Dome Nine

by John Purcell

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  I never got the chance to shut down. As I was fishing Moto’s remote out of my backpack, she awoke with a start. She looked around, unfolded her hands, and shot out of the lifeboat and up the ladder, headed for who-knows-where.

  By the time I got to the ladder, she was up and gone, through the open manhole. As I made the climb myself, I could see that night had fallen. I popped out of the opening and managed to catch a glimpse of her as she disappeared into an alleyway.

  A quick glance around confirmed my suspicion: we were somewhere in the Ruins. Windowless buildings loomed above and rubble littered the streets.

  I rounded the corner and charged down the alley. Halfway down, I found Moto flinging furry creatures left and right. Judging by the photographs I’d seen in the Extinction Catalogs, these were cats of some sort, but they were much larger—and considerably less extinct—than housecats.

  There were nine in all, and they’d converged around a central point. They seemed to be gnawing and clawing at something on the ground, exactly what, I couldn’t see. Moto was in the process of peeling them away one by one, grabbing them by the scruff of the neck and tossing them over her shoulder. When they hit the ground, they dashed past me, running for their lives.

  After she’d cleared five of them, the remaining four realized what was going on, arching their backs and hissing. Moto lunged at them and they turned and fled out the other end of the alley, vanishing into the night.

  And then I could see what the cats had been tearing at. It was an iPup, the same model as Moto, as far as I could tell. It was difficult to say, because it was covered in dirt and the cats had dismembered it. Where legs had once been, wires now dangled. It lay motionless, eyes closed, as though shut down.

  As Moto sniffed at it cautiously, I squatted down, extending my hand toward its head. Perhaps I was going to pat it. I don’t know.

  Its eyes snapped open and it flung itself at me, teeth clamping onto my hand. It moved very fast and its jaws were powerful. Someone had tampered with it.

  I jumped up, letting it hang from my arm, unsure of what to do. Moto was staring at it in surprise, equally unsure. And then it began to emit a horrendous screeching sound, one that no normal iPup could make.

  Figures appeared at both ends of the alleyway. It took me a moment to realize that they were all Menials: PilotTrons, HandiTrons, MailTrons, NanniTrons. The legless iPup was calling to them.

  I looked up, hoping for a fire escape. No luck. I looked down, hoping for a manhole.

  A few yards from where we stood, a pair of metal doors was set into the pavement, hinges on the outside edges. To my surprise, they burst open, revealing a steep flight of stairs below.

  A man stuck his head out, apparently quite irritated, saying, “What the bloody hell?!?”

  He glanced at us, then up and down the alley, and rolled his eyes. He waved us over impatiently, saying “Come on, then!” and hurried back down the stairs.

  Moto and I exchanged a look and started after him. Lacking any better ideas, I stepped over to the wall and slammed the iPup against it. The screeching stopped. When I slammed it a second time, its jaws went slack and it fell to the ground. In spite of this, the Menials continued closing in from both directions.

  By then, our rescuer was at the foot of the stairs, looking up, hands on hips. He was portly and baldheaded and sported a walrus mustache. He said, “We haven’t got all day!”

  Moto and I hurried down the stairs. When we reached bottom, he let out a long sigh and climbed up again, closing the doors and bolting them. He came back down, shaking his head, and walked past us as though we didn’t exist.

  We followed him down a short passageway. It opened into a spacious cellar filled with tables and chairs and lit by Glorbs. At the far end was a bar.

  People were seated here and there, most of them alone, some at tables, some along the bar, all with drinks in front of them. They looked up indifferently as our rescuer walked in. Without breaking stride, he jerked his thumb at us. “We’ve got a pair of bloody Domers in our midst.”

  He crossed the room and took his place behind the bar. The people stared at us for a moment or two, then turned back to their drinks.

  I decided to head for the bar, as well. I took a barstool at the far end. Moto jumped onto the one beside it and curled up.

  Our rescuer came grudgingly toward us. “Would you care for a drink?”

  Just to be polite, I said, “What have you got?”

  This set him off again. “What have I got? I’ve got Mash, the only bloody drink there is! Take it or leave it!”

  I said, “Actually, I don’t want anything, other than to thank you for your help.”

  He softened slightly. “First time in the Ruins, is it?”

  “First time Outside.”

  He picked up a pint glass and started drying it with a rag. “Well, try not to fall for the dead iPup again. Mark of a rank amateur.”

  “Queen Scarlett tampered with it, didn’t she? And the Menials, as well?”

  “Heard about Queen Scarlett already, have you?”

  “Actually, I heard about her in the Domes, through my friend, Bim.”

  He looked up in surprise. “Bim Crawfield? Do you know him, then?”

  “He’s a classmate of mine.”

  “You’re from Dome Nine, are you?”

  “Yes.”

  He broke into a grin. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place? Any friend of Bim’s is a friend of mine!” He extended his hand. “I’m Archibald, bartender to the Mash-Heads.”

