Dominions

8

8

- 8 -

As Cat had said, there was a car waiting at the side-entrance to Genna’s tower, a small, black vehicle that drew little attention to itself. The pilot slid back the door, and Cat thanked him. As they sat, and the smiling pilot adjusted the controls, Cat named a location‌—‌Border Street.

Rodin knew the place. District Red, close to the Dome‌—‌too close. Nobody wanted to live so near the glass, so the buildings were abandoned, fallen into disrepair. It was practically a ghost town now, occasionally frequented by gangs with nothing better to do. A bad place.

Just like everything in the Dome’s shadow.

That area had been popular one, before the uprising against the Dome. Some said the protests only started with a handful of people before more took up their call, but others called it an organised assault, with thousands appearing overnight, armed and organised.

Whatever the truth, a mass of people had attacked the glass. They’d swarmed against it, using anything as weapons, hacking away with axes, firing whatever guns they could find, using long wooden poles as battering rams. Some even set explosives.

The glass took the battering for hours. And then, one panel cracked.

According to most tellings, the c***k was no longer than a man’s hand, barely noticeable on the immensity of the glass wall. But it was enough for the Dome to wake.

The huge glass panels were held in place by a metal frame, but this lattice held a secret. Where supporting girders met, apertures now appeared, and tubes protruded. They swivelled, pointing toward the swarming masses below. And then death rained down.

The assault was short, but it was heavy and brutal. Those guns left thousands dead, either from direct hits or from falling brickwork as buildings collapsed. Most of the versions of the story said that nobody survived.

The Dome might eschew violence inside, but they were not above using it to protect their interests on the outside.

The car sped toward this area, the pilot talking all the while. Rodin had been in only a few cars, and the pilot always talked. It was a defence mechanism‌—‌if you had your back to a stranger, you kept them distracted. You didn’t want to risk an attack. Even though there were security measures in every car‌—‌the gas that could be released, safe for the pilot who wore nose-plugs, and the barrier that could be raised between pilot and passengers‌—‌it was better to ward off attacks than deal with them when they came.

Rodin grunted an occasional response, but Cat constantly bantered with the pilot, like someone from the Dome would. The two of them talked about the weather, then moved on to the areas they drove through. Rodin stared out of the window, feigning disinterest, but he listened with interest.

Cat definitely knew a great deal about Genna’s district, and as they passed through the grey border-area and on into Dephloren’s district, he still commented on places they passed. And when the pilot mentioned names, Cat responded as if he knew the individuals.

At one point, the pilot mentioned the Paternas brothers, names Rodin was very familiar with‌—‌as both clients and targets. Cat didn’t appear to think much of them, and the pilot recited stories of both their ruthlessness and their incompetence. As Cat joked along, and the pilot bad-mouthed the Paternas brothers even more, Rodin again realised how subtly dangerous Cat was.

They drove for about half an hour, the streets becoming increasingly empty of people, and the buildings falling into disrepair. Eventually, the pilot pulled into a small alley, the tarmac cracked, walls piled high with rubbish, window frames blackened by fire. The car stopped, and Cat placed some notes in the pilot’s outstretched hand. The door opened, and Rodin and Cat stepped out.

The car sped away as Rodin looked at the rusted metal door before them. It was held by an old-fashioned padlock, the kind that could be broken with only a little force.

“Not the securest of doors, is it?” Cat said. “Come.”

Rodin followed him up the alley. Sensible move, giving the pilot a false destination. Never assume confidentiality. Under enough pressure, everyone talked.

Sensible move, giving the pilot a false destination. Never assume confidentiality.They walked along the street, then down another alley, as depressing as the first. The air was stale‌—‌not even the smell of human degradation remained. The building on their left was nothing but a shell, the roof missing.

Cat turned to the building opposite, two storeys high, with three steps leading up to a door covered in peeling paint. He bounded up them and placed his hand on a grey plaque that must have hidden a screen. There was a click, and the man pushed the door open, beckoning Rodin inside.

He stepped into a small entranceway, and before the door slammed shut to seal the darkness in, Rodin saw a second door of shiny metal, with the black circle of an Eye above it.

