Sulan Box Set (Episodes 1-4)

by Camille Picott

  Daruuk, seeing he has Zed’s attention, talks fast. “Yes. Guaranteed first access to Vex. With me, of course. I’m making two headsets. But one will be yours for the first trip in.”

  I stare at Daruuk, wishing I had whatever an adaptive video codec was. I would give anything to be first up on Daruuk’s Vex list. I didn’t even know there was a list.

  “Done.” Zed’s hand snakes out and gives Daruuk’s a firm shake. Then he whirls away and plunges into one of the piles on the sofa.

  His arm roots beneath the cushions. Several seconds later, it emerges. He clutches a small micro-SDX3 card between his thumb and forefinger.

  Daruuk snatches the small item from Zed’s fingers. “I’ll build a statue for you in Andala,” he says, bustling toward the door.

  “He’s going to have a lot of statues in his kingdom,” Billy mutters.

  Daruuk scowls. “I heard that, Long.”

  “Don’t forget our deal,” Zed growls. “First rights for access into Vex.”

  “The reigning emperor of Andala never breaks an oath.”

  “How long before you have the modem ready?” I ask.

  Daruuk arches one eyebrow at me. “You can’t rush genius, Hom.” With that, he strides out the door.

  As it slams shut, I notice the giant piece of cardboard taped to the back of it. Someone—probably Zed—has written all over it with a black marker. The words Project Renascentia march across the top in big bold letters. Beneath that are lots of scribbled notes inside circles. The circles are connected to one another, creating a confusing network of lines that crisscross over the cardboard. I peer at the words inside the circles, trying to read them. The light of the room is dim, making the messy handwriting hard to decipher.

  I make out the words coup and national massacre among the scribbles. I also see the phrase polka-dot submarines and only giraffes can eat from the highest branches. I sigh. Whatever mystery surrounds Project Renascentia, I won’t unravel it here.

  Billy makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, drawing my attention.

  “If I had access to my Vex files, I could find out everything we need to know about Maxwell.” He angrily shoves his hands into his pockets. “There wouldn’t be any need for us to trade with my uncle.”

  Zed stands stock still in his junk pathway, staring after Daruuk and muttering under his breath about commies. He turns his dark-eyed gaze to us.

  “Trade?” he asks. “What do you need? I’ve got clothes, candy, books. Other stuff. If I don’t have it, I can find it for you.”

  If I had any doubts about standing in the middle of the Dome’s black market, Zed’s comments erase them. There are half a dozen questions I want to ask, but I restrain myself. Overwhelming Zed with the wrong questions could provoke him into launching a grenade at us.

  “Billy?” I look to him, raising my eyebrows in question. “Any chance you get a family discount?”

  Billy makes a face and shakes his head.

  “We’re looking for information, Uncle.” Billy frowns, glancing at me and Taro. Lowering his voice, he gestures us closer. “Do we agree that we need a way to break into Maxwell’s house?”

  “Yes,” Taro and I say in unison.

  “Okay.” Billy straightens. “Uncle, we need the merc work rotation schedule for next month.”

  I comprehend Billy’s line of thought. If we know when Maxwell is working, then we’ll know when he isn’t home. And if we know when his house is empty, we’ll know when we can break in.

  “Graveyard shift,” Taro adds. “We specifically need the graveyard shift rotation schedule.”

  “Can you get it?” Billy asks.

  “Damn commies,” Zed mutters. He walks in a tight circle amid the clutter, scratching at his bald head and talking to himself in a low voice.

  Billy leans close to us. “Hank and her little brother are coming to get me for dinner in a few minutes. She’ll flip if she finds out what we’re doing.”

  I nod in understanding. “As far as she’s concerned, we’re just meeting you guys for food.” I feel bad about lying to Hank, but Billy is right; she won’t approve of what we’re doing.

  “Okay.” Zed stops pacing. “I can get the information you need. For a price.” He peers at us. “You kids up for a mission?”

  “Uh, what sort of mission?” Billy asks.

  “Infiltration and retrieval.” Zed rubs his hands together and grins, exposing his blackened teeth.

