Sulan Box Set (Episodes 1-4)

by Camille Picott

  After what seems like ages of tossing and turning in my bed, I finally admit to myself that I liked the kiss. I glance at Riska, who’s nestled on top of my chest. He’d been smart enough to leave the bag of brining salt in the shadows of the front doorstep; it’s now safely stashed under my bed.

  His eyes glint at me in the darkness as he regards my restlessness.

  “I admit it,” I whisper to him. “I liked the kiss.”

  There. I said it. Where only my genetically engineered pet could hear.

  This thought inevitably leads me back to our fight. The feel of his angry words make me want to curl into a tight ball. The thought of him not speaking to me makes me ache all over.

  I hadn’t realized how much I’d come to depend on Taro in the past few weeks we’ve been in the Dome. My days are better because of him. Will he forgive me if I apologize? Can I fix things between us?

  I fall asleep worrying over it.

  • • •

  “You look awful,” Hank says to me the next morning in the cafeteria as I plop into the chair beside her. Timmy shovels food into his mouth.

  I make a noncommittal grunt and poke at the bacon and eggs on my plate.

  Hank sets her fork down. “What’s wrong?” She switches chairs, moving closer to me and putting space between us and Timmy.

  I shrug, lowering my voice. “Taro and I got into a fight.”

  “Really?” She looks surprised. “Over what?”

  I glance around to make sure no one is close enough to hear. The few people sitting at nearby tables aren’t paying any attention to us. Billy and Uncle Zed are in the buffet line—Zed covertly shoving a fork down the front of his shirt—but it will be a few more minutes before they make it over to us.

  “I’m not exactly sure,” I say. “We, um, sort of” —I lower my voice—“kissed.”

  Hank’s face breaks into a huge grin. “About time!” she says, her loud enthusiasm making me cringe.

  “Shhh.” I glance around. “It wasn’t that kind of kiss.”

  “What are you talking about?” she demands. “What kind of kiss was it, exactly? And when did it happen?”

  Keeping my eyes on my plate, I give her a truncated version of last night’s run-in with Van Deer. I exclude the details of our mission, pretending we were just out for a friendly walk at two in the morning.

  “He just got so angry,” I conclude. I rest my forehead against the palms of my hands, wishing I didn’t feel so miserable. Riska mews and butts his head against my cheek.

  Hank is silent for so long that I finally lower my hands to look at her. Her lips are clamped her together, eyes bright. She looks like she’s trying to keep from laughing.

  “What?” I snap, irritated. “You think this is funny? How am I supposed to make things right?”

  Hank shakes her head, a small giggle slipping between her lips. “Sulan, for a smart girl, you’re really stupid.”

  Riska hisses at her, but Hank ignores him and continues. “Taro is crazy about you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Taro wants more than just friendship,” she says. “Why do you think he spends every waking minute with you?”

  “But …” I shake my head. “But he’s never said anything to me.”

  Everything starts to slide into place. If Hank is right, no wonder he was upset. All that stuff I said about not wanting a boyfriend had been exactly the wrong thing to say.

  “Are you sure?” I ask.

  “Everyone knows it except you,” she says.

  I slump. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t want a boyfriend.”

  “Why not?” Hank asks.

  “You know how I feel about relationships.”

  Hank makes a face. “I know you have this weird perception of your mother’s life and are afraid to follow in her footsteps. You really never knew how good you had it outside the Dome.”

  “I know you had it hard,” I begin, but she cuts me off.

  “Knowing my family had it rough isn’t the same as living my life,” she replies. “You don’t know what it’s like to have to scrape together spare change to pay for a cold shower. Or what it was like to have only one meal a day for weeks on end. The idea of having a safe apartment to live in, with food delivered on a regular basis—you have no idea what that sounds like to someone like me.”

