Sulan Box Set (Episodes 1-4)

by Camille Picott

  “You still intend to give him to your daughter?”

  “With your permission, Miss Winn. Riska is perfectly safe.” He looks at Riska and smiles. “Come here, buddy.”

  Riska jumps out of the box. He flies to Dr. Hom, landing on his shoulder. The doctor scratches him between the ears, making him purr.

  “You see, Miss Winn? Perfectly safe.”

  “I share your assessment. Your imprinting serum has worked wonders. But you will still have to sign a release.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ll have the paperwork expedited. You’re free to take him once it’s complete.”

  When Miss Winn is gone, Dr. Hom walks over to a stack of papers. He reaches underneath them, searching with his hand.

  “See this, buddy?” he whispers, producing a tiny metal bead for Riska to see. His voice is so soft that Riska has to swivel his ears to hear. “It’s a data transfer bead. This is our ticket to freedom.” He drops the bead into a syringe.

  When Dr. Hom slides it into Riska, he feels the bite of the large needle. He doesn’t cry out.

  14

  Home

  Outside. Riska has seen outside in Dr. Nguyen’s movies, but the real outside is nothing like the movies.

  He huddles against Dr. Hom’s neck, staring up at the sky. It’s the biggest thing he’s ever seen. It makes his fur bristle. There are too many smells and sounds. The sun is bright, so bright he has to squint until his eyes adjust.

  He and Dr. Hom are on top of a building. The doctor is not in a white coat. He’s dressed in faded pants and a black T-shirt with numbers on it. There are holes in the knees of his pants and along the collar of his shirt. Riska has never seen him like this. He looks strange without the white coat. His hair still sticks up, which Riska finds comforting.

  Soldiers in black are everywhere, all of them bulging with weapons. They’re all watching him. They smell wary. Riska arches his back at them and hisses. A few of them touch their guns and glare. Dr. Hom strokes Riska and makes shushing sounds.

  A helicopter lands on the rooftop. Wind from the spinning blades flattens his fur. The steady noise of the engine roars in his ears. Riska digs his claws into Dr. Hom’s shirt as they board the chopper. Soldiers pile in after them, many of them still watching Riska with hard eyes.

  “That thing needs a muzzle,” says a soldier, indicating Riska with a nod of his chin.

  “Just don’t point your weapon at him,” Dr. Hom says, shouting to be heard over the grind of the chopper.

  “It should be destroyed.”

  “Don’t be hasty,” Dr. Hom says, though his hand tightens on Riska. “The Risk Alleviator could one day save your life.”

  The man snorts and looks away. Others continue to glare as they fly into the sky.

  Riska settles into Dr. Hom’s lap. He alternates between looking at the sky and watching the soldiers. He catalogs the weapons. V40 stun guns. Flash grenades. Smoke grenades. AQ-9 rifles.

  The helicopter lands on another building. Three soldiers exit, taking Riska and Dr. Hom into a stairwell. As soon as they’re inside, the wind from the chopper disappears. His ears ring with the sudden absence of sound.

  With one soldier in front and two behind, Dr. Hom is led down several flights of stairs and into a corridor. The passageway looks like nothing Riska has ever seen. It’s narrow, barely wide enough for him to fly if he wanted to. The flooring is soft, like cloth, and the walls are painted a light brown. Single white doors line the hall, a silver keypad next to each doorknob.

  Riska flares his nostrils as an array of new smells rolls over him. Some are sweet and pungent. Others are acidic and sour.

  “Just in time for dinner, Dr. Hom,” says a soldier as they halt in front of a door.

  “Thank you for the escort, gentlemen,” Dr. Hom says, smiling. He punches a code into the keypad. The door opens and he goes inside, quietly closing it on the soldiers.

  At the sound of the door, a woman appears. She is tall and dressed all in black. She moves like a soldier, her bare feet making only a whisper against the floor. Every muscle in her body is tense.

  At the sight of Dr. Hom, her face relaxes in a smile. “Eugene!”

  Riska jumps indignantly into the air as Dr. Hom and the woman grab each other. He flies in a circle over their heads as they mash their lips together and make happy sounds. He lets out a loud yowl, but neither look up.

