The Dome

by Camille Picott

  “The Global extraction team brought our young heroes home,” Claudine continues. “Using the Gav, they flew them to the safety of our biodome.”

  More video clips follow: the four of us crawling across the cable from the League freighter to the Gav, followed by Dad helping each of us inside.

  I brace myself, expecting Claudine to show the footage of the League ship blowing up. But she doesn’t. Instead, there’s a final clip of Dad sliding into the driver’s seat of the Gav and flying away.

  The hologram fades into blackness. Excited whispers ripple through the audience, followed by an enormous boom.

  Red, white, and blue fireworks explode above us. The sparks shower down, pattering onto the stage at our feet.

  At first I think this is all part of the show. Then I see the mad scrambling of the cybermercs. Half of them sprout wings and fly up toward the light show. The other half tighten their circle around us, once again activating the electronic nets.

  Meanwhile, on the floor in front of us, the firework sparks form the outline of a man. His avatar towers over all of us, even Taro. One last shower of red-white-and-blue fireworks fill the air, larger and more blinding than all the others combined. The form before us coalesces into a well-built, middle-aged black man with waist-length dreadlocks. He’s dressed in a pressed brown suit with yellow pinstripes. I immediately recognize the avatar. He’s as iconic as Mr. Winn.

  William Anderson—the owner of Anderson Arms and Global’s biggest arms rival—stands before Infinity Stadium with a smug smile on his face.

  6

  William Anderson

  THE CYBERMERCS FORM A TIGHT CIRCLE around Anderson’s towering avatar. They raise their arms and take aim with the wrist cuffs. Small bursts of light shoot out, battering Anderson from all sides. I can only guess the bursts of light are programming code of some kind, designed to unravel unwanted avatars.

  Anderson’s avatar remains solid and unaffected by the counterattack, the light bullets smacking into a shield around him and dispersing into a starburst of sparkles. He raises both arms as though to embrace the audience, grinning at the people as the cybermercs continue their assault.

  “Fellow citizens of America, do not be fooled by the gimmicks of Global Arms,” he says, voice booming over the crowd. “Reginald Winn wants you all to be awed by these supposed inventions, but the truth of the matter is that he’s exploiting four young people who have undergone a traumatic experience. He doesn’t care about these kids. All he cares about is how he can use their accomplishments to push Global merchandise.”

  The cybermerc counterattack finally makes a breach. One of the light bullets breaks through the shield and connects with Anderson. A seizure of static rips across his avatar.

  Anderson holds up his index finger, lips moving, trying to make a point none of us can hear. Another shower of bullets hits him. A second later, his avatar shorts out and disappears.

  Claudine smiles, stepping into the spot previously occupied by the arms dealer.

  “My apologies for that little interruption,” she says. “As our competitor says, the amazing young men and women you see before you have undergone a traumatic experience. How they turned this terrifying situation into an opportunity to take down America’s biggest enemy is a story for another day. Soon they will be sharing the details of their trying experience with the country. But now it’s time for them to be reunited with their families.

  “Global has the technology to keep American citizens safe from the League. The creations you’ve seen today are part of our Green Combat program. In the coming weeks, you will learn more about the exciting Global technology that helped rescue our young heroes, and how Green Combat technology can be leveraged to protect every citizen in this great country.”

  Claudine tilts her head, signaling an end to her speech. The crowd erupts into applause.

  ***

  “Excellent job, all of you!” Mr. Winn’s voice booms in my ears as the press conference ends and we return to the real-world.

  I pause for a brief beat before removing my Vex set, taking a few precious seconds to get my churning emotions under control. I don’t have to like how I’m being used, but I do want to maintain my composure. When I’m certain my face is expressionless, I pull off my Vex set and force myself to look at Mr. Winn.

  Oddly, he looks amused. Between Gun and William Anderson, this press conference could not have been more of a train wreck. Why isn’t he mad?

  “I love your spunk,” he says to me. “Smashing the glasses with your shoes—that was well played.” Even through the rolls of fat surrounding his eyes, I see his sharp gaze scrutinizing me.

