The Dome

by Camille Picott

  I scowl in response. Riska hisses.

  “You do realize,” I reply, “that you just insulted every one of my friends from VHS.”

  “Spunky,” Van Deer replies, glancing over his shoulder at his friends. They all chuckle in approval at his comment. “That’s cute in a girl.” He smiles at me again. “Has anyone given you a tour of the Dome yet? My friends and I are sparring this afternoon next to the amphitheater. Come by and watch, and we can go for a walk afterward.”

  My jaw falls open.

  This cocky muscle head is hitting on me. Like I’d want to stand around watching him and his buddies spar? Do I look like a cheerleader?

  “Sorry,” I say. “I’ve already got plans with Taro.” As if for emphasis, Riska steps off my shoulder and onto Taro’s, wrapping his tail around Taro’s neck for good measure.

  “I see,” Van Deer drawls. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where we’ll be. Swing by if you like. My friends and I fight better when we have a cute audience.”

  Taro takes a step closer to me, standing close enough that our arms touch. He looms a few inches taller than Van Deer, though I have to admit, I’ve never seen Taro loom before.

  “She said she’s busy,” Taro says, ice in his voice. “Move along, Van Deer.”

  “You never did have any style,” Van Deer says to him. To me, he says, “When you get bored with this guy, come find me. I’ll show you a good time.” Then he winks at me.

  My mouth moves, but no words come out. Indignant rage tangles my tongue. Van Deer saunters away, his posse smirking at us as they follow in his wake.

  “Does that crap really work on girls?” I splutter, staring after him.

  Taro raises an eyebrow at me. “Honestly, Sulan, I’ve never seen it not work.”

  “You’re kidding, right? He doesn’t get girls by being a cocky creep, does he?”

  “Ummm … yeah, he does.”

  “Gross.”

  A smile pulls at Taro’s lips. I like the way he looks at me. Riska rubs his cheek on Taro’s ear.

  “I have to admit,” he says, “it was pretty refreshing to see him get turned down for once.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “Underage merc circuit. We always seem to end up in the sparring ring together.”

  “He ever beat you?”

  “No.” Taro makes a poor attempt at hiding another smile.

  “I hope you keep beating him.”

  “I have no doubt we’ll have plenty of opportunities to … spar. Sulan, don’t take this the wrong way, but Van Deer may have only hit on you to get at me. Not that you’re not cute.” His words tumble out. “I mean, you’re beautiful and smart, but Van Deer—what I mean is, he only wants—” He breaks off, red creeping up his neck.

  My eyes widen. Did Taro really just say I was beautiful? No one has ever said anything like that about me. Well, Mom and Dad have, but that doesn’t count.

  The two of us stand there, a sea of people parting around us as they pass into the cafeteria. I take a sudden interest in my shoes, feeling my face heat with embarrassment.

  “I—” I say, just as Taro says, “Sulan—”

  We laugh nervously, some of the strange tension dissipating.

  “You know I’d never tell you what to do,” Taro says. “Just … be careful around Van Deer, okay? He’s … got a mean streak.”

  I stare up at him. “You think I’d ever go for a guy like that?” I shake my head. “I ran into jerks like him in the Cube all the time. Stuck up and full of themselves. Not my thing. Besides, I don’t want a boyfriend. I—”

  “Sulan?” A hand taps me on the shoulder.

  I turn around and find Hank standing there, her little brother Timmy clinging to her hand. Hank’s polo is an awkward fit on her tall frame, emphasizing her thin shoulders and barely covering her belly button.

  Several moments of silence hang between us. All my anger at her from yesterday comes rushing back, along with a flood of remorse and anxiety.

  Is she still mad? I wonder. What should I say? Should I—?

  “I’m sorry,” Hank says, words coming out in a rush. “I’m sorry for those things I said yesterday. I was being insensitive.” Her eyes are sincere. Her words touch a part of me that is still tender from the loss of Mom.

  “I’m sorry, too,” I say, feeling a surge of relief. “I know how important it is for you to take care of your family.”

  We hug each other. It’s not as awkward as it was yesterday, though there’s still a triangle of space between our bodies. Why is it so strange to hug Hank, who I’ve known for years, but not Taro?

