Dominions

7

7

- 7 -

As soon as Rodin stepped through the door on the landing, the guards hit him with the hose. They didn’t even let him remove his clothes, just sprayed him with hard jets of icy water as he stood in the corridor.

Not that Rodin could fault them for this. But he pitied whoever had to clear up afterwards.

He wasn’t sure how he’d dragged himself out of that foul river, although he remembered breaking the surface and gulping so much rancid air that he threw up. There were vague recollections of staggering against a wall, and of someone shouting insults. And there was the thug who’d come forward, but the menace on his face had turned to disgust, and he’d let Rodin pass.

The barrage of water stopped, and Rodin almost fell forward, so great had the force been. “Now strip,” one of Genna’s guards said. “And make it quick. We need to get this whole place fumigated.”

Another guard muttered something Rodin couldn’t catch, and there was muffled laughter. He didn’t respond, didn’t even look up. He didn’t care that they found amusement in his situation.

With aching arms, he peeled off his sodden clothing, dropping each item in a pile at his feet. Somewhere in his travels he’d lost his pack‌—‌probably at the bottom of the water‌—‌so everything he owned was in the congealed mess on the floor.

The water hit him again, pummelling his flesh, and he couldn’t tell if the pain that washed through him was from old wounds or new. His skin stung, but the water felt so good. He stretched up, head back, arms out.

Oh, so good to be alive!

The hoses stopped once more, and someone threw Rodin a towel. “Cover those scars, you ugly bastard,” one of the guards said, the one who had previously spoken. Rodin caught the towel and wrapped it around his waist.

“This way.” The one who had thrown the towel set off, but Rodin shook his head.

“I have things in my pockets.”

“Weapons?”

Rodin nodded.

The guard tilted his head, then turned to a colleague. “Pollick, rinse those rags, and then seal them in a locker. He can sort through them if she lets him leave.”

Not ideal, but Rodin knew he wasn’t going to get a better option. Not after he’d hammered on the door, demanding to see Genna and Cat.

The guard led him away, saying something about dunking him in a decent bath before he came anywhere near Genna.

And Rodin smiled. It might not seem much, but that bath would be the best thing to happen to him so far that day.

The bath was hot, and the water had been mixed with some fruity, flowery lotions. He stayed in the water for a good half-hour, submerged with only nose and mouth clear of the surface. He slowed his heart, and concentrated on his body as the pleasant tingling of his flesh gave way to a dull ache.

He thought of the Dome.

Three times he’d crossed the glass, paying his way and taking his chances, trusting those who could have easily gunned him down in those dark, narrow tunnels. Three times he’d entered that alien environment, where the air was fresh, and the paths were clean enough to eat from.

The first time, he’d stayed for under an hour, terrified of being discovered. He’d walked barely a dozen steps from the door, sticking to the side of the building. He’d been so scared his body had been drenched in sweat, and the warmth around his crotch made Rodin fear he’d lost control of his bladder.

The second time was easier. He’d walked the streets, even forced himself to greet others. And talking to strangers like that had felt so uncomfortable. They’d smiled, and he’d panicked, wondering what they were going to do, until their looks of concern told him that he, too, should be smiling.

Because people did that in the Dome. They smiled at each other. They wished one another a good day, and they stopped to ask after one’s health. And even though Rodin studied them hard, sure there must be ulterior motives in their actions, he could find none. This was simply how they acted.

His whole time under the glass held a dream-like quality, but he reminded himself that it was real. And he was going back.

One of the guards came for Rodin after an hour. He was dry and dressed by then, clothes provided by Genna. He’d expected them to fit poorly, a small way of her needling him, but they were his exact size. It unsettled Rodin that he was being treated as a guest.

He wondered if Cat was behind that. It wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest, especially when he saw the man seated in Genna’s office, his ridiculous hat once more on the desk in front of him.

The man turned, and smiled with an expression that Rodin didn’t trust. Genna waved at the empty chair. Rodin sat, nodding in greeting, but she didn’t respond. She looked weary, and the lines under her eyes were no longer disguised by the shadow she wore.

Rodin turned to Cat. “They’re not going to stop, are they? Even if I turn the contract down.”

“As I said before, you’re the ideal candidate. While you still live there is always the chance you will accept.” Cat raised his hands in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture. “It’s unfortunate how often we are judged not on our actions, but on the perceptions others have of us.”

Was he talking of himself? The comment was barbed, and it worried Rodin that he couldn’t quite figure it out.

Was he talking of himself?“So I have no choice.”

“There is always a choice. Even your targets have a choice, Mister Rodin. They can accept what is coming to them, or they can struggle against the inevitable. But I have to hear you say the words. For the sake of clarity, you need to tell me your intentions.”

