Sulan Box Set (Episodes 1-4)

by Camille Picott

  I turn back toward the buffet tables; much easier to look at food and pretend everyone in the room isn’t staring at me and my friends. Easier to pretend everyone in this place isn’t seeing me in that horrible stripper outfit.

  “All the food comes from the Dome,” Timmy says. “We grow and raise everything we eat and drink. Most of our protein comes from rabbits, though there are goats and pigeons, too. And chickens. And pigs. I’ve heard a guinea pig breeding program is also underway. Protein is highly rationed for everyone.”

  “Meat protein, you mean,” Taro says. “There are lots of ways to get protein that don’t involve eating dead animals.”

  “Ignore the vegetarian in our midst,” Hank says, smiling at a group of Normie kids ogling at us.

  Timmy gives Taro a curious look, then says, “Can I have your bacon ration?”

  Taro shrugs. “Be my guest.”

  I stuff the bacon into my mouth and hold out my plate for fruit. I freeze as flavor explodes on my tongue. The meat is a bit crunchy on the outside, but soft and juicy on the inside. For a moment, I forget all about Mr. Winn, the Dome, and our suffocating lives here. I can’t focus on anything beyond salty, smoky bacon flavor in my mouth.

  “Oh my God,” I say, turning to Taro. “I know you’re a vegetarian, but if you’re ever going to eat meat, I swear this is the stuff you want.”

  Taro’s eyes widen, then he chuckles. “That’s what my dad says.” He ignores the bacon and holds his plate out for toast.

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll start raising more pigs,” Timmy says. “Like, a lot more.”

  Hank opens her mouth and says something, but her words are drowned out by a rush of sound from the line in front of us.

  “Sir!” a woman yells. “Sir, please—let go!”

  I peer up the line—and see Uncle Zed with an entire basket of bread rolls in his arms. He’s crouched, arms locked around the basket as he bares his teeth at the poor woman in a green polo. She grips the other side of the basket, trying to wrench it out of Zed’s hands.

  Without thinking, I shove my plate into Timmy’s hands and break out of the line. I hurry toward Uncle Zed. Billy and Taro are by my side. We reach Uncle Zed right as the kitchen woman’s voice rises into a frantic pitch.

  “Sir, if you don’t let go, I’ll have no choice but to call security!”

  A wide circle has formed around Uncle Zed and the woman. I haven’t seen him since we arrived in the Dome. His face and bald head are tattooed with a camouflage pattern. His teeth, bared like that of a cornered animal, have all been blackened. Sweat rolls down his temples, something I have come to recognize as a sign of anxiety. To someone who’s never seen him before, he can be downright terrifying.

  “Uncle,” Billy says. He doesn’t touch his uncle, but he positions himself so the older man can see him.

  “Commie,” Zed snarls at the woman, digging his fingers into the basket.

  “Uncle,” Billy says again. “Everything is okay, Uncle.”

  I move toward the flustered woman.

  “We’ll get your basket back.” I smile in a way that I hope puts her at ease. “Do you think you can let go and give us a chance to calm him down?”

  “This bread is for everyone, not just him,” the woman snaps. “Only one per person!”

  “We’ll get the bread back.” I lean forward, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “Just let his nephew talk him down, and I swear you’ll get everything back.”

  She peers at me through narrowed eyes, like she thinks I might try to swindle her out of the bread. I’m reminded again of how good I had it before we moved here. We had a safe apartment with private security and canned food deliveries twice a month. What conditions did this woman survive prior to coming to the Dome? Is she happy about trading away her freedom for the security of Mr. Winn’s domain? From the way she’s looking at the basket of bread rolls, I guess the answer is yes.

  With a huff, she releases the basket. Zed, still crouching, scuttles backward with it.

  “Only because you killed Imugi,” she says to me. “I trust you to keep your word.”

  “We’ll get it back,” I promise.

  Billy coaxes Uncle Zed a few feet away from the buffet line.

  “We need provisions,” Zed mutters, glaring at people who stare at him as they walk by. “If the commies come, we’ll be boxed in. It’ll be a siege.”

