Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) Milo Fowler (different e readers TXT) 📖

"Understood." The clone widens its stance in a standard hold-the-perimeter position and scans the surrounding area, its head slowly panning from left to right.

That should keep it busy. I jog after Erik, who's decided to pick up the pace. "Even with martial law in effect, Arienna will be working?"

"One thing citizens and terrorists have in common, Enforcer Chen: we all breathe oxygen. As much as the patriots want to buck the system, they won't attack anything we all need to survive. It would be counterproductive to their cause. They want to gain sympathizers, not lose them."

"So that's what you are." If he isn't a patriot himself. "A sympathizer."

"Never said that." He glances back at me. "But I understand where they're coming from."

Because that's where he came from. Farming Dome 9's fields before his big break as a VR actor or model or whatever he is. I blame my lack of attention to detail on faulty biologic; enforcers are used to sharing the mental workload with our neural implants.

So Erik would have worked alongside potential terrorists in the making. Citizens who felt enslaved by the system, shedding their blood, sweat, and tears so the residents of Dome 1 could enjoy the good life.

For some reason, the Eurasian credo that all of us must do our part in order to ensure a bright future for our people fell on a few deaf ears. Most citizens are perfectly content living day to day and contributing to society, no matter what the job assignment. But others have questioned the status quo. Up to now, that's all it has been: complaints, non-violent protests, insubstantial riots. But today, with the attack on Hawthorne Tower and the disappearance of the Chancellor, words have suddenly evolved into dangerous actions.

Why today? And why didn't we see this coming? Because most citizens were busy living mundane lives, clocking in and out, going home to enjoy virtual adventures on the Link. No one paid attention to the unrest boiling up at the periphery of our highly advanced society. We didn't give it any credence. We assumed these malcontents would never be able to touch us.

What about the analysts plugged into the Linkstream for eight-hour shifts, monitoring the words and actions of every citizen in the 10 Domes? Wouldn't they have noticed something in the works?

Shade from the trees covers us now, and our boots have traded concrete sidewalk for a spongy synthetic dirt and mulch composite that gives each of our steps an extra little bounce. I follow Erik since he seems to know where he's going, but I hold my rifle ready and keep my eyes on the surroundings. This would be a perfect location for an ambush. I half-expect patriots to lunge out from behind thick tree trunks or rappel on ropes to surround us with weapons drawn.

But the farther we encroach into the forest, the more unlikely that scenario seems. We are the only people here in this quasi-natural silence. It feels like no one else has ever trod upon this ground, at least not for a very long time. I'm glad the turf silences our footsteps. It seems disrespectful for anything to make a sound here.

I gaze at the trees soaring above and wonder what it was like before the Domes, when not only trees but birds and animals thrived on the surface of the earth. When the sun shone down without an artificial barrier in place to protect us. Tough to imagine. These biospheres are all I've ever known.

With my augments operational, I wouldn't be thinking such thoughts. I'd accept life the way it is and go about my daily routine. Never looking back…

The patriots must have deactivated their neural implants. How else would they be able to rebel against life as we know it? Erik is searching for each of the Twenty and disabling our neural implants so we can learn the truth about who we are. There must have been a lone patriot who did the same, stirring up discontent among the laborers in the outlying domes and telling them their lives could be better.

It makes no sense. The original patriots in North America brought about D-Day by releasing dangerous bioweapons into the atmosphere; their actions led to the end of the world. Why would anyone in Eurasia want to be associated with those degenerates? Calling themselves patriots is a slap in the face for our Governors and Chancellor who have done everything in their power to build a future for our people after a nuclear holocaust. Terrorists started the war forty-two years ago, but our leaders finished it in a big way.

And, in so doing, they made the world uninhabitable. Discharging nuclear weapons by the untold megatons will do that. So who were the true villains? The agitators, or the government that overreacted?

I can't believe I'm having such treasonous thoughts. I've never questioned our leaders before, never had any reason to. This oxygen-rich air is making me feel lightheaded. I'm not thinking straight at all.

I almost run into Erik. He's stopped, his head tilted back as he stares upward.

"That's the apex," he says quietly.

"How the hell do we get up there?" I gaze through the leafy canopy at the glinting dome high above.

"I'll carry you." He crouches down like he expects me to ride him piggyback. "Here, climb on."

"Not happening."

"Why not? You scared?"

"I'm armed."

He stands up. "Fine. Then we bring her down to us." He cups his hands around his mouth and starts shouting her name at the treetops. "Arienna! Arienna!"

So obnoxious. I can't help cringing. But it does the trick.

A shadow the size of a large leaf swings out from the dome's interior on a bike-shaped hovercraft, built to carry a single rider. It descends slowly, passing through the leaves and branches and enlarging as it approaches. Pausing to hover a few meters above our heads, the rider looks each of us over with a curious frown.

"You're not from around here," she observes.

Her features and coloring are similar to