SENALL

35 Even without a plan, the four of them had to get inside New Venasaille’s dome. Getting out of the dome had been easier, with Rydell simply playing his warden role and convincing the somewhat lackadaisical security team at the Shell that he was transporting Dorie and the Memor to the Bubble.

How to explain Dorie’s return, though? Add to that the appearance of Adi Thankur and Lorway and it seemed near impossible to get through. As she’d already figured, Sakson would be wise to them by now.

They’d all been silent on the ride to New Venasaille, but Dorie kept thinking through her options. Desperation threatened any logical plan, so she came around on her thinking and considered something more drastic.

“We’ll crack the Shell,” she said simply, as if it were the most straightforward decision she’d ever made.

“You’re joking,” Adi said.

“You have any other ideas?” she asked.

Adi shook his head, but he didn’t seem pleased. “You passed legislation and spent time and resources increasing dome entrance security so vessels couldn’t do that. And Max’s ship—”

“Don’t worry about that,” Rydell said. “I’m out of a job, and that shuttle’s going to lose access anyway. No great loss if we fuck it up.”

“This ship have a name?” Dorie asked.

“Guardian.”

Cracking the Shell was a term for a maneuver designed to subvert dome security by accelerating through the domelock and avoiding deterrents in the transparent ring beneath the skin of the dome known as the Shell. No one wanted unauthorized vessels in New Venasaille’s airspace, so stringent entry protocols were in place. To “crack” it, pilots would gun vessels through the domelock when it opened and did not stop in the Shell’s holding area for inspection, as required. The ship powered through unchecked, its speed too fast, entry angle all wrong, its guidance system ineffectual. Over the years, the Shell had seen expensive repairs when ships that attempted this maneuver failed to avoid the ring itself, damaging it, or shearing off docking berths and platforms, or even causing deaths—to both Shell employees and other vessels docked there, as well as passengers on the offending ships.

Dorie’s legislative-backed improvements—faster domelock openings and closings to make it more difficult to shoot the gap, added slow zones with more obstacles just inside the dome’s skin, construction of strategic grapples and nets, and stiffer fines and penalties—had worked well, and she knew she’d made it harder for them to pull off the maneuver now. Doing the maneuver had never made sense to her. Few who attempted it succeeded—particularly after the security upgrades—and those who succeeded had almost nowhere to run and hide inside the dome. Dorie could count on one hand the number of ships that had made it through and escaped detection afterwards.

“The positive side to this is that I’m familiar with the entry area due to the numerous trips I’ve made over the years—even the early days when Tom Sakson was an assistant—and I know the particulars behind all the security upgrades. Also, more importantly, Adi knows them even better, having overseen the improvement modifications.”

“Our chances improve a few percent then,” Adi said in a joking tone, though Dorie believed he would jump on the plan if she made the decision.

“They do improve,” she said. “Now I know why I needed you out of the Bubble. Prepare for the maneuver, Max.” The ex-warden had the shuttle on a direct course to the domelock. She knew he had never tried to crack the Shell.

“Speed?” he asked.

“Steady for now. When they contact us, comply with everything they ask of you. It’s no use trying to do this if they don’t open the domelock. When I say, increase speed to maximum. The window is slim and the timing tight.”

“And the deterrents in the Shell?”

“Guess and by gosh.”

“What?”

“Something my granddad used to say. I can get us around them, I think. The bigger problem will be any pursuit.”

“Or shooting,” Adi said.

“Or that.” She’d weighed the consequences. She understood security’s mentality. Save lives and avoid conflict. “I don’t think they’ll target us. The likelihood of possible casualties—”

“Tom Sakson doesn’t care about casualties,” Lorway said from the seat behind Dorie. “If he realizes he’s lost you as a hostage, he could very well risk everything. Look at the great lengths he went through to discredit you and dump you in the Bubble. Don’t underestimate him.”

“I’m not,” Dorie said, “I’m anticipating him.” She believed Sakson would pick a more opportune moment—assuming they made it through the Shell—to make his move.

“If we make it somehow,” Rydell said, “where do we go? It’s hard to hide in a dome, even one as large as New Venasaille.”

