The Dome

by Camille Picott

  “I need to talk to you,” he says.

  Uncle Zed flows around us and picks up the closet dowel. The dead bolts snick softly into place. I shiver as the edge of his spear grazes my arm.

  “The Vex set,” Daruuk says. “It’s ready. Two of them. And the modem. Everything works. Finally.” His words tumble over themselves in his rush to speak. “All I’m missing is access to the network.”

  “Isn’t that the whole point of building a secondhand modem?” Taro asks. “To get access to the Vex network?”

  “Muscle head,” Daruuk says, making a face at Taro. “Of course it would seem that simple to you.”

  I bristle at the insult to Taro. “What do you want to talk to me about?” I scowl at Daruuk, putting my hands on my hips. “And you can either be polite to my friend or go away.”

  Daruuk makes another face, then positions himself so that his shoulder is practically in Taro’s face. “I need your help, Hom. In order for my modem to work, I have to piggyback off an existing access. The Fortress is the only place in the Dome with a functioning modem.”

  The skin between my shoulder blades crawls. I know where this conversation is going.

  “I need you to plant this in the Fortress.” Daruuk produces something small and silver with a flourish.

  Beside me, Taro stiffens. He doesn’t say anything, but his disapproval radiates like an oven.

  “What is it?” I ask, pretending not to notice Taro’s reaction.

  “This is a Hijacker,” Daruuk says. “Zed managed to get one for me. Although he charged a steep price for it.” He casts a quick scowl at Zed, who has backed into the living room mess. The spear has disappeared and he’s rummaging beneath a tarp.

  “Had to trade two pairs of jeans to get the beer yeast,” Zed says without looking up. “Had to trade the beer yeast for the Nike shoes. Had to trade the shoes and a bottle of vodka to get the Highjacker.”

  “And I had to trade our last bag of chocolates for the Highjacker.” Daruuk gestures expansively, waving the small silver rectangle in the air. “Though the safety and well-being of my kingdom is worth the price.”

  “You use that thing to hack into Vex, right?” I’ve heard of Highjackers before, though never had a need to use them. “How does it work?”

  “The modem in the Fortress generates a new passcode every hour,” he says. “That thing in your hands will hack the passcodes and give us constant connection. It will also camouflage the hack. Routine security sweeps by the techs won’t detect it. This is why the kingdom of Andala needs you. The Highjacker only works when it’s within twenty feet of the modem we’re hacking. I need you to plant this in the Fortress.”

  Beside me, Taro shifts.

  “If I plant this, will your Vex sets work?” I ask. “We’ll be able to get into Vex?”

  “Affirmative.”

  Gun. Yearning for my friend crashes through my chest like a tidal wave. Finally, my chance to see him. And ask him some questions.

  “I’ll do it,” I say. “For a price.”

  Daruuk scowls. “What do you want?”

  “You said you have two Vex sets. Zed has first dibs on one. I want rights to the second one. First access to Vex.”

  “No way,” Daruuk says. “That’s my right. I’ve been working on the sets for weeks. Without me, they wouldn’t exist.”

  “Without me, you won’t be able to use them. Who else is going to plant the Highjacker for you? Hank won’t. She won’t do anything that might put her family at risk.”

  Daruuk turns a plaintive look on Taro. “What about you, merc boy? Would—”

  “No,” Taro says, face expressionless.

  “Billy,” Daruuk says. “I’ll ask Billy.”

  “If you can get him alone,” I say, not wanting to lose this opportunity. “You can’t ask him in front of Hank. She’ll flip. And he won’t say yes if she’s there.”

  “Those two are joined at the hip,” Daruuk mutters. He peers at me. “I’ll build a statue of you in the main square of my capital. I’ll even name a river after you. How about that?”

  I fold my arms and give him a firm look. “I don’t care about rivers and statues. If you want the Highjacker in the Fortress, you give me first access to Vex.”

  “Fine.” Daruuk scowls, slapping the Highjacker into my palm. “But you’d better get it planted this week. Otherwise, our deal is off.”

