Dominions

10

10

- 10 -

In his dream, Rodin ran.

The muscles in his legs burnt, new flashes of pain every time his bare, bleeding feet slammed into the harsh ground. He staggered, arms flailing. But he couldn’t stop. His chest tightened, each breath a struggle, and his eyes saw only shades of grey. Those shapes ahead might be only shadows, but they could be something‌—‌anything‌—‌else.

The stink of burning flesh and the taste of smoke smothered him, had done since before he started running. He tasted copper in the air, too, and he swallowed to keep the vomit down.

He stumbled, one hand grazing the rocky ground. But he didn’t fall. Couldn’t. If he hit the ground, he’d never rise again.

Rodin heard them behind him, through the pounding of blood in his ears and the hammering of his heart. Shouts, stomping boots. Sharp cracks that sparked against rock.

And ahead, a roar. Through the distortion of his eyes, he saw a black line, a c***k that stretched and deepened as he approached. The roaring grew louder, and he knew this was not the evil roar of flames but something else, the roar of a force that could tear through rock, that could carve him an escape. If only he could reach it before they caught up with him.

He had no air to scream. He couldn’t see, couldn’t think. Only escape mattered. The pain in his feet was exquisite‌—‌if he still felt that, he was still alive.

And then the daggers of pain stopped. The ground fell away as Rodin plummeted through the night sky.

The air was cold, filled with moisture. Droplets hammered into his body, drenching him even before he hit the surface, crashing into the depths where the suffocating darkness enveloped him.

Rodin jerked awake. The sweat on his skin was already cooling, and the sheets of his bed were drenched.

He pulled in a stuttering breath, held it, forced his body to relax. Eyes closed‌—‌even though the darkness was absolute, and he could see nothing anyway‌—‌he concentrated on his racing heart.

When it beat at a slower pace, and when the trembling in his body had subsided, Rodin threw back the top sheet and stepped onto the cool floor.

Just a dream.

Just a dream.But it wasn’t. Rodin didn’t dream. He’d trained himself to sleep well, and to wake refreshed. Even when the assassin had woken him, Rodin was alert the moment his eyes opened.

Groaning, he stood. The memory of pain remained in his feet as he took the few steps to the shower-room.

Nerves? But what did Rodin have to be nervous about? He’d spent the last five days preparing, learning everything he could about the Dome and the target. He’d absorbed his new identity, and knew that he could become Terrell. He was ready to fulfil this contract.

Nerves?When the warm water sprayed onto his body, Rodin shivered, and he recalled the moment of falling, and the impact when he hit the water. Should he remember a dream so vividly? He wasn’t sure.

Turning the temperature first up, then down, he pushed the images from his mind, and focused on the contract. Today was his final day in this half-way house. The records in the Dome would contest that this was the day Terrell boarded the train and made his way to First Dome.

If everything went to plan, within a few days Terrell would disappear, apparently unable to cope with yet another change of situation. There would be an ambiguous note, and no other trace of the man. And then, someone would find Leopold.

He wondered how those in the Dome would mourn the passing of such a rising star. Would there be a celebration of his achievements, or bitterness at what such an accident had taken from their society?

Not that it made any difference to Rodin. As soon as he returned to the districts, he could forget the Councillor.

Rodin ran through some light exercises, ate a quick breakfast of fresh, juicy fruit and sharp yoghurt, showered again, and changed into Terrell’s clothing. He manicured his nails and applied cologne‌—‌it stunk, but apparently this was how those in the Dome believed men should smell.

Then he waited, scanning through a few of the files on the screen.

The wall screen buzzed, and Rodin looked up as Cat entered. He was in shirt sleeves today, but still wore his smart trousers and shiny shoes.

“Good day, Mister Terrell,” he said, with a mocking bow. “A new future awaits. Shall we adjourn?”

Rodin nodded and rose, and when Cat raised an eyebrow, spoke. “I’ve anticipated this day for some time. I’m eager to embark on this new adventure.” Meaningless, but it seemed to please Cat.

The man led Rodin along a corridor, eventually passing through a nondescript door that led to a platform. A single-car train waited on narrow rails. Looking either way into the tunnel, Rodin could see nothing, and Rodin was uncomfortable as he joined Cat inside. The two seats faced each other, but when the door sealed and they moved, Rodin was pleased to find he was facing the direction of travel.

Cat said nothing, and Rodin sat happily in silence. The ride was smooth, but the odd light outside told Rodin that they were moving very fast. The vehicle leaned occasionally as it rounded a corner, and after about ten minutes the engine whined, and Rodin felt the train start to slow. The lights grew more regular, and as they brightened and the train drew to a halt, Rodin saw another platform. They disembarked.

There was nothing to distinguish this platform from the one before, and Rodin felt a dull throb behind his eyes as they walked down yet more bland corridors. For all he knew, they could be back where they started, all this movement a ruse. It seemed the kind of thing the Dome would do, building up anticipation, making something bigger than it was.

Rodin chose to believe that this was a different platform, though, if only because the corridor he followed Cat down appeared slightly brighter. The doors were just as nondescript, although the one Cat eventually opened had a handle, and opened on hinges rather than sliding across.

It led to another small room, with a table and a couple of chairs, and two doors in opposite walls. Cat bade Rodin sit, taking the other chair for himself. They had no padding, but were surprisingly comfortable.

“I feel the need to say a few words,” the man said, and Rodin detected a hint of hesitation in his voice. “We’ve done all we can to assist in your preparations for this contract, but now that time is at an end. When you step through that door,” and Cat indicated the door opposite the one they had used to enter, “I cannot promise any further help, even if you try to contact me. For all intents and purposes, you will be on your own.”

