
was the last of the ledges, about seven feet long and three wide. Its surface had curves
and dimples that gave it the appearance of softness, but he leaned forward, resting his
palms atop it, finding, of course, that it was solid rock. Still, it would make a bed
of sorts could he find something to cover it with. He sat on it, looking back down
through the cave to the distant light of the entrance. Not bad.  Not bad at all.

After a while, Brianna looked at Sid. "You did that to him," she said, her voice
low, accusing.

"I know," Sid replied, something deep inside him gravely unsettled by the sight of
Maximus.

Brianna glared at the crates. "He'll take nothing from you, you know. Nothing."

"I expect not." He turned back to the business at hand, opening another of the large

boxes. Then he stopped and looked at her.  "Will you?"

"You have nothing I want, Sid."  She got up and began to head for the waterfall,
the sound of his hammering following her through the palms.

The afternoon was wearing on and she needed to find some sort of place to spend
the night. She knew anything she might construct of palm fronds would simply blow
down in a storm. She wished she knew where Maximus had gone, but such wishes

would get her nowhere. He did not want her company. She was on her own.

Back at the pool, she sat on the flat rock where Maximus had lain to dry, closed her
eyes and lifted her face to the sun. Her fingertips caressed the smooth rock that had
known his presence. She sighed. Silly woman! There were things she needed to be

doing.

She cast her eyes across the far side of the pond to the waterfall itself. Its brink
was a high, straight ledge, with a drop of only two or three feet before the waters
crossed a wider ledge, then fell straight to a small jumble of rocks. To the left of the
fall, the rocks jutted out making a considerable depression under them. Vines hung

about everywhere like curtains and she could see that the floor of the depression was

above the water level. There was no way to reach it other than by swimming, so she

took off her shoes and dove into the pool.

Exploring the area, she found it damp, but the rock ledge did provide what might

prove to be a sufficient roof. She would have to make improvements eventually to

make it livable, but it would do for the night. Pulling down some of the vines, she

matted them into a passable bed, then swam back to the rock, put on her shoes, and

set about collecting several coconuts and mangoes. Using her torn skirt material again

as a container, she swam back with them. As evening came on, mosquitoes began to

swarm so badly that she finally made her way across the rocks and sat for a while

under the waterfall. She felt utterly bereft and the water of the fall sliding down her

cheeks seemed somehow appropriate, as though the island itself were crying for her.

Sid worked rapidly, setting up sections of his pre-fab shelter, securing it with cables.
It was small, but sturdy, and there were screens for the door and the two windows. He

installed the portable stove and stacked supplies on the shelves, then slid a large trunk

under the bottom bunk. Some things wouldn't be needed until later. He had a table, a

couple of folding chairs, oil lamps, a selection of dishes, utensils, pots, fishing equipment.

Several crates he stacked behind the shelter, their contents still within.

 
When he was done, he stood near the sea, watching the last, hovering plunge of the

setting sun. A storm was gathering, providing reflective cloud surfaces for the fading

oranges and reds that lit the sky. By midnight the rains would come. He smiled. Good.

Maximus had gathered driftwood and made a small fire not far from the cave chimney.

Its lights danced on the petal effects of the stones, casting long, strangely-shaped shadows.
He'd caught a large crab for his supper and now lay on his rock bed, which he'd covered
with a thick layer of dried seaweed and vines. Lightning crashed over the ocean and he
could see the flashes of it through the distant cave door. He rested a forearm across his
eyes. How long? In this place, how long?

Sid lay on the bottom bunk listening to Wagner on a battery-powered CD player. The

shutters were fastened, the door closed tight, and he was snug and dry. An oil lamp

hung on a hook just to his left and he rested the book he was reading, open, across his

chest. The crashing of the surf and the frequent rolling thunder went well with Wagner.

He smiled, content.

Brianna huddled as far back under the ledge as she could squeeze, but the howling

wind drove spray from the pond completely over the little vine bed she'd made. She

was soaked, miserable and soaked. She turned her back toward it, pressing her face

against the damp rocks. Something slithered past her feet and she pulled her legs up,

wrapping her arms about her body, water dripping off her closed eyelids. Sleep was

impossible. And then a stream of mud began to flow down the back of the depression,

spreading out through her vines. "No," she said into the darkness, gritting her teeth.

"No, no, no."

ON TO PART 8

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