  Daruuk tries to strut out the door. His foot catches on a box. Taro sticks out an arm to keep him from flying headfirst into a pile of electronics. Muttering about the sacrifices one has to make as a ruler, Daruuk makes a hasty exit.

  Taro straightens, still not looking at me. He’s a mass of brooding silence. I try to ignore it, but he puts a hand out and touches me lightly on the elbow.

  “Can we talk outside?”

  I hesitate, but Taro gives me a tense look. I sigh and nod, knowing where this is going.

  “See you later, Uncle Zed,” I call.

  Zed peers at us from behind a stack of haphazard boxes, then disappears with a mutter about Morning Star.

  When we get outside, I try to head off Taro’s argument. “I know you don’t want me to plant the Highjacker.”

  He stares at me for long seconds, his dark eyes brooding.

  “I don’t care if you plant the Highjacker,” he says at last. “I don’t want you to get caught planting the Highjacker.” He holds up a hand to forestall my protest. “I’m not questioning your skills. You’re tough and smart.” He gives me the flicker of a smile. “But if Mr. Winn catches you … I just don’t think he is worth the risk.”

  “You don’t think Gun is worth the risk.” Two weeks ago, this would have made me furious. After everything that’s happened, I can only manage tired irritation. “Look, I understand.”

  He opens his mouth, skepticism plain on his face, but I cut him off.

  “I know you’re worried about my safety,” I whisper. “Thank you for that. But … I need to see him. Gun risked everything to help us when the League kidnapped us. He trained me. I still consider him a friend. I need to see him. And … there’s something that happened last week I haven’t told you about.”

  I haltingly tell him about my brief contact with Gun during the anarchist rally, then about Claudine’s subsequent interrogation.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about all this when it happened?” he asks when I’m finished.

  “Because I didn’t want to hear you say I told you so.”

  He grimaces. “You’re right. I would have said that. I’m sorry.” He hesitates, then slides an arm around my shoulders. I lean against him, resting my head on his bicep.

  “I need to see him,” I say, my voice soft. “I need answers about who he is.”

  Taro sighs, kissing the top of my head. I close my eyes, savoring his closeness.

  “And then there’s Project Renascentia,” I add. “I want to try and get more information. Gun mentioned it. I need to find out what he knows.”

  Silence stretches between us. I hate it. I swallow and step into him, resting my cheek against his chest. Both arms come around me, pulling me close.

  I lean back, looking up at him. Taro searches my face, then leans down and brushes my lips with a soft kiss. I close my eyes and return the kiss. It’s soft, tender, gentle.

  That scared, vulnerable place opens up inside me. A big part of me wants to bolt. It wars with the part of me that wants to keep kissing Taro.

  He pulls away with a soft sigh, resting his chin on top of my head. “I don’t like any of this, but I’ll help you.”

  “Really?” This is more than I expected or hoped for.

  “Yeah. It’s important to you. I’ll do what I can to help you get the Highjacker planted.”

  35

  New Products

  SOMEONE SHAKES ME AWAKE the next morning. I groan, rubbing at my gritty eyes.

  “Sulan. You need to wake up,” Dad says.

  Riska mews and jumps onto Dad’s shoulder, purring. I roll ov
er and squint up at him.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “There are two mercs at the front door. You’re to be escorted to Mr. Winn.”

  That wakes me up. “Mr. Winn? Why?” I push up onto my elbows.

  Dad gives a shake of his head, worry plain on his face. “I don’t know. But you have to go. Now.”

  I leap out of bed. Dad paces back and forth next to my bed, yanking on his hair. He doesn’t pay any attention as I stuff myself into clothing.

  I glance at the edge of my bed, where I hid the Highjacker last night. I kneel down, groping for my shoes, and simultaneously slip my hand between the mattress and box spring. The Highjacker is small and smooth in my hand. I drop it into my pocket.

  “Which mercs did he send?” I find my boots and lace them up.

  “I don’t know their names.”

  Which tells me Maxwell isn’t one of them. My mind races. Could Mr. Winn know about Daruuk’s Vex set? Or our plans to break into Maxwell’s house?

  “Have any of the others been called? Hank or Taro or Billy?”

  “I don’t know. Sorry, sweetheart.”

