The Dome Read online

  A few more turns and I find myself on Taro’s street. With dawning understanding, I realize where Dad is going.

  Dad is going to see Aston. In the middle of the night.

  Over the past week, I’ve spotted Dad in line at the buffet next to Aston four times. They never appeared to be talking or interacting in any way, but there was something odd about them being next to each other.

  There’s something going on between them. I have no idea what it could be, but I’m determined to find out.

  When Dad reaches Aston’s house, I duck into the doorway of a house four doors down. Peering around the wall, I see Dad step through the front door. I dash forward. Reaching the doorway, I press my ear flat against the door.

  There’s nothing more than indistinct, muffled voices. The door is too thick to hear through.

  I tear around the house. When I reach Taro’s bedroom window, I tap frantically on the pane. His face appears, surprise and concern registering in his eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” he whispers, pushing up the sash.

  I scramble onto the windowsill and drop down into his room.

  “My dad,” I whisper, trying to catch my breath. “He’s here. With your dad.”

  I push past Taro, arrowing toward his bedroom door.

  “Your dad is here?” A note of panic creeps into Taro’s voice.

  “He took Riska when he thought I was sleeping and came here. There’s something going on between them.”

  “But now we’re in here”—Taro stabs a finger at the ground—“and they’re both out there. Dad will kill me if he catches you here.”

  Crap, crap, crap. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.

  I purse my lips and head determinedly to Taro’s bedroom door. It’s worth the risk to find out what Dad and Aston are up to.

  Taro’s eyes are still round with apprehension at the thought of getting caught, but after a beat he comes to stand beside me. The two of us press our ears against the door.

  This time I can hear them, though they speak so softly their voices drop in and out.

  “… Maxwell left again on Monday,” Dad says.

  “I know. I had to replace his shifts with some of the other guys. He came back again this morning.”

  “… still seeing inflammation in the test cells, but she sent my most recent vaccine with the modified F1 antigen …”

  Taro and I exchange looks. There is more murmuring, all of it indistinct.

  “… are you sure?” Dad asks.

  “Positive. I wasn’t supposed to see the report.”

  Their voices again drop out of register. I press my ear harder against the door.

  “… more for Project Renascentia …”

  “He’s making more modifications to the virus …”

  More muffled voices.

  “… and you’re going to get caught,” Aston is saying.

  “Just because I’m not a mercenary doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be stealthy,” Dad retorts.

  “That thing—” Aston begins.

  Taro’s bedroom door, assaulted by the dual pressure of our bodies, gives a loud creak. We leap back.

  “What’s that?” says Aston, tone rising.

  A shadow darkens the line of light at the base of Taro’s door.

  My stomach drops into my feet. I have one leg out the window when Taro’s bedroom door is yanked open. Riska bursts inside, flying straight to my shoulder.

  “What’s going on in here?” Aston roars, filling the doorway with his large frame.

  I freeze, feeling heat rush to my face. Taro, on the other hand, straightens with defiance and faces his father.

  “What are you doing with a girl in your bedroom?” Aston demands.

  “Sulan?”

  Dad pokes his head around Aston’s broad shoulder. His eyes are wide behind his glasses. I see them flick toward Taro’s unmade bed and then to me in my rumpled pajamas. If possible, my face gets even hotter.

  “This isn’t what you think,” I say, then kick myself. It looks like we’ve been fooling around. Better for them to think that than to know what we’re really up to.

  “Then what is going on?” Aston takes a step into the room, flicking on the light and looming over us. Taro straightens his spine, meeting his father with a steady gaze. He is tall enough to look his father in the eye.

  I, on the other hand, am at least a foot shorter than Aston, maybe more. And he’s twice as wide as me and a tad scary when he’s angry. As he glowers at us, my brain freezes. I teeter on the window ledge, trying to decide if I should stand tall or make a mad dash for home. Riska growls, fanning his wings open protectively.

  Taro steps toward me. He makes a show of putting his hands around my waist and helping me off the window.

