Celerian Dome

Cyrus walked briskly down the back alley. No one he passed gave him a second look. People were always in a hurry at the spaceport. It was just the way things were. Though his face showed little sign of it, he was anxious. After weeks of waiting he had become restless. Now that the wait was finally over he wasn’t sure he was up to the task ahead.

The Central Convert Operations Bureau had been started specifically to counter the threat of the Liberation Alliance. It had been less than a year since the recruiter had approached him. He’d jumped at the opportunity. The terrorists had murdered too many of his family and friends for him not to.

The nine months of training had been intense and grueling. From physical conditioning and unarmed combat to weaponry and what they called ‘trade craft’, he and nineteen other recruits had done it all. Many times Cyrus had felt like quitting. The memory of murdered loved ones, however, would not let him give up. The Alliance had caused too much pain, too much loss, in too many lives. They had to be stopped. With that as his motivation he had stuck to it. He completed training third in his class. An achievement, his instructors told him, he should be proud of.

Soon after they recovered from their graduation party, Cyrus and his unit were called into the meeting room. The briefing quickly dampened their spirits. Colonel Denham, the ranking officer on the base, told them they had received intelligence of a planned Alliance attack. Details were sketchy. They knew it would be within the next couple of months – they didn’t know the exact date. The target was a colony on one of the outer rim planets – they didn’t know which one. They weren’t even sure what form the attack would take. The only things they were sure about, was that an attack was imminent and it would be big.

The unit’s assignments were each straightforward. They were split up and sent to the outer rim. The larger colonies got two, or in some cases three, members. Cyrus was one of the ‘lucky’ few who had a planet all to himself – Celerian Prime. His orders were to establish a small base for himself, keep a low profile then wait for more information and instructions.

"As soon as we know the target, we’ll contact you. Standard communication protocol will apply" Col. Denham paused for effect. "You will need to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. I cannot stress this enough. You may only have a window of a few hours, or even minutes, to act. The fate of thousands may be in your hands."

While Cyrus had been paying attention, nothing the colonel said had really struck a chord in him. Deep down he hadn’t expected to be the one on whom the responsibility would fall. Sure, Celerian Prime was the only known place where Anderian lilies grew. But, other than the relatively few people at the spaceport, the Dome at the lily farms was the only inhabited area. The population was barely ten thousand. So it was a bit of a surprise when the coded message came.

He had woken up to an alert that he had mail. He had expected it to be the random junk that often filled his communicator. The message informed Cyrus he had won a competition he didn’t recall entering. He was about to delete it when certain key words caught his attention. He re-read the text again, this time paying closer attention. There had been no doubt – he had been ‘activated’. Dressing quickly, he left his apartment to go to the pick up point. As he stepped out of the building, Col. Denham’s words came to mind: "The fate of thousands may be in your hands." They had done nothing to ease his nerves.

Ten minutes later he walked into his destination: a parcel collection office. There was a pretty, young lady behind the counter. He greeted her and said he’d come to collect a package sent to him by his uncle back on Earth. There was a subtle shift in her manner. They had a brief conversation filled with more coded phrases before she went into the back room. A couple of minutes later she returned with what looked to be a padded flex-steel box. It was the preferred packaging for fragile items on long journeys. Cyrus took the box with thanks and turned to leave. He was at the entrance when she spoke.

"You’d better hurry home. Looks like it might rain."

"Will do," he said with a smile. "Thanks for the heads up." Her words were a warning: You may have been compromised. Exercise caution. Taking a different route, he headed back to his apartment.

The return journey took him fifteen minutes. He’d taken extra care to ensure he wasn’t followed. He didn’t spot any tails. Though, after a bit of thought, he realized it might be more than one person following him, which would mean they could easily avoid being seen. Crossing his fingers, he hoped the measures he had in place would suffice. With some luck and a bit of speed, he could avoid the gauntlet before it closed around him.

In the apartment, Cyrus set his equipment to alert him of any intrusion then he turned his attention to the flex-steel box. It contained two items – a mini holocube and a vial of pale blue liquid in a high pressure release, aerosol canister. Cyrus frowned as he considered them. The holocube he had expected, the vial he had not. He pulled the holocube out of the padding and proceeded to access it. Once his identity was confirmed, Cyrus placed the holocube on the table top and waited. A three dimensional miniature of Col. Denham appeared above the cube’s top surface.