  “Dad?”

  A third person enters the room. She is dressed in black pants and a tank top. She looks like she smells—defiant, strong, determined. Her scent wraps around him like a blanket.

  Riska pulls up short. A purr explodes from his throat.

  Sulan.

  She is Sulan.

  His Sulan. And she is real.

  He drops down in front of her, still purring.

  “Dad, what is . . .” She stares at Riska, her dark eyes wide.

  “Happy Birthday, Sulan,” Dr. Hom says. “This is Riska. He’s a Global prototype. A personal security device.”

  Lips parting in wonder, Sulan stretches a hand in his direction. Riska darts in close and lands on her shoulder. He is careful not to prick her with his claws.

  She gasps in surprise as he settles into place, lifting a hand to touch his head. He pushes his nose against her cheek, inhaling her familiar scent. He twists his head, dragging it down her cheek and neck.

  “Dad, he’s amazing,” Sulan whispers. “Did you make him?” Her hands caress his wings and back.

  “The base of his DNA is my design,” Dr. Hom says.

  Riska can’t stop purring, can’t stop rubbing his head and nose all over her face and neck. Sulan is his. The idea of something happening to her—of someone shooting her, cutting her, throwing a grenade at her—makes him bristle and hiss. Sulan makes soothing noises, and he nuzzles her again.

  He will take care of Sulan. She is his.

  Part 3

  Reunion

  15

  Enhancements

  Riska is so, so tired. He’s been flying for so long. His wings burn. There is no place to rest. There is nothing but water, water, and more water. He did not know the ocean was so large.

  Sulan. He must find Sulan. He will rescue her from the men in blue. Whatever it takes, he will save her.

  Her trail is all around him, stronger than ever, but there’s no sign of her. Where is she? When will he find her?

  He drops dangerously close to the water, wings aching and weak. Trembling with fatigue, he struggles to gain altitude, to rise high above the waves, but it’s no use.

  He yowls, his voice carried away by the wind. The beat of his wings slows. A gust hits him. He wheels wildly to the left before righting himself.

  Dr. Hom warned him this might happen. He said protecting Sulan wouldn’t always be easy, but he made a plan for this. The doctor made a plan for everything.

  Riska grinds his teeth and works his jaw back and forth—once, twice, three times. There’s a soft pop, and something sticky explodes in the back of his mouth. It coats his tongue with a sour taste and makes him gag.

  Dr. Hom told him about the bad taste. He said the medicine cap is dangerous and is only to be used when there’s no other option. Riska coughs a few times, working his tongue against the roof of his mouth to get rid of the taste.

  Without warning, his heart takes off at a gallop. It pounds erratically in his chest. A spike of energy surges through him. His wings snap open. Blood pounds in his ears.

  He pushes hard, plowing forward along Sulan’s trail. His wings are strong again. His heart races and he continues to fly.

  As the sun sets, light reflects off the water in a blinding blaze. He squints, barely able to see. His nostrils flare as he doggedly follows the trail. Still he feels strong.

  The scent of the tracking fluid surrounds him. Sulan is close. But where? There’s nothing out here except water.

  Then, silhouetted against the setting sun, he sees it: a big vessel bobbing on the ocean several hundr
ed yards away. It’s a ship painted completely black—and Sulan’s trail leads straight to it.

  He flies toward the boat, studying it. Even from far away, the scent of other humans travels on the wind. He spots one marching along the railing with a gun propped on his shoulder.

  Riska drops low, flying close to the water. An anchor and chain hang from the back of the boat. He lands on top of the anchor, tucking his wings against his body.

  It’s nearly night. As soon as it’s full dark, he’ll infiltrate the ship. That will be his best chance of getting on undetected.

  He waits, licking his paws and cleaning salt from his face. He catalogs the sounds and smells from the ship. There are several humans on the deck. They pass above the anchor chain at a regular interval, making Riska think they’re patrolling.

  The sun disappears below the horizon, the sky turning dark purple. As Riska tucks his head to lick his chest, he sees a brief glint in the ocean below him. He peers down.