  “I want to officially introduce you to my little brother,” Hank says, breaking away from me and beaming down at Timmy.

  A broad grin splits the face of the freckled, eight-year-old boy who already stands eye level with me. No doubt he will be as tall, if not taller, than his sister someday.

  “I’m a Normie,” Timmy says, shaking my hand with enthusiasm. “And you’re a Brain.” He looks at Taro. “And you’re a Muscle. I’ve heard all about both of you. My Normie friends all want to meet you. Can I introduce you? Will you tell them about the League kidnapping? Will you—”

  “Woah,” Hank says, smiling as she rests a hand on Timmy’s shoulder. “Enough, kiddo. Let’s go eat.”

  “But Susan and Frank are dying to meet them. They said they’d take my compost duty if I—”

  “Move.” Hank gives him a gentle shove toward the cafeteria doors.

  “Aww, Hankie!” Timmy screws up his face, then lets out a dramatic sigh and marches away.

  “Hey, guys.” Billy sidles up to us in his customary slouch, hands shoved into the pockets of his khakis.

  As a unit, we rejoin the crowd converging on the cafeteria. I do my best to ignore the press of bodies. Taro is right; I’m going to have to get used to this.

  “What’s a Normie?” I whisper to Hank.

  “Everyone in a green polo,” she whispers back. “Kids in blue polos, like us, are called Brains. Kids in merc jumpsuits are Muscles. Timmy was going on and on last night about how weird it is to have a Brain for a sister since he doesn’t hang out with other Brain kids.”

  I look around as we enter the cafeteria. I hadn’t noticed before, but people in like-colored uniforms are clumped together—both the kids and adults. There’s a little mingling among families, but most kids and adults sit with others in their class. Something uncomfortable slithers through my belly. Every last person in this place is pigeonholed by the Winns. Since everyone has to wear the uniforms all the time, there’s no way to escape or blur boundaries.

  “What about the burgundy and gray polos?” I ask.

  “Gray polos are tech specialists in the Fortress. Burgundy polos work directly for the Winns, like Kerry.”

  “Does this public branding bother you at all?”

  Hanks shrugs and makes a face. “No place is perfect.”

  “I guess, but—”

  “No buts.” Hank shakes her head. “The Dome is the best place my family has ever lived. I don’t like the uniforms, but I can take it if it means my family has a safe place to live and plenty of food to eat. It’s that simple.”

  Hank’s words echo in my head. It’s that simple. Can life really be that simple? Take the lumps if the getting is good enough? Trade the basic right to choose one’s destiny in exchange for a warm bed?

  It doesn’t sit well with me. I wish it would. I wish I could be a good company girl like Hank. But I’ve spent my entire life railing against forces that want to control me and the direction of my life. When I look around the cafeteria at the color-coded human beings, I know I can never truly accept this place.

  12

  Bread Rolls

  “WAIT TILL YOU SEE THE FOOD!” Timmy gushes, hauling Hank toward the buffet on the far right side of the cafeteria. They rest of us follow, joining the long line snaking around the room.

  I stand on my toes, trying to get a look at the offerings, but
there are too many people in front of us. As I scan the crowd, I spot my dad. His back is to me. In line next to him is Aston.

  “Do they look like they’re talking?” Taro gestures with his chin at our dads.

  I open my mouth to reply, but Timmy’s excited shout cuts me off.

  “Look, look!” the boy cries. “There’s the food!”

  All thoughts of Dad and Aston flee my brain. I stare as we draw abreast of the buffet. Never in my life have I seen so much food in one place. Most of it is stuff I’ve only seen in old movies, or food I’ve only had on a few special occasions in my life.

  There are platters of fruit, toast, pancakes, waffles, scrambled eggs, potatoes, sausage … so much food I barely know where to start when Timmy shoves a plate into my hands.

  “That’s bacon,” Taro says, nudging me. He points to a platter piled high with stiff, reddish-brown meat. A woman in a green polo stands beside it, doling out one slice per person.

  “Have you had real bacon before?” Billy asks Taro. “Is it good?”