"By the time you receive this you won’t have much time so I’ll keep it brief. We have just received confirmation: the Dome on Celerian Prime is the target. The Alliance plans to release a bio agent into the Dome’s ventilation once it is sealed for the night. The agent is extremely virulent with a hundred percent mortality within six hours of inhalation." As horrifying as it was, it was brilliant. The night time environment around the Dome was deadly. Anyone inside would be trapped. Whether the inhabitants ran or stayed, death would come swiftly.

"The vial in the case contains a cure," the hologram continued. "It must be inhaled within an hour of infection. Once released into the air, it will only be viable for 8 hours.

Your mission is to get to the Dome and release it into the ventilation system. You must do this before the sun sets. CIS and Dome Security have been infiltrated and compromised. Trust no one! Good luck and God speed."

The hologram vanished, darkening the room as its glow faded. Cyrus leaned back in his seat a bit overwhelmed. There were so many variables to take into account and no time to consider them. Plus, it complicated things further that CIS, the Celerian Investigative Service, and Celerian Dome Security had been compromised. These potential allies would probably be after him as an enemy.

The Colonel’s words on the base came to mind: "The fate of thousands may be in your hands." This time they galvanized him into action. He got up off the seat and got his ‘ready-bag’ from his bedroom. It contained all he would need if he had to leave in a rush: a change of clothing, toiletries, some fake ID, access cards, card credits and a medi-kit.

He put the ready-bag on the table beside the flex-steel box, carefully pulled the vial and canister out of the padding and put them in the bag. He had just sealed it when one of the proximity sensors he had placed around the building set off an alarm. He quickly moved to the console. The display told him a few people had walked in the building’s main entrance. Nothing unusual about that.

He was about to move away when a second and third alarm went off. Those two showed more people entering the building – this time through the rear and a service entrance. The sensors indicated that at least five people had entered at each point. It was too much of a coincidence. He only had a few minutes before he was trapped.

Rushing back to the table, he took the holocube and threw it into the garbage disposal unit. A few seconds later it had been atomized. Next he moved to the door and snapped on the extra locks. They wouldn’t stop the men coming but perhaps it would slow them down a bit.

He picked up the ready-bag, secured it on his back and headed for the window. His eyes fell on the clock as he walked. It would be dark in a little over forty minutes. He said a silent prayer then started what would be a short yet difficult journey.

Just outside the window he had anchored a rope to the adjacent building. Reaching out, he got a good grip on the attached handle and pulled himself out. Holding on to the handle, he released the lock and slid down the taut cable. The other end was connected next to the window of a small storage room. The lock on the inside didn’t present much of an obstacle and soon he was making his way out of the building’s rear service entrance.

In his weeks of waiting, he had modified a jet cycle for just such a situation. He made his way down side streets and back alleys. Five minutes later, he was at his hiding place – if it could be called that. Theft was very uncommon at the spaceport, especially for something the size of a jet-cycle. All he’d had to do was cover the cycle and leave it in the shadows.

He made sure he was alone then pulled the cover off. It didn’t seem to have been tampered with. He flipped the switch and let it power up. Soon the engine was humming, the hover field was online and the cycle was suspended eighteen inches above the ground. Checking the straps on his bag, he got onto the cycle and put his helmet on. A pod sealed around him once his weight was sensed. Taking a deep breath, he keyed the control computer to voice commands.

"Engage silent mode. Forward, ten percent thrust," he said into his helmet. The computer readily accepted his commands and the cycle started to move. The next few moments were crucial. He had to get away from the buildings before he could use the cycle’s modifications to his advantage.

Everything seemed to be going well for a while. That is, until his computer informed him he was being scanned. Looking to the side, he saw two dark armored CIS riders bearing down on him. As much as he was more agile, he couldn’t match CIS cycles for power. If they got close enough, they could simply place a tractor-lock on his cycle and movement would be impossible. He wasn’t sure how they had identified him – at the moment it didn’t matter. He only hoped his riding was good enough to keep him free until he got to open space.