  He escorts me to the front door where the mercs wait. “Do you know what this is about?” Dad asks them. “Has Sulan done something wrong?”

  “It’s classified,” one merc replies. He turns his gaze to me. “Mr. Winn doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  With one last look at Dad, I step outside and follow the mercs.

  ***

  “We have a situation, Miss Hom,” Mr. Winn says as I enter the Fortress. He’s wearing a lime green running suit with orange sneakers. He sits in one of the big leather couches, strumming his fingers on the arm.

  The media room is jammed with men and women in gray polos. They buzz around like insects, carrying wires, cables, and electronic equipment in sleek silver cases. There are so many people speaking at once their voices blend in a cacophony.

  I stand in front of Mr. Winn, waiting for him to continue. Riska sits on my shoulder, tail looped around my neck, the tip of it twitching.

  “Anderson Arms.” Mr. Winn glares and smacks his fist against the padded chair. “The bane of my existence. Would you like to know what they’re up to, Miss Hom?”

  “Yes, Mr. Winn,” I say, even though I’d rather not know whatever it is that has Mr. Winn worked up. I have a sinking feeling he’s going to use me to leverage himself out of whatever this situation is.

  “Those rat bastards are launching a new defense weapon,” he snarls. “They’re gunning for my weapons contract! My contract!” he shouts. Red suffuses his face. He clenches his hands, knuckles white.

  I shift in uncomfortable silence as he fumes. I’m relieved he hasn’t uncovered any of my scheming with Daruuk, Uncle Zed, Billy, or Taro, but having him glare at the room at large—with me front and center—is unnerving.

  “My informants at Anderson Arms tell me that William Anderson plans to unveil a new product in two days. That bastard is trying to undermine Global’s advancements with smoke and mirrors.”

  I nod, staying mute. Right now, my job is to stand here, let Mr. Winn vent, and agree with everything he says.

  “My informants haven’t been able to glean any details. But I’ll be damned if I let that man steal my limelight. You’re going on stage tomorrow. You will unveil two new Green Combat prototypes.”

  Me? My mouth goes dry. I nod curtly. My legs feel weak. I lock my knees to keep myself upright.

  “Not her.” Claudine wheels in. The green eyes of her avatar are fierce.

  Behind her strides Maxwell. The sight of him makes my stomach clench.

  Traitor! I scream silently, resolutely pushing away memories of my kidnapping.

  Maxwell sweeps his gaze across the room, taking everything in—including me. His eyes narrow when he sees me.

  My instinct is to jerk my gaze away, but I force myself to give him a small, furtive smile. Hopefully, he’ll think I’m trying to stay on friendly terms with him after Riska’s attacks. At the same time, I put a hand on Riska to keep him calm. He rumbles, but doesn’t hiss or dive-bomb the merc.

  “Uncle, use the Simmons girl.” Claudine rolls to a stop beside Mr. Winn. Her bald head reflects the bright LED lights. “She’s better with the public.”

  “No,” Mr. Winn says. “It must be Miss Hom. Her father’s reputation carries more weight. We need every advantage. I have confidence in Miss Hom.” His eyes flick to me. “My confidence is not misplaced, is it, Miss Hom?”

  “No, Mr. Winn.”

  “Go.” He gestures at the door with his chin. “Miss Sturgess is waiting for you.” He narrows his eyes at me. “You will deliver tomorrow night. You will make the crowd love you, and you will make them embrace our bioweapon technology.”

  “Yes, Mr. Winn.” I turn and exit the room, all too happy to leave Maxwell and the Winns behind. The Highjacker sits untouched in my pocket. It will have to wait for another time.

  ***

  Kerry Sturgess is as worked up as everyone else. She paces up and down our prep room.

  “So he chose you, did he?” she says by way of greeting when I enter.

  “Me.” I give her a cool stare.

  Kerry stops pacing. “You,” she says, jabbing a finger at me, “have to sell it. You have to embrace everything Green Combat represents. This isn’t about vomiting up a script with a fake smile. We’re going up against Anderson Arms. If there’s anyone who could steal the defense contract out from under us, it’s them.”

