The Dome

by Camille Picott

  Sulan

  Episode 3: The Dome

  Book Description

  After escaping the League, Sulan and her friends are granted entrance into the Dome, a utopian biodome in the wilderness of Alaska. Sulan soon finds herself a pawn in Global Arms’ political maneuvers to secure the national mercenary contract. Forced to put on a public persona that makes her skin crawl, she must charm Vex media moguls to further the cause of Global. Should she fail to embrace her new role as company spokesperson, the consequences will be deadly to everyone she loves.

  Meanwhile, the League unleashes a new deadly threat on the United States. When Sulan and her friends stumble on the trail of a League mole within the Dome, they set out to track him down. Will they be safe in their new home, or will they find themselves trapped among enemies?

  Other Works by Camille Picott

  www.camillepicott.com

  The Warrior & The Flower – 3 Kingdoms, Book 1

  Sulan, Episode 1: The League

  Sulan, Episode 2: Risk Alleviator

  Sulan, Episode 3: The Dome

  Undead Ultra

  Raggedy Chan – A Chinese Heritage Tale, Book 1

  Nine-Tail Fox – A Chinese Heritage Tale, Book 2

  Raggedy Chan – the Illustrated Edition

  Writer’s Toolbox – Creating Tension

  Make Your Speculative Fiction Novel A Page-Turner

  Writer’s Toolbox – World Integration

  How to Weave Worldbuilding Into Your Speculative Fiction Novel

  Writer’s Toolbox – Indie Publishing Essentials

  9 Tools Every Speculative Fiction Author Needs for Indie Success

  Sulan

  Episode 3: The Dome

  By Camille Picott

  www.camillepicott.com

  Published by Pixiu Press

  Windsor, CA

  Copyright 2017 Camille Picott

  Cover by Deranged Doctor Design

  www.derangeddoctordesign.com

  Copyedit by Dani Crabtree

  www.hedanicreations.net

  Contents

  BOOK DESCRIPTION

  OTHER WORKS BY CAMILLE PICOTT

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  OTHER WORKS BY CAMILLE PICOTT

  1

  Processed

  MY SKIN ITCHES FROM THE CHEMICAL SCRUB. I bunch my fists at my side, resisting the urge to scratch it.

  To my left, a Global merc leans into the retina scanner mounted on the wall. A flash of red scans his eye. A metal door slides open in response, revealing a twelve-by-twelve room made of granite—granite walls, granite ceiling, and granite floor. It’s identical to every other room I’ve seen since arriving in the Dome.

  The merc prods my elbow, indicating I should enter the room. Riska, my genetically engineered pet, hisses from his perch on my shoulder. His leathery black wings extend to either side of my head, black-and-white striped fur bristling along his spine. I give the man a narrow-eyed glare before stepping inside. The door closes and locks behind me.

  Once alone, my shoulders sag. I put one hand against the stone wall to steady myself. My nerves are frayed. I feel like a bundle of live wires shorn in half with a bread knife.

  I’m unable to shake the feeling of being imprisoned. Beside two plush green sofas and a single light hanging from the ceiling, the room is empty. Or at least, I think it’s empty—until I see something move in the corner of my eye.

  I spin around and drop into a defensive crouch. Riska digs his claws into my shoulder, wings tensing against my cheek.

  A tall, lean boy steps out of the corner of the room. He’d tucked himself near the doorway, a good position in case he had to surprise someone and fight his way out.

  “Taro.” His name comes out of me in a soft rush. Riska mews.

  “Sulan.” Dark eyes regard me with concern. A bulletproof black jumpsuit hugs his lean, well-muscled form. His black hair is damp.

  For a split second, I think he’s going to hug me. Instead, he raises a hand and brushes an achy spot below my right ear. There’s a matching swollen red mark below his right ear, evidence of the tracking chips that have been embedded into our skin.

  “We’ve officially been tagged,” he says in a flat voice. “And vaccinated.” He touches the bandage on my right arm that covers four vaccination pinpricks. His arm is encased in the bulletproof fabric, though presumably he has the same pinpricks.

  “According to the nurse who scrubbed me down, all citizens of the Dome are processed upon arrival.” I scratch at a patch of skin that still burns from the chemical rinse. “I don’t know why they tag us. Even if we could get out of this place, we’re in the middle of Alaska. Anyone stupid enough to break out of here would freeze to death.”

  “I know.” Taro lowers his hand. There’s a bandage around the hand, covering the stump of his missing pinkie finger. He lost his finger because I wasn’t fast enough in obeying Imugi.

  “Don’t worry about my hand,” he says, following my gaze.

  Thinking about Imugi yanks me back to our time on the League freighter ship. I see Mom’s silhouette within the ship. She’s tall, strong, and implacable—until an explosion swallowed her.

  I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not.

  Riska mews, rubbing his head against my chin.

  “Sulan?”

  “I’m okay.” I slide down to the floor, leaning against one of the sofas as I wrestle with my emotions. I blink away tears that fill my eyes, not wanting Taro to see me weak.