"Engage full power."

The cycle almost instantly jumped forward in answer. Moving faster than was sane, he weaved in and out of streets. More than once he thought he had managed to lose them. Only to call up his rear display and see the ominous dark armor still on his tail. He had mapped out the route he was taking a few weeks before. It avoided long stretches where anyone faster than he was could catch up to him. His main concern was the wide open Penerium section. There was a three hundred meter stretch there and it was here that the risk of capture was greatest.

He almost crashed into another vehicle when he came around a bend. Only his reflexes saved him as he slowed down and took a crazy swerve around it. He almost tipped over but managed to right himself at the last moment. He was at the stretch he was dreading and moving slower than he would’ve liked. With a silent curse he called for full power once more and made a break for it. He could feel them gaining on him. If he could just make it to the last bend he would be home free.

"Initiate thrust modification. Ten per cent over-burn," he instructed the computer. It barely took seconds but it felt minutes too long. Soon he would be within range of the tractor-lock. Mentally he urged the cycle to go faster but it was oblivious to his pleas. The CIS cycles were about five seconds from catching him when he reached the bend. He took the turn at a breakneck speed. By sheer luck he didn’t spin out of control and kept on track.

A bright flash streaked past him. It was followed by the unmistakable crackle of laser weapons cutting through the air. The CIS agents were firing at him! Until then it hadn’t sunk in how far they were willing to go to stop him. A beam reflected off a building and hit him in the left shoulder.

"Thrust modification complete", a mechanical voice said in his ear.

"ENGAGE ION-DRIVE!" he shouted urgently. He was only a couple of seconds away from capture when the pulsed-ion drive kicked in. In the space of a second, his speed jumped up to Mach two-point-five. Digital inertial dampers kept him from being ripped off his seat. He left the two bewildered CIS agents in his wake, probably wondering how stupid someone had to be to install an ion drive on a jet cycle.

Sixty seconds later, he came to a stop. He was still a couple of kilometers away from the Dome but the vehicle would carry him no further. The ion drive was good for only one use. As it was, it had fused most of the cycle’s engine parts into a solid block.

Stepping off the cycle, he checked the time. He had a little under half an hour left. Careful not to touch his wound, he pulled the bag off his back to check its contents. The vial and canister weren’t damaged after the ride. He took the medi-kit out of the bag and examined the wound. It hadn’t been a direct hit or it would have taken his arm off. Luckily laser burns were self-cauterizing so all he needed was some tissue plasma and a bandage. When he was done he closed the bag, put it back on his back and adjusted it once more. Satisfied it was as secure as it would get, he started off at a jog.

By his estimate he would cover the distance in about ten minutes. That would give him another ten minutes to enter the Dome before it was sealed. He hoped the numerous access cards he had obtained would make that relatively easy. Soon he was at the edge of the basin that held the Dome. It was like a large bowl, with a diameter of about four kilometers, pressed into the Celerian plain. In roughly the center stood the Dome.

It looked like a big metal bubble on the basin floor. At thirty meters from the bottom, its top could just be seen above the basin’s edge. Around it was the only reason Celerian Prime was worth the effort of a colony – Anderian lilies. Ironically, they were the reason the Alliance plan was so brilliant.

They had been discovered fifteen years ago by Dr. David Anders, a renowned biologist from Altezza IV. Their blue and white petals had amazing medicinal properties. They were ingested to cure a multitude of ailments or used in tissue plasma to heal wounds and regenerate dying tissue. Anders, unfortunately, also discovered the contradiction to the lily’s nature when he spent a night in the basin to studying them.

Just like plants on Earth, the lilies carried out photosynthesis during the day. After sunset however, where Earth plants released carbon dioxide, the Anderian lilies released a lethal gas. Similar to potassium cyanide in its effect, the gas was dense and didn’t rise more than a couple of meters above the basin floor. The lilies released the gas surprisingly fast and in large amounts. It took less than an hour for it to cover the ground. With little wind in the basin to disperse the gas, it filled the basin until morning. Once the sun rose, some of it was reabsorbed while the rest was broken down into less toxic components.