  “Mr. Winn wants me to do this,” I say. “You have to help me get ready.” Riska mews, pushing his head against my cheek.

  Kerry studies me, lips pursed. At last she nods. “With that attitude, you have a chance to pull this off. Let’s get to work. Have a seat.”

  I sit on the edge of the sofa. Riska settles into my lap.

  Kerry stands in front of me. She produces a tablet and passes it to me. It displays an image of a bird.

  “This picture was taken in our lab,” she says. “Make note of the size.”

  I study the picture. The bird has a scaled head, leathery wings, and a feathered body. It’s standing next to … I blink in surprise.

  “That’s a Gav.”

  Kerry smiles, pleased. “Yes. The bird is standing next to a Gav. We call the bird a Porter. Short for Green Transporter. They’re being grown right next to the Gavs. This Porter is only one week old.”

  I take the tablet in both hands, studying the animal. “If it’s only a week old, it’s going to be huge when it’s full grown.”

  “Precisely. This, Sulan, is the future of human transport. No more hulking metal and plastic gas guzzlers in our American skies. The Porter is an organic, green choice for transport.”

  “It’s like an airplane?” It’s hard not to be impressed.

  “When it’s full grown, yes. Mr. Winn wasn’t planning to release information on these for another six months, but with the new threat of Anderson Arms we have no choice but to tip our hand. The Porters will revolutionize the transportation industry. These aren’t just for military defense. They will open transcontinental travel to everyone. Just like it used to be in pre-’Fault days. Now take a look at this.”

  Kerry brings up a new picture and passes the tablet back to me. Crouched in the picture is a creature that looks like a cross between a lizard and a sea turtle. Its armored exterior shell gleams blue-black. Large spikes march down its spine. The legs look more like a frog’s than a turtle’s. The spiked head is tucked into the shell.

  “The Phib—short for Amphibious Green Attack Vehicle—is a relative of the Gav. Its development is further along than the Porters. The Phibs will help us improve defense of our country’s oceans, lakes, and rivers. They’re roughly the same size as the Gavs.”

  I scroll through the pictures on the tablet. The Phibs are hollow like the Gavs, the insides accessible through a part of the exterior shell that folds back.

  “Do they smell as bad as the Gavs?” I ask, recalling the horrid ste
nch of the Gav my dad stole to rescue us from the League.

  Kerry actually laughs. “That’s been quite a point of debate over the past few months. To answer your question, yes, they do smell better.”

  I raise my eyebrows and decide not to ask how much better. If the Phib has any stench, better for me if I don’t know about it.

  Kerry and I work deep into the night as she educates me on the details of the Phib and the Porter. By the time we’re finished, my brain buzzes with the new information. The company lines play in my head like a song.

  Global has always been a pioneer in Green technology.

  We at Global Arms embrace the safety of our nation and the preservation of our natural resources.

  Green Combat provides sustainable security.

  “You’re as ready as you’ll ever be.” Kerry’s so wired she can’t stop drumming her fingers. Her left leg twitches periodically. “Go home. Get some sleep. Be ready to go in the morning.”

  36

  Skeletex

  KERRY IS WAITING FOR ME on the ledge outside the Fortress when I arrive the next morning. She plucks at my polo shirt, straightening it and trying to smooth out the wrinkles.

  “The creases won’t show in Vex,” I tell her.

  “Everything shows in Vex.” Kerry purses her lips at me in disapproval.

  “I can do this,” I say, trying to sooth her.

  She nods curtly. “Come on. Mr. Winn is waiting.”

  Today, Mr. Winn is wearing a navy blue tracksuit with orange racing stripes down the side. The overall look is accented by his fluorescent-green tennis shoes.

  I give Mr. Winn my best smile to show him I’m ready. To my shock, he bursts out laughing.

  “Ms. Sturgess,” he says between chuckles, “I do believe your hard work is finally paying off. This is the first time Miss Hom has ever smiled at me.” He levels me with a steady gaze. “If you can deliver that”—he points at me—“in Vex today, we’re golden.”

  “Yes, Mr. Winn.”

  “This will be an intimate event,” Mr. Winn continues. “Only five hundred avatars. Reporters and other people of influence.”