C James - Dome Six

“Dome Six’s mission has always been to protect its citizens until the outside world becomes habitable. Recent incidents may have shaken our faith in this mission, but I want to assure every last one of you that the Authority takes it very seriously. I’ve ordered a complete inspection of all critical systems to ensure nothing like this ever happens again.”

“I feel safer already,” Dek sneered. Tosh smirked and rolled her eyes, though she could see real pain behind her old friend’s eyes. Elle was conflicted.

“Things break, and we fix them. Unfortunately, we now have reason to believe that the Exchanger failure was no accident.”

Dek’s head pivoted to Tosh, his eyes wide. Could Elle know about Downing’s movements in the Stores? Was she really going to out him in a broadcast? She’d swear she heard a collective gasp through the window.

“If these accidents are the work of a saboteur, rest assured we will find them and bring them swiftly to justice. In the meantime, we must take measures to ensure the safety and security of our citizens. Accordingly, I’m ordering a 10 p.m. curfew for all citizens who aren’t at work, effective immediately.”

Tosh’s jaw dropped. They’d never had a citywide curfew for everyone. Just kids. There was never a need. Elle wasn’t trying to assuage their fear — she was trying to redirect it.

“The Authority can’t do this alone, which is why I’m asking for your help. No one is anonymous in our city. Someone knows something. They may be your friend, your neighbor, or your co-worker. If you see something, say something. Only by following every lead will we bring this individual to justice and restore safety and order. Thank you.”

The screen flicked off and the last of Elle’s words echoed through the city. Dek looked pale, which was saying something. The implications descended over them like a cold blanket.

“Dek, they’re gonna know you were in the Stores,” Tosh said. “They probably do already. You need to lay low for a while.”

Dek’s shoulders sagged as he absorbed this truth. He seemed to realize he had much less time than he planned. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, Tosh heard a small sound from the direction of his bedroom. It sounded like a tiny scratch — the kind of sound you’d only notice if you were already on edge. Dek’s eyes slid toward the sound, then guiltily back to her.

“What is that?” she asked, her eyebrow cocked.

“You promise you won’t be mad?” he asked.

“No.”

“Okay, fine,” he said.

She followed him into the bedroom and opened his small closet. There, behind a crate of junk, was her father’s old tool kit. Dek opened it and rummaged around. She couldn’t believe her eyes.

“You still have that?” she asked, incredulous.

He shrugged. “No one ever came for it.”

Durable goods like tools were meticulously inventoried, and not just because there was a finite supply. Some areas needed special tools to access, and if the Authority controlled anything, it was access.

Dek produced a wrench and went to one of the removable panels on the wall, then started unscrewing one of the bolts. Only then did Tosh remember she’d heard the sound before.

“Oh god, don’t tell me,” she said.

“No, no,” he assured her. “It’s okay.”

He removed the rest of the bolts and pulled the plastic panel off the wall. Tosh couldn’t help but take a few steps toward it, though she already knew what she’d see.

Dek had fashioned a small box from wire and circuit boards. Inside was a fat, gray-brown mouse. The tiny black spheres of its eyes darted back and forth between them as its whiskers twitched, sniffing at the air.

Memories of her parents came flooding back. After they disappeared, she and Dek went to clean out their unit and found a nest of baby mice hidden in the wall. The Dome was supposed to be vermin-proof, but their father never got a chance to explain where the mice came from. It was just another of the mysteries surrounding their deaths. At the time, Tosh had gotten very upset and killed them, fearful of the implications for the city. She’d always felt badly about it.

Arms folded tightly in front of her, Tosh leaned in and studied the mouse. It moved from corner to corner of the box, sniffing, as though an exit would reveal itself on the billionth try.

“This is Minerva,” Dek said lovingly. “I found her in the Stores a few months ago and smuggled her out in my bottle. I think she’s hungry.”

He brushed past her and retrieved a whole carrot from his little nightstand. Apparently, he’d accumulated a few Ration Rewards, which seemed unthinkable. He broke off a piece, chewed it, and spat the mash out into his palm.

She stared at him, incredulous. “You are literally insane.”

“What? It’s not like we have mouse feed. She’s not scared of a little saliva, are you, Minerva?” he said, clicking his tongue.

Mice carried filth and disease. Leave it to Dek to hide one in the same bottle he drank water from every day. And now he was feeding it pre-chewed carrot? He opened the little door in the top and dropped in the mashed carrot. Minerva sniffed at it briefly then nibbled away.

“Are you mad?” Dek asked Tosh. “You’re mad.”

The mouse seemed to look directly at her as it ate. Was she so different? Were any of them?

“She’s your type.”

They shared a laugh, which felt good. He was her nearest blood relative. With no children of their own, they were the last Yamamuras. If the mouse gave him comfort, then good on him. Maybe it was time to find a bit of her own.

What a strange little family they were. There was Owen’s mother, his crazy uncle Hideki, a sort-of little sister in Dee, a big brother in Byron, and a stand-in grandfather in Art.

Between the daily drudgery of the Towers and the O 2scare, Owen had plenty of time to think. His Placement, unfortunate though it was, had led to a friendship with Aaron. He felt the pulse of the city now in a way he never had before, and a growing connection to the people he cared about most.

Apart from Downing, he and his mom were the only living citizens who knew what it was like lose someone they cared about with no good explanation or closure. There was no template to follow for that kind of loss, but he could finally see how unhealthy her way was. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, it was a relief to be out from under its weight.

The last thing Owen wanted to do after a shift in the Towers was remain on his feet, but his mom asked him to join her and Art for their final walk together and he couldn’t say no. He was never that close with the old man. It was as though they were on different timelines — Art lived in the past and he in the future.

Thinking about the past meant thinking about all he’d lost.

He never knew his mother, but his father, Stephen, made sure he knew about her. She had many friends and was known as being kind and helpful. She used the Cache to teach herself French just because she liked how it sounded to speak it. Penny liked long walks and preferred to use her Ration Rewards on strawberries.

But more than anything, she wanted a child.

Wanting a family was just one part of a complex equation. There was a finite number of housing units, a finite number of jobs, and finite resources. IDA’s algorithms kept the birth and death rates in balance. The Originals accepted this fact and so must they.

It was a weighted lottery system. Any partners under age 30 who wanted a child entered into the lottery. Each rejection got you another lot, improving your chances for the next draw. Roughly 700 people died each year, so 2–3 couples got approved each day. This helped keep the population hovering around 100,000.