  Hank sighs and shakes her head. “What I’m trying to say is, your mom wasn’t forced to marry your dad. She wasn’t forced to have you. She had a solid career as a merc. She didn’t have to give it up. Just because you’re angry about the career path Global laid out for you doesn’t mean you should assume your mom was unhappy.” Her gaze strays across the room toward Billy, who’s wresting a handful of bread rolls out of Zed’s hand and returning them to the buffet table. “Besides, it’s nice to have someone. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life alone here?” She gestures, taking in the entirety of the Dome. “Would it really be so bad to take the next step with Taro?”

  I stare at Hank, my thoughts clumping into shapeless goo. My mouth hangs open, all protests shriveled to dust in the wake of her words.

  I spend the rest of the meal in silence, pushing food around on my plate. I don’t even look up when Uncle Zed and Billy join us.

  Is Hank right? Could my mom really have wanted the life she had in our apartment? Did she happily give up her mercenary life for the sedate role of a housewife?

  It doesn’t make any sense to me. But Hank is right about one thing—I am angry about the career path Global has chosen for me. Is that resentment coloring my perception of my mother’s life?

  A wave of sorrow and loss hits me. I wish Mom were here. I want to talk to her, maybe even argue with her.

  I choke on a semi-hysterical laugh. Who would have thought I’d ever miss arguing with her? I’d do anything to hear her yell at me or take away Vex privileges for a week. I’d do anything to be able to talk to her about Taro.

  “Mrow?” Riska butts his head against my cheek. I rest my head against him, trying to take comfort in his soft purr.

  The idea of losing Taro makes a deep part of me ache. But if he wants more than friendship, what can I do? I wasn’t kidding or being coy when it told him I didn’t want a relationship; I meant it.

  Or at least, I’d meant it at the time. After Hank’s lecture, I’m no longer sure what I want. I wish I hadn’t liked his kiss so much.

  When Billy and Uncle Zed get up to clear away their empty plates, Hank moves her chair closer to me.

  “You know,” she says, “you could just try the girlfriend-boyfriend thing with Taro. I bet you’d like it. You’re already practically glued to each another. The next step would be natural for you guys.”

  I make a noncommittal shrug. I don’t even know if Taro is still speaking to me. I have to work that piece out before I can even start to process the girlfriend-boyfriend thing.

  Hank perches on the edge of her chair. “Taro won’t wait for you forever, you know. If you lose him to some other girl, don’t come whining to me.”

  With that, she ruffles her brother’s hair and heads out of the cafeteria. I hurry after her.

  Another girl? I turn over this new concept as I make my way to the Aircat landing pad. What would I do if Taro started going out with someone? I would be happy for him, wouldn’t I? Yes, I would. He deserves to be happy. Right? Right. So why does the thought make me feel like I have a rock lodged in my throat?

  • • •

  I don’t speak to Taro for the next forty-eight hours.

  They are the longest forty-eight hours of my life.

  He doesn’t join us for meals in the cafeteria. He doesn’t meet me at the Aircat landing pad after my Vex appearances. He doesn’t spar with me in our free time.

  “You’re a moping mess,” Hank tells me after the Aircats deliver us to the Village. “You’re as crazy about him as he is about you. You just need to get your head out of your butt, get over yourself, and do something about i
t.”

  I ignore her and volunteer to make an extra Vex appearance when Kerry gets a last-minute request from a virtual elementary school. I give a speech on the importance of studying and working hard for good grades. The irony is not lost on me.

  The extra work only distracts me for a short while. When it’s over, I’m left to question all the beliefs I’ve ever had about myself, my mother, and relationships.

  The bag of brining salt remains stashed under my bed. Here I am, moping over a boy when I should be hunting a potential League agent. But I can’t bring myself to deliver it to Uncle Zed without Taro.

  I remember the feel of his arms around me when I cried over Mom that first night in the Dome. I remember the way he held me when he kissed me outside the cafeteria. His arms were a nice place to be. More than anything, I find myself wanting to be back in them.

  I lie in bed with Riska on my chest, pondering the idea of taking the next step with Taro. Does he even want me anymore, after all the things I said? Would being his girlfriend really be a bad thing? The concept terrifies me in ways I can’t articulate.

