Dominions

23-1

23

- 23 -

As sleep overtook him, Rodin thought back to his failure on the lake. There was so much he could have done differently, even with those two protectors of Leopold’s.

He imagined himself in the water again, so cold that it stilled his lungs. The Councillor was there too, and so was the mast and the sail. Leopold thrashed about, and this time Rodin grabbed and pulled hard. He shook the man, felt the tremors run into his own body. The sail flapped around them like some alien creature, and Rodin rolled over, taking Leopold with him. They tumbled, and the white sail slashed across Rodin’s vision.

But Leopold’s struggling increased, and Rodin struggled to keep a hold. One hand slipped, so he thrust it forward again, felt it hit something, felt heat from the pain that shot from his knuckles along the length of his arm. The water swirled, black and grey and white and every shade between, a dervish that sucked him down.

He fought back, kicking and clawing, desperate to gain purchase on the liquid beast that consumed him. It tossed him around like a mannequin, throwing him against rocks and branches and who knew what else? It pummelled his body, forced the air from his lungs, and Rodin’s ears boomed as blood thundered through him.

Then he was at the surface, arms flinging through the air, mouth open, gulping air mixed with spray, trying not to gag, trying to breathe. Trying to live.

But the water still had him. It smashed him into rocks and trees, into the debris that was caught in its powerful flow. He cried out, shards of pain darting along his arms, his legs. A clout to the head, and he felt nausea build, saw swirls of colour that didn’t exist. Brought a hand round, placed it on the wound, felt the warmth being leeched out by the water. He coughed. The current pulled his boots, his legs. He flailed, struggled to stay on the surface.

The darkness called. The darkness always called. But Rodin fought, even though he knew it must win. His strength had long gone, and now only adrenaline kept him going. Only adrenaline and the will to live.

And then the water was warm, sweat-soaked sheets cooling his trembling body.

The dreams were getting worse.

Rodin rolled from his bed and grabbed his screen, tapping to bring up the clock. A few minutes to four‌—‌far too early.

But the message icon flashed, and Rodin tapped. He waited for the text to come into focus, and even then he had to read the message twice before it sunk in.

My dear Mister Terrell, please forgive the time of this missive, but enforced bed rest plays havoc with my body’s natural rhythms, and I find myself wide awake in the dark, yet wanting to shut my eyes during daylight hours. But maybe that state of affairs is due to change. I am improving, and I have talked my carer round to allowing me to return to work. Initially this will only be for a few hours each day, but I am eagerly anticipating sitting in my office.

Obviously, my duties will be light to start with, but this provides me with the luxury of time to fill as I see fit. And so, in part to make things up to you, I invite you to visit my office (details supplied‌—‌and shall we say ten o’clock this morning?) I would have invited you to my own rooms, but the continual presence of my carer, much as I appreciate all she is doing for me, would not have been conducive to open debate.

Please respond,

Leopold.

His mind already turning over possibilities, Rodin tapped out a response, said he’d be happy to meet the Councillor at the agreed time, said he too was looking forward to another opportunity to meet.

Of course he was.

The Council offices were, naturally, at the heart of the Dome. The four square buildings rose eight storeys above the lush grounds, each tower topped by a reflective pyramid. Walkways, at the top and half-way up, connected them. Rodin knew, also, that the buildings continued underground. Many said that the real decision-making happened down there, although others said it was reserved for admin and stores.

Security was tighter here than anywhere else in the Dome, and Rodin joined the queue. Ahead, uniformed guards let excited residents into the grounds‌—‌Rodin had read how the gardens were considered the finest in all the Dome, and that many visitors had no interest in meeting with Councillors, or even entering the offices themselves.

Apparently, though, the buildings were also impressive. Sertio had talked of the large screens, and the subtle sounds and aromas that filtered through the public spaces. He said it was like walking through another world‌—‌not as immersive as Federick’s party, but still worth seeing. He mentioned the artist responsible, but Rodin forgot the name.

If Rodin saw these screens, it would only be in passing. He’d be ascending to the Councillor’s rooms‌—‌apparently, something of an honour. Rodin would hold judgment on that.

The line at the gate was moving fast‌—‌the security checks were, clearly, not too stringent. Rodin was soon at the head, confronted by two men in black tight-fitting uniforms‌—‌no doubt tailored to look imposing, but their lack of protective headgear was an obvious weakness. The guards were also too relaxed. When he stood in front of them, they were both looking at him. What, he thought, of a possible threat further down the line?

Whatof a possible threat further down the line?“Good afternoon! Please state your name and place your hand on the panel.” One of the guards indicated a hand reader set in the wall.

Rodin placed a hand on its soft surface. “My name is Terrell.”