Cat brushed past him, and must have triggered the door somehow, because it slid open, revealing a flight of steps, cold and solid. Dim light filtered in from panels in the wall, and as Rodin followed Cat down, he understood‌—‌the decrepit exterior was merely a shell.

The stairs led to a corridor, just wide enough for the two of them to walk abreast. Cat didn’t talk, didn’t even turn to Rodin. They continued, to another flight of steps and along another corridor, as featureless as the one before. Rodin fought to keep his breathing steady. He didn’t like not knowing where he was, and he knew they were a long way from the building they’d originally entered.

The corridor ended in a door, and Cat opened it, leading Rodin into a small room. Four Eyes blinked down at them. There were three holes in the wall to Rodin’s right, and a door directly ahead.

“Just a short wait,” Cat said. “Put your hand in a hole.”

Rodin stuck his hand in tentatively, but noticed that Cat placed his in without a care. He felt a tingling, and knew samples were being taken.

“We’ve already been monitored, but we find it useful to carry out a more physical check too. And, of course, there’s a psychological value in making people wait.” Cat smiled, like he was letting Rodin in on a secret. Rodin didn’t respond.

“You should consider yourself honoured, Mister Rodin. Very few people know of this place, and even fewer have passed through. We are fastidious in keeping its location secret. Terminally so.” There was surely a threat in that, but Cat’s voice remained cordial. “And I should tell you that, once this door opens, there is no going back. I hope you aren’t having any second thoughts.”

“Bit late for that now.”

A green light shone above the door. “Yes, I’m afraid it is.” The door slid open, and at Cat’s beckoning Rodin stepped through.

His first impression of the room beyond was how bland it was‌—‌cream walls, grey stone flooring, and soft ceiling lighting. There were three doors to the left, three to the right, all grey and unmarked. The only thing of any interest was the grey desk against the back wall, tall enough that Rodin had to tilt his head to see the woman standing behind it. She wore a smart jacket over a white blouse, and had her hair tied back severely. Her eyes were cast down, and her arms twitched, which suggested she was tapping away at a screen.

But then she looked up, ignoring Rodin but making eye contact with Cat.

“Good evening, Miss Cora. I believe we’re expected.”

“Door two,” the woman said in a monotone. Cat gave a nod that extended down his body, almost a bow, before heading to the middle door on the left. Rodin followed.

“Oh, Cat.” There was more animation in her voice now, and both Cat and Rodin turned. The smile on her face was almost pleasant. “Good to have you back, sir.”

“Good to be back, my dear.” Cat tapped at the front of his hat. The woman blushed, then looked down at her screen.

Cat led Rodin through the door. “Pleasant young woman, that one,” the man said, as if to himself. Then he turned to Rodin. “Only a short walk, and then you can rest.”

The corridor, as bland as all the others, twisted left and right, and Rodin also detected a slope to the floor. So they were going even lower. He wondered how far underground they were.

Another door, yet another corridor, then Cat stopped before one of many doors, all as featureless as each other.

“This will be yours while you are with us, Mister Rodin. It contains all you should require. There are basic food-prep facilities, and we can provide raw ingredients or prepared meals, whichever you prefer. There’s a large wall screen‌—‌some guests use that to mimic a window, to stave off the claustrophobia‌—‌along with a hand-held one. This has been pre-loaded with information concerning the contract‌—‌details on the target, background information, as well as a vast database on the Dome itself.”

“I’ll visit twice each day, to check on your progress and to address any concerns. You have five days in which to fully prepare yourself. After those five days, you’ll leave this room and be escorted to the Dome itself. It will be something of a rebirth‌—‌not only in a new place, but also as a new person.” Cat smiled. “I’m sure you understand that Rodin the assassin can never enter the Dome. Rodin’s manners are too uncouth, and his means of dealing with situations too violent. And so you will enter the Dome as a new person, with a new name and a new history. You will have employment as an assistant to one of our society’s finest artists, working and living with the man.”

Cat opened the door. “Welcome to our illustrious First Dome, Mister Terrell.”