by Vicky Savage
“Yes. How is she doing?”
“She is frail, Jade, but I’m certain your reappearance will help rejuvenate her. She has missed you terribly. We all have.”
“What about Ryder?” I ask. “Is he at the Enclave? Will I be able to see him?”
“Yes. He was there when I left. He promised to wait and hear what I had discovered before returning to Unicoi Village.”
“And Drew? Is he all right?”
“He’s well, Jade.” A smile plays at his lips. “You may be surprised to learn that he is married.”
“What! Drew?”
“Yes, last December. His wife, Adelais, is lovely. She and her family relocated to the Enclave from Dome Noir a little more than a year ago. Andrew met her at Summer Fest and was besotted at once.”
“Wow. She must really be something to have captured Drew’s restless heart. I can’t wait to meet her.”
“And you shall. Soon. But first, we must prepare for our journey home. I’ve brought some of your clothing. I hope you will find it suitable. I wasn’t certain what you would require.” He retrieves a satchel from the floor and puts it next to me on the bed. “Melor and Bithia have prepared a small meal for us.” He glances at Bithia. “One of the many things for which we are grateful. And, then we must be on our way. There will be great joy and much celebrating upon your return.” He rises from the bed. “I still cannot believe my eyes.”
“We’ll leave you now, dear,” Bithia says. “When you have dressed, please join us in the dining room.” She opens the door for my father. His eyes overflow with joy and affection, and he steps out with a backward glance my way.
With some trepidation, I unfasten the satchel to see what Father put together for me to wear. He’d thought of everything: beige riding pants, brown leather boots, a coral wool sweater—even clean socks and underwear. Nice job. I dress quickly, pulling my sleeve down over the TPD bracelet. After straightening the comforter, I place the Cleadian robe and slippers neatly on top of the bed. There’s no trace of my other clothes. I’m really going to miss those jeans.
The door to my room leads out into a shiny metal hallway. The muted lighting emanates from small recessed tubes running along the floor and ceiling. I do a double-take when I see the walls which are adorned at intervals with plagues of tiny metal insect sculptures migrating across the expanse. It’s seriously creepy. Cleadian art, I guess.
The location of the dining room is a mystery to me, but I didn’t dare ask in front of my father, since supposedly I’ve been here a few weeks and should already know. I tread slowly down the hall, trying to minimize the clack of my boot heels against the metal floor. Father’s voice carries through a door on the left. Bingo.
“Do we know how to reach these Outlanders?” he says. “I would like to thank them in some way for seeing to Jaden’s welfare these past months. She was nothing to them. They could simply have allowed her to die.”
“Unfortunately, I have no idea where they reside,” Melor replies. “As you know, they’re quite secretive regarding the location of their outposts. I don’t believe they would welcome any intrusion, even if it was to receive your thanks. Should they ever return, however, I will convey your interest in making them a reward of some sort.”
Father rubs a hand across his bearded chin. “I suppose you’re right. Attempting to locate them would probably prove futile. We’ll simply hope they will return someday to inquire about Jaden.” He glimpses me standing in the doorway. “Here she is now.” Smiling broadly, he comes to escort me to the dining table.
“You look surprisingly hale and hearty for your ordeal, sweetheart,” he says. “You must tell me what it was like living in an Outlander post. It cannot have been easy for you, and yet you seem to have thrived.”
I glance furtively at Ralston, sitting across the table. We didn’t have time to discuss how I was going to handle these kinds of questions.
“Yes. I’m better now, thanks to the Cleadians. When I was with the Outlanders I, um, stayed inside mostly. They were nice to me. And, well it’s all kind of a blur,” I say.
“Of course it is.” Melor chimes in. “You experienced several days of high fever with the influenza. And considering the extensive long-term memory work we’ve done lately, I imagine it all seems like a distant dream by now.”
“Just like a dream,” I agree, relieved. This guy’s good. Maybe the best liar I’ve ever met.
Bithia arrives carrying a tray. “We have a small repast for you before you embark upon your journey,” she says. The tray is filled with crusty bread, an assortment of cheeses, fresh fruit, and a small dish of sugared almonds. “The almonds are from Cupola de Vita,” she croons. “They’re divine. You must try them.”
“It all looks wonderful,” Father says, forgetting about my ‘ordeal’… for the moment.
The conversation remains light for the remainder of the meal. Father enjoys recounting the details of Drew’s wedding for me. Mother was feeling much better at that time and insisted on having a grand affair at the palace. I can’t picture my big brother married. He’s only thirteen months older than me.
My heart squeezes when I realize that, officially, I’m engaged to be married. Ryder and I entered into a marriage contract, but didn’t have a chance to set a wedding date or make any plans before I was whisked back to Connecticut. My breath comes a little quicker when I think about the fact that I’ll be planning my own wedding in the not so distant future.
FIVE
When we’ve finished our meal, we thank Melor and Bithia once again and prepare to depart the compound. “It’s storming out there now, and travel will be more difficult once the sun has risen,” Father says.
