C James - Dome Six

Hideki smiled and looked around at the trees, the grass, and shook his head. “You want to talk about lies?”

“I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me where they’re going?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Aramor shrugged. “Suit yourself. They won’t get far.”

“It’s too bad, really,” Hideki said.

“What’s that?” asked Aramor.

“I’m the first person in a century to talk face to face with someone outside the Dome and I’m already bored.”

Aramor’s lips curled into a grin. “Then I guess we’re both disappointed.”

Hideki turned to the right, where the brilliant sun had just broken over the tops of distant hills, bathing the landscape in gentle orange hues. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Nice sunrise,” Hideki said.

Aramor took a few seconds to appreciate it himself, then said, “You could do worse.”

Hideki squared back up to him and said, “Let’s get this over with.”

“Fair enough.”

In one smooth motion he withdrew some kind of burly sidearm, aimed it at Dek’s forehead, and pulled the trigger. If it made a sound, he didn’t hear it.

Alonso Aramor, director of security for Cytocorp Pacifica, holstered his pistol and touched a finger to his face. It came back smeared with red. Blowback. That’s why you always made sure you had at least a meter of separation. He was rarely so careless.

Aramor removed a small light from his front pocket and studied the tip of his finger. On the tip was a tiny red worm. What were the chances? He hadn’t seen a Macro since he was a kid. Foster handed him a small towel from one of his many pockets so he could wipe his face and hands.

“Are we bringing either of them in?” Foster asked.

“Just him,” he said, nodding toward Downing’s body. “I don’t care what you do with this one.”

Foster nodded and got to work. Aramor’s XO, Howell, came hustling over from somewhere behind his R-310 Scorpion and turned off his helmet display. Aramor finished wiping himself clean and turned to face him.

“Anything?” he asked.

“Just the CHIT markers we saw when we came in. The signal’s too weak for visuals,” reported Howell. “Want me to call in a swarm?”

Howell was talking about the biodrones, basically flying neural networks they used for surveillance. They could bring someone down if they needed. But it rarely came to that anymore. Besides, they were expensive and, for lack of a better word, buggy. Most likely, the other escapees lost the signal minutes earlier and dropped dead where they stood.

Still, the Yamamura man knew about the failsafes and Downing didn’t. As long as there was a remote possibility that they’d figured a workaround, they needed to be vigilant. The narrative surrounding the Domes was well-established, and it was critical that it be preserved. The missing eight were a loose end, and Cytocorp didn’t like loose ends.

Aramor shrugged. “Keep one bird in the air for surveillance, but make sure the men stay here. Let’s do what we came here to do. I just need final confirmation.”

Howell said, “Roger that,” and trotted over to the Scorps. One of them took off again while Aramor activated the comm on his wrist. A moment later, Ulrich Eliason’s smooth face popped up.

“Alonso!” he said. “I’ve been eager for news.”

Aramor didn’t like Eliason using his first name. At best, he tolerated Cytocorp’s eccentric CEO. Mostly, Aramor looked for any reason not to interact with him but his orders were to get final clearance before proceeding with the rest of the op.

“Two dead, eight others about to be. Once we find them, we’ll add them back to the manifest.”

“What do you mean, ‘find them?’ How could they go beyond the perimeter?” Eliason asked.

“We don’t know yet, but they can’t be far.”

“What about the Administrator?”

“Among the missing.”

“I’d like her alive if possible,” said Eliason. “She’s the only one with any value to us. Talk to me about the facility.”

“Past its prime. Vines are up past the support wall and the tunnel entrance is destroyed. It’s how they got out.”

Eliason equivocated for a moment and said, “Our Agar reserves are at capacity, yes?”

“That’s my understanding.”

“We make the broadcast and open the door. Once they’re all out, we trigger the sequence. Assuming everything goes as planned, you can send the dozers.”

Eliason sighed. “Very well. You have my authorization to proceed.”

“Copy, sir,” Aramor said. He sighed and disconnected, then rolled up his sleeves and turned to Howell. “We’re on.”

Howell pointed at two of his men, Wasco and Parmer, and yelled, “Get your asses over here,” he said. “Go with the chief.”

“Keep one bird on surveillance,” Aramor added to Howell. “He wants the Administrator alive if possible.”

“Yes sir,” Howell said. He turned and waved his hand in a circle, and the pilots started the engines.

Aramor climbed back in his Scorpion and turned to his longtime pilot, Morgan. “All right. Take us to the west side.”

Morgan activated the VTO jets and they rocketed skyward, following the perimeter around to the other side of the Dome. Its mirrored surface was dingy and mottled. Vines and roots crawled up the sides. In the half light, it looked as old as it was. Still, it was an impressive feat of engineering.

The two Scorpions continued around the edge of the Dome until the channel appeared, surprisingly bereft of vegetation. Its inside edge was 50 meters from the base of the support wall. The smooth concrete walls were 10 meters high. Around the outside of the channel was a grass-covered hill at least as high as its walls. On and on the channel went in a semicircle, until finally they saw where it branched, a vine-choked stub that ran into the Dome’s support wall.

“Put down on either side of the ramp,” Aramor said.

The Scorpions dropped down and settled onto the grass on either side of the stub, then shut down their engines. Aramor’s men climbed out and he pointed to the thick vegetation where the stub met the wall.

“Clear all that shit out,” he directed. “I don’t want anything to get stuck. Saws and jaws, let’s go.”

The men went to work, hauling equipment out of the Scorpions’ cargo area. About an hour later, the junction of the channel and the support wall was cleared of debris. They climbed back up and joined Aramor at the edge of the stub.

“You really think this’ll work?” Howell asked.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Aramor said, and activated his comm again. This time it was a lieutenant at Control, Pacifica’s technology hub, who popped up.

“Director Aramor,” he said. “Are you in position?”

“We are. Initiate egress procedure.”

A moment later, a faint a muffled voice, official-sounding but incomprehensible, played inside the Dome. At the same time, a section of the support wall a bit wider than the channel moved, a chunky sound that suggested its immense weight. Bit by bit, it was lowered down into the ground. Air came rushing out, whipping the nearby vegetation. It smelled old and wet.

“Let’s all be professionals,” Aramor said. “This is just a job.”

As the top edge of the door came into view, the announcement running inside became crystal clear. It played on a constant loop.

“ Your attention, please. The Dome Project has now concluded. Please shut down all equipment, leave your belongings, and proceed immediately to the exit at the end of Rad 54 for a quarantine and screening procedure. It is safe to do so. You will receive further instructions upon exiting. Cytocorp thanks you for your compliance. ”