  He slides down next to me. He doesn’t talk, just sits beside me. His silence is the best gift he could have given me.

  I lean my head back against the side of the sofa, eyes closed, fighting back the memories of Mom’s death. My heart pounds in my chest as grief constricts my throat.

  “Don’t think of her right now,” Taro says. “The pain, the loss—lock it away for another time.”

  I swallow and turn to look at him, not surprised he so easily guessed where my head was. Taro lost his mother less than a year ago. If anyone understands what I’m going through, it’s him.

  “Dad always told me emotions are a luxury,” Taro continues. “It used to make me mad. He’d always say it during training whenever I was angry or frustrated about something. But …” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what the Winns have in store for us. Whatever it is, your head needs to be clear. You need to be strong.” He squeezes my hand. “Be strong for her. She’d want you to be strong.”

  Miraculously, his words ease the sadness gripping my chest and throat. My breath steadies, and for the first time since arriving in the Dome, I begin to feel like myself.

  I squeeze back, grateful for his friendship. I take several long, deep breaths, then take all my anguish and agony over the loss of Mom and shove it into a dark corner of my mind. I press it down, suppressing the part of me that is brittle with grief.

  Later, I tell myself. Grieve for Mom later.

  I
abruptly notice Taro’s close proximity. The muskiness of his skin mingles with the chemical wash. It’s strange to smell another person. After spending most of my life in Vex—Virtual Experience—and socializing with avatars, I’m not used to being around real people.

  Riska cranes his neck in Taro’s direction, nose twitching as he sniffs the air.

  “I’m okay,” I say. My voice is steady, strong.

  “I know you are,” Taro replies. “You’re strong. Like her.”

  We lapse into a comfortable silence. Taro and I may have only known each other for a few days, but I already consider him a close friend. Everything we went through as League captives has bonded us.

  That’s when I notice the texture of his hand, which is still clasped around mine. His skin is warm and calloused. The bandage around his missing pinkie rubs against my palm.

  When he catches me looking down at the bandage, he pulls his hand away and tucks it into his lap. I open my mouth to apologize again, but he cuts me off.

  “Do you know where we are?” he asks, steering the subject away from his missing finger.

  “Other than inside the Dome?” I shake my head. “After the mercs tranqed us on the landing pad, I woke up in a granite processing room with Hank and two nurses.”

  “I heard the mercs calling this place the Fortress. Have you seen any of the others?”

  “No. Hank and I were stripped and scrubbed down at the same time, but after that, we were separated.”

  “Me, Billy, your dad, my dad, Uncle Zed—we were all separated after the showers, too.” Taro gestures to Riska. “Did he get a chemical scrub?”

  “They sprayed him down, but that’s it. I guess since he’s a Global creation he didn’t need all the other stuff.” I scratch his chin. Riska fans his black wings open and leans into my hand. “What do you think of my outfit?” I gesture to my Global-issued khaki pants and blue polo shirt. The polo is embroidered with the company logo, an old-fashioned fuse bomb that looks like planet Earth, with the sun as the lit fuse.

  Taro quirks an eyebrow. “That’s a rhetorical question, right?”

  I grunt. “They made us wear clothes like this in Virtual High School. It was bad enough in Vex. It’s worse in the real-world. I’d much rather have one of these.” I pluck at the sleeve of his jumpsuit.

  The door beeps and slides open. Hank is escorted inside, her eyes puffy. Her short, spiky red hair gleams in the light.

  “Hank!” I jump to my feet at the sight of my best friend. Riska leaps into the air and glides around the room.

  “Sulan!”

  We rush toward each other, arms outstretched, just as we would have done in Vex. There’s an instant when the reality of our new situation hits us, and we both freeze mid-step, staring uncertainly at each other.

  Until a few days ago, Hank and I had never met in the real-world. Hugging in Vex is second nature. There’s nothing second nature about being in the real-world with each other.

  I give a nervous laugh. “We’re being lame,” I say, taking a step toward her.

  “Lame,” she agrees, echoing my nervous laugh.

  I lean forward and seize her in an embrace. She throws her arms around me, a ragged sob wracking her thin frame. She’s so tall—nearly six feet—that she has to hunch over to rest her forehead against my shoulder. I can feel the bones of her shoulder blades through her shirt, another thing I hadn’t been able to do in Vex.

  I inhale the same burnished scent of the chemical scrub, and another, lighter smell that’s Hank. What do I smell like to her?

  “They won’t let me see my family,” Hank says, straightening and wiping her eyes. Her face crumples as she looks at me. “Oh, Sulan, that was so insensitive—I’m sorry. Your mom—”

  I shake my head, grief making my throat tight. Later, I tell myself firmly. Think about Mom later.

  “Did they at least tell you whether your family is here?” I ask, taking the conversation away from my mother.

  Hank nods yes, wiping at her eyes. “The nurse who vaccinated me said everyone arrived safely in the Dome, and that I’d be reunited with my family in due time. In due time! Who even talks like that anymore?”

  The door beeps open a third time. This time Billy is ushered inside. He’s dressed like Hank and me in khakis and a blue polo. His long blond hair, still wet, obscures most of his eyes.

