The Dome

by Camille Picott

  In the real-world, anyone can make an infinity mirror by placing two mirrors across from each other. Objects placed between them are reflected back and forth an infinite number of times.

  In Vex, Infinity Mirrors are something hackers build to conceal their true VIs—Virtual Identities. They use code to create the effect of a real-world infinity mirror, essentially sending any would-be pursuers on a wild goose chase.

  “An Infinity Mirror,” Billy says, intrigued despite himself. “That’s some talented programming.”

  “It’s expensive programming,” Claudine corrects. “Your friend is either a brilliant programmer, or ridiculously wealthy. Probably both.” Her eyes narrow as she studies me. “How do you think he pulled off that hack at the Infinity Stadium? We had thirty programmers assigned to that project. Your little friend went to great lengths to circumvent our firewalls. Just to give you a makeover. Can you imagine the resources it takes to accomplish that? Why do you think he did that?”

  I stare at Claudine, at a complete loss for words. Gun did it because he cares about me, I want to say, but words won’t come out. They seem a flimsy defense in light of everything she has said. How did Gun hack the Infinity Stadium firewall?

  “I don’t care how brilliant he may be,” Claudine says. “He didn’t singlehandedly hack Infinity. That was not the work of a single person. Wouldn’t you agree?” Her head swivels. She pins Billy with a fierce expression.

  Billy swallows, glances at me, then nods. “I know a lot of good programmers, Sulan,” he says. “That hack wasn’t the work of one person. Too complex. Too many moving parts. It had to be a team.”

  I feel pieces shattering inside me. A team. Gun never talked about a tech team. He always had cool Vex toys, but I always assumed he programmed them himself.

  Claudine gives me a triumphant sneer. Her avatar grows another few inches, dwarfing us. “You see, Sulan,” she says, “your so-called friend is a threat. We need to find out who he really is and why he befriended you. You need to tell me everything that passed between you two tonight. This is a Global security matter. The safety of your friends and family could depend on us discovering the true identity of the avatar you know as Gun.”

  I want to plug my ears and hide my face in my arms. The avatar you know as Gun. Claudine’s words are like ice picks in my heart.

  Just because he’s hiding from Global doesn’t mean his friendship isn’t real, I tell myself. He trained me. He saved me from the League. I have to believe our friendship is real.

  Claudine stares at me, impatient expectation etched into the lines of her face.

  “He—he had the number 266 tattooed on the arm of his avatar,” I say. “That was our locker room number in the Cube. That’s how I figured out it was him. Next time—if there’s a next time—I’ll signal Kerry in some way.”

  “There will be another time,” Claudine says. “He’s gone to great lengths to maintain a connection with you. There is no reason to believe he’ll just let it go.”

  I have to get into Vex and see Gun. I need to see him. There’s an explanation for all of this. There must be. When is Daruuk going to finish building the stupid modem?

  “Again,” Claudine says. “Tell me again exactly how your conversation with him went. From start to finish.”

  Slowly, carefully, I reconstruct the conversation. I’m careful to be authentic about everything except Project Renascentia, taking Billy’s lead and camouflaging the truth.

  “I think he just misses me and wants to see how I was doing,” I say at last. “That’s all. I guess he’s been trying to see me but was too scared to come around. He knew you were … interested in him.”

  Her nostrils flare again. “If all he wanted was your friendship, Sulan, he wouldn’t have so meticulously concealed his VI. Now, once again. Replay your conversation with him.”

  Two more times I convey the details of my conversation with Gun. Two more times I study the events in my mind, trying to dissect the truth.

  That was true friendship I saw in Gun’s eyes, wasn’t it? Claudine is just twisting things around to undermine him. She must be lying about everything else.

  So what if his avatar hasn’t truly been Naked and he’s just some skinny boy somewhere out there? I don’t care. All that matters is who he is on the inside.

  Gun wouldn’t have pretended to be my friend for all those months in the Cube. He wouldn’t have risked rescuing me from the League if he didn’t really care, would he?

  Would he?