Several solutions to the problem had been tried. First they tried growing the lilies on other planets. All of their attempts failed. Something unique about the basin meant it was the only place the lilies would flourish. Next they tried to blow the gas away with large fans. That too didn’t work – the plants just kept on releasing more gas. To increase the intensity of the blown air meant risking damage to the plants. They also tried using large ultra-violet spot lights to break the gas down, providing the Harvesters with protective breathing equipment. The cost turned out to be too much. In the end they decided on the Dome.

It was an almost self-sufficient, air-tight processing plant. In addition to the purification and packaging facilities, there were living quarters, schools for the worker’s families, shops and entertainment centers. The day shift would harvest the lilies while the night shift processed and packaged them. Supplies came in via the spaceport and lily products left the same way.

Over the years, the Federation of Galaxies had become increasingly dependent on the lily. Especially in the past five years since the struggle against the Alliance began. The effect of diminished lily processing would be enormous and far reaching. Cyrus felt stupid for convincing himself otherwise.

Pushing this aside, he started his run again. The security at the Dome had never been very elaborate. So there was no need to worry about being picked up on sensors as he approached. The last thing he needed was to have to explain who he was and what hoped to do. They would want to verify his story before they took any action. By the time they did that everyone would be dead. Not to mention Col. Denham’s warning about the CIS being compromised.

When he was close enough to see the main entrance, he slowed down to a walk. With seven minutes remaining there was no need to rush any more. He got nervous when he noticed that everyone was being searched as they entered. He would need another way in. The choice was between one of the maintenance or the service entrances. His access card for the maintenance entrance was authentic while the other was a good forgery. Not willing to risk discovery at that stage he opted for the maintenance entrance.

With a couple of minutes to spare, Cyrus was in the Dome. He found the nearest maintenance computer terminal and accessed it. A few moments later he had found the best place to release the cure. It was three levels above him on the opposite end of the Dome. Time was no longer a factor. Col. Denham had said before sunset and he had made it. The problem with the distance was the danger of being intercepted. He was still debating his next move when the alarm went off. The Dome was being sealed for the night.

Once more he checked the contents of his bag. The vial was still intact. He took out the fake identity card he would use and clipped it to his shirt. He looked back at the terminal and plotted the best route to follow. He was upset to see that all possible ways to where he needed to be took him through a public area. He sighed when he realized it could not be avoided. After taking a few moments to memorize the route, he logged off the terminal and started further into the Dome.

A few minutes later he walked into the public area. Involuntarily he tensed. Forcing himself to relax and blend in, he moved on. He wished he could just run through and get this part over. But that would be foolish. There were many CIS agents and members of the Dome Security personnel watching the crowd. It wouldn’t take much to bring them down on him. So he crossed his fingers and hoped for the best.

All of a sudden he got the feeling someone was watching him. First he thought it was just his nerves but the feeling persisted. Finally he turned to the source of his discomfort. There was a man watching him from about thirty meters away. He was tall and thin with sharp eyes. By his uniform he was one of the Dome’s administrators. Something about Cyrus seemed to have drawn his attention. Turning away, Cyrus kept on walking. About ten meters ahead he saw the exit he was looking for. He quickened his steps slightly and hoped it didn’t look too suspicious.

"SECURITY!!!" the man shouted – just as Cyrus realized what it was that called attention to him. He was the only person who had a bag on his back. In addition, he had a maintenance identification card but was dressed in regular clothes. In the Dome, he stood out like a sore thumb. Cursing himself, he broke into a run. Several of the CIS agents started to close in on him.

He was almost at the door when a little boy rushed out in front of him. Moving too fast to stop in time, Cyrus jumped over him. He managed to clear the boy’s head but he lost his footing as he landed. Staggering forward, he hit the exit door hard. Wincing in pain from the now open wound on his shoulder, he somehow managed to key the door open. He looked down to see a growing blood stain on his shirt. At that point he almost called it quits. A little voice in his mind told him to give up let them take him in. He could explain the situation and perhaps they would get confirmation in time to save everyone in the Dome. Then Col. Denham’s voice came to mind once more "The fate of thousands may be in your hands." Gritting his teeth, he launched himself forward.