  Something bobs just below the surface of the water. It’s a large object, round and smooth. It’s difficult to see, even for Riska, which means the humans on the ship won’t be able to see it at all.

  He glides down, studying the strange object. It’s smooth and clear, like a giant glass bubble. A soft, nearly inaudible rumble rises from it—an engine, its purr nearly masked by the lapping of the ocean.

  Inside the giant bubble are two people. By the way their hands move, it looks like they’re having an argument.

  There’s something familiar about them. He drops in closer, skimming the water above the glass bubble.

  Then he sees her. She looks just like she did when he last saw her—dressed all in black with her dark hair pulled in a bun.

  It’s Mom.

  16

  Mom

  Mom. What’s she doing here?

  Riska swoops down, slicing the surface of the water with his minor claws. He repeats the move several times, each time dropping lower and lower into the water. At last, his claws rake loudly across the top of the bubble. Waves lap at his belly.

  “Riska!” Mom’s voice carries faintly to him. The man with her looks up. It’s not Dr. Hom. It’s the other man, Aston from the rooftop.

  “Hold on, boy,” Mom calls. She hits a button on a control panel in front of her.

  Riska jumps as the bubble rises a foot out of the water. It’s barely visible in the near-dark. He hovers on the wind currents as the bubble slides open on top. As soon the opening is wide enough, he dashes inside.

  The vessel closes and sinks back under water. It’s small inside with only two seats. Behind the seats is a narrow space filled with a big stack of guns and two black duffel bags.

  Riska glides straight into Mom’s lap, tucking his wings before they clip Aston in the face. Both humans look angry. Their brows are furrowed and the tendons along their necks are taut.

  “Mrow?” He looks up at Mom.

  “Good boy,” Mom says, petting his head. “We’ve been tracking you ever since you left San Francisco. Is Sulan on that ship?”

  Riska hisses, looking up at the boat.

  “What about my son?” Aston asks. “Has he seen Taro?”

  “He’s only programmed to track Sulan,” Mom replies, still petting his head. Her touch soothes his bristling fur. He lashes his tail, wondering if Mom will go with him to the ship.

  “Li Yuan, you can’t be serious about going through with this,” Aston says.

  As soon as the words are out of his mouth, the tendons along Mom’s hands stiffen. Riska sees the furrow between her brows deepen.

  “If you only came along to try and talk me out of this, you can swim back to the Gav,” she snaps.

  “I can’t believe you talked him into this.”

  “Zed?”

  Aston snorts. “No. This is exactly the sort of thing Zed would concoct. I’m talking about your husband. Did you tell him the full scope of the plan?”

  “Of course I told him,” Mom says. “We’ve been honing the details ever since we learned about the Dome.”

  “You’re going to get yourselves killed. Even if you do survive, the Winns will hunt you down. What about Sulan? Your plan puts her life at risk.”

  “She’s the reason we’re doing this,” Mom says, letting out her breath in a long exhale. “We don’t want her to live the rest of her life under Global’s thumb.”

  “And this is your solution to giving her a better life?”

  “It’s a good plan. It’s going to work. Eugene and I have thought of every contingency.” Mom pauses, head tilting as she studies Aston. “Do you want in? You can join us. Give Taro a chance at a real life.”

  Silence. Mom and Aston study each other.

  “You’re out of your mind,” he says at last.

  “I’ve always been out of my mind. Remember my first time in the underground pit circuit? I fought that girl—what was her pit name?”

  “Carotid Carol.” He grins.

  “Carotid Carol.” Mom returns his grin. “That’s right. She was twice my size with a lot more experience.”

  “Mmm.” Aston nods, staring out into the night. “Yeah, I remember. You broke both her arms.”

  “What I’m doing now isn’t any different.”

  “Yes, it is. You have a lot more to lose. It’s not just you. You stand to lose a husband and a daughter.”

  “It’s never been about me.” Mom’s voice lowers. “That fight against Carotid Carol was never about me, Aston. You needed meds. There was no way in hell I was walking out of the pit without the money to get it for you. Even if I did have to break both of that bitch’s arms.”