  “You want us to break into someplace and steal something,” Taro says.

  Zed’s grin broadens. “The commies will never see you coming!”

  “What do you want us to get?” I ask. “And where is it?”

  “Cafeteria,” Zed says. “I need a bag of brining salts. Bring me that, you’ll get your merc work schedule.”

  I stare at Zed. “Brining salts?” I repeat, to make sure I heard him correctly.

  Taro takes my arm, tugging me toward the door. “We’ll do it,” he says.

  “Give me two days,” Uncle Zed replies. “I’ll have the schedule in two days.”

  “Brining salt?” I ask as Taro and I step outside.

  “It’s for—”

  “Hey, guys,” Hank calls as she walks up the street. Timmy trots along beside her. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “Hey, Hank.” I put on my best smile and hope I don’t look like I’ve been up to something. “We were—uh—just going to grab dinner with you and Billy.”

  “Yeah,” Taro says. “It’s been a long day. We’re hungry.”

  Hank puts her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes at us. Taro and I stand side by side, doing our best to look innocent under her scrutiny. I feel like I’m a five year old caught stealing a can of ravioli from the kitchen.

  “What are you guys really doing out here?” Hank asks.

  Taro and I look at each other. Silence stretches.

  “We, ah—” I begin. “I mean, it’s late—I mean, it’s been a crazy day, and—”

  “They’re on a date!” Timmy squeals. He bursts out laughing. “You guys were kissing, weren’t you? That’s what Hank and Billy do when they think no one’s watching!” He makes loud slurping noises.

  Heat rushes up my face. I’m so exhausted from the long day and rattled by Maxwell and the experience with the Dream Dust that I can’t form a coherent defense.

  A heartbeat later, I realize I don’t need a coherent defense. Timmy’s accusation is as good a cover as any. Embarrassing, yes, but I can deal with it. At least Taro is blushing, too. Even Hank is flushed, staring at her little brother in open-mouthed astonishment.

  Without a word, Taro laces his fingers through mine and pulls me down the street. A jolt goes through me as his rough, calloused hand envelopes mine. Our arms brush against each other, sending more pings through me.

  “Well, we both looked sufficiently guilty,” he says with a nervous laugh. “Think she bought it?”

  “I think Timmy embarrassed her enough that she isn’t thinking about us anymore,” I say. “At least Billy is off the hook.”

  Taro doesn’t let go of my hand. I don’t let go of his, either. We walk in silence through the night. The Alaskan sky is a dark purple, not quite black. A strange tension blooms between us. It’s new and pleasant and strange and unnerving.

  It’s not the first time we’ve touched. Why does it feel different this time? I sneak a look up at his face, trying to gauge if he feels the same way.

  As we turn a corner, Taro glances down and catches me staring at him. I quickly look away, reluctantly peeling my hand from his and trying to make the act as casual and natural as possible.

  “So,” I say, looking everywhere except at Taro, “why does Uncle Zed want us to steal brining salt?”

  Taro clears his throat. “Yeah. Well, brining salt is actually saltpeter. Saltpeter is used for smoke bombs.”

  I stop in my tracks. “It’s used to make smoke bombs?”

  “Yep.” He gives me a tight look.
/>   “Let me guess. Your dad taught you how to make them when you were two.”

  Taro wrinkles his nose. “I was six.”

  I snort. The strange sensation that was building between us dissipates. It feels like we’re just Taro and Sulan again.

  “And, um, I don’t suppose Zed wants to brine a pig or something?” I say. “I mean, real pig tastes so good.”

  Taro laughs. “As much as everyone in the Dome likes dead pig—”

  “Except for you.”

  “Except for me,” he agrees. “I’m pretty sure Uncle Zed isn’t going to be hosting a banquet anytime soon.”

  “There’s no way he could get into the kitchen himself,” I muse. “It’s bad enough he steals bread rolls. I saw him sneaking forks into his shirt the other day. Everyone on the kitchen staff keeps their eyes on him.”

  “I saw him swiping salt and pepper shakers yesterday,” Taro says with a grimace.

  “So we’re doing his dirty work.”