Dorie had just been thinking about that. She frowned, momentarily at a loss for words. She felt a twinge in her throat and a sudden wave of nausea. RuBy still held onto her and she didn’t like the feeling.

“I’ve got some ideas,” she said, although she had trouble prioritizing them. “Let’s get through this first.”

Ten minutes later, the first ping came through the shuttle’s comm searching for its IDENT. Dorie didn’t know if Rydell’s shuttle had an official IDENT, or if he’d just named it Guardian himself. Rydell answered the ping and read a transcript of an alert from security: they were to decelerate and approach the domelock for entry and immediate inspection. Dorie knew what that meant: they would be boarded. Held for the duration. While the inspection process was not unusual, the command to decelerate was. The Guardian was already at an acceptable entry speed before the request, and the slower speed toward the domelock meant the security team had heightened concerns about passengers and cargo. The order gave Shell personnel more time to assess any irregularities.

Or, more likely, security knew exactly who was on board, and Sakson had initiated seldom-used procedures designed to secure and impound their shuttle.

“Slow, or keep steady?” Rydell asked.

“Slow just enough to let them see we’re complying.” She kept her eyes locked on the horizon and the approaching curve of New Venasaille; she’d soon have a visual of the domelock. “Be ready to crack it.”

Rydell tensed, but he nodded. “Any hints on the timing?”

“Watch the simulation profile the dome broadcasts to your terminal,” Adi said. “The moment I see venting, the pressure’s equalizing and we make our run.”

“Will you be able to see that in this light?” Rydell asked.

“I hope so,” Adi said. “We’re getting a little now.”

Dorie saw some faint light on the horizon. “We should be close enough to spot it with what little light we have. The light of the city from inside the dome will help. By the time the lock cycles and cranks, we’ll already be screaming for the gap.”

<<TWO MINUTES TO DOMELOCK, GUARDIAN PILOT>>

The voice came over the comm as expected, but the following instructions were not according to procedure.

<<GUARDIAN WE NEED YOU TO SLOW A QUARTER. APPROACH CAUTIOUSLY. EXPECT LOCK TURBULENCE>>

“Bullshit,” Adi muttered. “We fixed that problem years ago. They don’t think we know that?”

“Of course they do,” Lorway said. “Sakson’s trying to keep everything calm and orderly. He wants a record of this to show he was justified in doing—well, whatever he plans on doing.”

“Yeah, for the good of New Venasaille, right?” Rydell said.

<<ONE MINUTE TO DOMELOCK. GUARDIAN YOU ARE RESTRICTED FROM NORMAL ENTRY PROCEDURES. PREPARE FOR ALTERNATE LANDING>>

Damn it, they knew.

“Ignore it,” Dorie said, eyes on the dome ahead and below. The domelock was visible, and yes, the light was pushing back the darkness now, revealing the massive panels and access structures that flared outward from the top of the arc like a sea bird with outstretched wings. A minute passed, and she told Rydell to ignore any requests from the Shell. The dome was close. A mile or two.

The shuttle stayed on course, dropping slightly toward the dome. She had to wait. The burst of speed and improper entry angle from above would clue in security to the attempted crack. “Steady,” she said, to Rydell, to all of them.

Adi was the first to see the release of particulates and swirls of dust. “Venting!” he said.

“Go!” Dorie yelled.

The Guardian simultaneously jumped forward and sank. The dome rushed at them, and right away voices from Shell security popped over the comm. Dorie didn’t know if the others were listening, but she paid little attention to whatever was being said. She heard them shout Rydell’s name. Something about aborting. Cursing. Was that Sakson on the comm?

The lock had opened. The automated process started, and the panels slid quickly. They could not close again until fully open, but when reversed, the lock could close just as quickly.

One of the improvements to Shell security had come about because most pilots who tried the crack entered at a forty-five-degree angle. Speed being what it was, there was too little room from the skin of the dome to the ground to land safely. So architects positioned the obstacles, grapples, and nets closer to the top of the arch to catch vessels shooting in sideways. Normal landing maneuvers required ships to slow enough so they could land horizontal after a slow descent.

Adi, knowing intimately the positions of the deterrents, had the final move in the attempted crack, one that security would not expect. “Nose down into the lock,” he shouted. “Vertical. Nose down!”