  ***

  It’s the middle of the night by the time Claudine releases us from Vex. The stress of our interrogation has left me limp and exhausted. Riska sits in a tight ball in my lap, his ears flat against his head. His tail lashes.

  Ironically, I see a gleam in Billy’s eyes after he pulls off his Vex set. His mind must be in overdrive after tonight’s events. This is probably the most fun he’s had in weeks.

  Kerry regards us with bleary eyes. She opens her mouth, clearly intending to ask a question, then snaps it shut. A beat later, she summons her perky smile and says, “Well done tonight. Very well done. The crowd was very pleased with your performances.”

  The two of us look at her without speaking. I’m so tired I’m half tempted to curl up in the chair and go to sleep.

  Kerry produces her clipboard and consults her schedule. “Sulan, you’re due back here with Hank tomorrow morning at eleven. You’re scheduled to talk to a group of students about the importance of studying. Billy, I need you back here at nine in the morning. There’s another anti-establishment group that wants you to speak to their membership. You can both go back to the Village now. Good night.” Somehow, she manages another enthusiastic smile.

  I haul my butt out of the chair, slinging Riska onto my shoulder. My brain is numb from all that’s happened tonight. It swims with clips of dialogue from Gun and Claudine.

  I’ve missed you, Short Stuff.

  That young man you frolicked with in the Cube is not who he seems.

  Watch out for Project Renascentia.

  If all he wanted was your friendship, Sulan, he wouldn’t have so meticulously concealed his VI.

  It’s enough to make my head explode.

  As Billy and I exit the media room, he says, “For what it’s worth, Sulan, I think Claudine brings up some valid points about your friend. Everything I’ve seen him do requires … monumental resources.” He stops, turning to look at me. He goes so far as to push aside his bangs so I can see his eyes. “There’s one fact Claudine can’t change, though. That guy, whoever he is, saved our butts from the League. Only true friends come to your rescue in a time like that.” He releases his hair, once again shielding his eyes from sight. “I just wanted to say that to you.”

  “Thanks, Billy.” His words mean more than I can say.

  24

  Heritage Legion

  I DON’T SAY ANYTHING to Taro and Hank about Gun’s visit and Claudine’s subsequent interrogation. There’s no point. I’d get nothing but I told you so from both of them, and I don’t want to hear it.

  My next handful of public interviews is all with Hank. I enter Vex each time with mixed emotions. I want to see Gun again, but I want him to avoid entanglements with Claudine. If he stays away from me, hopefully she won’t be able to find him.

  Hank and I become a well-oiled machine. We have our story down. Hank shines in front of the audience. Though I’m never completely comfortable on stage, I do well enough to garner compliments from Mr. Winn and Kerry.

  Claudine never says anything nice to anyone. In fact, I don’t see her speak at all, not even to Mr. Winn. At least she doesn’t grill me or Billy about Gun again. That’s a relief.

  Our approval ratings soar. National awareness of Global Arms increases by twenty-six percent. Hank is by far and away the most popular of us four, which doesn’t surprise anyone considering how natural she is on stage.

  When, a week later, the four of us are scheduled for a press conference together, Hank
talks about it nonstop. It’s the first time since the Infinity Stadium that all four of us are slated to go into Vex together. Taro, Billy, and I listen at the breakfast table as Hank frets the morning of our appearance.

  “Kerry says the American Heritage Legion is going to present us with an award. Do you think they’re going to give us individual awards? Or will it be a group award?”

  “American Heritage Legion?” I ask. “What do they represent?”

  “The virtues of our country,” Billy says with a dry laugh. “Freedom, democracy, capitalism, entrepreneurial spirit, that sort of thing.”

  “Who will collect the award if it’s for the group?” Hank says. “I wonder if Kerry knows how they’re going to do it. What if …”

  I tune her out and concentrate on my breakfast. Riska sits on the table beside me. I feed him bits of food, eggs, a few bites of toast, and some rabbit sausage.

  “Are you guys even listening to me?” Hank demands, slamming her fork down in frustration.

  “You’re worried about the award,” I reply. “I think you should accept it for us.”