  “I need to talk to him,” I tell Riska. He purrs and fans open his wings. “I need to make things right with him. Somehow.”

  33

  Three Inches

  I resolve to track Taro down the next day and talk to him. Not wanting to approach him in public, I get up early and go to his house. Riska purrs the entire way there, the end of his tail twitching and tickling the back of my neck.

  As I arrive at his house, I wonder if this entire venture is a stupid idea. What if he wants nothing to do with me? What if he won’t speak to me? Does he even consider me a friend anymore? Something akin to self-pity settles on my shoulders.

  Don’t mope, I berate myself. Riska mews in my ear.

  I lose my nerve and walk straight past Taro’s house without stopping. I continue on, as if I’m just out for a morning stroll. Riska growls at me.

  I circle around the block. Panic sets in. What if during my stroll Taro leaves his house and I miss my chance to talk to him? How could I be so stupid?

  In the two minutes it takes me to walk the rest of the way back to his house, I focus on ignoring the flip-flopping of my stomach. I have to go through with this. I have to try and make things right with Taro. Even though I don’t have a clear idea of how to do that. But I can’t fix anything if we don’t at least talk.

  Heart pounding, I force myself to walk up the path to his house. I raise my hand to knock. Before my knuckles connect with the door, it swings open.

  “Sulan?” Aston towers over me, muscles bulging in his sleek black jumpsuit.

  The sight of Taro’s father makes me fidget. I shove my fingers into my pockets.

  “Hi,” I say, not knowing what else to say. “I—I was just coming to see Taro. Is he here?”

  Aston gives me a quizzical look. “He’s in the shower. You can wait inside if you like.” He steps aside, gesturing for me to come in.

  The inside of Taro’s house is the same as mine, right down to the colors. Aston escorts me to the seating area. At first I think he’s going to let me wait alone. Instead, to my surprise, he sits down on the sofa across from me. I’m careful not to look in the direction of the bathroom, where I can hear the water running as Taro showers. I fiddle with my hands and study the fabric of my khaki pants.

  Aston is the first to break the uncomfortable silence. “Does your father ever tell you how much you look like her?”

  He doesn’t have to say who her is. Some of my nervousness fades.

  “We don’t talk about her,” I reply, shaking my head. “We don’t talk much at all, actually.”

  I don’t know why I said that last part. It sounds like Dad and I don’t get along, which isn’t true. I hastily try to backtrack. “He works a lot.” I flick a quick look up at Aston. “What was Mom like? I mean, when she was a mercenary, what was she like?”

  He studies me before answering. “She was a gifted fighter,” he says at last. “A natural. There was never a weapon or fighting technique she couldn’t master.”

  I nod, remembering the old Morning Star and Black Ice reality shows. My mother had been Morning Star, my childhood idol. Because of the masks worn on the show to conceal identities, I hadn’t known the truth about her until recently. Aston had been her partner, the two of them still famous in some circles. Mom had been so strong, so deadly. I’d always wanted to be like her.

  “She could have worked for any mercenary corps in the world,” Aston continued. “But that life was never for her. She only did it to survive. As soon as she had her chance, she got out.”

  I stare at him, stunned. I’ve never heard this before.

  “What—what do you mean?” I ask.

  Aston shrugs. “Once she had saved enough money to live comfortably, she retired. She asked me to retire with her, but I could never give up the fight.” He gives me a small, sad smile. “Unlike her, I was made for this life.”

  “She didn’t like being a mercenary?” This doesn’t fit with the sleek, strong image I have of my mother. I’d seen her handle a shotgun as if it was an extension of her arm.

  “It was just a job to her. A means to an end.” This time, his sad smile stretches up to his eyes. “It wasn’t her, though to watch her fight you’d never know it. Being a mercenary didn’t define your mother. She was strong-willed, determined, brave, and decisive. Both in and out of uniform. I see a lot of her in you. Did the two of you butt heads a lot?”

  A strangled sound escapes my lips. “All the time.”