  Aston closes his eyes and leans his head back against the seat. Mom’s hand glides down Riska’s back.

  “I’m sorry,” Aston says at last.

  “For what?”

  “For not being able to lay down the fight when you asked me to.”

  Mom shakes her head. “No, it was wrong of me to ask you to be someone you’re not. You’re a fighter because you love to fight. I was a fighter because I had to be.” Mom pauses, voice softening. “Aston, do you really want Taro growing up in the Dome?”

  “No.” The word falls hard and flat. “No, I don’t.”

  “Then work with me and Eugene. We can make this work. We can make our families safe. Eugene could use your help in the Dome.”

  Aston considers her words, staring past her at the dark, bobbing ship.

  “Do you remember the third season of Merc?” he says, breaking the silence. “When you jumped out of that plane without a parachute?”

  Mom laughs. “I had a parachute.”

  “Not on your back.”

  “No, but it was in the plane.”

  “You jumped without a chute to get that tracker from Ape Man.”

  “If I hadn’t, that bastard and his partner would’ve won the game.”

  “My point is, it was crazy. Going up against the Winns is like jumping out of that plane without a parachute. What if I hadn’t grabbed the chute and jumped out after you in time? You wouldn’t have been the first merc to get killed on the show.”

  “Aston.” Mom’s hand stops petting Riska. She leans on the armrests, looking hard at him. “Are you in, or are you out? Will you jump out of the plane? Or are you going to cozy up in the Dome and grow old there?”

  He sighs. “I’m in, Li Yuan. You know I’m in.”

  She smiles, her hand resuming its track down Riska’s fur. “Good. Eugene will fill you in on the rest of the details. Now, let’s go plant some underwater explosives.” She pats Riska on the head. “You, my boy, need to get onto the ship. Find Sulan. That’s all you need to do. Just find her, and wait. I’ll come for her.”

  “Mrow.” He butts his head against her hand.

  “You’re a good boy, Riska. Now go find Sulan.” Mom hits a switch. The glass bubble breaks the water’s surface and cracks open, letting in salty air.

  Riska slips free, winging his way back into the sky. He pauses lon
g enough to watch Mom and Aston disappear back under the water.

  Then he spreads his wings and lets the ocean breeze billow into them. Ocean mist sprays him in the face. He licks the salt off his mouth.

  It’s completely dark now. He flies through the air toward the upper deck of the boat. Skimming over the railing, he lands on top of a helicopter parked near the back railing. The aroma of the tracking fluid hits him full in the face, sliding into his lungs and coating the inside of his mouth.

  Soldiers in navy blue patrol the ship, their faces concealed with shiny white plastic masks. There are four men evenly spaced around the deck as they make a circuit. Each has an AT-57 machine gun balanced on his shoulder.

  Riska glides through the open chopper door. The smell of Sulan is everywhere, her tracking fluid heavy in the air. His fur bristles as the acrid tang of her fear fills his nose. He sniffs along the floor until he finds the spot where she last lay. With a soft mew, he rubs his head and neck in her scent.

  He rolls to his feet. Nose in the air, he follows Sulan’s trail. He pauses in the doorway. The trail is so dense he can almost see it. It leads to the far side of the deck and disappears down a stairwell.

  Between him and Sulan are four soldiers and a wide expanse of open deck. It seems like the biggest distance he’s ever had to cross. Even bigger than the miles and miles of ocean he just flew over. There is no way he can fly straight across the deck without being seen. He’ll have to cross it in stages.

  There are very few places to hide. He sees a pile of nets and a large coil of rope. There are four different stairwells at various points on the deck. In the center is a tall, narrow building. It has large glass windows on all four sides and appears empty. Other than these few things, there are no other hiding places.

  Riska focuses on the nearest stairwell. It is not the one that leads to Sulan, but it is the closest hiding place to the helicopter. He studies the soldiers, waiting for an opening. There is a brief moment when one soldier passes behind the helicopter and another passes the stairwell. Riska spreads his wings and jumps, flying low across the deck and speeding for cover.