  Hank throws up her hands. “I don’t even know why I bother with you guys.”

  Billy slides an arm around her shoulders. Hank sighs and leans her head against him. We have relative peace for the rest of our meal.

  A short time later, we find ourselves back in Vex. The American Heritage Legion rented a modest site for the event. It supports only several hundred avatars; anyone else interested in the event has to stream it in Vex.

  We’re seated on a stage. I spot Kerry in the front row dressed in a dark blue pantsuit. Pinned to her lapel is an American flag. I don’t see Claudine anywhere.

  “Where do you think Claudine is?” I whisper to Hank. “This is the first time she’s missed one of our appearances.”

  Hank shrugs. “Maybe she’s sick. Her health isn’t good, you know.”

  I settle back in my chair, feeling stupid. Of course Claudine’s health isn’t good. If she wasn’t the niece of Reginald Winn, she’d be dead.

  Several members of the Legion give long-winded speeches about our country’s glorious roots. I zone out most of the time, idly watching the avatars in the audience. All of them portray something akin to the American spirit.

  One avatar is an old-fashioned buffalo nickel, with legs and arms. Another is a mustang sporting a cowboy hat, which looks odd sitting cross-legged on a chair. There are quite a few avatars dressed like cowboys and Civil War soldiers.

  I’m so busy studying a Winchester rifle avatar that I don’t even notice when the Legion speaker calls us to the front.

  “Sulan!” Hank hisses, grabbing my elbow and pulling me up. “Come on.” She gives me another tug, leading me toward the podium.

  Inwardly cursing myself for not paying attention—Kerry will no doubt have noticed, which means I’ll hear about it—I put on my best smile and approach the front of the stage. Apparently, however this award is being given, we’re all required to walk up to the podium to receive it.

  The Legion members are all dressed in blue pantsuits with American flags pinned on their lapels. A gray-haired man flashes perfectly white teeth as he smiles.

  “Sulan Hom, Henrietta Simmons, William Long, and Taro Hudanus,” he says, giving each of us an enthusiastic handshake. “We’re so honored to have all of you here today. I’m pleased to present you with this award on behalf of the American Heritage Legion.” He hands me an American flag lapel pin identical to the one he wears. “This will grant you access into any Legion-owned Vex site. You and your friends are always welcome among Legionnaires.”

  He makes a great show of pinning the flags on each of us. I slide a glance at Billy, who tilts his head so that one eye is revealed through the curtain of his bangs. For a conspiracy theory hobbyist like Billy, this is like giving him the equivalent of a never-ending supply of candy. There’s no telling what sort of information he can glean from a fringe society like the Legionnaires.

  Too bad we can’t get into Vex. Daruuk has been laboring on his homemade Vex equipment, and as far as I can tell, I’ll be fifty years old before he finishes it.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” The Legionnaire claps his hands and beams at the audience. “I give you our young heroes, defenders of our country’s heritage!”

  The avatars in the audience stand and applaud. All of them have hands, even the Winchester rifle. I stand with my friends and smile away, like I was taught. Other than my slight period of distraction earlier in the presentation, I don’t think Kerry will find any flaw in tonight’s performance.

  “I hope to see each of you at our sites in the near future,” the Legionnaire says. “There are so many of our members who would love a chance to speak to you in person. We have a networking event next Tuesday. Would you consider joining us?”

  “That sounds fun,” Hank says. “But you’ll have to check with our Global PR representative.”

  Even in a situation like this, Hank manages to bring Global into the dialogue. No wonder Kerry loves her.

  There’s another round of applause from the audience. I keep smiling, waiting to be pulled out of Vex.

  “Perhaps I can schedule a time for you to visit my site,” booms a new voice. “Our members would like to … sell you. Again.”

  Laughter rings out. I look around wildly, searching for the source.

  I know the voice. Everyone knows that voice.

  But the owner of that voice is dead.

  Is this someone’s idea of a joke? Is it even legal to impersonate a dead terrorist? Is the Heritage Legion messing with us?