  I shook it, saying, “My name’s Teo, and this is Moto.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “Are the Mash-Heads a clan?”

  “Of a sort, of a sort… I say, how’s Bim? I haven’t seen him in quite a spell.”

  “He’s well.”

  “Clever lad. Can’t hear a bloody word he says, but smart as a whip. Read every book known to man.”

  “Bim referred to those Menials as Low-bots.”

  Archibald shook his head. “Not Low-bots, LobeBots. Bit of pun, actually.”

  “How so?”

  “You’ve never heard the term ‘lobotomy’?”

  “No.”

  “A crude sort of brain surgery, performed on lunatics in the 20th Century. Cut out their frontal lobes, they did. Turned them into walking vegetables.”

  “Are you implying that LobeBots are walking vegetables?”

  “Next best thing, really. To get them to attack humans, Queen Scarlett has to cut out all sorts of circuitry. By the time she’s done, they’re blithering idiots. They’re only dangerous in numbers.”

  “But if one gets a hold of you, you can’t break free.”

  “If you’re fool enough to end up like that, you can always have a go at the failsafe button.”

  “I tried that and it didn’t work.”

  “Not the ones above the collarbone. Queen Scarlett deactivates those, of course. But she has to have another one, for her own safety.”

  “Where is it?”

  Archibald smiled. “It’s on the right heel. She’s having everyone on a bit there.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a joke, don’t you see?”

  “How is that a joke?”

  “Achilles’ heel, and all that?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Archibald looked exasperated. “What the devil do they teach you kids in school, anyway?”

  “I can name every city and town in United North Korea.”

  “Of what bloody use is that?”

  “None that I know of.”

  Archibald tossed his rag aside and fell silent.

  I said, “Where did you go to school?”

  “Learned all I know on my father’s knee, I did.”

  “
And where did he go to school?”

  “In the Domes, learning GR rubbish, like you. But he got out.”

  “What Dome was he in?”

  “Lancashire 2, four miles outside of Liverpool.”

  “Is that anywhere near Philadelphia?”

  Archibald rolled his eyes again. “It’s in bloody England. Haven’t you ever seen a globe, for God’s sake?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Well, it’s across the Atlantic Ocean from America.”

  “How on earth did you end up over here?”

  “Came across the pond in a bloody cargo crate, on a bloody GR freighter. Smuggled out, you see.”

  “By whom, your clan?”

  “We don’t have clans in England. We Brits are very proper, don’t you know. Not as ad hoc as you Americans.”

  “Not as what?”

  “Ad hoc. I don’t suppose they’re teaching you Latin?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I can’t explain every bloody word I say! You’ll have me knocking back Mash with the rest of the sods.”

  “You don’t drink it yourself?”

  “I’ll have a nip, yeah, now and again. When I’m not working. But I don’t make a bloody career out of it!”

  “Forgive me, but what is Mash exactly?”

  “You take breadfruit and shay, throw in hazelberries for sugar, add blue mushroom powder, and let it bake in the sun for a fortnight. Then you can live on the stuff, if that’s your cup of tea. I stopped serving food a week after I opened this place. There wasn’t any bloody point.”

  “So you don’t have clans in England.”

  “Everything’s different there, lad. Once the bloody Domes were up, your bloody Savior sent half a dozen bloody typhoons across the British Isles and washed everything out to sea. You might say the waves ruled Britannia, what?”

  This seemed to be another joke I didn’t get.

  Archibald continued. “So it’s not like here, where a lot of people made it through. We were all just escapees from the Domes, living under a GR garbage heap. We didn’t have a Cassius to feed us and care for us, like you Yanks. And a bloody damn shame it was, too, especially for Mother…” He paused. “But here I am now, aren’t I, in the New World? And glad of it, too, though you might not know it, seeing as how I’m perpetually out of sorts.” He cleared his throat. “I apologize, Teo, for my previous inhospitality. Don’t suffer fools gladly and all that, especially nippers like yourself. But you’re all right, you are, and that goes for Moto, too.”

  Moto looked up and wagged her tail.

  I said, “That’s good, because we need a place to spend the night.”

  Archibald looked taken aback, but managed a smile. “Like I said, any friend of Bim’s. That door right there leads to my quarters, and ample they are, too. Take the sofa, if you please, and Moto can have my armchair. Can I get you a bite to eat first?”

  “No thanks. I just need to rest.”

  “A good night to you, then.”

  Moto and I hastened to Archibald’s quarters. It was 9:26 PM, 4 minutes before shutdown. I had lost track of the time and missed our chance to make it back to the lifeboat.

  There was a coffee table in front of the sofa. I took off my backpack, placed it on the table, and took out Moto’s remote. When she’d gotten comfortable on Archibald’s armchair, I hit the power switch.

  Settled into the sofa now, it’s obvious that Moto and I are much safer here than we would have been in the storm drain. If we’ve learned one lesson today, it’s that anything can happen Outside.

  Entry complete.