  “He’s doing ours,” Taro corrects. “I don’t know how he intends to get the merc rotation schedule, but it will cost him something.”

  I nod. “All right. So we need to break into the cafeteria. Should we do it tonight?” I’m dead on my feet from the Dream Dust attack, but don’t want to admit it.

  To my relief, Taro shakes his head. “Neither of us is up for it after everything we’ve been through today.”

  “Tomorrow night, then?” I ask.

  “Yeah.” He gives me a smile. “Tomorrow night.”

  29

  Break In

  It’s almost two in the morning the next night when Taro knocks on my window. I keep the lights off as he slips inside.

  “I brought this for you.” He hands me a dark bundle of cloth.

  As soon as the fabric falls into my hands, I know what it is. Bulletproof fabric has a thick, semi-rubbery feel.

  “Where did you get this?” I unfurl a jumpsuit that looks to be my size. I grin like an idiot and hold it up against me. Riska lands on Taro’s shoulder, purring loudly.

  “Didn’t you hear?” Taro scratches Riska behind the ear. “There’s a black market in the Dome. You can get just about anything there.”

  “What did you trade to get this?”

  “That’s between me and Uncle Zed. Do you like it?”

  “Are you kidding? The only thing I’d like more is a gun. Turn around so I can put it on.”

  He obliges, looking out the window while I shimmy out of my despised polo shirt. As I pull on the jumpsuit, I relish the feel of it against my skin. I feel like I belong in this suit.

  “You look like your mom,” Taro says as I come to stand beside him. “A bit shorter, though.”

  Something twinges inside me, like a discordant string snapping back into place after long being out of tune. It’s a pleasant feeling. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time,” I whisper. My throat tightens with emotion. To diffuse the moment, I add, “Except the part about me being short.”

  Taro smiles. “Come on,” he says. “We don’t have much time.”

  Outside, he leads the way. We have two meager hours of darkness to commit our crime. Out here, the sun rises by 4 a.m.

  We avoid street lamps, skirting along homes and staying in the shadows. The roads are deserted, except for a pair of haggard looking scientists making a slow trek back from the lab. Keeping one eye on the bright-white lab coats, I’m about to dart for the shadow of the next house when Taro grabs my arm.

  “Get down,” he whispers.

  I drop into a crouch, leaning into the shrubs alongside the bungalow. I give him a questioning look.

  “Over there,” he says, voice barely audible in my ear. He lifts a finger, pointing down the street in the direction opposite to the pair of scientists.

  At first I don’t see anything. Then something long and white unfurls in the night. Seconds later, another streak of white sails through the air.

  “Is that—?” I begin.

  “Toilet paper,” Taro says.

  I stare as more rolls of toilet paper are tossed into the air. After nearly a minute of squinting, I finally see the black-clad teenage boys wielding them. Once I see them, it becomes easy to pick them out against the darkness.

  “What are they doing?” I ask.

  “Toilet papering Sergeant Bramfold’s house.” Taro’s lips quirk in amusement. “It’s a pre-’Fault prank.”

  “But they’re wasting all that toilet paper! Kids really used to do that for fun?”

  Taro nods. I continue to stare. Several minutes later, a familiar blond head appears from around the back of the house. I should have guessed Van Deer was spearheading this escapade. I suck in a breath and lean farther into the bushes.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Taro whispers.

  We cut over several streets. We don’t see anyone else, although at one point we do hear the crunch of boots on gravel on a cross street. By the time we reach the cafeteria, I’m pleasantly winded.

  Standing in the shadows of a tree, we study the massive building in front of us. All the windows are dark, the tall double doors locked tight. There’s nothing between us and the building except a wide gravel boulevard. No trees, no shrubs, no place to hide.

  “How are we going to get in?” I whisper.

  “I’ve got a way,” he replies. “Come on. Let’s try not to look like we’re breaking and entering. Act natural.” He hesitates, then holds out his hand to me. “Timmy gave me an idea.”

  I pause for a heartbeat, then lace my fingers with his. We walk leisurely, hand in hand, toward the cafeteria. If anyone does happen to spot us, we’ll look like two teenagers out for a midnight stroll. My heart beats spasmodically, an odd juxtaposition to my casual pace.