  Mortification and comfort rage inside of me. Mortification, because I can’t believe he’s touching me in front of our fathers, even if it’s just my waist. Comfort, because in the midst of this embarrassment, his steadiness helps me rally.

  As I drop to the ground, Taro puts one arm around my shoulders. He doesn’t say a word, just cinches his arm tight around me. His muscles are taut. He stares straight at his father, chin raised, expression defiant.

  Aston’s face is ruddy with displeasure. Muscles ripple beneath his jumpsuit. My dad keeps pulling at his hair, creating a wild landscape on top of his head.

  The four of us stand there in silence. A large part of me wants to curl up in a ball and die of embarrassment. I am many things, but I am not a lovesick girl who sneaks into her boyfriend’s room in the middle of the night to smooch.

  No, I’m just a girl trying—and failing miserably—to spy on her father. Which means, by default, I have to pretend to be a lovesick teenager.

  I shuffle my feet, scrunching closer to Taro. Yep, much better for this to look like what it’s not. And my red face fits right into the scenario. Riska mews, stepping onto Taro’s shoulder and wrapping his tail around his neck.

  “Oh,” Dad says faintly, eyes moving between Taro’s arm around me and Riska’s tail around Taro. “I, uh, think it’s time for me to take you home, Sulan.”

  “I agree.” Aston grips my arm and pulls me away from Taro. “It’s time for you to go home.”

  Riska growls and takes a swipe at Aston. His claws rake along the jumpsuit, rending four parallel tears in the fabric. My jaw drops. Bulletproof fabric isn’t indestructible, but it’s a lot stronger than normal fabric. Riska’s claws shouldn’t be able to cut through it.

  “You should have your suit looked at,” Taro says to Aston. “It might be defective.”

  “Time to go,” Dad says, voice a little too loud. He grabs my elbow and swoops out of Taro’s bedroom with me.

  ***

  The walk home is agonizingly silent. Riska flies beside me, mrowing and twitching his tail. Dad keeps his hand on my arm the entire time, as if he’s afraid I’m going to make a run for it.

  “Dad,” I say when we finally get back to our house.

  “Not a word.” He steers me to the couch and pushes me down. Then he paces back and forth in front of me, crimping his hands in his hair and creating a masterpiece of a mess. Riska flies in a circle around his head.

  “Sulan,” he says at last, turning to face me. He can’t quite bring himself to look me in the eye. “Did, uh, your mother ever, uh, talk to you about … about things?”

  I blink at him in confusion. I was expecting a lecture, not questions. “What things?”

  “Things.” Dad makes a helpless gesture. Riska whines. “You know.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I don’t know. Are you and Ast—”

  “Things!” Dad shouts, as though he’s trying to drown out my words. He takes a deep breath and yanks on his hair again. “Boy and girl things?”

  My mouth drops open. My face heats up again.

  A sex talk. My dad is trying to have a sex talk with me. Can I die right now?

  “Dad,” I begin, trying to figure a way out of this co
nversation, “Taro and I—”

  “I suppose it’s only natural,” Dad mutters, pacing again. “Aston and your mother—”

  “What?” I sit up straight. “Mom and Aston what?”

  He scrubs a hand over his face. “You have to be careful,” he says. “Do you—”

  “Dad, what were you going to say about Mom and Aston?”

  He ignores my question. “Do you need anything?”

  “Need anything?” I scrunch my face in confusion. “Like what?” A spying guide for dummies would be nice. Do they even have such a thing?

  “Things.” Dad makes another helpless gesture. “For—boy and girl—things.”

  His implication nearly makes me faint. Seriously, if I had a gun right now, I would happily shoot myself.

  “I’m not sleeping with Taro, Dad.” Riska yowls and lands on my shoulder, the fur along his spine bristling. “We weren’t doing anything. Just … talking.”

