Sulan Box Set (Episodes 1-4)

by Camille Picott

  Taro presses his lips against the top of my head in a soft kiss, drawing me back to the moment.

  “I’m your friend, no matter what,” he says, wiping my tears away with his thumb. “We can figure out the rest as we go. It’s okay if you’re not ready for a relationship.” His voice drops to a whisper as he adds, “I’m just glad you felt something, too.”

  His understanding and acceptance nearly make me sob in relief. After a moment of hesitation, I reach up and loop my arms around his neck. Taro makes a soft sound of contentment, his arms tightening around me.

  Riska’s purr is thunderous. He twines himself around us, walking back and forth between our shoulders.

  “Can—can we just be Taro and Sulan again?” I falter, worried this might hurt his feelings. “That didn’t come out right. What I mean is—”

  He lifts a hand and cups the side of my face. “I am very happy to be Taro and Sulan again.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper. Where moments before I had felt small and terrified, I now feel safe. How could I go from one extreme to the other in a few heartbeats? “Thank you for understanding.”

  We stand like that for a long time, just holding each other. Riska settles with his hind legs on my shoulder and his forelegs on Taro’s shoulder, purring nonstop.

  I feel like I could stay like this forever. Except my arms start to go numb. I shift, trying to get comfortable. Taro steps back, ignoring Riska’s irritated growl as he’s dislodged. His hands linger on my shoulders before falling away.

  “So, um.” He clears his throat. “You should know our plan worked. The entire merc school thinks we’re a couple, thanks to Van Deer. He told everyone about seeing us together the other night.”

  I laugh, smiling to show him everything is okay. Because, finally, everything is okay. “It does give us a credible cover story if we’re caught out in the middle of the night again.”

  He tilts his head at me. “Do you have the brining salt?”

  “Riska brought it back to my house. It’s stashed under my bed.” My voice drops to a whisper when I add, “I—I couldn’t bring myself to take it to Uncle Zed without you.”

  His eyes light up. He caresses the side of my face again.

  “Should we go visit Uncle Zed tonight and make our trade?” he asks.

  I nod. “Definitely.”

  34

  Proposal

  Uncle Zed answers on our third knock. He cracks the door open and peers at us with narrowed eyes.

  “Do you have the goods?” His eyes dart back and forth as he scans the street behind us.

  “Yeah,” Taro says. “Are you going to let us in?”

  Zed spends several more seconds scanning the street, then nods. He steps back to allow us inside.

  “Let’s see it.” He closes the door behind us and locks it. He’s added two extra deadbolts. And managed to get his hands on a thick closet dowel, which he’s drops into place over the door. No one will be getting inside here anytime soon.

  If possible, the living room is even messier than it was the last time we saw it. The Project Renascentia board has been expanded to another large piece of cardboard, this one hanging on the wall next to the door. Notes are taped haphazardly to it, black lines crisscrossing the board in a tangled interconnectivity.

  I wonder what Billy’s mom thinks of this mess. If she works as much as my dad, she probably doesn’t spend much time here. Or maybe she’s just used to her half-mad brother.

  “Let’s see it,” Zed repeats, pacing back and forth in front of us—quite a feat, considering he only has about three feet of room.

  Taro produces the bag of brining salt, which we picked up at my house on the way here. Zed snatches it out of his hand, peering at the contents. He sticks his finger inside, then rubs the tip of it against his tongue.

  “The real deal,” he mutters, closing the bag and stuffing it into his pocket. He wades into the maze of stuff, still muttering.

  “What about the mercenary shift schedule?” I call after him.

  “Morning Star?” Zed lifts his head to stare at me. He blinks, shakes his head, then moves further into the mess. He rifles around in a box before producing a rumpled sheet of paper covered in something that barely passes for legible handwriting.

  “Is this it?” I ask, taking the paper from him. I was expecting something more official like a computer printout, or at least something with the Global Arms logo.

  “That’s it.” Zed turns away to sort through what appears to be a pile of secondhand shoes. As we watch, he stashes the bag of brining salt in a boot with pink and blue rhinestones.

