Dominions (eBook)

- I -

Karon stood and stretched. He’d been sitting too long again. Easy to do, when nothing was happening. But it meant he was on his own, just how he liked it.

He paced, from one door to the other, past his desk and chair. It didn’t take long. And he noticed that the walls looked grubby again.

That, he reckoned, was down to the light. He gave the room a thorough clean, once every two weeks, as per his schedule, but the walls always looked off-white, like they were covered in dust.

Which was ridiculous. There was no dust down here. Even if dust or dirt clung to his shoes, it fell on the long walk in. There were Eyes along the way, and Karon swore he felt air brush his face in certain places, reckoned they had a system set up to sterilise a person’s clothing.

Because nothing should pass through the gate, should it? Those under the glass didn’t want contamination from the districts, and those outside wouldn’t want the sterile air of the Dome escaping.

The ping was high-pitched. It didn’t last long, but it still made Karon jump, and he cursed under his breath. They’d hear that, of course. They said the Eyes and other sensors were to monitor those passing through, but they checked on him too, didn’t they? Had to make sure he did his work properly.

He tapped the screen on the desk, pulled up the Eye feed that had sent the alert. He watched the figure moving along the corridor, reckoned they were more nervous than they appeared‌—‌they walked confidently, but their eyes constantly darted left and right.

Karon pulled up the itinerary, checked the figure’s face against the image in the file.

“We have a match,” he said. “Who did you say you were?” Karon tapped for the data-sheet. “Tyam. False name, right? Not that it matters. Call yourself whatever you want, pal. Doubt I’ll see you after today.”

But he’d see this Tyam in the flesh soon enough. The man had passed the various checks, so he’d done everything right‌—‌there were no alerts.

Karon tapped the left-hand button on the desk. It recognised him, and glowed green. And it would let this fool approach.

He’d only used the other button, the one that glowed red, once. That time, the visitor hadn’t answered correctly. He’d been young, about ten years Karon’s junior, and his face reddened as Karon waited. When he’d become aggressive‌—‌banging the door, swearing, kicking‌—‌Karon had told him to calm down. When he’d refused, Karon pressed the button to the right.

He watched the feed as the gas clouded the image. The man choked, grabbing at his throat as he fell, eyes bulging out, lips turning blue. He’d writhed on the floor for five minutes, but it felt like an hour.

That wasn’t the only person Karon had watched die, but it was the first he’d killed. Sure, he hadn’t done the deed personally, and he’d followed procedures, but he still saw that face in his nightmares.

Days were better when nothing happened, when Karon could embrace the boredom‌—‌draining water to keep his throat moist, pacing, eating, watching some of those second-rate entertainments stored on the screen. He could cope with days like that. Boredom meant no violence. Boredom meant nobody dying.

The man who called himself Tyam disappeared from the feed, popped up in the image from the Eye over the penultimate door. Tyam leaned in, close to the call screen. He’d shaved, his chin smooth, with no nicks or marks.

That was good. He’d prepared. Less chance of Karon having to use the button to the right.

Tyam pressed the call icon. His voice was quiet but strong and clear. “I am not here.”

He’d said it right, not like that other one. What was it he’d said? Something like “Well, I’m here.” Close, but the words didn’t follow the pattern.

Karon’s supervisor was very strict about following patterns. So was Salika. And she’d be monitoring, the same way Karon could keep an eye on anyone approaching her gate.

Karon tapped his screen. The door opened. Tyam stepped through, and Karon followed his progress in another Eye feed.

The man wore a short charcoal jacket, open to reveal a clean, white shirt, buttoned to the neck. His trousers were a light tan, tight at the waist and ankles but wide at the knees, and his shoes were light grey, with neat laces, and looked far too soft for day-to-day wear.

The clothing was totally impractical. There were no obvious places to hide a blade in the jacket, the shoes wouldn’t cope with anything but the smoothest of surfaces, and the shirt would be grimy within seconds. At least, it would be in the districts. But they had filtered air in the Dome, and all the paths were flat. And he wouldn’t need a blade, because there was no violence under the glass.

