Resistance by Samit Basu

Author:Samit Basu [Basu, Samit]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Titan
Published: 2014-07-08T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The sunsets over Mar Bella beach are among the most beautiful in Barcelona, and today is no different. It will be dark soon, and the sea is turning from brilliant blue to smoky grey, but Uzma’s gigantic sunglasses stay resolutely on. Down the years, she’s accepted the fact that there is nowhere in the world where she can stay unrecognised for any reasonable period of time.

No one left on the beach has any interest in lounging about: the sea is empty, and the boats have left. Uzma is surrounded by large numbers of incredibly toned young bodies cavorting in the sands, and the trendy bars now blaring turn-of-the-century dance music. Since she’s wearing a bikini, she’s one of the most conservatively dressed people on the beach, but she’s getting stares from all sides as usual. She doesn’t know whether it’s her powers or just her demanding workout regimen, but several men have already managed to summon up the courage to ask her to accompany them across a large dune to the nudist section. She sips slowly from her fourth glass of sangria, and wonders, for the thousandth time, whether this whole solo excursion is her worst idea yet; worse even than charging into Hisatomi Tower without wondering what that annoying Japanese maniac might have done with Rowena Okocha’s blood.

But it’s difficult to keep thinking about blood and violence and intrigue on the sands of Barcelona. Uzma stretches and yawns, and looks around again, taking in the parties that are starting around her. She idly watches two Adonis-like men throw a large beach ball around, clearly for her benefit, and when there’s a soft cough behind her, she waits a good minute before she turns and acknowledges the man in his mid-thirties who’s standing nervously in the sand near her towel.

“I feel like I should beat you up,” she says.

“How long do you have?” asks Aman.

Uzma smiles, and shakes her head. “You let me think you were dead,” she says. “It’s going to take a lot of apologising before I can forgive that.”

“I’m angry with you too, you know,” he says. “You’re the reason they cancelled the Firefly reboot. It was a good show.”

“I had nothing to do with that. It’s Wingman’s show. I was just in the pilot.”

“It still hurts.”

“That’s not going to work, Aman,” says Uzma, surprised at how much it stings to say his name. “I’m going to need a lot of grovelling. Knees, flowers, speeches, the works.”

“How long do you have?” Aman asks again.

* * *

At midnight, Uzma rolls off an utterly exhausted Aman and pronounces him forgiven. He doesn’t respond, but from the idiot grin plastered on his face it’s clear he’s happy about this. Uzma waves the lights off and curls up next to him, facing away, and he turns instinctively and holds her as he always has. It’s ridiculously easy to pretend they’ve been together all this time. They spend the next ten minutes in perfectly joyous silence, feeling each other breathe, watching the room’s curtains flutter in the sea breeze.

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