One of the guards consulted a screen. “Yes, Mister Terrell. You have an appointment with Councillor Leopold in,” he consulted the screen’s time display, “exactly thirty-five minutes. Our records are in accord with your plans, I take it?”

No, Rodin wanted to scream. You don’t ask questions. You’re guards. You tell others what to do.

NoYou don’t ask questions. You’re guards. You tell others what to do.“That’s correct. I know I’m early, but I thought I’d wander the gardens. I’ve never seen them before.” Of course, their records should tell them this.

“An excellent idea, Mister Terrell, although a mere half an hour is nowhere near long enough. Anyway, our system is now aware of your presence, and should you need assistance locating Councillor Leopold’s office please use any of the wall screens. Thank you, and I hope you have an enjoyable and productive visit.”

“Thank you.” Rodin walked through the gate, smiling to himself. Security in this place was an absolute joke. Even the few Eyes were static, aimed at places the guards themselves could see.

The path wound round beds filled with multi-coloured plants, their scents reaching up to Rodin‌—‌or maybe there were hidden aromapods. Rodin wouldn’t put anything past these people. Their colours were too vivid, and they were too manicured‌—‌no matter how carefully Rodin looked, he saw no broken stems. And no weeds either.

He approached the central plaza that sat between the four buildings. Each one appeared covered in windows, but many of them were nothing more than sheets of glass attached to the concrete. The concept, as far as Rodin understood it, was to make each tower as reflective as possible, so that when residents looked to the buildings they saw instead the world around them‌—‌a reminder that the Council was for the people.

Each building had a motto above its open entrance, phrases that might hark back to the founding of the original Dome, but words that meant little to Rodin. ‘Here to hear’, ‘Here to heal’, ‘Here to enhance’ and ‘Here to protect’. This fourth one, the home of Authority, intrigued Rodin. Its doors appeared smaller, the lobby darker. It gave off a vibe of secrecy, of something vaguely clandestine.

Rodin didn’t like the whole concept of Correction, and he didn’t trust Authority’s claims. Was it really possible to ‘cure’ people of ‘unsocial’ thoughts? He wondered how many people remained in Correction‌—‌or died before they ever came out.

But Leopold’s office was not in that building, and after walking round the central plaza to kill time, Rodin returned to the first tower. He looked at the motto‌—‌‘Here to hear’‌—‌then shrugged and walked inside. The screen to his left flashed up a greeting with his name. This surprised Rodin until he saw the Eye fitted just above the screen, and he nodded to it. Interesting, he thought. A security system used to comfort newcomers. But that didn’t mean the feed wasn’t used for other purposes too.

InterestingA security system used to comfort newcomers.There were more screens inside, covering the whole of two walls. They showed a beach, water in the distant gently lapping at the sand. And as Rodin listened, he heard the gentle rolling hush it made. There was even a taste of brine in the air.

More fakery.

Rodin turned to the lifts. There were stairs, but the door was small, the label minute, and Rodin didn’t want to draw attention to himself. He glanced around, noticed the couple of Eyes watching the lifts, but couldn’t see any aimed at the stairs. Worth remembering.

There was another Eye in the lift, and words appeared as he entered. But this time there was a voice too, female and only slightly stilted.

“Welcome, Mister Terrell. You appear to be‌…‌ten minutes‌…‌early for your appointment. Do you wish to proceed at this time?”

The screen gave yes/no boxes, and Rodin tapped ‘yes’. The doors to the lift closed.

“Ascending to the fifth floor. Please use the rails and grab straps for your own comfort and safety.”

The lift ascended quickly but smoothly, and in hardly any time the door slid open, and the screen showed a map for Rodin to follow. He glanced at it, just long enough to remember the route, and then he walked along the corridor.

Leopold shared a space with three other Councillors, their individual rooms opening onto a waiting area with expensive-looking sofas and another screen. Again, the Eye just above it registered Rodin’s presence, and a message flashed up with his name.

“Welcome, Mister Terrell,” said a voice, identical to the one in the lift. “Please take a seat, relax and wait. Councillor Leopold will be with you shortly.”

The sofa’s material creaked, and Rodin shuffled to get comfortable. Clearly not designed for relaxation, then. He leafed through the pamphlets on the small table, but found nothing of interest‌—‌just slogans about how much the Council cared, and how it listened to everyone.

He scanned the doors, thought back to what he knew of the Council buildings. He was sure he’d read something about offices being sound-proofed. It was comforting to know that, even if Leopold cried out, he wouldn’t be heard by anyone but Rodin.

Of course, he still had no firm plan for the Councillor’s removal. But the man was weak after the capsize, and that could work in Rodin’s favour. Maybe he could stage a fall, or suffocate the man and make it appear that he’d collapsed.

The voice called. “Mister Terrell, Councillor Leopold will see you now. I hope you have a fruitful meeting. Good day.”