  I spread the paper over my leg, trying to smooth out the worst of the wrinkles. Taro leans in. The two of us scan Zed’s atrocious handwriting.

  Maxwell—Schedule is scrawled at the top. Underneath is a list of dates and times.

  I point to the times. “Are these the start times of the shift?”

  “Yeah.” Taro runs his fingers down the list. “Looks like Maxwell’s day shift rotation goes for another two weeks.” He looks up at me. “We have to wait for him to go onto the graveyard rotation.”

  “Two weeks?” I shake my head. “We can’t wait that long. We have to find another way.”

  This time, Taro shakes his head. “No. We have to be patient. There are too many people out during the day. It’s too risky. We can’t get caught.”

  I know he’s right, but I don’t like it. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and Claudine will send him out sooner.”

  “Maybe. We can—”

  Taro is cut off by a rapid banging on the front door.

  “Hom!” a voice shouts. “Open up! I know you’re in there!”

  Uncle Zed moves like lightning, diving behind a box of tools. He emerges seconds later, wielding what looks like a homemade spear. The shaft is a thick piece of wood that’s been whittled away with a dull knife; the tip is made from one of the forks Zed stole from the cafeteria.

  “Hom? Hom!”

  “Daruuk?” I glance at Taro, who shrugs.

  “Zed, it’s Daruuk. Can I open the door?” I wait, watching the older man.

  He scuttles out from behind the stack of boxes, spear in hand. He crouches to the side of the door, then nods at me as if to say, You can open the door now. I’m ready to stab your friend.

  “It’s just Daruuk,” I say in a loud whisper.

  “Commies are tricky,” Zed replies. “We can never let our guard down.”

  “You can’t stab Daruuk.”

  Zed just stares at me, eyes bright white inside a face of camouflage tattoos.

  “Hom!” Daruuk yells. “Do you know how hard you are to find? Open the door!”

  “Daruuk, calm down,” I call, moving to the door. “Stop banging. Are you alone?”

  “Of course I’m alone,” he snaps. To my relief, he does lower his voice. “Do you think I would trust civilians with my mission?”

  I watch Uncle Zed, gauging his reaction. The muscles along his neck and shoulders relax. There is recognition in his eyes as he watches the door. He still hasn’t lowered the spear, but he doesn’t look ready to impale Daruuk on the spot.

  I cautiously lift the bar off the door and open the multiple locks. Taro inches a few steps closer to Zed. The older man flicks his eyes at him, then resumes watching the door.

  “No sudden movements,” I call, then slowly turn the knob. I crack the door open just a few inches.

  Daruuk’s scowling face peers through the crack. “Will you let me in?” he growls. “Do you know what is befalling my faithful citizens while the three of you reenact spy games?”

  “Uncle Zed?” I look over my shoulder at him.

  He rises out of his crouch and nods at me. I open the door the rest of the way. Daruuk shoulders his way in, kicks the door shut with his foot, then rounds on me.

  “I need to talk to you,” he says.

  Uncle Zed flows around us and picks up the closet dowel. The dead bolts snick softly into place. I shiver as the ed
ge of his spear grazes my arm.

  “The Vex set,” Daruuk says. “It’s ready. Two of them. And the modem. Everything works. Finally.” His words tumble over themselves in his rush to speak. “All I’m missing is access to the network.”

  “Isn’t that the whole point of building a secondhand modem?” Taro asks. “To get access to the Vex network?”

  “Muscle head,” Daruuk says, making a face at Taro. “Of course it would seem that simple to you.”

  I bristle at the insult to Taro. “What do you want to talk to me about?” I scowl at Daruuk, putting my hands on my hips. “And you can either be polite to my friend or go away.”

  Daruuk makes another face, then positions himself so that his shoulder is practically in Taro’s face. “I need your help, Hom. In order for my modem to work, I have to piggyback off an existing access. The Fortress is the only place in the Dome with a functioning modem.”

  The skin between my shoulder blades crawls. I know where this conversation is going.

