at the applause, cheers, boos, and cat-calls. “Ma’am,” one of the two patrolman on duty said, touching his cap.
The park police had cordoned off a stretch of ground to the right of the Dome’s main doors so the permanent protestors didn’t block the pedestrian avenues. For our part, we’d let the CPD put two officers outside in the Dome’s portico. The current Superintendent of Police wasn’t exactly our friend, but the Dome and the Memorial were city landmarks and tourist attractions, so the mayor made sure things stayed friendly on our front porch.
“Morning, Gabe.” I gave the officer a smile. “Are the concerned citizens restless?”
“No ma’am. Well, we’ve been issuing warnings, but it’s mostly because of tourists here for the museum and memorial. Couple hours ago a pair of Wisconsin cheeseheads nearly threw down with some of the mouthier ones. Didn’t like the language they were using, if we hadn’t stepped in, they’d have had the whole pack on them.”
“Thank you, you know we appreciate it.”
He smiled back. “Can’t complain. I was there for the Paulina Street incident—we like you fine where you are.”
“No.” I groaned, rolling my eyes.
“Ma’am?” He winked. “We like the uniform change, too. Lookin’ fine.”
“Rat! I blush, Gabe!” Laughing despite the heat in my cheeks, I waved to his partner beside the far column and went inside, feeling better.
Chapter Twenty
We upgraded the Dome’s security after the Ring attacked Whittier Base. The ground floor used to be almost entirely open to the public, with only an armored guard (Platoon) inside the main entrance to spot incoming threats and an observer at the reception desk, usually Tom (also Platoon), to ride herd over the traffic in the Atrium. Now we had an extra station just inside the doors, where a second pair of guards (still Platoon) handed out visitor badges to everyone entering. The monitored badge station gave each visitor an unobtrusive biometric scan, matching them against our known-threat database, and the radio-tagged badges tracked visitors’ movements throughout the Dome. Heat-sensitive, the badges couldn’t be removed without tripping an alarm, and they triggered an alert if the wearer went where he wasn’t supposed to or stayed in one spot too long. Green badges meant public access. Gold badges meant secure access; wearers could take the elevator down to the secure lobby, where Bob cleared them or shut down the exits until they’d been “contained.” Paranoid, much?
Astra, Notes From a Life.
* * *
Dane arrived between tours, got a green badge, and headed for the almost empty museum. They gave me the heads-up when he arrived, and I found him in the new First Sentinels Exhibit, staring at the life-sized wax figures that stood watch from behind glass at the center of the room. Shelly closed the doors and locked us in.
He turned when he heard the latch.
“Mr. Dorweiler,” I said, pitching my voice lower. “Thank you for coming.” I held out my hand.
His eyes widened. “Excuse me? I’m here to meet… Crap on a cracker!”
Laughter burbled out of me. Using both hands, I peeled off the mask with its attached wig and ran my fingers through my bob.
“Dane? Dane? Hope to Dane? Yoo-hoo…” I got control of the laugh, but couldn’t stop grinning.
“Damnit Hope, you can’t—. No way—. Well, hell!”
“Uh huh. C’mon.”
Taking his hand, I pulled him over to the padded bench in front of the Blackout wall. I adjusted my cape as he cautiously sat beside me, scowling ferociously.
“Damnit, Hope, I didn’t buy it for a moment—Annabeth would have been going nuts—but I was worried!”
I flushed, remembering my cover story for disappearing for training last September. I’d hated the returning-cancer-scare excuse for my “leaving” just before the start of our freshman year.
“And when you came back and got that apartment here in the Loop instead of moving on-campus, I wondered… But you’re all still as thick as thieves at school. This explains a lot. Didn’t you trust me?”
My breath hitched and my flush burned hotter. “I don’t know; it felt like, the fewer people knew the less real it was?” I played with my cape, unable to meet his eyes.
“It was our first real fight, you know,” he said bitterly. “Me and Annabeth.”
My stomach sank. Annabeth was a cheerful ditz, Dane such a big good-natured goof, that I’d always wondered how they ever decided anything or if they just agreed to whatever the other one wanted. Damn it, Annabeth shared everything. I owed her an apology for not letting her share this, but now what could I say?