I’m not sure exactly what he means, but Ralston told me that when the Great Disaster occurred, and the remnants of Halley’s Comet slammed into the Pacific Ocean, a permanent hole was ripped in the earth’s atmosphere, and over eighty percent of the earth’s surface was destroyed. Outlanders and others who travel outside the domes must wear protective gear at all times because the air is toxic, and the atmosphere provides little protection from the sun and the other elements.
Melor leads us through a maze of metal hallways to the main entrance of the compound. It’s nearly 4:00 a.m. The halls are eerily quiet, except for the report of our footsteps, echoed and amplified by the metallic walls. Not another soul appears along the way. A large cabinet stands adjacent to the entrance door. A number of weird white suits hang from a rod inside. Melor removes three of them and passes one to each of us.
Father and Ralston immediately unzip the suits and begin stepping inside them, boots and all. Since I have no idea how these things fit, I just follow their lead. They look a little like hazmat gear, made of thick, rubbery material that sticks to my clothes. After we’re all zipped-up, Melor hands each of us a helmet from the closet shelf. He helps me attach mine to my suit. It’s heavy, and I instantly feel like I’m suffocating. Melor punches a button on the side of the helmet and, with a whoosh, oxygen begins circulating inside. In a few seconds, I’m doing much better. Father and Ralston attach their helmets, and we all pull on elbow-length gloves.
After our preparations are completed, Melor opens the gigantic metal door at the entrance. He gives a lantern to Father. “Godspeed, my friends,” he says with a bow.
Father smiles reassuringly at me through his visor. I feel like Gumby trying to walk in this thing and, honestly, we all look ridiculous. I stifle the urge to laugh out loud. But maybe that’s an effect of the pure oxygen I’m breathing. We step into a short metal hall with another door at the far end. Once we’re inside, Melor closes the main door behind us with a heavy thud.
Ralston moves to the door opposite. It makes a loud scraping sound as he pushes it open.
We’re immediately met with pitch-black coldness. Outside, the atmosphere is jarringly hostile. Tiny particles of crud bombard us relentlessly, chinking and pinging against our helmets. I’m nearly blown over by the howling wind, but Father steadies
me, holding my arm securely. Heads bowed, we trek unsteadily across the gloppy earth. I hope we don’t have to walk all the way to the dome, but conversation is impossible over the wailing wind, so I can’t even ask how far we have to go.
Father leads the way with his lantern, a tiny beacon in the lurid darkness. After trudging along a rutted path for several yards, I glimpse a concrete slab ahead with two vehicles parked on top. The wind dies down for a moment, and we hustle to the nearest vehicle. It looks like a giant Snow Cat, with caterpillar-type tracks. Father opens the door of the large cab and pulls down a set of steps. I climb up and Ralston follows. Once inside, Father hoists up the steps and clangs the door closed.
Aah. It’s quiet and warm in here.
Father flips some switches in the cockpit, and the engine rumbles to life. Ralston and I settle into our seats. He heaves off his helmet and slips out of his gloves, motioning for me to do the same. We stuff our gear into netting hanging above our seats.
“Melor really needs to build an underground entrance for the compound,” Father says, after removing his own helmet. “It would make travel much easier for the Cleadians, especially when these storms come up.”
“I believe Melor fully intends to do so,” Ralston says, “but things move a little slowly in the Cleadian colony.”
I recall Ralston telling me once that the Cleadians have amazing respiratory systems, and this earth’s atmosphere isn’t toxic to them. Also, they’re immune to ultraviolet rays, so the scorching sun doesn’t harm them either. Guess that’s why they’re not in much of a hurry to build an underground entrance.
Our vehicle lumbers away from the compound on its continuous tracks. I can’t tell if we’re driving on a roadway or just making our own path. The headlamps beam bright shafts in front of us, and the giant windshield wipers sweep away the grit that unremittingly pelts the enormous square, tinted windows of our cab. But, straining my eyes ahead, I can’t make out a thing. Father acts as if he knows where he’s going, though, so I decide not to worry about it. The wind buffets our vehicle every now and then, but all in all, the ride is fairly smooth and comfortable.
Father concentrates intently on his driving, but does manage to fill me in on some of the news from Domerica. Mostly stuff Ralston’s already told me, like the assassination of Prince Damien, Uncle Harold and Oz’s relocation to the palace, Chief Blackthorn’s death. But he does surprise me with one bit of news. Drew and his new wife are not living at the palace. In fact, they’ve taken up residence at Meadowood—a large estate belonging to Princess Jaden. Father wanted to prepare me for the fact that, once I was declared legally dead, Mother gave the property to Drew and Adelais as a wedding gift.
I’m kind of pissed about that at first. How could Mother give away my estate? But then I realize I’m being ridiculous, since she thought I was dead, and since it wasn’t really mine to begin with. I tell Father I’m happy Drew and his bride have a great place to live.
We ride in silence for a stretch, and the sky begins to lighten and blush at the edge of the horizon. I’m able to get a better view of our surroundings—a staggeringly bleak display. The terrain is dull gray-black and formlessly murky, as if layers of volcanic ash cover every surface. Large, dark hills block our view on the left. On our right, random piles of sludgy, spiky debris lie scattered across an endless expanse of rocky terrain. God-forsaken, life-forsaken, hope-forsaken. No color, vibrancy, or animation exists in this desolate landscape. The reality surpasses even my darkest imaginings. A wave of profound sorrow shudders through me.