Dori expected Rydell to balk, but he didn’t. Her stomach dropped as Rydell performed the course correction perfectly. Lorway groaned behind her. Adi actually whooped.

“We’ll avoid some of the security measures, but not the normal docking berths!” Rydell yelled as the Guardian dove.

“I know. And hit the ground before we can course correct,” Dorie said.

“Then what—?”

Dorie swallowed hard as they hurtled toward the gap. She fought back nausea. “When this is over, we’ll rebuild the berths.”

Rydell chanced a glance at her, bewildered.

They were almost to the gap and the doors had fully opened. Now, though, they started to close. She didn’t hesitate. “Clip the berths. It’ll slow us down. Avoid HQ, walkways, and ships the best you can. Level out before impact if possible.”

There were no guarantees this would work. Or if it did, work without casualties, including their own. But this was war. War that Tom Sakson had started. She had to finish it.

“Then what?” Lorway said.

It was hard to hear her amid the constant chatter of the comm, the whine of the Guardian’s protesting engines, and the now audible cranking of the rapidly closing domelock.

“If we’re alive when we land, we run like hell.”

The Guardian shot the gap as the doors squeezed in and the rumbling of the lock machinery deafened them. It was going to be close.

“Brace!” Rydell yelled. “We’re going to feel this one.”

Dorie gripped the seat as the Guardian twisted and skewed. The lock had closed, but the heavy doors had nipped the shuttle’s tail. Navigation lights flashed on the console, and warning alarms added to the cacophony of their nightmarish descent.

“Thruster failure,” Rydell said. He seemed as calm as he could be, considering the ship had started to drift and spin. “I’m compensating manually and doing the best I can to redirect toward the Shell berths.”

Despite the injury to the ship, Dorie saw a positive. They’d slowed a little. “Any empty ones?”

No time to think. The berths were upon them. They gripped whatever they could hang on to as the Guardian sideswiped the first berth, still nose down, out of control. The ship shook and Dorie thought Lorway might’ve been thrown from her chair. The Memor yelled something, then she heard Adi say “I got you.” Dorie kept her attention on the viewscreen. Once the ship crashed through the bottom of the transparent ring, they’d have just seconds before impact somewhere on the streets of New Venasaille.

Rydell grunted as he tried to flatten the Guardian’s trajectory and find reverse thrusters. A second level of berths rose to meet them. The second collision clipped a personal cruiser docked there. Please be empty, she thought.

The Guardian groaned as it skidded sideways after the impact, speed noticeably lessened. They crashed through the bottom of the Shell, sending shards of transparent metals flying like broken glass. Rydell managed to get the nose of the ship pointed upward.

A few seconds later the Guardian hit the ground. The jolt was intense, the ship’s nose slamming into a building as the belly of the ship settled. Dorie’s whole body shivered with the impact and she felt muscles protest. At her side, Rydell was slumped forward, blood running from a cut on his forehead. He was out cold; he must’ve hit his head on the console.

“Max!” she yelled, and she shook him awake. He’d passed out for only a few seconds. He touched his forehead, grimaced, then unbuckled from his seat. She turned and Adi and Lorway were okay; they nodded at her.

“Move,” she said.

The door had sprung partially open, and they each slipped through the opening and onto the street. Miraculously, Rydell had landed them upright and had avoided collisions with structures and pedestrians. The few residents up early and out on the streets backed away and stared in shock at the Guardian and its survivors. Whether any of them recognized her or Adi, Dorie didn’t know, but there wasn’t time to worry about it. Any of these people could be witnesses and point out which way they’d gone. They had a bit of an advantage because of the early hour, with fewer potential witnesses, but it would only take a couple bewildered bystanders to point security in the right direction.

She looked up toward the top of the dome and saw Shell hopters screaming, heading their way. Sirens cut through the noise from a distance. Someone had ordered both air and ground pursuit almost immediately.

“Run!” She pointed down a side street.

“Where to?” Adi asked as they sprinted away from the ruined shuttle. “We need to get inside somewhere.”

“Need to get distance first. But I know a place.”

They needed to lie low. Avoid capture. Rest.

It was time to go back to the old, neglected ruin that no one ever took note of anymore.

Except me.

The Tempest Tower.