Rodin nodded. “I understand.”

“Of course. And I’m sure you prefer it that way.” That might have been a dig at Rodin, but he ignored it.

Cat rose, holding out a hand. Rodin stood too, and they shook hands. Cat’s grip was firm, as Rodin had expected.

“Welcome to the Dome, Mister Terrell.”

The door opened onto a large concourse that Rodin recognised as the train terminus. To his right, through an ornate archway, he could see the sleek nose of a train, and the signage hanging from the ceiling informed him that it had just arrived from Kern. A few people pushed carts along the platform, their green uniforms surely too smart for manual labour, but there were no passengers to be seen.

Rodin strode across the great hall, senses on full alert but keeping his pace steady. There was a balcony running round three sides, filled with shops and eateries, and there were many people up there, moving behind great pillars that would provide ideal cover for an assassin. And those walking across the hall itself ambled, talking in groups, a few carrying bags. They glanced at Rodin, and he nodded in greeting. Many spoke, and Rodin responded with vague pleasantries, hardly listening to his own words as he analysed what they said, searching for hidden meanings.

But there was no threat here. Despite the mass of people, despite the wealth on display, this place was safe.

That would take some getting used to. But Rodin had managed before, and he was certain this time would be even easier.

The flooring was polished stone, but what little sound Rodin’s soft shoes made was swallowed in the ambiance of the hall. There were echoes, but they weren’t harsh, and slowly he grew to hear the subtle, ever-shifting waves of something on the borders music. He breathed in through his nose, expecting to smell the people, but there must have been a sensory system at play, because he caught the distinct aroma of fresh flowers.

He’d experienced this before, the third time he’d entered the Dome. That time, he’d stayed for a week, and he’d eventually built up the courage to explore the underground train lines that so many used to get around. These lines spread like a spider’s web, but were all centred around this main terminus.

He recalled his nervousness, standing on a platform, only a few steps from the edge. As the train had hummed into the station, he had tensed, ready for the shove that would surely come, the attempt to send him under the wheels.

But that would never happen here. Even if someone knocked into him, there would instantly be hands ready to pull Rodin back from the edge, to avert a disaster.

And now, fulfilling the role of Terrell, Rodin waited a pace from the edge as the train pulled in, a smile on his face and his hands by his sides. There were only a few others on this platform, and he nodded in greeting as they too stepped up, ready to board the train. When the air rumbled, they all turned expectantly, as did Rodin.

But he flexed his legs, just in case.

When the vehicle stopped and the doors opened, he stood to one side to allow others to enter before him. There was a tall gentleman whose short-sleeved top showed the hint of a well-developed physique, and a woman whose face was so smooth it was impossible to tell her age. They both thanked him‌—‌and the woman winked and smiled in a manner Rodin wasn’t sure he understood‌—‌then took seats.

Rodin grabbed an upright pole, swaying as the train turned corners. He concentrated on his legs, tensing in anticipation, aiming to remain as still as possible despite the slight rocking of the vehicle. Every bit of exercise helped.

“There’s a spare seat, if you care for it.”

He turned, saw the man indicating the abundance of seating.

“Thank you, but I prefer to stand. Helps keep the blood flowing in the legs.”

“There is that. Personally, I’m always seeking more comfort. I’d prefer to use a car, but the expense would soon mount up.” The man’s eyes ran over Rodin’s body. “Of course, you’d understand that.”

“Sorry?”

“The work you’ve had done on your body. Very impressive.” He turned to the woman, even though they’d made no indication of knowing each other on the platform. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

She eyed him up, and her tongue ran across her thin lips. “Most definitely. Almost seems a shame to hide such work under clothing.”

Junkiemuscles. It was common knowledge, even in the districts, that those in the Dome used surgery to alter their bodies‌—‌and not only on the surface. There were techniques to build up muscle, to improve the circulation system, even to change bone structure. It was another example of their search for superficial perfection, of course. “Quite,” he said, feeling strangely embarrassed. “And even after the initial work, there’s all the upkeep.”

Junkiemuscles.The man rolled his eyes. “Don’t I know about that? A close friend of mine opted for a complete overhaul from Body Perfect, and I’m sure you know the tariffs they charge. It cost him a couple of months’ wages at least. Oh, the results were incredible‌—‌well, you know their reputation‌—‌but within a year and a half the skin was already starting to sag. His body sculptor gave him a choice‌—‌either repeat the whole procedure or follow a rigorous training regime.” The man laughed. “No need to guess which option he chose. I believe he even pulled in extra shifts rather than leave himself short. But you, sir‌…‌I’m sure you have no problems like that.”

What did that mean? “No.” Then, because this was the Dome, and a single-word answer was the height of bad manners, Rodin said, “And yours? Do you train?” He waved a hand, indicating the man’s body, following with his eyes‌—‌an action that Rodin judged was appreciative rather than rude.

What did that mean?“Oh, I’m fortunate enough that my work easily covers my expenses.”

Rodin swayed as the train slowed, and lights flickered past. The man looked up as the sign over the door gave the name of the station. “Ah, this is me,” he said, rising.

“Me too.” The woman stood as well, and when the train drew to a smooth halt and the door slid open silently, they both alighted, leaving Rodin alone as the train continued to the next stop.

He contemplated the conversation. There had been no signs of confusion or unease from the man, and that boded well. He’d accepted Rodin as a resident of the Dome.

No, he reminded himself. Not Rodin, but Terrell.

As the train turned, Rodin stared into the window, saw the reflection of the carriage. The man stood, holding onto the upright pole. His clothes were impractical, his smile was pleasing, and he looked at ease.

Yes, he could do this. He was ready.