  “I know what it’s like to be a teenager,” Dad continues, as if I haven’t said a word. “Hormones. Attraction. It’s only natural. Taro is a nice enough kid, I suppose—”

  “I’m not sleeping with him!” I stand up from the sofa so fast that I dislodge Riska. He swoops around the room, growling. I take a deep breath, trying to recover a sense of calm. “Don’t worry, I know how the birds and the bees work. Mom explained that to me.”

  With that, I charge out of the living room.

  “Sulan—”

  I pretend not to hear him and shut my door with more gusto than necessary. I grimace as Riska yowls from the other side, scratching at the carpet. I open the door just wide enough so he can zoom inside, then shut it again.

  I let out a breath and slide to the floor, my back against the door. This night could not have been a bigger disaster. I can’t believe my father tried to have a birds-and-bees talk with me. How gross.

  “Sulan,” Dad calls through the door.

  I don’t say anything.

  “I respect your privacy. You’re a smart girl. Just … I’m here if you do need to talk.”

  “I’m fine, Dad.”

  He sighs. I hear him walk away and close the door to his room. Riska crawls into my lap. I bury my face in his fur and groan. I have never been more embarrassed in my entire life.

  At least Dad and Aston didn’t figure out what we were really up to.

  ***

  When I wake up the next morning, my eyes are gritty from lack of sleep. The press conference looms over me, making me think last night had been less than ideal for a failed spy adventure.

  I pad into the living room and find Dad’s door standing open. When I peek inside, I see his bed is empty. He’s already out of the house for today.

  His room looks like it’s been ransacked by a tornado. Blankets and pillows are in a tangled wad at the foot of his bed. Clothes are on the floor, looking as though they’ve been walked on. I never knew how messy my father was. Or maybe I never realized how clean Mom was, because she never let things get like this when he was home.

  I take another few steps into the room, then hesitate. I’ve never snooped before. Even though I have good reason, it’s a huge breach of trust.

  Seconds tick by. I purse my lips and stride forward, deciding that if Dad won’t share information, I’ll do what I can to find it myself.

  I spend the next fifteen minutes going through his room. It’s a small room, without many places to hide things. I check all the obvious places: under the bed, in his dresser, under the mattress, in the closet, in the pockets of his clothing, and even in his shoes. Nothing. The only things he has in his room are the few things Global gave us, plus his duffel bag. The only things in the duffel are rumpled white clothes.

  Annoyed, I head to breakfast with the hope of finding Dad and cornering him. I don’t see him anywhere, but I do spot Taro and Billy at a table together. Taro has a plate piled with eggs and potatoes. Billy’s plate is piled with rabbit sausage.

  I decide not to beat around the bush. “So,” I say, by way of greeting, “did you get a talk last night? After me and my dad left?”

  “Yes.” Taro grimaces, running one hand over his short hair. “Yeah, I did.”

  I groan. “Me, too.”

  Taro cocks his head at me. “Made a good cover, though. They don’t suspect anything.”

  “What are you guys talking about?” Billy asks.

  We fill him in on the run-in with our dads, and the little we overheard of their conversation. If Billy finds any humor in our predicament, it’s overshadowed by his obsession for good conspiracies.

  “Project Renascentia?” He leans forward, breakfast forgotten. “They know about that?”

  “They’re obviously interested in Maxwell for a reason,” Taro says. “Have you or Uncle Zed been able to find out anything else about him?”

  “Nothing besides what I already told you.” Billy tilts his head, bangs falling aside to reveal his blue eyes. “We should break into his house. Look through his stuff and see what we can find.”

  “Break into Maxwell’s house?” Taro echoes.

  “Yeah.” Billy shoves a whole sausage into his mouth. “He’s going in and out of the Dome for Claudine. Who knows what he has lying around.”

  I raise my eyebrows. I hadn’t considered that before. “Maybe we should,” I say slowly.

  “The F1 antigen is one of the things that goes into the vaccine for the pneumonic plague,” Billy says.

  I frown. “How do you know that?”

  He shrugs. “I was obsessed with viruses for six months or so. If they mentioned a virus, they could have been talking about the pneumonic plague.” Billy sits up straighter, staring at us through his bangs. “I think we should search your dads’ bedrooms, too. See what we can find.”