  “There are no commies here,” Billy says, voice soothing and even. I see the glint of desperation in his eyes. “Uncle Zed, you have to give the bread rolls back to the woman.”

  “Take one and save it,” I tell Zed. “You can get another tomorrow. I’ll even give you mine.”

  Billy shoots me a grateful expression. “See? Listen to Sulan, Uncle Zed. She’ll help us get provisions. We’ll all give you our rolls.”

  “Morning Star’s daughter.” Zed looks at me, sweat rolling down his bald forehead. There’s a slight tremor to his hands.

  Moving slowly, I reach into the basket and pluck out four rolls, one for each of us. “For you,” I say to him, holding up the bread so he can see it. Riska, still on my shoulder, mews.

  Zed releases the basket. Taro sweeps in and rescues it, returning it to the anxious kitchen worker. Billy pats his uncle on the shoulder. Now that the commotion is over, people lose interest and drift away.

  I hold out the rolls. Zed snatches them up and shoves them down the front of his green polo shirt. They settle into the pouch formed where his shirt tucks into his pants, creating a lumpy bulge.

  “I saw you take four,” the kitchen woman calls out to us. “Don’t think about trying to get any more. Just because you’re all famous doesn’t mean you get extra food.”

  I smile and nod, trying to show her we’re not going to make any trouble.

  “Let’s find a place to sit,” I suggest to my friends as we back away.

  Zed shakes his head. “I have to get to the base and stash our supplies. Commies could be anywhere.” He lowers his voice, peering around the room. “Keep your ears peeled for anything related to Project Renascentia.”

  He melts into the crowd, hunched over with one arm cradling the bread rolls. Billy stares after him, pushing his bangs aside for a better look.

  “You want to go after him?” Taro asks.

  “I should,” Billy replies. “Mom has been after him to take his meds.” He lets his bangs fall back into place. “But Mr. Winn said he’s sending mercs to pick us up.”

  He shifts from foot to foot, staring in the direction Zed went. I can see how much he wants to follow his uncle. I can also see how he does not want to be absent when Mr. Winn’s escort shows up.

  “He’ll be okay.” I say this because I want to comfort Billy, not because I necessarily believe it.

  Billy gives a weak laugh, face bleak. “Right. We’re in an ultra-high molecular glass biodome. How much trouble can Zed get in?”

  “What’s Project Renascentia?” I ask.

  Billy shrugs. “A conspiracy project Zed and I were investigating before we came here. Zed thinks we can follow up on leads here, but our hands are tied until we have Vex access.”

  I nod and don’t ask any more questions. Billy is a hardcore conspiracy theorist. Before we moved to the Dome, he spent all his free time at Collusion Underground, a Vex site that specializes in conspiracy theory investigations.

  “Speaking of conspiracies,” Billy whispers, edging closer to me and Taro. “I looked into the guy Riska attacked. That soldier, Maxwell.”

  I lean forward. “What did you find?”

  “Uncle Zed knew about him.” Billy looks around to make sure no one is close enough to eavesdrop. “He’s Claudine’s favorite. He’s the one she calls when she has a special project. He’s often gone for weeks at a time when he’s on assignment for her.”

  “Claudine has an inner circle of mercs who report to her,” Taro says. “If you don’t know who they are, you can usually figure it out by their smell. One of the perks of worki
ng for Claudine is free cigarettes. She has them imported from Korea.”

  “But Maxwell is her favorite.” Billy’s eyes dart left and right as he speaks, never resting in one place for long. “Uncle Zed says he used to work in the genetics wing where Riska and some of the other creatures were made. He was Claudine’s eyes and ears in that place.”

  “If Riska hates Maxwell, that means something … unpleasant might have happened to him before he came to live with me.” I stroke Riska’s back, not liking the idea of anyone hurting him or causing him distress. He rumbles at me, then butts his head against my cheek.

  Billy shrugs. “Just something to keep in mind. If Riska wants to tear his eyeballs out, there’s a good reason for it.” He leans forward. “Have you guys thought anymore about the mole who sold us out to the League? Whoever did that might be living right here in the Dome with us.”