As if perceiving my somber vibes, Father turns and smiles. “Not much longer, sweetheart. We’ll be there soon.” He makes an arching left turn around the shadowy ridge of jagged hills, and I’m floored by the shining spectacle looming in front of us. The hulking hemisphere of Domerica dominates in the distance. Stunning in size and appearance, it’s an otherworldly sight—as if the moon tumbled from the sky and lodged itself in the earth’s crust. Gleaming in all its luminescent glory, it steals my breath away.
Buoyed by the magical facade of the dome, my thoughts turn to my upcoming reunions with Ryder and Mother. Nervous anticipation replaces my sober mood. The prospect of seeing Ryder again conjures a jumble of emotions. He’s my passion, but he’s also my weakness and I don’t like feeling weak.
Ralston explained to me that Ryder and I have something called a perpetual contract—an agreement between two souls with a long shared history to be together in other lifetimes, but not necessarily all lifetimes. I admit I don’t fully understand it, and I’m not sure Ralston does either. All I know is that last year IUGA decided, since their prediction models clearly indicated Ryder and Princess Jaden were not supposed to be together in this existence, I needed to leave the country fast or risk screwing up the future of the entire planet.
So I spent the last twelve months tracking down Ryder’s mirror in my world, hoping if we met, we’d have the same attraction for each other. I was successful in discovering that he’s with the Peace Corps in Zambia, and I was working on a way to get there when Ralston showed up to bring me back here. This way’s better, I think. I guess we’ll know soon enough.
SIX
The sun inches above the horizon, but the sky roils with dark, fast-moving clouds. We catch only startling glimpses of blazing illumination through the cloud-breaks. On a clear day, the sun must be unbelievably brutal. Drawing near the dome, Father turns into a concrete passageway that looks like the entrance to an underground parking garage. We drive a short distance and park in a small area where a few vehicles similar to ours stand empty.
The helmets go back on, but we leave off our gloves. As I climb out of the cab, the howl of the frenzied crud storm makes me shiver. Father leads us to the dome entrance—a sturdy metal door with a thickly paned window. He presses a round disk on one side of the door. I hear the blare of a buzzer. In minutes, a face appears at the window. Father raises his hand in a salute, and the door is quickly opened by two members of the Royal Guard.
“Governor Beckett, may we help you inside?” a young sergeant asks.
We tromp into an anteroom; the second guard secures the door behind us. Relieved to be out of the elements, I pull off my helmet and shake out my hair. I’m sticky and sweaty in my rubber suit and antsy to get it off post-haste.
“Follow me,” the sergeant says. We trudge behind the two guards to another thick metal door and repeat the same procedure. When this door is opened, four additional guards wait inside. They nod to us and escort us to yet a third door. Dome security is supposedly unbreachable. True or not, it sure as hell takes a long time before we’re finally inside.
“I’ll store your gear for you,” the sergeant says, walking to yet another door.
“Thank you, Evers,” Father says. “I believe you have some horses for me?”
“Yes. You may stow your things in here.” Evers opens a large storage closet containing suits similar to ours. “May I have the names of your guests for our log, Governor?”
“Of course. This is Professor Constantine Ralston.” Ralston nods at Evers. “And you know my daughter, Princess Jaden Beckett.”
The sergeant looks at me for the first time, and the blood drains from his face. He bows low. “Please forgive me, Your Highness, I did not realize it was you.” He focuses on my face again, regaining his composure. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I thought … Well I’d heard that you had perished in the fire last year. The story of your courageous attempt to recapture the Operations Center from the renegade Noirs is legend.”
Embarrassed, I don’t exactly know how to respond. Smiling awkwardly, I busy myself with peeling off my rubber suit. The fact is, I never made it to the Dome Operations Center. I struck my head on a low-lying tree branch and toppled from my horse. I woke up back in my bedroom in Madison.
“It’s quite all right, Evers,” Father says. “It was only recently discovered that the princess was alive and well. The story is rather remarkable, and I’m certain it will be widely
reported in Domerica by tomorrow. But, we’ve been up all night and, at the moment we’re most anxious to return to the Enclave for some rest.”
“Of course,” he says, bowing again. “I shall arrange for your horses at once.”
The pinkish-silver light of the Domerican morning bathes the dome with a rosy glow as we begin the relatively short ride from the west entrance to the Enclave. The sun itself isn’t visible from inside the dome, due to a protective layer of thick, silvery gasses within the dome’s impenetrable double shell. The gasses are adjusted regularly to allow in enough sunlight to sustain the plants and animals, while screening out harmful UV rays. The freshly filtered morning air is exhilarating, though I believe I detect the slightest tinge of burnt wood. It’s a pleasure to be on horseback again. I worried I might be a little rusty, but from the moment my seat hit the saddle, it was like I’d never been gone.