  “Never tried it,” Taro replies. “My dad says it’s the best food on Earth. Says it’s one of the things he misses most from pre-’Fault days.”

  “If Black Ice likes bacon, I’m definitely trying it.” Billy holds up a plate to receive his allotted piece. He pops it into his mouth and chews. “Oh yeah,” he says around a mouthful. “This is good stuff.”

  “You all have got to try it,” Timmy says. “It is, like, the most amazing stuff ever. It’s only the second time we’ve gotten bacon. It’s only for special occasions.”

  “What was the last occasion?” Hank asks.

  “Our first day in the Dome. We got bacon and cake that day.”

  “What’s today’s occasion?” I hold up my plate to receive my piece.

  “You guys,” Timmy says. “See?” He points to a large screen I hadn’t noticed before.

  On the screen are scenes from last night’s press conference. It’s too loud to hear anything, but large subtitles roll along the bottom. Now that I’m looking, I see screens all over the room. And I see people whispering and pointing at us.

  The unwanted attention makes sweat prickle along my spine. Billy and Taro seem to share my discomfort, both of them casting their eyes downward, but Hank smiles at the pointing fingers and curious eyes.

  I turn back toward the buffet tables; much easier to look at food and pretend everyone in the room isn’t staring at me and my friends. Easier to pretend everyone in this place isn’t seeing me in that horrible stripper outfit.

  “All the food comes from the Dome,” Timmy says. “We grow and raise everything we eat and drink. Most of our protein comes from rabbits, though there are goats and pigeons, too. And chickens. And pigs. I’ve heard a guinea pig breeding program is also underway. Protein is highly rationed for everyone.”

  “Meat protein, you mean,” Taro says. “There are lots of ways to get protein that don’t involve eating dead animals.”

  “Ignore the vegetarian in our midst,” Hank says, smiling at a group of Normie kids ogling at us.

  Timmy gives Taro a curious look, then says, “Can I have your bacon ration?”

  Taro shrugs. “Be my guest.”

  I stuff the bacon into my mouth and hold out my plate for fruit. I freeze as flavor explodes on my tongue. The meat is a bit crunchy on the outside, but soft and juicy on the inside. For a moment, I forget all about Mr. Winn, the Dome, and our suffocating lives here. I can’t focus on anything beyond salty, smoky bacon flavor in my mouth.

  “Oh my God,” I say, turning to Taro. “I know you’re a vegetarian, but if you’re ever going to eat meat, I swear this is the stuff you want.”

  Taro’s eyes widen, then he chuckles. “That’s what my dad says.” He ignores the bacon and holds his plate out for toast.

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll start raising more pigs,” Timmy says. “Like, a lot more.”

  Hank opens her mouth and says something, but her words are drowned out by a rush of sound from the line in front of us.

  “Sir!” a woman yells. “Sir, please—let go!”

  I peer up the line—and see Uncle Zed with an entire basket of bread rolls in his arms. He’s crouched, arms locked around the basket as he bares his teeth at the poor woman in a green polo. She grips the other side of the basket, trying to wrench it out of Zed’s hands.

  Without thinking, I shove my plate into Timmy’s hands and break out of the line. I hurry toward Uncle Zed. Billy and Taro are by my side. We reach Uncle Zed right as the kitchen woman’s voice rises into a frantic pitch.

  “Sir, if you don’t let go, I’ll have no choice but to call security!”

  A wide circle has formed around Uncle Zed and the woman. I haven’t seen him since we arrived in the Dome. His face and bald head are tattooed with a camouflage pattern. His teeth, bared like that of a cornered animal, have all been blackened. Sweat rolls down his temples, something I have come to recognize as a sign of anxiety. To someone who’s never seen him before, he can be downright terrifying.

  “Uncle,” Billy says. He doesn’t touch his uncle, but he positions himself so the older man can see him.

  “Commie,” Zed snarls at the woman, digging his fingers into the basket.

  “Uncle,” Billy says again. “Everything is okay, Uncle.”

  I move toward the flustered woman.

  “We’ll get your basket back.” I smile in a way that I hope puts her at ease. “Do you think you can let go and give us a chance to calm him down?”

