Two bureau chiefs were present now, along with a dozen officers of Dome’s rank. Hem, however, was absent. There were two other men in the room, both civilians. They wore the pale linen suits of high-ranking government officials. The fact that they were not introduced made it clear that they belonged to one of the ultra-secret services. The kind that the media were not authorized to make direct reference to without fear of losing their licenses.
One of these men spoke now.
He was the taller of the two, sleek with the confidence that comes with absolute power. His skin was brownish-purple and cratered with old acne scars from youth. Anyone else would have had the unsightly texture surgically smoothed away, but this man had chosen to keep it, along with the iron-gray of his hair. He was a realist. A pragmatist who had no use for outward frills and no obligation to maintain an attractive exterior. He wore wrap-around shades, impenetrably black, over his eyes.
“Are you aware,” said this man, his head turned toward Dome, “that there have been precedents?” His voice was soft, without weight, and his lips barely moved. He may well have been a physical mouthpiece for someone else, someone speaking through him via a remote mic. “This is not the first episode of its kind.”
“Oh?” That was Police Chief Mana. A tall woman built like a tank on two legs, hair pulled back in a wispy ponytail. She spoke in a rasping bark. “We are aware of only two previous incidents — accidents is what we called them.”
“Officially, yes, they were accidents,” said the linen suit, turning his head toward the chief. Dome saw that his throat moved as he spoke. Apparently the voice was his own. “But I am authorized to tell you now that they were controlled experiments. And not the only ones. There were others. None were successful — if by success we mean that our operative survived with his skin intact. In another sense, they were wholly successful. They confirmed our suspicions that the sector known as Golden Acres has ceased to be a mere eyesore and embarrassment to the capital city of our glorious nation, the premier world power of our time, and has become, instead, a threat.”
There was a silence.
The meeting had been convened in a room with scenic windows.
Dome was seated a little apart from the others, in his recovery bubble, close to the window. From the corner of his eye he could see the picture-perfect vista of the city, its avenues stretching away to infinity, its rigidly linear buildings, its silently speeding vehicles. For security reasons, the Hub was taller than any structures in its vicinity.
He’d been working here ever since he earned his body armor at the age of twenty-two. He was lean and handsome, his black hair cut short, a neatly trimmed mustache over his top lip, his nose straight, his eyes clear. He was four years away from being eligible for marriage, but the Police Bureau had already cleared his application for a spouse and all the benefits that came with one: two-bedroom apartment, private transportation, paid holidays. The woman, a fellow officer suitable to his rank and physical dimensions, would be chosen for him by his seniors. As was normal with all salaried personnel in the country, it was the employer’s prerogative to choose mates for their dependents. Until then, young adults lived with their parents, under conditions of strict celibacy that included medication to suppress unseemly desires.
Premier world power. The words strolled luxuriously through Dome’s head, like an emperor touring his estates.
Dome felt the familiar rich thrill lapping through his consciousness. It was grand, it was heady, to belong to a nation of such consequence. World power! Yes, that’s what we are! he thought. A glory to behold, the envy of all other nations!
The reference to “controlled experiments” barely penetrated the light haze that enveloped his senses.
Instead, he allowed himself to be mesmerized by the view from the window. Blinding white clouds drifted lazily against the dizzy blue vault. He could see the darting profiles of police transports as they sped across the city’s skies. He wondered how soon it would be before he would be released to duty once more. He wondered if the faint flush of heat he felt at his temples was a reaction to the antibiotics coursing through his system. There was a faint nausea too and the first stirrings of a headache. He registered these impressions with surprise but no actual alarm.
The silence in the room deepened in some way.
With a guilty start, Dome returned his attention to the others around him. He had the oddest impression that his distraction had been noticed, even though no one was looking directly at him. In fact, they seemed to be avoiding his gaze in some subtle way, as if peering around him rather than at him. He told himself he was imagining things.
The man in the linen suit continued now, in his weightless voice, as if he had not paused to ensure that Dome was listening. “Clearly, it is a threat that we can no longer tolerate. Five years have passed since we cut their water and power supply. The area continues to be used as a dumping ground for every kind of waste — toxic, nontoxic, wet, dry, what have you. They have no sanitation facilities, no access to any medical supplies, no health-related technology. No supplies in the form of fresh food, no manufactured goods. Their air is unbreathable. They live ten to a cubicle, each cubicle the size of an aircraft toilet.” He paused for maximum effect. “Yet they thrive.” On the final word, his voice swung down like an axe, exposing the heart of his passion.
That repulsive vitality!
The man’s nostrils expanded, and he exposed his teeth in disgust. “The time is long overdue,” he whispered, “for that zone of filth and human degradation to be extinguished.
Snuffed out. Erased.” He turned his head slowly, taking in his audience one at a time, yet excluding Dome. If his voice had been soft before, now it was little more than a purr. “We all know the realities: We cannot use military force without attracting the attention of the world’s moral matrons. But the residents of the Acres have steadfastly refused to submit of their own accord. In such a situation, I think you will all agree, we have few choices...” He paused once more. “Yes? May I assume agreement?”
Dome’s forehead puckered in confusion. He glanced around the room and saw, to his surprise, that heads were nodding. Whatever the linen suit was talking about, the other members of the audience seemed to be in on the secret. Now the hairs on the back of his neck stiffened. His heart began to thump within his chest. What were the others nodding over?
He could not remember hearing of any resolution. Had something been discussed in his absence? Had some crucial decision been made?
No one was meeting his eye.
The unnamed man’s head was swiveling around now, toward Dome. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, young man. You have every reason to look bewildered. That is because you do not realize that what began as a routine operation has ended very differently. Even as you sit there, believing that you are the same young officer who leapt into his transport to respond to a distress call this morning, the truth is, you have been damaged beyond repair by the encounter. What may have appeared to be a long and fruitful life ahead of you has today, in the space of a few brief minutes, been reduced to a week, maybe two.”
Dome stammered, “Sir— I— what...?”
“It is the latest strategy of the denizens of Golden Acres.
They use various pretexts to lure government agents to their environment, then jab them with microfine needles filled with infected blood and send them back. No doubt they have found ways of harvesting the hospital wastes that are dumped on their land. No doubt they find painkillers and hypodermic syringes along with all the rest. It is swiftly done, perhaps using a mild anesthetic, so that the victim is not even aware of what has happened to him. But we have seen the results and, I assure you, what I say is true. While you were unconscious during your physical exam, I was able to reveal to your colleagues the site of the puncture wound, deep within the crease of your right armpit. The infection will be fatal and incurable, a cocktail of TB, hepatitis, and SARS, plus a speeding agent which causes the germs to go to work at twice their natural speed.”