  “I, uh, already did,” I say with a grimace.

  “And?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing.”

  “No way am I going to snoop in my dad’s room,” Taro says. “He’d know. He’s a neat freak and would know if anything was out of place.”

  Billy waves a dismissive hand. “We should focus our efforts on Maxwell.”

  “I’m too tired to talk about bad ideas.” Taro opens his mouth to say more, then closes it. His eyes slide past us.

  “Miss Hom?”

  I jump at the tap on my shoulder. A merc stands behind me.

  “Time to go to the Fortress, Miss Hom,” the merc says.

  “Already?”

  At the man’s nod, I sigh. So much for breakfast.

  I really wish I’d gotten a good night’s sleep.

  19

  Tools

  I SPEND MY FLIGHT to the Fortress mentally shifting gears. I put thoughts of Dad and Aston into a neat box, tucking it away into a corner of my mind for later examination. Then I focus on the upcoming Vex interview, running through a checklist of the many things Kerry has drilled into me over the past week.

  Smile. Always bring conversation back to Global. Don’t scowl.

  Once I arrive at the Fortress, I’m escorted to the media room. Hank is already there. Of course she is. Hank was always early to school on exam days.

  We make cursory eye contact with one another. I try a small smile, hoping to alleviate some of the tension between us. Her expression is unreadable, but there are dark circles under her eyes.

  The media room bustles with men and women in gray polos. There’s a great deal of murmuring about firewalls.

  “Are you sure this is adequate?” I hear one of them say.

  “It’s stronger than anything we’ve used to date,” another replies.

  Their conversation gets lost in the general hum in the room. They’re worried someone will hack into the site hosting us and use us to make Global look bad.

  I make my way toward the center of the room where the Vex sets are. Kerry fusses in my wake, murmuring annoying things like, “Remember your persona,” and “All conversations need to lead back to Global,” and “Don’t forget you are an extension o
f Global.”

  I wish I could gag her. The beginnings of a growl rise from Riska. I place a hand on his back to quell him. No need for him to project my unease to everyone.

  “Our heroes have arrived,” Mr. Winn drawls when he sees me. This morning, he’s dressed in a dark blue tracksuit with bright green racing stripes down the side. He’s seated in his regular chair, fat rolls oozing over the armrests.

  With all the money he has, why doesn’t he have a chair custom-made to fit his girth? Maybe it’s his way of inspiring a diet. Why I am I even thinking about Mr. Winn and his fat rolls and his chair and his money?

  I resist the urge to rub my eyes. It’s pointless to wish for more sleep I won’t get. Even if I had gotten a full night’s rest, I still wouldn’t feel ready for the Vex appearance.

  “I trust Ms. Sturgess has adequately prepared each of you.” Claudine rolls into view, her voice tinny as it projects from the tiny speakers on her screen. Her avatar stares out at us. It might be my imagination, but her gaze seems icier than usual. “We will not accept anything less than perfection from each of you.” The lights shine on her bald head and slack face.

  “Don’t make them nervous, Claudine. Ms. Sturgess has assured me they are more than ready.” Mr. Winn smiles at us over his big bushy beard and gestures to the circle of green chairs. “Please, have a seat, Miss Hom.”

  I take a seat next to Hank, suppressing a grimace as I lower my sore body into a chair. She sits with her back straight, looking like she’s ready to whip out a tablet and take notes. It’s her prepared look that I know so well.

  Claudine rolls down a ramp into the circle of chairs. At first I assume she’s joining Mr. Winn. My heart jumps as I realize she’s rolling toward me. Kerry’s relentless chatter abruptly ceases.

  “Miss Hom.” Claudine’s chair stops in front of me. The eyes of her avatar look like they want to drill holes through my head. “Ms. Sturgess keeps me apprised of your work with her. I understand you had a friend who aided you in your escape from the League.”

  Gun.

  I’m instantly wary, although I do my best to hide it. My brain fumbles for the right thing to say.