Dome Chapter 12
A Change
The sleep pod’s door slides open as T-7 emerges. A frenetic vibration drilling into his leg. Checking his pocket, he pulls out his Portable Mother to see something he had never seen before.
Words printed on the screen in a new color.
Hot. Dangerous. Startling. Red.
“Due to a malfunction in the Dome’s internal shell, part of the ceiling’s architecture is damaged. Sanitation will need to find replacement materials to rebuild the Dome’s ceiling urgently.”
A spurt of blood rushes through his heart. The veins around his eyeballs tense as his eyes widen.
His fingers tap onto the screen, “The Dome’s ceiling? How?”
“Engineering is investigating. A summary will be available once more information becomes available. You must maintain focus on finding new materials.”
“Has the ceiling ever had a malfunction like this before?”
“Be assured that nothing happens without my knowing. I have begun all measures to protect you and everyone inside. You have not begun moving, and you must begin your task.”
“Yes, Mother.”
The monorail tram slides across the rails, its hum echoing in the small tram cart, penetrating T-7’s body. The other commuters hunch over their Portable Mothers while T-7 leans back against the bare wall of the cart. His legs cross and his fingers squeezing his thin pink lips.
The Dome’s ceiling.
His Portable Mother vibrating in his pocket.
Damaged.
The vibration seems to intensify.
How?
A shock from his Portable Mother wakes him from his thoughts.
Pulling out of his pockets a single message from Mother.
“You forgot to check in.”
“Sorry, Mother, I am in the monorail now and on my way to work.”
“Excellent, T-7, please make sure to keep me informed.”
“Yes, Mother.”
His eyes peek up from his portable and look out the dark-tinted window of the monorail.
Sanitation Sprites swarm up to a high corner of the Dome’s ceiling where he sees it.
A single black hole in the ceiling.
It stares back at him, an eyeball from another universe peeking out at him and observing him, letting him know that it sees him too.
The thought sends a shudder through his heart. He clutches it for a moment, not knowing what is happening. Not sure what he is seeing is real or perhaps a mistake.
A smudge on the window.
A black blotch in his eye.
A few blinks. Still there. The Sprites are swarming around it. They see it as well. It’s real. It’s there.
Something begins to swarm in his head. Gaining form, like a swirl of smoke forming into fingers and hands. A question.
What is outside the Dome?
Taking the Portable into his hand, he begins to type.
“Mother—”
No, if she can’t explain what caused the ceiling to crack, she probably doesn’t know what’s outside the Dome.
Who would, though?
He leans his elbows on his knees as he wonders.
Who would know what’s outside the Dome?
Definitely not R-0, she just solves problems. I doubt she ever thought of anything that wasn’t prompted by a problem.
The pale, vague faces of the other Citizens in the control center pass through his mind—their downcast eyes with a dull malaise. None of them would probably ever consider the question.
Except—
“X.”
Frenetic feet stride across the dump. Citizens search through piles of garbage for scraps of metal and plastic, then race them to the conveyor belt.
R-0, leading the charge, stands at the edge of the control center platform, coordinating the organized chaos.
While her focus and control were something that had always been a nuisance to T and X’s exploits at this very moment, seeing her focus outward to save the Dome itself makes him much more aware of the platform he is standing on. Its sturdiness straightens his spine a little more.
If anyone knew where X-13 would be, R-0 would be the one.
Walking towards her, he notices her silhouette. Short, quite short when compared to other Citizens, yet it does not take away from her presence, like a sharp, tightly wound spring that was holding back from a burst.
“R?”
Her squinting eyes pop open in shock as they meet his. Her focus gone. Her cheeks suddenly red. Her eyes were darting across him as though trying to understand what she was seeing.
Her confusion gives way to something much harsher. The red in her cheeks flows through the rest of her little round skull.
“T-7!” Her voice almost seems to stammer. “Where have you been?”
“Apologies, R-0.”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the sky is falling right now.”
“Yes, R-0, it’s just that—” he found himself, now, very aware of the situation. The entire Sanitation Department is in an uproar over a hole in the ceiling. Reality itself has just been torn open, and the void itself is staring back at them all, but all he can think about is one single Citizen.
“Well?”
Like a box of trash shaken of all its contents, the words tumble out, “Have you seen X-13?”
Her nostrils flare as her dark, beady eyes narrow on his. Her short posture leans towards T-7 he feels himself bend away, shrinking with every word that she says.
“Mother woke me before anyone else in the Sanitation Department to stop a cataclysmic event, and all you can think about is where that miserable, no-good, malfunction is?”
She stands no taller than his chest, but he can feel her breathing down his face.
While everyone was panicking, his first thought was to explore the void. If X-13 invited him to jump through it, he would. Maybe that is foolish.
His cheeks flush red.
“I’m sorry, you’re right.”
Her eyes soften, as though she were realizing something. The shame and embarrassment seem to wash over both. T, ashamed that his passion got the better of him. R, ashamed that she poured her wrath and frustration on someone who gives her such strange and wonderful feelings.
Her lips purse. “I can understand that in times like these, familiarity is comforting.”
“No, you’re right,” R’s chest heaves a little as he utters those words, “it’s just—doesn’t this seem strange to you?”
Her eyes narrow, again, less anger and more suspicion, “Whatever it is you are thinking about T-7, it would be best that you forget it, and whatever you do, keep X-13 out of it. I can’t handle the two of you and fix this situation.”
“You do know where he is?”
Her eyes roll as she turns back to observe the dump, “He hasn’t reported in yet.”
The hole looms over T-7, staring at the bare nape of his neck.
“ ‘Not reported in yet?’ ”
R-0 looks back; their eyes meet. Her expression softens, “No, but he may just be late.”
His stomach churns.
The green orb.
The inspector.
The hole.
He turns and runs down the platform, his legs leaping down steps, but the tension running through him keeps him from stumbling. The moment his foot touches the dump ground, he runs out into the maze of garbage.
“X-13!” his voice a weak echo that drowns in the murmuring chaos around him.
In a dark, cylindrical room, Winsor lies unconscious on a flat, stiff bed. The spike still ran through from his palm and out the other side, blood dripping from his hand.
With each little splash, the spike seems to absorb his blood before its own metallic substance begins to change like black blood.
The tip of the spike lifts itself up like a small head and, bending itself, begins to wind its way up Winsor’s arm, covering his forearm and bicep, while below, the black, shapeless liquid fills the hole in his hand before covering the hand completely.
As the blackness covers his entire arm, and hardens itself, imprisoning his hand in a long metal spike.