That’s what Karon understood, anyway. He’d seen images and feeds, in his training‌—‌could’ve been fake, but he reckoned they were genuine. Lots of people under the glass wore stuff like Tyam’s outfit. In fact, many wore even more ridiculous outfits, totally impractical, made them look like jokes. Dressed like that, they wouldn’t last five seconds in the districts.

So this Tyam knew what he was doing.

He walked slowly, and it took him five minutes to reach the gate. Karon shuffled from foot to foot, waiting. He didn’t want to sit. He needed to remain alert. Sure, Tyam looked the part. But there were still the procedures. And looks could be deceptive.

Karon had heard a rumour, couple of years ago, someone forcing their way through a gate. They arranged the crossing, wore the right clobber, acted the part. But they didn’t want to pay. They tried to force their way through. Killed the gatekeeper in the scuffle‌—‌they’d brought a blade, a small one hidden in their sleeve, made of glass so it didn’t show up on the sensors.

It didn’t help him. Without the gatekeeper to operate the doors, the idiot was stuck. The way Karon heard it, the supervisor left him there to starve to death. Then they sealed the whole gate, updated security at others. Did what they could to ensure it never happened again.

But people always pushed, didn’t they? Karon couldn’t relax yet.

There was a bulge in Tyam’s back pocket, and Karon reckoned that was the payment‌—‌real notes, as none of this went through official channels. They didn’t work with credits, didn’t do payment via screen. And the bulge was large enough that it could be the full amount.

The payment for a pass-through was higher than a simple goods drop, of course, and that meant Karon would get a bonus. He’d do it officially‌—‌he’d heard what happened to gatekeepers who tried skimming off the top. Wasn’t worth it. He’d do things right. and when the bonus came through, he’d treat himself. Call up Cleyne or Hya, have some fun. Cleyne had the looks, but Hya had tricks he’d never believed possible, could play him like one of those old instruments. Or maybe he’d splash out, hire them both. They’d go for that, if the pay was right.

But that was for later. Karon had to get this Tyam through the gate first. He had to concentrate.

Karon patted his waist, and let his fingers curl around the handle of his favourite blade. It was a comfort, knowing it was there. Just in case.

Tyam turned the final corner. He’d arrive in two minutes, Karon estimated.

He pressed the pad under the desk. The square of flooring to the left lifted, and Karon pulled at the lip, then tapped his code into the screen beneath the trap-door. The screen hinged up, like the flooring, and Karon counted to ten before pressing one of the four buttons. Last time it had been the green one, so now it was blue. Next time‌—‌if there was a next time‌—‌he would press the red. He’d have to remember that.

The stong-box opened with a run of three sharp clicks. Karon peered in at the four black packages neatly arranged within. They should last some time, probably a couple of years. He reached in and removed one, slipping it into a pocket before sealing the strongbox and pressing the flooring back down.

Karon was ready. When Tyam paid his fare, Karon would give him the hand-over, send him through to Salika. She’d run her checks, and then the fool would be in the Dome.

The Dome. Clean air, no violence, everyone free to do whatever they wanted. And, if they were all like Salika, the place would be insufferable. Who’d want to be around people who acted so superior? She treated Karon like an idiot, didn’t she? When Salika gave a response to a code, she’d always find a word that Karon didn’t understand. Half the time he didn’t even know if her words were real until he checked them out.

They were all smart like that, under the glass. At least, that’s what Karon had heard. Talked all the time, reckoned words could solve everything. Wouldn’t cope in the real world, though. Salika might look good‌—‌and Karon had to use his imagination here, as he’d never seen her‌—‌but she wouldn’t have a street body, would she? Get a blade drawn on her, she’d try to talk her way out, would make it worse for herself.

Still, a part of Karon was curious. Were the streets really spotless? Did everyone walk around with smiles plastered on their faces? With all the rumours about surgery and alterations, they probably had their mouths permanently fixed that way.

Of course, others were more intrigued about what went on under the glass. But for every thousand who would talk of breaking into the Dome, only ten would try. About half of these would head for the train tunnel, but that was defended. The Dome might not like violence, but it wasn’t against using guns to...