C James - Dome Six

The Burn had swallowed everything. Not a single data point had moved in the right direction.

“Estimate survival time outside with the suits,” Elle said.

“Under current conditions, estimated time of human survival is one hour and 37 minutes.”

An hour and a half. Likely not enough to even walk as far as the cameras could see.

“What would be the most likely cause of death?” Elle asked.

“Suffocation. The suits’ filtration systems are designed to handle up to 300 micrograms per cubic meter of particulates. Current particulate levels are at 810 micrograms per cubic meter. At that level, the filtration unit would fail but carbon dioxide levels and dust would make breathing impossible.”

It was the exact opposite of what she expected. How could things get that much worse in just 20 years? It just didn’t make sense that it was even worse than the Third Epoch. Maybe there was a short somewhere. The maintenance crews and techs were always replacing electrical parts, and that was inside the Dome. Anything outside had to be toast, didn’t it?

“Display sensor diagnostics,” she said.

The display changed again to a detailed chart of technical data. The only thing she understood about it was that everything was green, and green was good. There was no malfunction, at least according to IDA.

“How likely is it that the data would change significantly in 20 more years?” Now she was desperate. Without hope, they wouldn’t have to worry about the Dome falling apart. Their society would collapse.

A chart of multicolored lines slid in to replace the diagnostic data. “Historical trends suggest conditions will continue to decline.”

Her mind raced. She couldn’t present this to the masses as it was.

“Sentiment analysis,” Elle said. “Keyword ‘Epoch.’ Go back one year.”

The diagnostic report faded and was replaced by another report. IDA instantly mined the colossal volume of data under her feet in the cooling liquid and spat back a summary of how citizens felt about the upcoming Epoch. CHIT data could indicate anxiety, happiness, comfort, doubt — the full range of human emotion.

Data was Luther’s thing, not hers. But it was useful, and she only ever looked at the aggregate.

The upward trend took a sharp dip as a result of the Exchanger failure but had bounced back as Luther said it would after they advanced the saboteur narrative. Expectations for the Fifth Epoch were high but clearly volatile. If she stood in front of everyone in the Agora and reported IDA’s data as it was, they’d tumble off a cliff and nothing would bring them back. Without hope for a future, the present wouldn’t matter. Didn’t she owe them the truth?

If IDA had flagged Owen and Aaron’s movements after curfew, the Authority hadn’t responded. It was too soon to think they got away with it, but maybe they had their hands full with Epoch preparations. In any case, the two of them showed up for work as usual and watched workers assemble the big stage in front of the Authority during their breaks. He’d be his mom’s age before he saw it again.

He and Aaron spoke little of the previous evening for fear of being overheard. As far as they knew, no one except Sam, the undertaker, had ever seen the inside of the Box. But instead of coming out with the answers, they only had more questions.

Owen knew someone who might be able to help.

After their shift, he descended the Tower to the Agora and went the opposite way he usually did, explaining to Aaron that he wanted to visit his uncle, Hideki. They made plans to catch up later over dinner.

As Owen made his way to Dek’s, his brain kept trying to work out what happened inside the Box. The heavy metal doors and concrete construction were significant, but he couldn’t explain how or why. Maybe it was some kind of powerful magnetic field that interfered with the blood. But what explained the awful feeling of being inside it?

When it came to half-baked theories, Dek had no peers.

He knocked three times before the door finally opened a crack. Dek peered out at him, wild-eyed as ever.

“Owen,” Dek said. “What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I’m in the middle of something.”

He tried to see past Dek’s head, but his unit was as dark as always. “I think you’re gonna want to hear this.”

Dek opened the door far enough to poke his head out. “Were you followed?”

“No, but I was out after curfew last night.”

Dek smiled. “Well now you have my attention,” Dek said, tugging him through the door. “But you shouldn’t stay long because I’m on a very short leash.”

Owen pushed the door closed behind him. “Why? What happened?”

“Tosh didn’t tell you?”

“I haven’t seen her since the Quietus.”

“Downing’s trying to pin the Exchanger failure on me.”

“What? How?”

“The less you know, the better. What’ve you got for me? And don’t talk too loudly. I think I found all the Listeners, but I can’t be sure.”

Hideki believed IDA monitored conversations through billions of tiny wireless microphones called Listeners.

The shades were drawn tightly, the unit’s meager furnishings pushed against the wall. Any available lights were focused on a spot in the middle of the living area, where it looked like an array of electronic components had exploded.

“What the hell is all this?” Owen asked, as confused as he was intrigued. He loved this shit.

“Just a little project I’m working on. So, what kept you out after curfew last night, you bad boy?”

Owen explained his and Aaron’s debate about the Box and the ensuing encounter with Sam. Dek was held rapt.

“That is interesting,” Dek mused. “Other than nausea, what did you feel when you were inside?”

“It’s hard to describe,” replied Owen. “Almost like a fist closed around me and squeezed. It sounds dumb, but I was scared for my life.”

Dek scratched at the soft stubble of his chin. “You say the floor and the walls were concrete. Airtight, perhaps.”

“That’s what it looked like to me. The doors were heavy.”

Dek appeared to have a brief inner debate, then nodded toward the jumble of components spread out on the floor. “Come on. I need to show you something.”

It turned out Dek was pursuing a mystery of his own. He shared the tale of the red Macros and what he’d seen under the microscope. The coiled filament of an antenna. The bloodlike color. He even held up his little vial to the light so Owen could see it. Owen didn’t know that much about Macros but he could see this one was different.

“Jesus,” said Owen. “That’s from the woman?”

“No,” Dek said, pulling up his pant leg. “That’s from me.”

An ugly wound ran down Hideki’s outer thigh. He’d literally dug around inside his leg until he found a Macro floating around.

Owen grimaced. “Jeez, Dek.”

“Right now, I’m trying to determine the frequency that activates it. But what you said about the Box has me wondering.”

“How’s that?”

“I always assumed something physically happened inside, but you said Art’s body was intact?”

“Looked that way to me,” confirmed Owen.

Dek’s eyes narrowed. “So why would a room like that be impenetrable?”

Owen shrugged. “So no one can get in or out?”

“No one or no thing ,” Hideki said, his voice trailing off. “What if the signal the red Macros receive is actually blocked by the Box?”

Owen knotted his eyebrows. “You think these things are keeping us alive ?”

“I’m not sure, but I think I know how to find out. In the meantime, you want to help me isolate the signal?”