  I suspect he knows my well-played action wasn’t for Global’s benefit. He’s not calling me on it though, so I nod briskly at him.

  “Your friend put on a good show for the crowd,” he continues. “Wish I’d thought of a stunt like that.” He glances at Kerry. “File that away for future reference, Ms. Sturgess. Black Tech stunts are always a crowd pleaser.”

  Kerry nods so vigorously it’s a wonder her head doesn’t fall off.

  I knot my hands in Riska’s fur. What does Mr. Winn mean by friend? Is he being sarcastic? He couldn’t know that avatar was Gun. He doesn’t even know about Gun. Does he?

  “We haven’t been able to track his Virtual Identity,” Claudine snarls, screen rotating to glare at me. “The VI track was mangled—”

  “It’s of little consequence,” Mr. Winn says, smoothly interrupting his niece. “The crowd liked it, and I daresay Miss Hom looked as striking in her merc suit as she did in the outfit Kerry assembled for her.”

  My gaze whips toward Kerry. So she’s the one responsible for the stripper look. Riska, hunched in my lap, growls and lashes his tail.

  “The Anderson breach, however, is an entirely different matter.” Mr. Winn’s voice grows cold and hard. “I want the matter investigated. I want to know exactly how that could have happened. I want to know what’s going to be done to stop breaches like that in the future.” He directs this at Claudine. “Get the techs working on it. Now.”

  The wheelchair executes a perfect three-point turn. The screen swivels, enabling Claudine to see throughout the maneuver. She rolls through a door at the back of the room.

  “Follow me,” she snaps as she rolls out of sight.

  Four gray-shirted techs drop what they’re doing and scurry after her. The door slides shut behind them. It’s like they’ve been swallowed by a giant monster.

  My friends and I exchange glances. Hank is the only one who doesn’t look like she’s been dragged through an old-fashioned paper shredder. Riska’s ears are flat, his tail lashing.

  “I hope you all enjoyed your taste of the limelight,” Mr. Winn says, drawing our attention away from the awkward silence left by his niece. “The public loves its heroes.” A tech worker scurries over and hands a tablet to Mr. Winn. He thumbs through it, a smug expression on his face.

  “You four are the number one trending topic in Vex sites right now,” he says. “Mr. Hudanus, in the last thirty minutes, exactly three hundred and four Vex fan sites have been established in your honor. Sites for mercenary boarding schools have seen their traffic triple since the beginning of the press conference. Miss Simmons, you’ve set a fashion trend. One hundred eighteen Vex sites have started selling chain-mail Axcents for avatars. Mr. Long, demand for Uncle Zed Black Tech is at an all-time high. People are desperate for it. Without your uncle out there to sell it, second-hand dealers are popping up all over Vex. And you, Miss Hom. You and the Risk Alleviator have become the idols of teen girls everywhere. Several role-playing sites are already underway, where enthusiasts will have their own Risk Alleviators to help them battle League agents.”

  Mr. Winn hands the tablet back to the gray-shirted worker who’s been hovering beside him all this time. “What do you think of that?” He surveys us over his big bushy beard, clearly waiting for an answer.

  “This is good for Global, right?” Hank is th
e first one of us to speak. “The more buzz we generate, the more we help keep Global in the public’s eye?”

  “I like you, Miss Simmons,” Mr. Winn replies. “You’re a Global girl. Yes, all this buzz is good for Global. With the country’s defense contract up for bid, we need to foster positive public opinion for the company.”

  Hank beams.

  I keep my face carefully blank. Our experience—our terrible, near-death experience—is being exploited by Global for profit. Riska starts to growl, but I give his tail a yank, cutting him off before he can draw Mr. Winn’s attention.

  “As a thank-you for a job well done, I’ve got a surprise for all of you. Ms. Sturgess, if you please.” Mr. Winn gestures to Kerry.

  She hurries to the main doors. They slide apart as she pushes a button mounted on the wall. I barely have time to register who’s on the other side before Hank jumps to her feet.

  “Timmy!” she cries, joy lighting her face. “Mom! Dad!”

  7

  Family Reunions

  “SISSY!”