The pursuing men were close behind. The armor they wore slowed them down a bit which helped Cyrus. His shoulder was screaming for him to stop and he couldn’t maintain the pace for very long. Up and down flights of stairs, around bends and through several corridors they ran. Then he saw his destination ahead – a maintenance room for the ventilation system. With his good hand he ripped his access card from his shirt. Reaching the door he swiped the access card and entered the room a couple of seconds ahead of his closest pursuer. Slamming the door behind him, he swiped the card to seal the room. He heard a reassuring click just as a heavy body thudded against the door. He had bought himself a few more seconds at most.

He shrugged the bag off his back and held it with his knees. Using his right hand to open it, he pulled the vial and canister out. He dropped the bag where it was and moved forward to the shaft ahead of him. There he found a small panel used to access one of the filters for the air that circulated around the Dome. He put the canister down and a quickly undid the clasps holding the filter in place. It was awkward with one hand but he managed to pull it out. The room was filled with the sound of air rushing through the shaft. Placing the filter on the floor, he picked up the canister and jammed the nozzle into the hole. The door behind him opened just as he thumbed the switch to start the aerosol release. The canister emptied the vial at an impressive rate. With a sigh of relief, he turned around to finally explain everything. He didn’t know what he expected but a hard whack to the side of his head was what he got. The darkness came swiftly as he fell to the floor. His last thought before it swallowed him completely was that he had fulfilled his mission. What happened afterwards didn’t matter. He had saved thousands from a painful death.

The darkness was gradually replaced by a throbbing headache. His shoulder had been treated but it still felt a bit sore. With difficulty, Cyrus opened his eyes. His blurred vision was worsened by the bright light that shone in his face.

"Where am I?" he asked. His throat felt like sandpaper.

"You’re on Earth," a voice said. He couldn’t see the speaker but it sounded like a woman. She had a very tightly controlled voice – like she was seething and could just barely contain her anger.

"Earth? How did I get here?"

Silence.

Cyrus tried to move his arms and found them locked to the chair he sat in. It occurred to him that the seat was very uncomfortable. "Why am I bound? This is all a misunderstanding, I can explain everything –"

"I should hope you can," the voice said again. The light was moved away and he found himself staring at the last face he expected: Abigail Parker, head of the Confederation of Galaxies’ Security Section. She had a stern face that reflected the hard nature she was widely reputed to have. Confused, he tried to figure out why he had been brought all the way to Earth and why he was bound before the infamous Abigail Parker. "Well? I’m waiting."

"I’m an agent with the Central Convert Operations Bureau."

"The Central Convert Operations Bureau?" The glare she fixed him with had a voice of its own. It clearly said she was in no mood for games.

"Yes," he continued hesitantly. "I was assigned to Celerian Prime in anticipation of an Alliance attack."

"Is that so?" She pulled up a chair and sat opposite him. They were in a small room with only a table, a bright lamp and the two chairs. Cyrus had never felt so trapped in his entire life. "Why don’t you start from the beginning? Tell me everything – from your recruitment to the incident at the Dome."

Taking a breath to regain his composure, he collected his thoughts then began. He told her everything in as much detail as he could recall. He told her how he was recruited, all about their grueling training, passing his final assessment, assignment to Celerian Prime and finally his mission to save the thousands at the Dome. She interrupted a couple of times with questions but other than that she just sat back and listened, her face expressionless. When he finished she sat in silence for a few moments. Her face didn’t show any sign of what she was thinking. She just studied him with a penetrating gaze. He grew increasingly anxious with every passing moment. Finally, she spoke. Her voice was low and cold, like the whisper of a predator.

"There is no, nor has there ever been any, colonel by the name ‘Denham’ in any of the security services. The Central Convert Operations Bureau does not exist. It is the figment of someone’s imagination. Someone went out of their way to lie to you." Cyrus tried to process what she was saying but it didn’t make any sense. Then a thought occurred to him.

"Does that mean that there was no attack on the Dome?" he asked hopefully. She looked at him with a humorless smile.

"Oh there was an attack," she said in the same cold voice. "You carried it out."

The End