  I’ve been too preoccupied to think about this, but I know Billy is right. “Do you think Mr. Winn is looking for whoever it is?” I ask.

  “You can bet he is,” Taro replies. “According to my dad, Mr. Winn doesn’t take kindly to betrayal. He won’t rest until he catches the person.”

  “Whoever it is knows how to cover his tracks,” Billy says. “The fact that he—or she—evaded Mr. Winn’s detection says a lot.”

  Our conversation is cut short as Timmy and Hank join us, the two of them juggling all of our breakfast plates. Minus the bread rolls, they managed to get them loaded with food for us.

  “Keep your eyes open,” Billy says. “If the League mole is in the Dome, none of us are safe.”

  Hank pokes him with her elbow as she hands him a plate. “Are you still worrying about a mole? I told you, we’re safe here.”

  “We need to stay vigilant,” Billy replies.

  Hank rolls her eyes, but softens the expression with an affectionate smile. She accepts the fact her boyfriend is a conspiracy nut.

  Billy, Taro, and I exchange one last look, a silent promise to continue our conversation another time. I file thoughts of Maxwell away to study later.

  As we wade into the cafeteria in search of an open table, I see Jason Van Deer watching Taro with slitted eyes. When Van Deer catches me looking at him, he flashes a flirtatious grin. I scowl and turn away, hoping to make it clear I want nothing to do with him.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a wide grin stretch across Van Deer’s face. He points at me, whispering to his friends. They all turn smirks in my direction, several of them laughing. The skin between my shoulder blades itches. I ignore the discomfort slithering up my spine and take a seat with my friends, making sure to sit with my back to Van Deer and his posse of merc kids.

  13

  Phase One

  Thirty minutes later I find myself astride an Aircat, clinging to the back of a merc as we fly through the Dome. Riska zips through the air above us, hissing at the big animals. Hank, Taro, and Billy fly nearby on other Aircats.

  Below us, kids trek through the Dome as they head to their respective schools. Clumps of black-clad merc kids troop toward the defense building. Kids in blue polos head toward the lab for Virtual High, which I guess isn’t a good name since it isn’t virtual anymore. The students in green polos, like Timmy, stay behind in the Village for trade school. There are many faces turned toward the sky, watching us as we pass. Fingers point. It makes me uncomfortable to stand out, to be so set apart from everyone else.

  Upon arriving at the Fortress, we’re escorted to the same room with the green sofas where we were detained yesterday. Kerry Sturgess is there in her burgundy polo, cradling her clipboard in one hand.

  “Good morning!” she says. “Please, come in and have a seat. We have a lot of work to do. We’re hitting the campaign trail. Each of you is going to play a key role in helping Global Arms win the bid for the defense contract.”

  “What about school?” Hank asks, wringing her hands. “Our grades? We’re in the middle of a semester—”

  Kerry waves a dismissive hand. “The work you’re doing on the defense contract is top priority. Mr. Winn has frozen all your grades until our work here is complete. ”

  “Okay.” Hank’s eyes flicker as she absorbs this. “Tell us what we have to do to help the company win the contract.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Kerry beams at Hank.

  Riska rumbles. I put a hand on his back to quiet him before Kerry notices the discontent. I take a seat as far from Hank as I can get. She’s thrown everything in with Global. I can accept that. I can even understand it. But it doesn’t mean I have to do it.

  Some tension leaves my shoulders when Taro sits down next to me. He gives me one glance, and in that glance I see complete understanding. Riska crawls off my shoulder and into Taro’s lap.

  “It’s a simple formula, really,” Kerry says. “Your job is to make America love you. When they fall in love with you, they’ll fall in love with Global Arms. Global will be at the forefront of everyone’s mind when the House and Senate review the defense contract.”

  “So we’re essentially staging a popularity contest on a national scale?” I ask.

  Kerry arches an eyebrow at me. “That’s an acerbic way to put it, Sulan, though technically correct. Do me a favor and try to think of it in different terms. You need to be positive on the inside if you’re ever going to be positive on the outside. America will not fall in love with a sullen, acerbic teenager. There are too many of those out there already.”