  A skinny boy streaks into the room. He’s a smaller, boyish version of Hank with the same lanky body and bright red hair. He slams into his big sister, throwing his arms around her middle.

  Tears run down Hank’s face. She picks up her baby brother and swings him around, laughing and crying at the same time.

  Her parents enter, joining them in the center of the room. Mrs. Simmons is tall and lean. Mr. Simmons is short and squat with the same red hair as his children. The four of them stand in a circle, hugging one another.

  Three more people enter behind the Simmons: Dad, Aston, and a tall, willowy woman who must be Billy’s mother. There’s no sign of Uncle Zed.

  Dad hustles toward me. His hair is in its usual tousled disarray. He’s in a Global uniform like me, but he somehow manages to make the new clothes look like they’ve been in a pile on the floor for a week. His arms enfold me in a familiar, comforting hug.

  Despite the fact that I’m pretty sure this is all part of Mr. Winn’s endgame, something inside me relaxes in Dad’s presence. I lean into him. Tears threaten. This is the first I’ve seen him since we were tranqed upon entering the Dome. I take a deep breath as a few tears leak down my face. Riska crawls onto Dad’s shoulder, purring.

  “Everything is going to be okay,” Dad whispers, stroking my hair. I blot my eyes dry on his shirt.

  I turn my head and watch Aston and Taro engage in an awkward hug that’s more of an exchange of shoulder pats.

  Aston is everything my dad is not—big, thickly muscled, and clean-cut. His skin is dark, and his merc jumpsuit impeccable, his black hair is buzzed in a clean military cut.

  Past Taro and Aston stands Mrs. Long. Her face spasms when she sees Billy. She elbows her way through our group and grabs her son. I can’t see much of Billy’s face due to his shaggy bangs, but the hug he gives his mom is fierce.

  “Where’s Uncle Zed?” I whisper to Dad.

  Dad gives a slight shake of his head. “We’ll talk later,” he says into my ear.

  Uneasiness lumps in my stomach. I keep my mouth shut, even though questions bubble up.

  “A family reunion,” Mr. Winn says, waving his arms from his seat in the green chair. His eyes flick to me. “This is what Global is all about: family.”

  Anger rises in my throat. What about Uncle Zed? I want to say. He’s as much a part of this family as the rest of us. What’s happened to him?

  Riska growls, tail lashing. I pull him off Dad’s shoulder. Riska tries to look in Mr. Winn’s direction, but I position him against my chest and block his view.

  Mr. Winn levers himself out of the chair. Quite a feat considering his massive bulk. He strolls around the perimeter of our group. A smile pulls at his lips as he surveys us.

  “Family always looks after family,” he says. “That is why Claudine and I have built a community where you can all live out your lives in safety and security. When you’re ready, I have mercenaries standing by to take you to your new homes. Our four young heroes will return here in the morning to begin their work with Ms. Sturgess.”

  “Our work with Ms. Sturgess?” I straighten, pushing myself from the safety of Dad’s arms. I know what’s coming and can’t keep the hostility out of my voice. Riska crawls onto my shoulder, the fur along his spine stranding straight up.

  “Of course,” Mr. Winn says. “None of you had the opportunity to speak to your fans tonight. Rest assured, it is not my intent to squirrel away our country’s biggest heroes. Ms. Sturgess will be coaching you, helping each of you develop your unique voice so your fans can get to know you. We have a full Vex schedule lined up.”

  Riska growls.

  “Mr. Winn,” I say, ignoring the annoyed look Hank directs at me, “I thought we only agreed to one press conference?”

  “You did,” Mr. Winn replies. His mouth smiles at me, but his eyes do not. “You won’t be required to do any more press conferences. I’d go bankrupt if I had to keep renting Infinity Stadium.” He laughs. “Thanks to Ms. Sturgess’s hard work, you’ll each be making public appearances at Vex events and talk shows.”

  “But—” I begin, frustration tightening my chest.

  “It’ll be great, Sulan,” Hank interjects. “We can support the company this way. It won’t be a big deal.” She gives Mr. Winn a bright smile.