  “This bread is for everyone, not just him,” the woman snaps. “Only one per person!”

  “We’ll get the bread back.” I lean forward, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “Just let his nephew talk him down, and I swear you’ll get everything back.”

  She peers at me through narrowed eyes, like she thinks I might try to swindle her out of the bread. I’m reminded again of how good I had it before we moved here. We had a safe apartment with private security and canned food deliveries twice a month. What conditions did this woman survive prior to coming to the Dome? Is she happy about trading away her freedom for the security of Mr. Winn’s domain? From the way she’s looking at the basket of bread rolls, I guess the answer is yes.

  With a huff, she releases the basket. Zed, still crouching, scuttles backward with it.

  “Only because you killed Imugi,” she says to me. “I trust you to keep your word.”

  “We’ll get it back,” I promise.

  Billy coaxes Uncle Zed a few feet away from the buffet line.

  “We need provisions,” Zed mutters, glaring at people who stare at him as they walk by. “If the commies come, we’ll be boxed in. It’ll be a siege.”

  “There are no commies here,” Billy says, voice soothing and even. I see the glint of desperation in his eyes. “Uncle Zed, you have to give the bread rolls back to the woman.”

  “Take one and save it,” I tell Zed. “You can get another tomorrow. I’ll even give you mine.”

  Billy shoots me a grateful expression. “See? Listen to Sulan, Uncle Zed. She’ll help us get provisions. We’ll all give you our rolls.”

  “Morning Star’s daughter.” Zed looks at me, sweat rolling down his bald forehead. There’s a slight tremor to his hands.

  Moving slowly, I reach into the basket and pluck out four rolls, one for each of us. “For you,” I say to him, holding up the bread so he can see it. Riska, still on my shoulder, mews.

  Zed releases the basket. Taro sweeps in and rescues it, returning it to the anxious kitchen worker. Billy pats his uncle on the shoulder. Now that the commotion is over, people lose interest and drift away.

  I hold out the rolls. Zed snatches them up and shoves them down the front of his green polo shirt. They settle into the pouch formed where his shirt tucks into his pants, creating a lumpy bulge.

  “I saw you take four,” the kitchen woman calls out to us. “Don’t think about trying to get any more. Just because you’re all fam
ous doesn’t mean you get extra food.”

  I smile and nod, trying to show her we’re not going to make any trouble.

  “Let’s find a place to sit,” I suggest to my friends as we back away.

  Zed shakes his head. “I have to get to the base and stash our supplies. Commies could be anywhere.” He lowers his voice, peering around the room. “Keep your ears peeled for anything related to Project Renascentia.”

  He melts into the crowd, hunched over with one arm cradling the bread rolls. Billy stares after him, pushing his bangs aside for a better look.

  “You want to go after him?” Taro asks.

  “I should,” Billy replies. “Mom has been after him to take his meds.” He lets his bangs fall back into place. “But Mr. Winn said he’s sending mercs to pick us up.”

  He shifts from foot to foot, staring in the direction Zed went. I can see how much he wants to follow his uncle. I can also see how he does not want to be absent when Mr. Winn’s escort shows up.

  “He’ll be okay.” I say this because I want to comfort Billy, not because I necessarily believe it.

  Billy gives a weak laugh, face bleak. “Right. We’re in an ultra-high molecular glass biodome. How much trouble can Zed get in?”

  “What’s Project Renascentia?” I ask.

  Billy shrugs. “A conspiracy project Zed and I were investigating before we came here. Zed thinks we can follow up on leads here, but our hands are tied until we have Vex access.”

  I nod and don’t ask any more questions. Billy is a hardcore conspiracy theorist. Before we moved to the Dome, he spent all his free time at Collusion Underground, a Vex site that specializes in conspiracy theory investigations.

  “Speaking of conspiracies,” Billy whispers, edging closer to me and Taro. “I looked into the guy Riska attacked. That soldier, Maxwell.”

  I lean forward. “What did you find?”

  “Uncle Zed knew about him.” Billy looks around to make sure no one is close enough to eavesdrop. “He’s Claudine’s favorite. He’s the one she calls when she has a special project. He’s often gone for weeks at a time when he’s on assignment for her.”