  “I need you to plant this in the Fortress.” Daruuk produces something small and silver with a flourish.

  Beside me, Taro stiffens. He doesn’t say anything, but his disapproval radiates like an oven.

  “What is it?” I ask, pretending not to notice Taro’s reaction.

  “This is a Hijacker,” Daruuk says. “Zed managed to get one for me. Although he charged a steep price for it.” He casts a quick scowl at Zed, who has backed into the living room mess. The spear has disappeared and he’s rummaging beneath a tarp.

  “Had to trade two pairs of jeans to get the beer yeast,” Zed says without looking up. “Had to trade the beer yeast for the Nike shoes. Had to trade the shoes and a bottle of vodka to get the Highjacker.”

  “And I had to trade our last bag of chocolates for the Highjacker.” Daruuk gestures expansively, waving the small silver rectangle in the air. “Though the safety and well-being of my kingdom is worth the price.”

  “You use that thing to hack into Vex, right?” I’ve heard of Highjackers before, though never had a need to use them. “How does it work?”

  “The modem in the Fortress generates a new passcode every hour,” he says. “That thing in your hands will hack the passcodes and give us constant connection. It will also camouflage the hack. Routine security sweeps by the techs won’t detect it. This is why the kingdom of Andala needs you. The Highjacker only works when it’s within twenty feet of the modem we’re hacking. I need you to plant this in the Fortress.”

  Beside me, Taro shifts.

  “If I plant this, will your Vex sets work?” I ask. “We’ll be able to get into Vex?”

  “Affirmative.”

  Gun. Yearning for my friend crashes through my chest like a tidal wave. Finally, my chance to see him. And ask him some questions.

  “I’ll do it,” I say. “For a price.”

  Daruuk scowls. “What do you want?”

  “You said you have two Vex sets. Zed has first dibs on one. I want rights to the second one. First access to Vex.”

  “No way,” Daruuk says. “That’s my right. I’ve been working on the sets for weeks. Without me, they wouldn’t exist.”

  “Without me, you won’t be able to use them. Who else is going to plant the Highjacker for you? Hank won’t. She won’t do anything that might put her family at risk.”

  Daruuk turns a plaintive look on Taro. “What about you, merc boy? Would—”

  “No,” Taro says, face expressionless.

  “Billy,” Daruuk says. “I’ll ask Billy.”

  “If you can get him alone,” I say, not wanting to lose this opportunity. “You can’t ask him in front of Hank. She’ll flip. And he won’t say yes if she’s there.”

  “Those two are joined at the hip,” Daruuk mutters. He peers at me. “I’ll build a statue of you in the main square of my capital. I’ll even name a river after you. How about that?”

  I fold my arms and give him a firm look. “I don’t care about rivers and statues. If you want the Highjacker in the Fortress, you give me first access to Vex.”

  “Fine.” Daruuk scowls, slapping the Highjacker into my palm. “But you’d better get it planted this week. Otherwise, our deal is off.”

  Daruuk tries to strut out the door. His foot catches on a box. Taro sticks out an arm to keep him from flying headfirst into a pile of electronics. Muttering about the sacrifices one has to make as a ruler, Daruuk makes a hasty exit.

  Taro straightens, still not looking at me. He’s a mass of brooding silence. I try to ignore it, but he puts a hand out and touches me lightly on the elbow.

  “Can we talk outside?”

  I hesitate, but Taro gives me a tense look. I sigh and nod, knowing where this is going.

  “See you later, Uncle Zed,” I call.

  Zed peers at us from behind a stack of haphazard boxes, then disappears with a mutter about Morning Star.

  When we get outside, I try to head off Taro’s argument. “I know you don’t want me to plant the Highjacker.”

  He stares at me for long seconds, his dark eyes brooding.

  “I don’t care if you plant the Highjacker,” he says at last. “I don’t want you to get caught planting the Highjacker.” He holds up a hand to forestall my protest. “I’m not questioning your skills. You’re tough and smart.” He gives me the flicker of a smile. “But if Mr. Winn catches you … I just don’t think he is worth the risk.”