  I stare at Hank as if she’s grown horns. Where is my best friend?

  Then I look past Hank at her family. At her mother, father, and little brother. The only reason they’re here is because of Hank. Her family was steps away from homelessness when she got her scholarship to Virtual High School. Global gave her parents jobs. Global gave Hank a monetary stipend when she upheld a GPA over 4.0. She will do anything to protect her family.

  I understand this scene for what it is: all of us—Billy, Hank, Taro, and me—reunited with our family members; the concept of Global family thrown in our face; the promise of a safe, happy place to live; and then the casual revelation that each of us will be embarking on a press junket.

  Mr. Winn set this up from the beginning. He buttered us up with our families, but the truth is that this maneuver is a veiled threat. The message is clear: as easily as Mr. Winn can give us our families and our safety, he can also take those things away. The Dome is his kingdom, and he is the king. We must comply with his plans for us.

  I swallow, acknowledging the fact that I’m a fly—an itsy bitsy, teeny tiny fly—caught in a sprawling spiderweb. I understand my place in the web and what’s expected of me, but I don’t have to like it.

  “Miss Simmons, I like your company spirit.” Mr. Winn pats her on the shoulder. “Family takes care of family. When Global is awarded the defense contract, our family will reap the rewards. Each of you has the opportunity to better the welfare of the Global family. Each of you has the opportunity to improve your personal welfare within the company. If Miss Simmons can spread her enthusiasm to the rest of you, we’ll be in good shape.”

  I glance at Taro and Billy. Taro stares at some distant point on the wall, his face impassive. Billy has retreated behind his hair, shoulders hunched. Riska’s tail lashes ferociously against my neck, the tip whacking my ear.

  “Tomorrow, then,” Mr. Winn says. “I will send mercs to pick you up at eight thirty, after breakfast. Ms. Sturgess will see that you get settled into your new homes. You have the evening with your families.”

  With that, he waddles out of the room, his purple tracksuit and fluorescent-yellow running shoes disappearing through the same back door Claudine had used.

  As soon as Mr. Winn is out of sight, Hank pulls me aside. “What’s wrong with you?” she hisses.

  “What’s wrong with me?” I reply, struggling to keep my voice low. Riska hisses at Hank.

  “I have a family to take care of,” Hank says. “Timmy is eight years old, Sulan. Eight! This is the best life I can give him and I’m not going to let you ruin it. You should be grateful for everything Mr. Winn is giving us.”


  “He’s using us,” I snap. “We were kidnapped. Tortured. Almost sold on the black market. Mr. Winn wants to use what happened to us to make money. My mother was killed!” The last sentence comes out as a near-shriek. It’s not until I say it that I truly understand why all this bothers me so much.

  My mother is dead. Mr. Winn wants to make money off the event that got her killed. Angry, frustrated tears well in my eyes.

  The entire room falls silent. The few remaining gray-shirted tech workers turn to look at us.

  Taro and Billy maneuver between us, forcing Hank and me apart.

  Billy takes Hank’s hand. “Come meet my mom,” he says to her.

  Taro puts an arm around my shoulders and ushers me away. Riska hisses again. My gaze falls on Dad and I glare at him because I don’t know what else to do with all the feelings boiling inside me.

  Dad stares back at me helplessly. “Sulan,” he says, stretching out a hand in my direction.

  “Keep it together,” Taro murmurs in my ear. “You can grieve for your mother later. Don’t do it here.”

  He’s right. I know he’s right. I don’t want to share my grief with a room full of strangers. I won’t share my grief.

  Taro squeezes my shoulders, keeping his arm around me. Something inside me hardens. I might be nothing more than a puny fly, but even spiders must suffer from indigestion once in a while. I vow to be the source of that indigestion any way I can. Even if all I can do is smash a pair of Vex glasses or kick off a pair of shoes.

  Riska mews and licks the top of my head, then gnashes his teeth together as hair gets tangled on his tongue.

  I notice Dad and Aston standing side by side, watching me and Taro. Dad’s eyes are wide. Aston’s expression is thoughtful as he regards his son.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I say to Taro.