  I scan the audience, but everyone looks as confused as I feel. Or at least, those with the semblance of faces look confused. The buffalo nickel doesn’t even have a face.

  Kerry speaks into her ballpoint pen, eyes darting between us and the audience. This is the first I’ve seen her talk to her pen; I’m not sure if this is a sign of extreme stress or if the pen is a link to Global.

  I reach for Hank’s hand, only to find my fingers closing around Taro’s instead. Hank is on my left, but I’d reached out with my right hand.

  Taro moves close to me, feet shifting into a defensive stance. He gives me a thin-lipped expression. Hank and Billy huddle together, crouched like rabbits at the back of the stage. If someone wants to scare us, it’s working.

  The maniacal laughter continues, growing louder. The avatars continue to look around for the source of the voice.

  A blue shimmer fills the middle of the small auditorium. It begins to coalesce, bits of sparkling dust coating the audience.

  I’m gripped with the urge to flee. Even before the shimmering blue fully solidifies, I know what I’m going to see. The real Imugi might be dead, but the League is still out there. They can still wreak havoc in our lives. I don’t want to be anywhere near them in Vex or the real-world.

  Blue dust flurries out from the growing blue ball in the middle of the room, gusting over the stage. I try to step away, but there’s no escaping them. They swirl through the room, coating everyone with a blue veneer. Taro and I inch toward the back of the stage.

  “Any time now, Kerry,” Taro murmurs. “You can pull us out any time.”

  We’re under strict orders not to remove our Vex sets. Kerry is in charge of our official exits. Unfortunately, Kerry, is still talking to her pen. She looks apoplectic.

  I stare at the blue image forming in mid-air. When it resolves into Imugi’s blue sea serpent, my heart sinks into my feet. A small part of me hoped I might be wrong, but there’s no denying it now: the League is here.

  The audience, seeing the serpent, breaks into panic. Their words meld into a cacophony, but I snatch a few sentences that fill me dread.

  “I can’t jack out!”

  “I can’t move!”

  “We can’t get out!”

  “We’re trapped!”

  “The League has us trapped!”

  The avatars are in chaos, scrambling around and over each other even t
hough there’s nowhere to go.

  “What do they mean, the League has us trapped?” I hiss as we reach Hank and Billy at the back of the stage. Taro’s hand stays firmly in mine.

  Billy pushes his bangs back from his face. He stares out at the unfolding scene: at the coiled serpent that sends out undulations of blue dust; at the desperately fearful avatars; and, finally, at the shimmering dust that coats all of us like second skin. He blinks, eyes widening in recognition.

  “I—I think that blue stuff is Dream Dust,” he says, voice mixed with awe and dread. “Black Tech.”

  25

  Dream Dust

  BILLY RUNS A FINGER ALONG HIS ARM, scraping off the sparkly powder. He holds up his finger, displaying the soft blue.

  “This is why Kerry hasn’t pulled us out, and why she’s still here,” he says. “Dream Dust is real. The last time I was in Vex, Dream Dust was just a concept, an idea among Black Tech programmers. Someone’s figured out how to make the code.”

  “What’s Dream Dust do?” Taro asks.

  “Try to take off your Vex set. In the real-world,” Billy says.

  I do as he instructs.

  Nothing happens.

  I can’t lift my arms. I can’t move my hands. I can’t even twitch my toes. My body is filled with an itchy, tingly sensation. Fear rockets through my bloodstream.

  “I can’t move,” Taro says, voice hard-edged.

  “Me, either,” I say. “And I’m tingly.”

  “It’s the Dream Dust,” Billy says, raising his voice so we can hear him over the chaos surrounding us. “It’s Black Tech that triggers a massive release of GABA in the brain.”

  “Gamma-aminobutyric acid?” Hank asks. “The chemical that causes sleep paralysis?”

  “Yeah,” Billy says. “When the Black Tech triggers the release, the most common side effect is temporary paralysis. Vex users are trapped in Vex until it wears off, or until someone takes the Vex sets off for them.”

  “Trapped in Vex?” Hank says shrilly.