  “You don’t think Gun is worth the risk.” Two weeks ago, this would have made me furious. After everything that’s happened, I can only manage tired irritation. “Look, I understand.”

  He opens his mouth, skepticism plain on his face, but I cut him off.

  “I know you’re worried about my safety,” I whisper. “Thank you for that. But … I need to see him. Gun risked everything to help us when the League kidnapped us. He trained me. I still consider him a friend. I need to see him. And … there’s something that happened last week I haven’t told you about.”

  I haltingly tell him about my brief contact with Gun during the anarchist rally, then about Claudine’s subsequent interrogation.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about all this when it happened?” he asks when I’m finished.

  “Because I didn’t want to hear you say I told you so.”

  He grimaces. “You’re right. I would have said that. I’m sorry.” He hesitates, then slides an arm around my shoulders. I lean against him, resting my head on his bicep.

  “I need to see him,” I say, my voice soft. “I need answers about who he is.”

  Taro sighs, kissing the top of my head. I close my eyes, savoring his closeness.

  “And then there’s Project Renascentia,” I add. “I want to try and get more information. Gun mentioned it. I need to find out what he knows.”

  Silence stretches between us. I hate it. I swallow and step into him, resting my cheek against his chest. Both arms come around me, pulling me close.

  I lean back, looking up at him. Taro searches my face, then leans down and brushes my lips with a soft kiss. I close my eyes and return the kiss. It’s soft, tender, gentle.

  That scared, vulnerable place opens up inside me. A big part of me wants to bolt. It wars with the part of me that wants to keep kissing Taro.

  He pulls away with a soft sigh, resting his chin on top of my head. “I don’t like any of this, but I’ll help you.”

  “Really?” This is more than I expected or hoped for.

  “Yeah. It’s important to you. I’ll do what I can to help you get the Highjacker planted.”

  35

  New Products

  Someone shakes me awake the next morning. I groan, rubbing at my gritty eyes.

  “Sulan. You need to wake up,” Dad says.

  Riska mews and jumps onto Dad’s shoulder, purring. I roll over and squint up at him.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “There are two mercs at the front door. You’re to be escorted to Mr. Winn.”

  That wakes m
e up. “Mr. Winn? Why?” I push up onto my elbows.

  Dad gives a shake of his head, worry plain on his face. “I don’t know. But you have to go. Now.”

  I leap out of bed. Dad paces back and forth next to my bed, yanking on his hair. He doesn’t pay any attention as I stuff myself into clothing.

  I glance at the edge of my bed, where I hid the Highjacker last night. I kneel down, groping for my shoes, and simultaneously slip my hand between the mattress and box spring. The Highjacker is small and smooth in my hand. I drop it into my pocket.

  “Which mercs did he send?” I find my boots and lace them up.

  “I don’t know their names.”

  Which tells me Maxwell isn’t one of them. My mind races. Could Mr. Winn know about Daruuk’s Vex set? Or our plans to break into Maxwell’s house?

  “Have any of the others been called? Hank or Taro or Billy?”

  “I don’t know. Sorry, sweetheart.”

  He escorts me to the front door where the mercs wait. “Do you know what this is about?” Dad asks them. “Has Sulan done something wrong?”

  “It’s classified,” one merc replies. He turns his gaze to me. “Mr. Winn doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  With one last look at Dad, I step outside and follow the mercs.

  • • •

  “We have a situation, Miss Hom,” Mr. Winn says as I enter the Fortress. He’s wearing a lime green running suit with orange sneakers. He sits in one of the big leather couches, strumming his fingers on the arm.

  The media room is jammed with men and women in gray polos. They buzz around like insects, carrying wires, cables, and electronic equipment in sleek silver cases. There are so many people speaking at once their voices blend in a cacophony.

  I stand in front of Mr. Winn, waiting for him to continue. Riska sits on my shoulder, tail looped around my neck, the tip of it twitching.

  “Anderson Arms.” Mr. Winn glares and smacks his fist against the padded chair. “The bane of my existence. Would you like to know what they’re up to, Miss Hom?”