  “She can do it,” Hank says, shooting me an earnest look. “She—”

  “I can speak for myself,” I snap at Hank. I turn my gaze to Kerry, doing my best not to scowl. “I got it. Don’t be sullen or acerbic.”

  “Very good,” Kerry replies. “This is phase one of our defense contract campaign, what Sulan so ineloquently described as a popularity contest.” She purses her lips to show me how much she disapproves. “When the nation thinks of the heroic teens who brought down Imugi, they must also think of Global Arms. Your names and faces must be synonymous with our company. Understand?”

  Our company. I turn this phrase over in my mind. I’ve never thought of Global as being mine. I’ve always felt like Global owned me. I know I have to do as I’m told, but I’m determined not to let them dictate how I think.

  “Got it,” Hanks says, all enthusiasm. “I am synonymous with Global. Phase one.” The rest of us murmur affirmatives without the enthusiasm.

  “What’s phase two?” I ask.

  Kerry waves a finger at me. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sulan. Right now your job is to focus on phase one.”

  I sigh, resigning myself to my new position.

  “We have one week of prep before your next public appearance in Vex. I familiarized you with your roles yesterday. Today we’re going to start working on your stories. Your stories need to reinforce your roles. All of this will enable the public to get to know you and identify with each of you.”

  Riska flicks out his wings in annoyance and stalks back into my lap. Kerry glances at him, then plows on. She makes each of us rehash the roles she established for us, then state how that role brought about the death of Imugi.

  It’s easy for the others. Hank hacked through the League firewall. Billy went through the firewall breach and secured the Black Tech he’d designed, which destabilized the Leaguer avatars and made them mortal in Vex. Taro fought and killed many of those Leaguers.

  And me? After she listens to my story, Kerry tells me it requires some tweaking.

  “It’s wonderful that you were able to embrace your mercenary roots in this epic battle. Your fans will love that. But remember that Global needs you to be the mathematic strategist. Here, I’ve prepared a script for you.” Kerry rifles around on her clipboard, detaches a piece of paper, and hands it to me. “Read this aloud, if you please.”

  I raise the sheet of paper. “Factoring in Hank’s high efficiency at hacking, Billy’s access to elite Black Tech, and Taro’s prowess in hand-to-hand combat, I calculated the statistical
probability of escape and determined our best chance would be in Vex. Even then, we had only an eighteen percent chance of success. The odds were statistically stacked against us, but I knew we had to go for it.” The paragraph rambles on, but I quit reading. “None of this is true,” I say.

  “Embellishment is perfectly acceptable in politics,” Kerry replies. “You need to commit that speech to memory. I expect you to be able to recite it back to me tomorrow.” She smiles, indicating an end to the discussion. “Now, let’s move on to your personas. You need to get comfortable with them. When you are in front of the public, your persona must be natural. Real. Your job is to make the public fall in love with you, and the only way that will happen is if they believe they know the real you.”

  “I can do that,” Hank says.

  “Of course you can,” Kerry enthuses, beaming at Hank. “Let’s pretend you’re at a public appearance in Vex. Hank, were you afraid when you were taken to the League auction?”

  Hank’s brow wrinkles in concentration, the way she always looks when she’s studying and throwing herself into the task of mastering something. Her obsession with homework has officially been replaced by Global’s bid for the country’s defense contract.

  “I was terrified,” Hank says in answer to Kerry’s prompt. “I didn’t see any hope for us. I—”

  “Stop,” Kerry says. “You sound like you’re answering an oral exam. Remember, the key is to sound natural and real, not rehearsed.”

  “Let me try again,” Hank says.

  We all get a turn beneath Kerry’s scrutiny. Apparently I’m too surly. Billy is too withdrawn. Taro, too stiff. All of us need to work on our charm. On smiling. On being real, which is ironic, since Kerry is working so hard to flush out everything real about us.

  Kerry also spends a lot of time grooming our responses to questions. Like the press conference, much of our journey revolves around Global tech. Kerry never misses an opportunity to remind us to promote Global tech.