  Taro stands close to me. Our forearms touch through the jumpsuits. I feel that strange tension rising between us as we walk. Part of me wants to pull away from him, but a bigger part of me wants to lean closer.

  Riska, still perched on Taro’s shoulder, purrs loudly. I scowl at him, but he flicks his tail and looks away. I do my best to ignore the fluttering in my stomach and the bizarre pleasure I feel at touching him.

  There are lights mounted outside, casting pools of dim yellow. We hug the slim shadows between them. I scan the grassy park that flanks the back of the building. All is still and silent.

  “Do we have to break a window?” I whisper, unease clenching my belly. I feel stupid for not thinking about this ahead of time.

  “No.”

  “Then how—?”

  Taro puts a finger to his lips. He pulls out a knife and wedges it under one of the windows and pops out the screen. I catch it as it comes free, keeping it from knocking against the wall. Taro presses one hand against the big window. To my surprise, it swings open easily.

  “I unlocked it at dinner,” Taro says, giving me a sly smile. “This way, I won’t have to scratch up the casing trying to flip the lock.”

  “Good thinking.”

  Taro slides inside first. I hand him the screen—no reason to leave it behind and have someone notice it discarded on the lawn—then go in after him.

  Inside, the cafeteria is vast and cavernous. Chairs are stacked on the left side of the room. The tile floor gleams from a recent washing. The air is thick with the scent of disinfectant.

  We head toward the kitchen on the far side of the building. We slip through the buffet tables, clean and devoid of food. There are two sets of swinging doors that lead into the kitchen. Taro, moving on silent feet, slips through the set on the left. I tiptoe, trying to mimic his soundless steps, but I’m only marginally successful.

  “You have to teach me how to move as quietly as you,” I whisper.

  “You’re doing fine,” he replies.

  Inside the kitchen, we’re greeted by a row of stainless steel appliances. I scan the area. To my left is the door to the walk-in freezer. Across the back wall of the kitchen is a row of high windows that frame the dark night.


  “Pantry. This way.” Crouching, Taro moves across the kitchen.

  We pass stoves, sinks, dishwashers, and stainless steel tables. Mounted on a rack at the back of the tables are magnetic strips that bristle with knives.

  I eye the knives, wondering if I dare to swipe one and smuggle it out. It would be good to have a weapon, even if I have to keep it hidden under my bed. Maybe I could make a sheath for it and wear it under my khakis. I could—

  I’m so preoccupied with the knives that I don’t notice when Taro comes to a stop. I plow gracelessly into his back.

  “Umph,” I grunt. “Sorry.”

  Taro turns. I look up, realizing how close we are. The top of my head isn’t even level with his shoulder. Tension between us flares up again. Part of me wants to turn and run. A larger part of me wants to rest my head on his shoulder. Which would be impossible, since my cheek is level with his chest. No head-on-shoulder action for me.

  “You okay?” Taro whispers.

  “Yes.” I nod, trying to shake off the feelings lurking inside me. I start when Taro grasps my hand.

  “This way,” he whispers. “Pantry.”

  He leads me through a wide doorway. Inside are floor-to-ceiling shelves, every one brimming with supplies. I stare at the rows and rows of dry cooking supplies—flour, starch, spices, sugar—wondering how we’re supposed to find brining salt in this sea of food.

  “I don’t suppose this stuff is alphabetized?” I ask.

  “Nope. Sugar and flour are shelved next to each other.”

  Riska hisses and fans his wings open. He flies from my shoulder to the top-most shelf, where he watches us. Taro raises an eyebrow at me. I ignore the look, carefully extracting my hand from his.

  “I’ll start with the shelves on the left,” I say. “You start on the right.”

  We work in silence. I search methodically, going from left to right and making sure I take the time to read each label, not just scan the packages. I’m searching an area filled with sacks of spices when Taro speaks up.

  “This is it.” He holds up a plain white paper sack. There’s no writing on the sack, just a silhouetted picture of a man standing in front of a barbecue.