The Dome | Part 3 of 3
This is the final installment in the serialized story of The Dome. To read the first installment go here:
The transport lurched to a halt and they waited as the low grinding groan of the storm shutter gate rolled up. Then the transport descended into the subterranean depot underneath the enclosed hab complex. Everyone exited except the old man.
"What do you think he's waiting for?" The cohab asked, stopping at the stairwell to look back at the transport, parked in it's charging terminal, door open.
"Maybe the transport has a route with stops."
"When have you ever known anyone to linger on the transport?"
Richard did, He thought. "Never," he said, moving past his cohab into the stairwell.
His cohab followed and they walked up the stairs to their hab unit in silence, each coming to terms with their newfound fate.
He was barely two years into his five year indenture. The contract was supposed to be: A year out. Three local cycles. A year back. His family saved five years of scalp-tax on him back home and his duty-free wages from out here were exported back home, amortized by the Company over the life of a ten year annuity. Minus an intersystem transfer fee, of course. The money never actually went offworld, but who ever complained about a convenient legal fiction?
As they hung up their toolbelts in the vestibule, he looked at the empty cubby and wondered if Richard had taken his tools with him that last time.
"You feelin' rich?" His cohab asked, holding up a canister of gamma.
"Don't care how rich I was. I still can't imagine paying good scrip for gamma."
"Only reason I ate it before was cuz I thought I was getting paid to."
They shared a gallows laugh together, and the cohab cracked the seal on the canister and filled their cookpot with water.
"You think Richard knew?” He asked his cohab, looking at the closed door to the third dorm cube.
"I think Richard had other problems."
A few minutes passed before his cohab said:
"Chow's ready."
"I'm not in the mood to eat."
"You mind if I have yours?" The cohab picked up the cook pot and carried it towards his room without waiting for an answer. "Ya stingy bastard," he added with a smile as he shut the door to his cube.
A scarcity mindset gripped him. Was I just subjected to an act of theft? he thought as he closed his hands into fists. Should I be hoarding gamma. Should I be trading it. Can I afford to be giving it away? Is it charged based on actual ration usage. Is it a daily average for your hab and for your crew and you pay your share whether you eat it or not? Does the Company use undisclosed ways of knowing to keep track of what we’re doing? Does it even matter? Does anything matter?
His train of thought was interrupted by the audio of a woman's voice coming through his cohab's door. He moved instinctually towards the courtyard to get out of earshot, but when his gaze crossed the door of the third dorm cube he stopped. He waited and listened to make sure that his cohab was well into the throws of being indisposed before cautiously opening the door of the third cube.
Stale air greeted him and he was surprised by how tidy it was. Like the other two dorm cubes, the only furni in the room was the bunk and the three drawer storage block. Unlike his other cohab, though, this bunk was neatly made and appeared to have been laundered at least once. Richard's old PersoCom and Lumicube were pleasantly arranged gridwise on the top of his storage block.
He glanced back at the door before sliding open the drawers of the storage block and rummaging through their sparse contents. Everything was properly folded and arranged according to Company regulations for hab organization. Two underlayers in the top drawer. Two coveralls in the middle drawer. Two sets of socks in the bottom drawer. Nothing out of place or interesting.
He glanced over his shoulder again before picking up the PersoCom and sitting down on the floor between the bunk and the wall. He was surprised to find that when he double tapped it, it was unlocked. All of the content had been cleared off of it. The only data that remained was from a series of txt entries between his accident and his disappearance.
3.08.34627
~| It turns out that my accident was the best thing that could have happened to me since we left the outpost. This place isn’t half bad when you have the time and the means to look around, actually look at it. Tomorrow is my last day before I have to report back to the plant. I’m going to try to go over the ridge and see what’s on the plain above. |~
3.09.34627
~| It’s green up there. It's just like back home, but better. Like the old days. Not just terragrass and quicksedge and chandax. There is a polycultureorchardover there. I’m going to try to go back and try to get some fruit for the hab. |~
3.24.34627
~| There are people over there. There arechildrenover there! Next time I’m going to try to talk to one of them to see if they’re bots or holos or something, but I can’t help thinking that thereissome way for Heather and the kids to join me among the stars after all. |~
3.32.34627
~| It’s like I’m living in the old stories with the first cosmonauts, the chariots of fire. It’s real. The stories are all real. |~
3.40.34627
~| The bread...
He had read enough. He double tapped the PersoCom and replaced it where he had found it before quietly closing the door behind him.
Taking his toolbelt out to the enclosed courtyard, he began to chip away at the seal of the thick glazing that formed the roof. He paused. Does the Company have undisclosed ways of knowing? still echoed in his mind. Setting down his tools, he returned to his own dorm cube.
He sat on his bunk and watched his favorite video of his family. Then he performed a factory reset on his PersoCom. He logged a single line of txt before placing the device neatly next to his Lumicube on top of his storage block. He changed into a fresh set of clothes and made his bed.
He returned to the courtyard and resumed levering his tool under the elastomer that held the glazing in place. Once he got a start, it didn’t take him long to unseal the thick pane.
As he pulled himself onto the low roof of the hab, the moon was rising over the desert. The Dome glowed white with the otherworldly light of dead men and bone collectors and fools singing into the darkness. He looked around to make sure there were no watchers who might foil his escape. The mancamp was dead. He lowered himself down to the dust and followed the singing out into the desert.
This story is the last installment in a serial.
The previous chunks can be found here: