Solaray Dawn

By Jessica Alter

Forced from the shadows and into the Solaray light . . .
On Level One, every citizen wants to see the face of the most envied woman in the Dome world; UnderDome, two factions prepare for a war which will determine control of Central Computer and humanity’s future. In the third installment of the Dome Trilogy, Remy reluctantly re-enters the Dome as a citizen, carefully shielded from public view – until her husband disappears under questionable circumstances.

Forced to dodge admirers and assassins, Remy realizes it is finally time to change the Dome world . . . but at what price?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jessica Alter
• Release date: Jul 19, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310807381

Jessica Alter

In 2014, author Jessica “Jess” Alter published the third and final installment in an epic social science fiction trilogy filled with sex, tech, and firearms. Her new Cryptid Series was published on multiple ebook platforms starting in 2015. The first book in the series, ‘Til Undeath Do Us Part, brings cryptid lore and legend into the modern scientific world with unexpected and thrilling results.When she’s not writing, she enjoys collecting folktales from around the world, adapting dessert recipes, baking homemade breads, and crocheting little monsters. You can find her online at https://jessalter.info/ and find her on the Fediverse as @[e-mail] .

Book preview

Solaray Dawn

Book Three of the Dome Trilogy

Jessica Alter

www.dometrilogy.com

www.smashwords.com

Solaray Dawn. Copyright © 2014 by Jessica Alter

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

ISBN 978-1-310-80738-1

SOLARAY DAWN

Oh, beloved, whose heart is mine!

Colored dreams like flowers scatter over babies’ heads as

Childhood fancies resume in the darkness.

Girls not quite women laugh and whisper under the StarLites

Of future first kisses promised to boys, who,

Asleep, dream of adventure in a new Dome.

I watch over her tonight.

Nightmare specters pass by my door tonight!

Heartless, they bring bleak reveries to wake bravest man.

They come tonight – but not for me – to carry her

To the place of no return. Wretched masters of nothing!

Light threatens these shades; they fade in the Solaray dawn.

Do I see a glimmer above? A reflection from a spotlight.

She dreams undisturbed beneath a sunless sky.

Return, return above me, Solaray dawn, push darkness from the womb!

Drive this blackness away.

When from the Havens the daytime pours upon him,

Nothing causes a man to tremble.

For fear moves in night time’s long shadows as

Nightmare specters emerge to chill his soul.

Come Solaray dawn she smiled to me,

And left with the cool morning glow.

She is at rest.

Thorton 103-441212-001

www.dometrilogy.com

To my husband Michael, who told me he’d publish this book his way if I didn’t do it my way first.

To my son Will, who asked when the next book in the series was coming out and got others to, as well.

I’m proud of you for growing into a peerless man.

To my son Red, who was half my height when I started and towers over me, now.

You proved to me without a doubt that gingers got soul.

To Jen R., magnificent Chaos Magnet and NaNoWriMo partner for years.

You’ve been a far better friend than I deserve for almost twelve years.

To Lynnsey, who I believe in with all my heart and love like a daughter. You’ve got what it takes to make your StarLit dreams into deluxe realities.

To you, my reader. Without you, I am only a writer; with you, I am a storyteller.

Thank you.

Chapter One

Reporters, VizCamera operators, and curious citizen onlookers were transfixed on a section of empty InterDome Tram line at the edge of Dome 878’s InterDome Tram station platform; only whispers were traded between Dome world citizens in the waiting crowd. Held back by two lines of Enforcement officers and waist-high grey resin barriers, Yellow caste reporters preened themselves on the brightly-lit quay of Dome 878’s InterDome Tram station. As they waited for their opportunity to face their camera operators and speak to the public through VizNews and VizTainment about a story which had captured the imaginations of the citizens of the Dome world, a Red worker in the platform’s newsstand fixed magazines cartridges. Small screens set around the newsstand displayed the cover images for that week’s or month’s periodicals. InterDome Tram passengers leaving to other Domes on the incoming tram were held aside by the policing force of the Dome world, Enforcement. Their commuter and long-distance tickets and identity cards had already been inspected, so they could board the tram quickly.

A large grey InterDome Tram slowed then stopped at Dome 878’s station. The station locks clamped on the tram; the volume of conversation rose as the station locks lowered the grey magnetic train. Its row of dark-tinted windows along the second floor of the tram offered no glimpses of the tram occupants. Anticipation quieted the crowds as the InterDome Tram’s doors stopped level to the platform. Then, the doors of the tram’s many cars slid apart.

Irritable citizens poured from the cars, each clad in the clothing of each passenger’s chromatic caste. Most pulled grey luggage behind them. Red-uniformed workers emptied the baggage car of bins, crates, boxes, and luggage. Two small groups of brown-clad men and women left the baggage car and entered the baggage corral. As they waited for their travel orders to be checked, the denizens in light brown coveralls stood apart from the denizens in dark brown coveralls. After the lower levels of the InterDome Tram had cleared, a lull in the noise was replaced by shouting, each reporter raising his or her voice to be heard over the din.

A tight group of people in red, yellow, and blue surrounded a mature, clean-shaven, platinum-haired man. His tailored dark blue-violet suit was neat and immaculate. A University-aged brunette woman in an emerald green women’s suit walked beside him. The man in indigo stared forward, his arm resting behind the young woman’s shoulder blades as his fingers rested gently high on her upper arm; she recoiled against him, turning her face toward his chest as the crowd shouted to gain their attentions and leaned around the barriers to reach for the couple.

A flamboyant blond man in a gold suit followed the couple with a dozen people. He droned instructions to a sallow-skinned, mahogany-haired woman with grey circles under her eyes and plum lips lined in near-black plum. She wore a badly-fitted olive green print dress under an over-sized and bulky grey-green men’s cardigan. Glancing at the crowd over the rims of her dark grey reading glasses, the woman in dull greens returned her attention to the portable computer in her left hand and acknowledged the man in the gold suit. She nodded as the gold-clad man spoke, keying in his notes onto the small hand-held computer. Her violet eyes obscured by dark brown contact lenses, Remy scanned the crowd, her lips clenched as she assessed potential threats.

Her right hand was batted; Remy twisted around and extended her right hand to Nick, Indigo Politician Godwin’s nephew. The brawny brown-haired teenager swiped his hand toward her again and missed. Stern, Remy slapped her hand into Nick’s hand. She knit his fingers between her own and pulled him with her. As Godwin’s entourage moved through the crowd to a line of waiting private cars with charcoal-tinted windows, Nick clenched Remy’s right hand as the man in the gold suit began to shout vehicle numbers and point toward entourage staff members.

Godwin walked Sheila toward the first car; Remy, still holding Nick’s hand, followed. She and Nick were shoved toward the third car in the line by the Yellow man in the gold suit. No, no, no! he shouted, trying to tug Nick’s hand from Remy’s. He goes in the second car! We’re in the third!

Ignoring the scolding of Godwin’s private assistant, Vincent, Remy climbed into the third stretched car, Nick following her. Nick and Remy sat beside each other on a bench in the limousine. Vincent sat across them, huffing irritably. Nick released Remy’s hand and leaned forward. Is it always like this?

Never, Vincent said as a dark-haired man and a platinum blonde woman, both in blue, entered the vehicle. The door closed behind them. Now that they’ve gotten VizCaps of Sheila with Big Man, they should leave us alone. Vincent reached for the portable Remy held. Will the next one be a two-band ceremony, Emmy?

Ask Godwin, Remy said, tossing the portable computer toward Vincent. She turned her opal engagement ring around her left ring finger, her lips still pursed tightly. The cars started rolling forward, and Nick scooted from Remy to kneel on the seat and look out the windows. Remy looked over her shoulder as the cars left the station, startled by the mega-Dome’s towering central core.

Nick murmured, That Grand Dome Hotel is huge.

Vincent glanced up from his portable then lowered his eyes again. It’s only twenty floors.

The pale, jet-haired man in blue chuckled and leaned forward to Remy. Don’t mind Vincent. He pointed at the tall building. The second tower is behind it, Nick; when we near the off-ramp for the ascent to the Havens, you’ll see it.

Forty floors of politicians and lobbyists, mused the platinum blonde in blue next to him. She smiled sarcastically, her red lips framing her white teeth. Just what every Dome needs.

Simone and Wes, you two are here to make the money go where it needs to, not talk. Any idea on a dress designer, Emmy?

Ask Godwin, Remy replied.

I was thinking of a designer out of NuParee, since you’ll be living there. Vincent looked up, wary. Or will you be?

Ask drekking Godwin; I’m only doing it for him! Wes and Simone glanced from

Remy to Vincent. Nick turned around and sat next to Remy, gripping her hand. Remy took a calming breath then exhaled; she smiled insincerely. While I appreciate your enthusiasm, Vincent, I ask that you remember the order of things here. I’m not Sheila; you won’t get far commanding me. I’m a superior citizen to you, and I’d like you to remember that Wes and Simone are, as well.

Vincent simpered sarcastically, then pointed a finger at Remy as he glared at her. You listen to me—

No, Remy said, staring coldly at Vincent. I listen to Godwin—which you should be doing, as his assistant. If he wants to renew our vows over the Ring hanging by our feet from the Solarays with glitter-coated NuDucks flying around our heads, we will. I, however, will not be bullied into planning the awful thing.

Wes and Simone glanced at one another and snickered. Nick nudged Remy. She turned her head, still glowering. Nick quacked at her and grinned. She struggled to stay angry but started to giggle. As the four others in the car laughed, Vincent clapped his hands to get their attention. We are all part of the G.I. family, people!

Wes wiped his eyes. The important part being the ‘G’, Vincent. Godwin’s needs come first.

We’re at Dome 878 for a Conference of Politicians vote that is peerlessly significant to Godwin, not to register at its DomeTrends for wedding drek, added Simone. In case you forgot, Vincent.

Wes sighed. I remember Politician Maurice complaining about the DamCare that was Dome 827’s Conference hall when there was a significant bill to be voted on.

827 is a University Dome, Remy said, wary.

It’s a multipurpose Dome, explained Wes. But if every politician decided to show up for a vote, it can’t happen in 827. You’ll see what I mean tomorrow. This vote is being broadcast live on the Viz, so you’ll see nearly no proxy voting this time. He pointed toward the city core as they turned onto a road which ascended to the wide Havens neighborhood. There’s the second tower, Nick.

When Dome 878 was initially planned by Central Computer, it was not meant to become an extraordinary Dome. However, demand for a dedicated political center grew by the time the 850 series of megaDomes had opened. As people migrated from the cramped older Domes, the vast megaDomes filled as quickly as they were built; over two generations, citizen populations boomed. Domes in the 100-to-600 series were converted into penal colonies, manufacturing and food-production facilities, and warehouses. The demand for more politicians to represent the expanding population was filled, and Central Computer adjusted the plans of Dome 878 and Dome 901 to compensate.

Remy had just been transferred to Dome 827’s Human Sanitation Services when Dome 878’s Violet was assigned. Six months before the Dome officially opened, the Dome world citizen population requesting residence transfers was so large that many older Domes lost one or two population-based political seats. Within a month of Dome 878’s InterDome Tram station opening, Dome 878 was ready for the influx of people for its first Conference of Politicians. Though the legislation failed to pass, the assignment of a Conference of Politicians vote to Dome 878 became synonymous with Dome world-changing political decisions. Since the proposal of the first Remy Bill (legislation intended to enslave the denizen underclass), Dome 878 had seen the once-migratory lobbyist population settle in its neighborhoods to wait for the politicians to come to them.

Dome 878’s central core was composed of a large plaza surrounded by smaller buildings. The two Grand Dome Hotel towers were set back a street from the plaza, overlooking a block-wide tree-lined promenade and park. On the plaza, the DomeTrends dominated a side of the large central park and a full block of the street surrounding it. Remy tapped the car’s plexiresin window. I’ve never seen a DomeTrends need to be that large.

This Dome has a population of ten million, two million of whom are migratory. Most people consider that DomeTrends to be too small, Simone said, not looking up from Wes’s portable.

The size of this Dome at least allows for better access to real supplies. Vincent said in a catty tone. Am I hiring a caterer or are you willing to lower yourself to do your job for your husband while we’re here? When Nick grinned and leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed over his chest, Vincent scoffed. What are you so pleased about?

Oh, I’m just waiting to see what happens, Nick said, glancing at Remy. She gets mean when she doesn’t get enough sleep. She hasn’t slept in a week, and I would know—she and Uncle Godwin kept me awake most of the trip here.

Remy blushed. I didn’t realize IDT cabin walls were so thin.

They’re not, said Wes, mischievously. He leaned to Vincent. You might want to reconsider this bold move to make Emmy angry at you. Godwin is tired, he’s about to vote up a bill he loathes, and he thought Emmy was important enough to him to wed en route. She wouldn’t end up on the wrong side of this one, Vincent. You would.

Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose. I already am on the wrong side of it! Godwin and Sheila’s escort in the first car just texted me that VizNews and VizTainment reporters are waiting at the entrance to the Havens residence building.

The car slowed then stopped in front of a columned lobby entry. No Enforcement was present, so the reporters present crowded around the car. When the door opened, Wes and Simone left first. Vincent climbed out; Remy and Nick followed. Recognizing Vincent as Godwin’s assistant, a reporter shouted: The public record on Central Computer has made the identity of Indigo Politician Godwin’s wife classified. Why is Politician Godwin’s wife’s identity being held back?

Vincent turned and beamed at the reporter. Is it really?

What’s her name? shouted another.

The one her parents gave her, honey.

How old is she? She looks half his age!

It’s not polite to ask a lady her age, Vincent said, handing Remy his portable as he passed through the crowd of reporters.

Andrew from VizTainment One claims he has an exclusive quote: ‘I care about the man more than the money.’ Can you confirm or deny?

She said it to me, I said it to him, Vincent replied. Wes stood in the doorway with Simone as Remy and Nick were stopped in the crowd of reporters next to Vincent. Wes grabbed the arm of a passing woman in yellow, spoke to her, and turned back to watch Vincent as the woman ran into the building. As Wes smirked, triumphant, Vincent arched an eyebrow and said, She also told me she would marry him if he were a denizen. The group of reporters fell silent. Remy tried to shake Nick’s hand from hers to reach for her sidearm under the bulky grey-green sweater, but Nick maintained his grip. Now while that is impossible, it proves the commitment she has to him. Even if Godwin was not considered a human being, she would risk everything to be with him.

Is she going to continue his dead wife’s work?

Wes pushed into the crowd, grabbed Nick’s arm, and pulled him and Remy from the group. Vincent waved at the reporters. She believes in the same cause Kayleigh did, yes. What she’ll do about it is up to her. If you’ll excuse me, I have to prepare my employer for Conference.

Wes, Remy, Simone, and Nick were waiting at the elevator to the third floor of residences when Vincent reached them. Only Nick smiled. The elevator car arrived, and the five boarded it. When the doors closed, Remy glowered at Vincent. The lights in the elevator pulsed. Simone looked up, concerned. That’s . . . unexpected.

Let go of my hand, Nick, growled Remy.

Wes, Nick said, concerned as he gripped Remy’s hand. She’s not happy. Very, very not happy. Really, really not happy.

Wes shoved Vincent against the elevator wall, furious. You stupid son of a Breeder! You just put Emmy’s and Sheila’s lives in danger! He turned away from Vincent and straightened his blue suit. You had better hope Nicholas lets go of Emmy’s hand before those elevator doors open. Godwin told me she carries, and a bullet in the head will be preferable to what he’ll do to you when he finds out what you just did to her.

Remy shook her hand from Nick’s and leaned on the elevator wall, not looking at Vincent. The remainder of the ride up was quiet, and when the doors opened, Vincent left the elevator. Beleaguered, Remy pushed off the wall and entered the hallway.

Godwin stood at a Havens residence doorway surrounded by entourage. Sheila held his hands and pled quietly with him; his shoulders slumped, Godwin looked frail for the first time Remy had known him. She stood in the middle of the hallway, unable to move forward but unwilling to leave. Godwin turned his head in her direction as Wes, Simone, and Nick walked past Remy. His back straightened, his green eyes brightened, and he beamed at Remy. When Godwin put out his hand to her, Remy’s worried expression became a peaceful smile. When she reached him, the entourage surrounded them protectively. Softly, she asked, Why is everyone in the hallway, still?

We were waiting for you, Emmy, snapped Sheila, irate. He insisted.

As they reached the door, Godwin swept Remy from her feet. She gasped then grinned at Godwin as he smiled at her. Agog, Vincent hissed, Sir! Tradition has to go by the wayside.

Ignoring Vincent, Godwin carried Remy into the residence. Once Remy was back on her feet, Godwin kissed Remy’s forehead. In a weary voice, he said, I did it for Leigh on our wedding day; I wanted to do it for you.

The women of the entourage sighed and whispered to one another as red-suited valets dispersed around the home with suit bags and luggage. Entourage meeting in five minutes! shouted Vincent as he clapped twice. Remy followed the valets carrying her bags to the master bedroom. As they put Remy’s and Godwin’s clothing away (bickering about which side of the closet her clothing should go), Remy washed the heavy make-up from her face and removed her brown contact lenses. For a moment, her eyes appeared brown. She looked in the contact lens case to make sure she had taken them out. When she looked up in the mirror again, her eyes were violet again.

Attributing her confusion to exhaustion, Remy padded into the bedroom. As she changed into a misty green tunic top embroidered in forest green at the collar and cuff and a pair of loose forest green palazzo pants, Remy was connected to the residence. She put a hand out and steadied herself as the euphoria of the connection to the Havens apartment computer system hit her. Aware of everyone in that residence and the adjoining three entourage residences along the hallway, Remy hung her blue-handled pistol in the closet and walked from the bedroom.

Reminiscent of a Grand Dome Hotel suite, the primary Havens apartment had one large entertaining room with an open galley kitchen to the side, two bedrooms with full baths, and an office. Godwin emerged from his office, passed through the kitchen, and peeked into the second bedroom before stopping at the doorway to the master bedroom. Recording devices?

Remy concentrated a moment. Nothing, not even in the entourage apartments.

The last of the entourage straggled in as Vincent paced in a tight circle. Remy entered the kitchen and inspected it, relieved to see the range and ovens used synthopropane. This was a kitchen to be used by a Nutrition Artist, not a politician. She checked the lines with her hands and the tanks with her wireless connection to the home’s computer. Satisfied with the kitchen’s maintenance, she turned to the refrigerator. She opened it and frowned. It was empty. Checking the cabinets, Remy found flatware, glasses, and tableware—but nothing edible. As people found places to sit, Godwin sat in the sunken living room. Sheila sat next to him, smiling up at Godwin in adoration. He leaned backward to listen to Vincent talk quietly to him.

Remy walked into the sunken living room and stood in front of Sheila, smiling irritably down at her. Sheila offered Remy a genial grin but did not move. Annoyed, Remy sat next to Wes across from Godwin. She crossed her legs and clasped her hands on her knees, smiling irritably at Sheila. When Godwin looked up and saw Remy across from him, he stood. Wes and Simone moved next to Sheila as Godwin sat beside Remy then curled his arms around her. Simone shoved Sheila down the bench and smiled nastily at the young brunette before looking over Wes’s shoulder at the screen of his portable. Sheila pouted, arms crossed over her chest and legs crossed tightly as Remy turned sideways on the seat and reclined on Godwin. He padded his back with pillows. Godwin moved a straggling strand of hair from Remy’s cheek before kissing her cheek. Godwin said, Sheila, you can tell them, now.

This blonde Yellow who looks eerily like Emmy ran right to us when she spotted us coming out of the elevator. Her Indigo husband tried to apologize, but that Yellow wouldn’t stop talking. Indigo Politician Godwin walked down the hallway with him to talk, and I was cornered by that damaged blonde Yellow! She said she has to ‘do my dress’—whatever that means—and invited herself and her depressed Indigo husband to dinner tonight.

Vincent waved his hand dismissively. I’ll send a note to cancel. Did you get a name?

Godwin looked up. Junior Politician Damian and his wife Patrissa. He drafted the Remy Bill, so I wish to confer with him regarding tomorrow’s vote. Dinner needs to be ready at nineteen hours.

Remy rolled from Godwin’s arms and stood. She walked to the kitchen. No.

As the entourage whispered to each other, Vincent said, Emmy, you said you’d do whatever Godwin wants for the NuParee wedding. Designer Patrissa is fast-becoming a premier clothing designer of the Dome world. Sir, having her do the NuParee wedding dress would be a coup.

With a little effort, we could get her below cost, Simone muttered to Wes. Far below cost.

Work the numbers, Wes replied quietly before announcing loudly, I say drek dinner and confer with him by VizComm instead. It’s wedding planning more than politics, Godwin.

Vincent turned to Godwin, pleading, Sir, you need to confer with him, and you need to choose a dress designer because Emmy won’t work with me. It’s Havens-sent opportunity, sir.

Remy nodded. Vincent’s right. It is. I will be back when dinner is over.

Just wait in our room for me, love, whined Godwin. He sighed. Vincent, get me a chef who works real for tonight. Dinner service will be at nineteen hours.

Vincent splayed his hands on his head, agonized. Sir, she’s the only available one in-Dome. I have two dozen requests for her to work this week, all of which I’ve refused on her behalf!

Whuh, how did they find out I’m a drekking Nutrition Artist! Remy asked, shocked. How did they know I was traveling with Godwin at all?

Just cancel it. Godwin covered his eyes with the palms of his hands. I’m too tired anyway.

If you’re too tired, sir, we all know she’s the reason why. Emmy owes you this tiny consideration for everything you have done for her. The room went silent. Remy closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. Vincent glanced toward Remy then continued. Sir, Dean’s daughter and his son-in-law being invited to a real dinner tonight will put you in a trusted position with Politician Harcourt’s and Politician Victor’s blocks. You can’t cancel, and she has to cook for it. She has to.

Wes applauded slowly then crossed his arms over his chest. Would that undo the damage you did to Godwin’s reputation with that quote of yours, Vincent?

Godwin leaned around Vincent and Remy to address Wes. Quote?

I just said that your wife was pro-denizen rights, Vincent said lightly. When Wes shook his head slowly, chuckling, Vincent added, Well, she is.

Vincent, did I do something to you that made you decide picking up a wife’s chars twice in my lifetime was something I wanted to do? Godwin put his head in his hands and propped his elbows on his knees. Cancel the drekking dinner.

Domey. You had to tell him, Vincent complained.

He was going to find out what you said tonight or tomorrow, Vincent! Wes pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated.

Simone grinned, adding sarcastically, You told reporters, Vincent. You know, reporters? They’re the people in yellow who tell everyone else in the Dome world?

Sir, please use Indigo privilege on Emmy, Vincent begged softly as he knelt at Godwin’s feet.

Vincent! When he looked up at Remy, she cowed him with a cruel glare. Never tell my husband to use Indigo privilege on me. Never. Remy crouched in front of Godwin beside Vincent and held Godwin’s hands. He looked at her in despair. She smiled and squeezed his hands. Love, how many besides Patrissa and Damian will be attending dinner tonight?

Relieved, Vincent said, Designer Patrissa and Junior Politician Damian, Godwin and Sheila, Andrew and me, and Wes and . . . ?

Simone. She’s working on the wedding numbers anyway. He turned to Simone. You don’t mind, do you?

Simone shrugged, not looking up from the portable. If dinner involves real food and watching a premier fashion designer go damaged? I wouldn’t miss it, Wes.

As Remy leaned forward to kiss Godwin, Sheila howled, I don’t have an engagement or wedding ring! Patrissa asked about them, and I told her I had put the engagement ring away!

Wear the one Emily has on, Wes suggested. Godwin scowled at Wes, who winced. Or not.

Ring? asked Sheila.

I am drekking Indigo Politician Godwin, and I am being held hostage by a Yellow clothing designer? He scowled at Vincent. I am not happy.

Two for two, Simone murmured to Wes. Looks like someone’s going to be riding in the baggage car on the way back to NuParee. The only question is if he’ll be in brown coveralls or in a shipping crate.

Uncle Godwin, Nick called from the kitchen, there’s nothing to eat here.

Ring? repeated Sheila.

Of course there’s something! snapped Vincent. The kitchen’s filled!

Remy checked the residence’s computer and winced. He set the delivery date for tomorrow, she whispered to Godwin. Poor Vincent. I can imagine how hard it’s been for him.

This is a nightmare! Vincent walked from the sunken living room. Emmy, you’re free to take any of the jobs tonight; I’ll just get dinner catered from DomeTrends Café.

I need a ring! wailed Sheila.

I don’t envy your women troubles, Godwin. Leaning back, Wes set an unlit cigar in his mouth.

Is there food next door? asked Nick.

Stop! Remy stood, putting her hands up. Nick, the entourage suites have no food, either—there was a miscommunication about when it was to arrive. Sheila, contact DomeTrends catering and get lunch and dinner delivered to the entourage apartment. Vincent, give me your portable. I will have a shopping list ready for you in five minutes.

But I have to go pick up ‘Drew. He’s coming up tonight to do the interview.

No interview, Godwin said, rubbing his temples.

You promised ‘Drew an exclusive. I assumed we were leaving Dome 878 for the ICT tomorrow after the vote. Please remember what he hid for you after Leigh died.

Godwin sighed irritably. You’re right that I owe Andrew for that. And I also agree I need positive exposure to the right people once the vote goes the way it will tomorrow.

What about the rings? Sheila whined. Who’s going to get the rings?

Desperate, Remy looked up at Wes. Help?

There’s a jeweler in-Dome who owes G.I. a favor. I’ll get Sheila’s rings. Simone, time for you to get into the really creative part of G.I.’s accounting. It gets the kind of messy you like.

Looking forward to it, Wes, Simone said, standing.

Remy reached for Vincent’s portable, keyed in a list, and handed it back. No substitutes and return here as soon as possible. Godwin has to be unable to recognize me by the time you’re done with my make-up tonight, or I can’t do it.

Yes, ma’am, Vincent said, waving his portable as he left.

Nick, Remy said, stern, I’m sending you next door among the entourage with one thought: If I find out what happened last week at my husband’s home happens here? You will go home in a little grey canister with a portable containing a note of apology for your mother.

Understood, Nick said, somber.

Sheila, Remy said softly. Go with Nicholas.

But shouldn’t I stay and—

Out! As the entourage exited the Havens residence, Remy helped Godwin to his feet. She walked him to their bedroom and stopped him at the foot of the wide bed. Godwin lopped his arms around Remy’s waist and began to kiss her neck. He chuckled in his throat as he slid his hands under her tunic top. While that feels deluxe, she murmured, I brought you in here to rest.

I can rest when I’m charred, Godwin muttered between kisses.

Which will be very soon if you don’t slow down. Remy lifted his face. Please.

He sat at the foot of the bed, swiping at his shoes. Remy helped Godwin remove his suit coat, shoes, and belt. He crawled up the bed slowly and collapsed. Closing his eyes, Godwin complained, I wanted to give you the same happiness Leigh had when we got married; instead, you’re being stalked by the media while I’m preparing to vote yes on a bill with your name on it which will legalize the slavery of denizens. I can’t believe I’m failing you and Leigh at the same time.

Remy climbed onto the bed and lay behind him, resting her arm over his waist. "First, you weren’t even a junior politician when you married Kayleigh. Maurice was the head of the family business, so you and she had nothing to do but focus on one another.

"Second, I chose to board that IDT. While I didn’t expect it to be like a DamCare off-meds, you’ve kept me out of the public admirably. Thank you.

Third, you’re not failing Leigh or me. You’re saving and enriching denizen lives by bringing the entire Network under Godwin Industries’ protection. She squeezed him, and he clasped her hand, his fingers between hers. You’re the biggest provider of illegal goods and services in the Dome world, and I was the Destroyer Messiah of Prime Settlement. Our lives were complicated before we merged them. This, too, will eventually ride the IDT out of our lives.

What did I do to deserve you? Godwin yawned and sighed, content. When he had fallen asleep, she crept into the main part of the house. Setting the robots to prepare the Havens residence for guests, Remy lay on a bench in the sunken living room, comforted by the whirring and clacking of robotics as they cleaned and moved furnishings into place.

Sheila showed up at the Havens apartment entry with a covered resin tray. The robotics scrambled to their storage spaces as Remy approached her. Sheila craned her neck as she searched the room. I thought you and Godwin might like lunch.

Godwin is asleep, Remy said, taking the tray from Sheila. She lifted the tray lid and arched an eyebrow. You certainly know his likes.

I helped Vincent, Sheila said lamely before adding with a bright tone, I haven’t gotten time to learn your preferences, but I will.

Remy took a plate from the tray and leaned against the counter. Sheila covered the tray and set it into the refrigeration unit. Remy paused, pointing the fork at her.

You did a really good job at the IDT station. You were scared, but you didn’t panic.

Sheila smiled. Thank you. It’s easier when he’s there.

Remy shrugged and took a bite, then swallowed. How strange that our parents died in the same IDT accident.

A lot of people did, Sheila said, looking down and away. Maybe we both ended up here in our lives because of it.

Remy set her plate down and rested her fork on it. My life changed completely that day, she said, morose. Every time something new in my life links to it, I revisit all of that loss and death.

Were you on the tram? asked Sheila.

No. Were you?

I already said I wasn’t. Sheila eyed Remy. How did you do it? Godwin only talked about how much he missed his wife. Then you appeared at the apartment engaged to him.

Remy lolled her head back. I don’t know. Almighty, I can’t think straight, I’m so tired.

I’ll make the tea for you, said Sheila, turning her back to Remy as she inspected the range. This stove isn’t right. Is is broken?

Remy startled, realizing what she had said to Sheila. We can use the Kwik-Hot oven to heat the water. Would you like some tea, too, while we wait for Godwin to finish his nap?

Sheila grinned. That would be wonderful. Thank you.

Remy padded barefoot to the window ledge and sat cross-legged before it. As she watched the activity in the Domescape, Sheila stood behind her. I used to love the view from the Havens—I picked out buildings I knew and places I loved to go. I didn’t care about the people. Remy touched her fingertip to the window as she pointed toward the plaza between the Grand Dome Hotel towers and the massive DomeTrends. See that taxi traveling to the city center? It might be empty; it might not. I feel disconnected from life when I view it from the Havens, now, because I can’t see the people.

Sheila stood in silence as Remy curled her hands around her mug, the tea’s herb-scented steam swirling as it rose. Do you think you can get dinner ready in time?

Remy looked up at Sheila, surprised to see her staring out across the Domescape as well. Once everything has arrived, it will take me an hour.

A formal meal for eight in an hour? Cooking one of those takes all day.

"Preparation takes all day. Much of it will be pre-made from local suppliers. It won’t be as good as if I had a week to plan, but it will suffice. Trop de cuisiniers font la merde du dîner."

What was that?

It means, ‘Too many cooks spoil the meal.’

Why didn’t you say that, then?

Sounds better in NuParisian.

What’s NuParisian?

Chef ’s Tongue. Remy paused a moment as Sheila eyed her, confused. I’m a specially-trained Nutrition Artist who works with illegal foods. Why wouldn’t I speak an illegal language, too?

Moments later, Vincent arrived with a handsome blond man Remy recognized from VizTainment One. Both men were burdened with shopping bags. Remy stood and met them in the kitchen. As Remy picked through the bags, Vincent said, I got everything you wanted, and a few things I did. Cocktails and appetizers will be at eighteen hours; dinner service at nineteen hours.

Sheila passed by the kitchen counter, setting her cup on it before reaching a hand out to the handsome blond man. Andrew, she said, kissing his cheeks in turn. Welcome.

You’re everywhere on the Viz, Sheila. How did you end up the face of Godwin’s mystery wife?

You’ll be serving, too, Vincent said matter-of-factly to Remy.

Affronted, Remy set her mug of tea down on the counter. I will cook. I will clean. I will not serve that talentless half-cred snag or her trophy husband.

Andrew looked over, startled. Your Nutrition Artist hates Designer Patrissa? No one hates Designer Patrissa, and Junior Politician Damian is a political nobody. Definitely not a trophy.

Vincent pulled Remy aside, and quietly asked, How do you know them? There is nearly no way you could have crossed paths that would make you this incensed.

Ignoring Vincent, Remy started a sink full of soapy water and tossed the vegetables in the sink to wash. He grabbed her arm and walked her into Godwin’s office. He stopped Remy when the door closed behind them. I won’t let you go until you tell me why you hate J.P. Damian and his wife.

Remy glanced over her shoulder at the door; the mechanism latched. No, Vincent. I won’t let you go until you understand that I meant what I said on the IDT here. Godwin knows everything about me. Leave my past alone, or Godwin will be executed for conspiracy to commit treason against the Dome, if not actual treason against the Dome. Stop. Now.

Oh, don’t you threaten me. You’re no one special from nowhere special, which tells me you have a whole lot to hide. My employer (and your husband) needs me to protect his career. If you are honest with me right now, then I promise your secrets will be as safe as Big Man’s are.

Remy covered her eyes with one hand. She sighed then dropped it at her side. Fine. Damian poisoned me. I was pregnant when he did it, and the baby died.

After a silence, Vincent asked: He what?

"Damian and I were lovers years ago when he was a eugenicist. He was dating Patrissa at the same time. He wouldn’t choose, so I left him. I was pregnant when Damian found me again. He said he couldn’t live without me; I said I wasn’t going with him. So, he poisoned me.

The only reason I’m still alive is because of Godwin. Damian, Patrissa, and many others assume I’m dead, Vincent. That’s why I need to wear the make up, why I can’t let either of them recognize me tonight, and why I hate Patrissa. Vincent strode toward the door and ran into it. He pounded on the closed door then looked at Remy over his shoulder. If you tell Godwin, he will tell you he knows. If you tell anyone else, Godwin will kill you. Let my secrets stay in my past, Vincent. Please.

Vincent took a deep breath then exhaled. Was it Damian’s?

No, Remy said, reaching a hand to him. He approached and took her hand. Vincent, I’d rather Godwin have a broken heart than neglect his health. I know he’s exhausted himself trying to make me happy. I swear that if it comes to it, I will do whatever it takes to assure he survives—even if it means I don’t. The door opened, and Remy nodded toward it. Just because I don’t care about who is on the wedding’s guest list or what the bridesmaids I’ve never met before will be wearing doesn’t mean I disdain your effort. If anything, I don’t want to get in your way.

So, you’ll let me do everything?

Except the dress. Remy walked from the office, smiling at Vincent.

I haven’t seen you two nice to one another yet, Sheila said. Was the secret of how she knows Designer Patrissa that moving?

‘Drew, this is Emily, Vincent said. "Without the horror make-over, of course.

She walked with me from the IDT today, baby."

Andrew squinted at Remy. Vin, you are still the most talented make-up artist I know. I would never have connected her to the homely Green with the portable ever. He took Remy’s hand and sat her in the sunken living room. So, tell me how you succeeded when the rest of the women in the Dome world never got close.

Remy glanced at Sheila, who was in the kitchen putting the perishables into the refrigeration unit. If more women worried less about Godwin’s unlimited creds card and more about the man, one of them would be sitting here instead of me. Remy paused. Godwin needs a partner, not a sleeve decoration. Kayleigh will always be the love of his life because she was his partner in everything. She’s irreplaceable; I’m just someone he recently decided he couldn’t live without.

Andrew smiled up at Vincent. I’m using it.

Vincent winced. Please don’t. Big Man’s already angry over what I said to the Viz reporters about Emmy. Besides, your fan base will be livid. They want to be validated, not offended. And who would believe Sheila said that? She is a sleeve decoration.

Sheila turned and gave Vincent a bitter look. I am not a sleeve decoration!

Calm down, Sheila. It will keep them guessing how Emmy’s mind ended up in your body. Andrew frowned. So, why aren’t you walking with Godwin, Emmy?

Because people want me dead.

Andrew tittered nervously. No one wants Nutrition Artists dead, especially ones who ‘work real’.

Someone does. She carries, murmured Vincent.

That I carry a sidearm needs to be kept quiet, Remy said, frowning at him.

Andrew sat back. Does this have to do with the Enforcement lover? When Remy didn’t answer, he asked, Do you carry a gun because you survived the overthrow of First Dome?

You certainly did your research on me, Andrew. Remy stood and entered the kitchen. Standing at the sink, she finished washing the vegetables and nodded toward Sheila. You do realize people who knew Sheila will recognize her as Godwin’s new wife.

You’re right; they will. Andrew stood and took Vincent’s hand. We’ll take care of the story, Emmy. Vincent will be back in an hour to do your make-up.

Andrew led Vincent out the door. Remy set the bowl of rinsed produce aside then propped herself slump-shouldered, on the counter. Sheila, you should go, too.

Sheila walked toward the bedroom door. I’ll go get Godwin. He can—

Remy stood upright. Leave my husband alone and get out of my home. Now!

Sheila stopped, turned around, and scurried from the residence.

* * *

Andrew, Sheila, and Vincent arrived an hour later. Vincent took Remy aside and had her change into an oversized grey-green high-collared blouse and loose pine green slacks with a mismatching forest green belt. After she put in the brown contact lenses, Vincent applied Remy’s make-up and gave her the grey-rimmed reading glasses. He pulled her hair back tight and set a braided bun at the base of her neck. When she emerged, Andrew applauded. You look perfectly awful.

She continued working, ignoring the chatter around her, until Vincent called: Fifteen minutes.

Wes is on his way, Sheila said, walking from the apartment’s office. He and Simone had trouble with the jeweler, which took all afternoon to fix. I’ll go wake Godwin for—

You will wait for Wes and Simone to arrive with the rings, Sheila. I’ll take care of my husband. Remy wiped her hands off on her apron and removed it. She hung it over the oven door pull and entered the master bedroom. Godwin was asleep on the bed where she had left him. She lay behind him, kissing his cheek gently. Time to wake up, love. Your guests are arriving soon.

Godwin inhaled sharply then looked behind him. He smiled, content. It wasn’t a dream.

It’s time to get up for dinner. What wasn’t a dream?

Marrying you. Godwin turned on his back and clasped hands with Remy. You look awful but smell peerless.

That’s dinner, said Remy, pointing at her sleeve. "And so is that. I’m not neat in the kitchen like Mama. Not like Papa, either, truth be told."

Godwin pulled Remy down to him. Do we have time?

Fifteen minutes. Remy smiled. Not enough for what you’re planning.

He kissed her hands before untucking her blouse and sliding his hands beneath her top. Sighing in pleasure, he smoothed his hands around her torso then pulled Remy onto his stomach. You need to be much less dressed.

Remy sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed, tucking her shirt in. And have your guests find you in bed with the homely cook while your chi-chi child bride waits impatiently outside? No.

Godwin rolled to the side of the bed and sat up. At least you’re mine afterward.

You have that VizTainment One interview with Andrew, remember? Remy walked to him, and Godwin hugged her at her hips, his head on her stomach. She stroked his platinum hair gently. Tomorrow is too important. We both know it. I should have waited to marry you because then this wouldn’t be a problem.

You planned to board an IDT out-of-Dome to the ICT, Godwin said. He stood.

A rap at the door made Remy look up at it, annoyed. Since I worked so hard to play chef for you, you get to play pleasant host. I don’t envy you, it’ll be an Almighty-damned horrible night.

Godwin emerged from the bedroom as Wes was sliding a four-carat round-cut diamond solitaire onto Sheila’s left ring finger. Simone looked up. Sorry it took so long, sir.

Remy took Sheila’s hand and showed Godwin the ring, letting it glint in the light.

This is what the drekking Dome world expects of you, Indigo Politician Godwin.

Wes leaned to Godwin and whispered in his ear as he added the diamond-studded wedding band to her finger. Godwin pointed at the rings on Sheila’s finger. Sorry, Sheila. You can’t keep these.

I wouldn’t want to, Sheila said, disgusted as she stared down at the pair of rings.

As the others looked at her, surprised, Sheila added hastily, They have no emerald accents?

Suspicious, Remy retreated to the kitchen as Andrew and Vincent fussed over the table setting and Wes, Simone, Godwin, and Sheila sat together in the sunken living room.

* * *

The bell to Godwin’s Havens residence entry chimed. Sheila glanced at Remy anxiously then stood. Remy thought the entry door open as she removed the hot appetizers from the oven. Patrissa entered talking. Slump-shouldered, Damian followed his wife into the home. She gushed about the beauty of the apartment as she crossed the room to Godwin, pausing near the kitchen long enough to unceremoniously dump a liter bottle of scotch with a silver bow onto the counter top. Remy swept it from the counter and inspected it. It was neither Godwin’s brand nor a good label, so she stowed it in the undersink cabinet with the cleaning supplies.

Welcome. Sheila stepped between Damian’s Yellow wife and Godwin. Patrissa stopped, smiled insincerely, and air-kissed Sheila on each cheek. Sheila glanced between Remy and Patrissa, smiling nervously. Patrissa, her hair swept back in a blonde bun at the nape of her neck, glanced toward Remy, whose dark hair was pulled back in the same style. Remy turned her back to Sheila and Patrissa, worried that her make-up was not enough to hide the resemblance between herself and Patrissa. You look so chi-chi tonight, Designer Patrissa. Peerless, even.

Patrissa chuckled. Well, timeless style combined with avant-garde fashion is not everyone’s forte, Sheila. Aren’t we fortunate to both possess it.

Thank you for the dinner invitation, Indigo Politician Godwin. Damian approached Godwin with his arm out, apologetically simpering. Godwin stood, shook Damian’s hand, and leaned forward to speak quietly in his ear. Damian listened, nodding, then stood back delighted. He laughed and followed Godwin to the office, both men discussing upcoming political conferences after the current session ended.

As Remy, Sheila, and Patrissa stared at the two men, the office door closed. Patrissa turned to Sheila, cheery. Well? Tell me. How did you do it?

Do what?

Sheila, Sheila, Sheila. Patrissa looped her arm around Sheila’s and glided into the sunken living room with her. I have had girlfriends practically strip in public to get the politician’s attention. She giggled. I know one or two did in private. So, how did you get the most desirable yet reclusive bachelor in the Dome world in front of a Vio—and on an IDT, of all places?

Tossing the hot pan in the water-filled sink with a metal clatter and hiss, Remy slid a serving tray of hot hors d’oeuvres onto the counter next to the tray of cold appetizers. Her back to them, she washed the dishes. Vincent cleared his throat, and Remy looked back over her shoulder at him then turned away to scrape the pan in the sink loudly. Sheila laughed nervously. Oh, you know Godwin. Once he decides he wants something, he gets it.

Does he, really? Patrissa asked lightly. Godwin and Damian emerged from the office, smiling. Vincent grinned tensely and Godwin frowned, confused.

Well, Vincent said loudly as he clapped his hands together once. He crossed to the counter and picked up one of the trays; Andrew picked up the other.

Is there a problem? Damian asked.

The Nutrition Artist is being obstinate and refuses to serve. Patrissa snatched a tart from the hot hors d’oeuvres tray. Honestly, they should know their place when it comes to Indigos.

My father, Maurice, told me to hire only NuParisian chefs—though he did make an exception once. He believed only Nutrition Artists natively from NuParee treated cooking as a fine art. Though some Indigos find their aloof behavior offensive, that NuParisian arrogance means I am getting the best. I never accept less than the best.

Patrissa ate the appetizer, appraised Remy with disdain, and smiled at Sheila. How Domey.

Godwin took a canapé. He ate it, nodding appreciatively to Remy. Excellent as always.

Sheila tucked herself under Godwin’s arm and leaned on him, looping her arm around his waist. Damian took an hors d’oeuvre, passing Patrissa to sit in the sunken living room near Wes and Simone. Godwin and Sheila entered and sat side-by-side; Patrissa sat on the other side of Godwin, across from Damian. Patrissa leaned across Godwin, her hand on his thigh, as she asked: So, Sheila, who’s approached you to design your trousseau and wedding dress?

Sheila looked around, confused. I need a trousseau? What’s a trousseau? Godwin startled; Remy tensed; Andrew and Vincent eyed one another, surprised.

Patrissa held Sheila’s hand, petting it. The clothing for your honeymoon, the dress for the reception, and the accessories for each. You’re a socialite, darling. Of course you need them.

Wes leaned to Simone and whispered in her ear. She whispered in his ear; he frowned. That’s more than my whole wedding cost.

You are not Indigo Politician Godwin. He never accepts less than the best, remember? Patrissa smirked at Wes; her hand rested on Godwin’s knee. Wes smiled obligingly and chuckled with sarcastic amusement. Grim, Wes turned to Simone and whispered in her ear. Her bright red lips parted in a toothy grin. She cackled quietly, her eyes bright with malice. They worked quickly on Simone’s portable, whispering to each other and pointing out numbers on the screen with the portable’s stylus.

Andrew followed Vincent into the sunken living room. Shoving the tray nearly on top of Godwin’s lap, Vincent beamed as Patrissa moved her hand from Godwin’s leg. She glared bitterly at Vincent, who muttered to Wes, Temperamental.

You have no idea, grumbled Damian as he took a couple of appetizers. He bit into one and whimpered in pleasure. Twisting around in his seat to look at Remy—who had turned her back to the room to check the refrigerated dessert—Damian said, There used to be this caterer in Dome 827: Her name was Maria. I haven’t had anything like this since . . . His nostalgic smile faded and he set his hands in his lap. Sullen, he added, It’s excellent.

Vincent and Andrew set the trays down on a low table and sat next to one another. In the tense quiet, Remy kept her head down and inspected the side dishes and her entrée, boeuf en croûte. Godwin glanced up at Remy then returned his attention to Damian. A Nutrition Artist named Maria once worked for my father. She was the lone exception to his NuParisian rule, though he was convinced she was natively NuParisian and simply born in the wrong Dome.

Blond hair, violet eyes? Damian sat up, curious.

Yes. That’s her. Does she still cater or has she finally opened her own restaurant?

She, um, passed away recently, Damian said, tense.

Overdose, added Patrissa, nonchalant as she took another tart from the tray on the low table in front of her. She never dosed when she worked for my family. I expect she started dosing after her worthless daughter disappeared.

Died, Triss. Not disappeared. Damian glared at her as she ate the appetizer.

Remy squatted down in front of the ovens, fearful. When she glanced at the Haven apartment’s front door, it opened a half-centimeter before closing again. Remy closed her eyes, breathed slowly, and prayed silently. Eying the door then the guests, Remy exhaled in relief. No one had noticed the malfunction. Remy stood slowly and returned her attention to the preparing the meal.

Patrissa glared at Damian. She chewed, swallowed, and said, She’s not dead.

Who’s not dead? Andrew leaned forward.

Don’t, Damian warned Patrissa. Not here. Not tonight.

Patrissa glowered at Damian. Maria’s half-cred snag of a daughter: Remy.

Andrew sat back and smiled politely. Godwin arched an eyebrow. Sheila aspirated on her drink and began to cough violently. Vincent rushed to Sheila and patted her on the back as he looked up at Remy. You okay, honey?

The one from the Remy Bill? Godwin laughed as Damian nodded slowly and grinned nervously. You’re mistaken, Patrissa. Her chars are in Dome 827 under a statue.

Don’t remind me about that abominable thing, Patrissa grumbled as she glared at Damian.

After composing herself, Sheila gripped Godwin’s hand and grinned anxiously. So, who is this Remy person? Why do you think she’s not dead, Patrissa?

Simone frowned and looked at Wes. She never saw the Viz specials?

She’s twenty, murmured Wes, not thirty. He smiled politely at Sheila. She was a cultural icon a long time ago. They predicted she would be a Dome Violet, actually.

She was a denizen who fell in love with Dami, Patrissa said irritably. She was just obsessed with him! Luckily, she was fired from her job on Level One years ago. She ended up in the UnderDome, where she was supposed to have died but didn’t.

Remy balanced four plates on her forearms and walked them to the table. Godwin stood, frowning. Damian looked over his shoulder and smiled, relieved to change the subject. Impressive. What does your cook do for an encore?

I’ll go find out. Godwin left the conversation pit as Remy carefully slid each plate to its place. He followed Remy into the kitchen and grabbed her forearm as she picked up another plate. He whispered angrily, It isn’t time for the entrée.

Godwin, Remy said, trembling. I’m making mistakes. This is when people start dying.

It is not time for the entrée, he repeated firmly. Godwin strode to the table, picked up two plates and set them hard on the counter. He retrieved the other two as Remy slipped the apron off, hung it on a hook in the kitchen, and started toward the entry. Stop!

She turned, startled. Sir, I don’t wish to interrupt—

Godwin set the other two plates on the counter. You are the Nutrition Artist. You are not interrupting. You are working.

Remy walked quickly to the apartment’s entry. It opened to her.

Halt! Godwin’s expression was pained as he added, I order you to stay and complete your work. Do you understand me, Green?

Remy stopped, her worry turning to disgusted betrayal. Not looking at him, she bitterly replied, Yes, Indigo Politician Godwin. I understand you Solaray-clear.

You will serve the meal, and you will do it as planned, Godwin said calmly, his back to Remy as he returned to the sunken living room.

Yes, Indigo Politician Godwin. Remy carried the final entrée plate to the oven and collected the appetizer trays. After moving the soup to a tureen, Remy set bowls around the table and straightened the flatware. Returning to the kitchen, Remy began scrubbing the pots and pans, swiping tears from her eyes with her sleeve.

Dinner is served, Godwin said, smiling broadly. He pulled Sheila’s chair out for her.

Thank you, love. Sheila offered Godwin a fawning smile as she sat. Remy flinched hearing Sheila use Remy’s own term of endearment for him toward Godwin.

As Godwin put his hand on his own chair, Patrissa pulled out the chair to his left and sat on it. She shook her napkin out and placed it neatly on her lap as Damian sat beside her. Simone sat beside Damian, and Wes sat at the end of the table; Andrew and Vincent sat together between Sheila and Wes.

Patrissa dominated the conversation immediately, praising herself for her successful career as a designer. Godwin glanced at Remy regularly; she looked away. After the soup course, Remy served the entrée. Before withdrawing to the kitchen, Remy muttered, The plates are hot.

Godwin smiled anxiously at Remy; she returned a cold stare. Addressing the table, he said, I hope you enjoy it. This whole meal is a delicacy reserved for the truly important among us.

Patrissa leaned close to Godwin, her hand on his. How generous, Politician.

Godwin leaned across Patrissa to address Damian. Only the best for the man who drafted the Remy Bill. Damian paused as he picked up his cutlery, surprised by Godwin’s compliment.

Junior Politician Damian, Sheila said meekly as she smiled, Is the Remy Bill named for the one on the Viz who became a Violet or the denizen? Which one is under the statue?

It’s the same Remy. Damian cut into his dinner. He ate a bite, closed his eyes, and sighed in pleasure. Politician Godwin, this is beyond peerless.

She is not under the statue. Patricia viciously diced her sautéed NuVegetables into tiny bites.

Damian dropped his cutlery with a clatter onto his plate. Yes, she is, Triss. I put her there, myself. He smiled nervously at Godwin. My compliments on your choice of Nutrition Artists.

Godwin chuckled and pointed at Damian with his fork. Now, don’t get any ideas about stealing her. She was trained to work real by the best chef in the Dome world. I won’t part with her.

Patrissa cut open her pastry-wrapped filet, took a bite, and smiled. Dean used to get us real food for special occasions. When I was in Academy, he only hired Maria to cater his parties. Daddy always hoped you would finally decide to work with him instead of work so hard against him. He would have been so happy to see this day. She bowed her head. I miss him so much.

Your father was a matchless adversary. His passing was tragic for the political community.

Dami and I almost didn’t get married that weekend, Patrissa said, turning her gold wedding band and matched engagement ring