Rodin took a breath. “I’ll take the contract,” he said.

Cat beamed, but Genna simply looked relieved. And why not? If he was going into the Dome, he’d be away from her district.

She’d have to find another scapegoat for the violence now.

“Excellent,” Cat said, and he looked Rodin up and down. “Of course, you will need time to ready yourself‌—‌we have a facility for such a purpose, and I envisage a few days of intense research and preparation. It goes without saying that you will not be permitted to carry any of the usual tools of your trade, and your own attire will not be suited to the rich society in the Dome. But we can supply appropriate clothing.”

Rodin turned to Genna. “My clothes can stay here?”

“You want those rags back?”

He shrugged. “I have things in the pockets.”

She nodded. “The locker will remain sealed.”

Cat reached for his hat. “So it’s settled. I’ve taken the liberty of acquiring transport, and even now it awaits. Shall we adjourn, Mister Rodin?”

“One moment.” Genna held up a hand. “I’d like a few words with Rodin. Alone.”

There was an up-tilt on that final word, like she was asking Cat’s permission. But the man nodded, and stood. “I’ll wait outside your door.”

Genna watched Cat, her expression remaining cold and unreadable until the door closed behind him. Then she turned to Rodin, and her mouth twitched as she sought for words.

“He told me,” she said finally. “Said you’d been in the Dome before. That true?”

Rodin shrugged. “Nowhere’s impenetrable.”

“What was it like?”

What was it like? Rodin thought back, to the spacious, clean buildings and the tree-lined streets. He thought of the fancy meals and the drinks with all their ridiculous names. He thought of the constant talking and smiling.

“Fake.” He saw a flicker of surprise, and felt the need to expand. “Everything’s surface. There’s no depth.”

“But it’s a perfect society.” Her brow was furrowed. “There’s no violence, everyone’s happy. Everyone’s safe.”

“I feel safe here.”

She snorted. “Two attempts on your life, and it’s not even the middle of the day?”

“At least I know what to expect.”

Genna shook her head. “It shouldn’t be that way. The Dome gets everything‌—‌the best tech, the best medical aid. They say people live twice as long under the glass, that there’s no need to work, that everything is provided. But what about us? What do we get? Smile at someone out here, and you risk a blade in your gut. We get the Dome’s outdated tech, most of it broken. They have everything, and we have nothing. Does that sound fair?”

She doesn’t like the Dome, Rodin thought. No, that’s not it. She likes the way it treats its residents, but not its selectivity.

She doesn’t like the Dome,No, that’s not it. She likes the way it treats its residents, but not its selectivity.Yet at the same time, Rodin knew she wanted that for her dominion. She wanted the people‌—‌her people‌—‌to be safe and happy. She wanted them to be comfortable and secure. And she was willing to come down hard on any who stood in her way.

herHe knew, because he’d worked for her. That was one luxury she’d never have if she were in the Dome. Under the glass, you couldn’t remove an obstacle with terminal force.

And yet, Rodin had accepted a contract to do just that.

“I have a request,” she said. “Regardless of how I can’t stand you, I appreciate your abilities. I know you don’t do loyalty, but neither do you bear grudges. I ask this as‌…‌as a favour. No p*****t, no commitment.”

Her throat bobbed, and Rodin saw how hard this was for her. This was as close as Genna came to opening up, at least to someone like Rodin. He nodded, giving her permission to continue.

“When you go in, I want you to learn for me. You’re not a mindless thug, despite what some might say. You’re observant, and you’re intelligent. So see how they run things, see how they make things work. And if there are any inside who‌…‌who might consider contact with someone on this side…‌I know it’s unlikely, but if there is any way…”

She coughed, and reached for her glass of water. Her hand trembled, and she sipped quickly.

“But why should I expect anything from a mercenary? If I’m not paying, you don’t care, do you? Just go. Do Cat’s job, and take his money. That’s all you’re interested in, isn’t it?”

Her hand reached under the desk, and the door behind Rodin clicked as it opened. She glared at him, her mouth a firm, hard line. He rose, nodded politely, and walked out.

He felt her eyes on his back the whole time. Even when Cat appeared, all smiles, Rodin knew Genna didn’t glance at the man.

And he realised something else. He’d accepted the contract, even though he only knew a few vague details, and even though he had never discussed the pay.

Genna was wrong‌—‌he wasn’t only interested in the money. Killing people was what he did, and he did it well. He was a professional, and a true professional always sought opportunities to improve. The harder the contract, the greater the challenge, and the higher the personal satisfaction.

And this contract was truly unique. This was an opportunity unlike any other.