  He chuckles. It’s a fond laugh, not a cruel one. I find myself craving to know more about Mom—to know everything Aston knows. I open my mouth to ask about their time on Merc, the old reality Vex show that made them both so famous.

  Before I can speak, the bathroom door swings open. Taro steps into the living room, bits of steam wafting out behind him. His cropped black hair glistens damply. His eyes widen at the sight of me.

  “Sulan?” He stares at me in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

  “I, uh …” Words die on my tongue as my brain scrabbles for footing.

  Aston clears his throat and rises from the sofa. “I’ve got to report for my shift in thirty minutes. You kids have a nice morning.” Without another word, he strides out the door.

  Taro and I are left alone with each other. I stand there in awkward silence, both relieved and terrified to see him. I open my mouth to say something—anything to keep him from walking away from me.

  “What do you want, Sulan?” Taro’s expression is guarded and distant.

  “I was looking for you. I mean, I was hoping we could talk.”

  “Okay.” He puts his hands in his pockets and looks down at the carpet. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “I, um …” I struggle to come up with an answer that won’t make me look lame. Several excuses tumble around in my head. I hadn’t planned anything past this moment. I could say I wanted to practice for our Vex appearance later this week. I could ask if he’s heard from Billy or Uncle Zed, or even Daruuk.

  Riska cocks his head at me, pricking his ears forward. I make an incoherent sound of frustration in the back to my throat.

  Truth. I’m going for truth. Taro means too much to me. I have to try and fix this.

  “I don’t like fighting with you,” I say in a rush. “I hate this.” I gesture to the space between us. “It’s just—I mean—I want to say I’m sorry. And you were right about my mom …” I trail off, realizing I’m babbling and making no sense.

  Taro raises his chin to look at me. When our eyes meet, the resentment rushes out of him. His shoulders slump, the mask slipping from his features. In that moment, I see the hurt I caused him. And this time, I understand it. It echoes the loss I feel.

  “It’s my fault,” he whispers, running a hand through his wet hair. “I—I felt something when I kissed you.” His face reddens. “I thought you felt it, too.”

  God, why did Han
k have to be right? I shift, heart pounding.

  “Taro, I—”

  He cuts me off. “You don’t have to say anything. I overreacted. I’m sorry. You don’t want a relationship. I can respect that. Your friendship is more important to me than anything else. Can we just forget what happened the other night?”

  This is my chance to deny everything. To take everything back to the way it was a few days ago. Except my world a few days ago was based on misconceptions and, I realize, a denial of how much Taro has come to mean to me. I don’t want things to be the way they used to be.

  Admitting that causes a chasm of fear to open up inside me. I force myself to step closer to it.

  Taking a deep breath, I summon every scrap of courage I have within me.

  “I—I felt it.” My voice is a hoarse croak. I clear my throat and try again, speaking more loudly this time. “I felt it too, Taro.”

  His head snaps up. He crosses the room, closing the distance between us in three long strides. For an instant I think he’s going to sweep me into his arms.

  But he doesn’t. He draws to an abrupt halt, leaving only three inches of space between us. We stand there without touching. The clean scent of him fills my nose.

  I have never felt so small and vulnerable in my entire life. Even the terror I felt as a League captive feels puny compared to what I feel now.

  “I’m confused,” I whisper, daring to look up at him. “I don’t want to be without you. Without us. I just don’t know what to do about … the rest of it.”

  He hesitates, then puts his arms around me. The last three inches between us disappears as he draws me close. I lean against his chest and close my eyes, drawing comfort from his presence. Images of Mom bombard me.

  Being a mercenary didn’t define your mother, Aston had said.

  A few tears leak out of my eyes. What defines me? I don’t even know anymore.

  For so long I wanted to be like Mom, but now I feel like I never knew her. Or maybe I did know her. The mom I remember was brave, determined, and strong-willed, just like Aston had said. Maybe there were two moms: the one I saw every day, and the mercenary I daydreamed about. Confusion boils inside me.