  In a blink, Hank is in his arms. Billy lifts one hand. It hovers in the air, then strokes the back of Hank’s neck. The two of them lean into each other, the real-world awkwardness nonexistent.

  I’m so busy watching my two friends that I don’t immediately notice the door hasn’t closed. A short woman bustles inside, an old-fashioned, pre-’Fault clipboard nestled in the crook of her arm.

  “Hello,” she says with a bright smile. “I’m Kerry Sturgess, director of public relations.”

  2

  Director of Public Relations

  HANK AND BILLY LEAP APART, their faces reddening with embarrassment. I ease closer to Taro, eyeing the newcomer. Riska lands on my shoulder, tail lashing as he swivels his ears in her direction.

  “Nice to see you all happily reuniting with one another,” the woman says, brimming over with a cheerfulness I find unnerving.

  The door beeps, sliding along its rails. Right before it closes, I see three mercs position themselves in the corridor outside. Apparently, we have guards.

  The woman catches my look. “A formality,” she says, waving a dismissive hand in the direction of the mercs. “You must be Sulan Hom.” She strides forward, still smiling, and seizes my hand in a firm handshake. “Kerry Sturgess, director of public relations. So nice to meet you.”

  I hastily extricate my hand; the touch of a complete stranger is weird and unnerving. “Why do we have guards?”

  “No one comes in or out of the Fortress without an escort,” Kerry says. “This is, after all, Mr. Winn’s private residence here in the Dome. Can’t have anyone wandering about.”

  I file these facts as Kerry moves onto my friends, shaking their hands and repeating her title to each of them. As if none of us heard it the first time.

  She’s shorter than I am, which is saying something. Her dark gray hair falls in a long braid down her back. She wears khaki pants and a burgundy polo shirt embroidered with the Global logo. A pair of glasses rests on the edge of her nose.

  When she’s done shaking everyone’s hand, she steps back and taps one finger against her clipboard. She regards us over the silver frames, a bright, perky expression on her face. I can’t decide if it’s real or forced.

  “I know you’ve been through a great ordeal,” Kerry says. “All things considered, you’re doing remarkably well.”

  I frown. How does she know how we’re doing?

  “Please, why don’t you all take a seat? We have a lot of work to do, but Mr. Winn has certainly given me great subject matter.”

  Subject matter? My lips tighten. Riska hisses.

  “Please.” Kerry gestures to the sofas. “No reason for anyone to be uncomfortable while we talk.”

  Hank is the first one to move. Taking Billy’s hand, she heads toward one of the green sofas and sits.

  “You, too,” Kerry says, gesturing to Taro and me. “Sit, please.”

  Taro and I exchange looks. Riska fans open his wings, tail lashing. Reluctantly, I sit on the other sofa, Taro by my side.

  Kerry remains standing, looking down at us. We gave her a tactical advantage. She now gets to look down at us.

  “Your press conference will take place tonight.” Kerry glances at her watch. “We have exactly one hour to prepare.”

  Across the room, I hear Billy grunt. My stomach falls to my feet.

  One hour. One hour until our press conference in Vex.

  The idea of being under a public microscope makes me queasy. Even worse is knowing I’m expected to speak to the public. I once tried to talk a calculus professor into letting me write two research papers in lieu of an oral presentation. She didn’t go f
or it, and I’m positive there’s nothing I can say or do to convince Mr. Winn to let me opt out.

  This is the price Dad and Aston agreed to pay. We could have spent our lives on the run from Global. Instead, Dad and Aston cut a deal with the owner of Global Arms, Mr. Winn. Dad thinks the press conference will be used to launch Global’s campaign for the country’s defense contract.

  “I was hoping we’d have more time to prep,” Hank says, twisting her fingers together. No one likes prep time more than Hank. I’ve seen her spend weeks studying for a test. No doubt she’s looking at this as a huge exam.

  “I, too, would like more time,” Kerry replies. “Unfortunately, time is not something we have right now. The public wants to see the young men and women who defeated Imugi. It’s in Global’s best interest to oblige the public. Don’t fret. You won’t be required to speak. Miss Claudine Winn will be leading the event.”

  Relief rushes through me. Maybe this won’t be so bad. If all I have to do is stand there while Claudine talks—

  “All you have to do is embody your assigned personas. That’s what I’m here to help you with.”

  Embody our assigned personas? What does that mean? My anxiety rushes back. The fur along Riska’s spine fluffs up.

  “Hank, let’s start with you,” Kerry says. “You need to straighten your spine.” Hank immediately complies. “You are a tall, brilliant, confident young woman. There is no reason to slouch. You are the hacker of the group—”

  “Ex-hacker,” Hank says quickly. “I haven’t done anything illegal since—”

  Kerry waves a hand to silence her. “You’re the hacker in the group that took down Imugi. That’s the part you need to play at the press conference. Be proud of what you’ve done for our country. Carry yourself accordingly.”

  I see Hank mentally file this away in her brain. She nods vigorously at the gray-haired woman.