Legacy (The Biodome Chronicles) (15 page)

The card in his pocket jostled with each step as Leaf walked with Laurel toward the Great Hall, his concern for Willow mounting with each stride. He had never seen another suffer physically from an illness such as his sister. The residents in New Eden were rather resilient, made even more so by being alienated from the rest of the world.

The picture on the card suggested that his father did not die of natural causes. Was Willow being poisoned? Where did Coal get the cup of tea for his sister? Leaf shook his head and attempted to brush away the paranoia rooting itself in his mind.

Willow was not being poisoned. She had always been an emotional creature, and her body was simply manifesting all it had created inside that wild heart of hers. Nonetheless, to be safe, he would request that the naturopath administer charcoal and goat’s milk. He felt torn, wishing to remain by her side in case she needed anything, and knowing he had to attend the meal tonight to represent their family.

Leaf looked down at Laurel and placed a hand upon her shoulder while giving a forced smile for her benefit. She provided him the same trusting look she always had, tawny eyes sparkling with affection. He felt honored that Laurel placed such stock in him, although at age eight, she was not capable of measuring wisdom or leadership capabilities.

A small dark head popped out around the prominent stone archway which marked the entry to the Great Hall, and Laurel ran from his side toward her friend with giggles. Laurel and Corona were such happy girls, often lost in their whimsical imaginations and adventures.

Ember neared the stone archway with an amused look on her face as she watched the girls embrace each other. With a posture of elegance, she glanced out the door toward the temperate forest. Her face tilted in angles as she searched The Orchard and path, a look of relief passing her features as her eyes met his. She bowed her head and dipped gracefully, and Leaf felt his pulse quicken. The Daughter of Fire was radiant as the evening sun touched her amber honeyed curls.

He understood Coal’s longing for one he had wanted all his life. He felt the same. Although, he would never dishonor Ember with his feelings. A lesson Coal should heed, and he would ensure Coal understood the guidelines in his home, and with his sister. The young man behaved recklessly. A gentleman should regard a lady’s reputation above all else, most especially if she was emotionally unstable. Coal, similar to Leaf’s father, enjoyed being swallowed whole whenever Willow’s gale force winds would whip up a storm, and Leaf feared Coal would not take her need for boundary lines seriously.

Coal’s sister continued to honor him as he approached and Leaf took in a wary breath. Skylar, Son of Wind, had shown interest in Ember since her sixteenth birthday earlier in the year. And, for all appearances, she seemed to approve of his advances. Therefore, Leaf refrained from courting her affection, as Skylar was more to him than a friend. He was a sworn brother. Still, Leaf could not help the longing. Not one to form resentments, he maneuvered his mind to wish them well, wanting only all the joy and blessings a union could bring for Ember’s sake. Even if she could not be his, Leaf wanted her to be happy and fulfilled.

In truth, it no longer mattered how he felt toward Ember, for everything had changed. Would he be stripped of his nobility now that his father was dead? How could he remain Son of Earth if he no longer had the Earth Element as a father? There was also the family secret to consider. If true, would he wish to bring that into any attachment he formed with another?

He gave a nervous glance her direction as he reached the entry, offering a kind smile as he continued into the Great Hall. A soft touch on his arm made him pause. Leaf knew he should be polite, acting as a gentleman should with a lady requesting his attention, but he wished for solitude. He willed his breathing to calm before peering her direction. Ember searched his eyes for a few heartbeats, and then her face softened into a look of compassion, placing her fingers upon his arm once more.

“How are you faring, My Lord?”

“As well as I can, My Lady. You are most kind for asking.”

“Is Willow still unwell?” Ember looked past him toward the temperate forest before her brown eyes rested on him, the look on her face amplifying the pulse he struggled to contain.

“Yes, I am afraid so. I am in search of the naturopath for charcoal and goat’s milk.”

“Allow me, My Lord. Please feel at ease, and join the others for the evening meal. Your father deserves your honor this night.” Ember lowered her eyes respectfully.

In a hoarse whisper he answered, “You are generous, My Lady,” feeling some of the weight lift from his shoulders.

“I cannot imagine the burdens you carry, Leaf.”

Both locked eyes at the use of his whispered name, and she gifted him with a small smile. It was one that was commonly described as mysterious by others in the community, as she often spoke in riddles or with a hint of information that suggested she understood the future or the heart of a situation. He found this side of Ember alluring, her confidence and insight a balm to his insecurities.

Uncomfortable and unsure if he could remain respectful of where her interests lay, he bowed graciously before leaving her presence. Skylar watched from the head table, his stare intense but benign. Leaf understood Skylar’s message; it was one of friendship, but also to acknowledge that his friend observed their interaction. Leaf ignored the warning, pulling out his chair on the other end of the table near Connor and his wife, Brianna. Jeff, the town barrister, sat opposite, his eyes bloodshot with a strange twitch as he made his greeting.

“Are you ill, My Lord?”

“No more than you, dear boy,” Jeff responded with a tight smile. “I fear we all suffer the same malady.”

“Indeed,” Leaf said, casually taking in the older man.

Jeff clearly suffered from more than grief alone. Was he poisoned as well? Alarms sharpened Leaf’s senses, and he looked over the table at each of The Elements and their families as they leaned in conversation, curious as to who would turn on their friend and why. A stone in his stomach increased in weight with each paranoid thought that flitted across his mind.

Timothy laughed at something Alex, Norah’s husband, had said, and Leaf gave a guarded glance in the Wind Element’s direction. Connor cleared his throat, and turned toward the laughter as well, appearing uncomfortable and melancholy. Norah gazed out the latticed windows toward The Orchard, nibbling on a small piece of flatbread. In some ways they acted very much themselves, and in other ways, their grief showed. But not their guilt. Leaf watched Timothy speak with Alex in his usual charismatic way, grateful he was seated at the quieter end of the table and away from the Kanes.

Skylar met his eyes, quirking an eyebrow in question from across the table. Leaf offered his friend a sad smile, and Skylar replied with one in return, dipping his head in respect. With sluggish movements, Leaf shifted his gaze and scanned the gathering, watching happy families share stories of their day with one another while their laughter carried throughout the room. He tried to sit straight and present a bearing that would make his father proud, but he wanted to disappear.

His sister was suffering, and he could do little to ease her pain. Every moment that passed increased his belief that someone within his community had truly broken The Code and betrayed their family. Secrets upon secrets were weaving into a strange and mysterious fabric that would ultimately clothe his future. And despite all these issues, he needed to remain calm, for his sisters, for himself, and also to ensure that he did not alert the aggressor that he knew of The Legacy. Until he found the Scroll, whatever that may be, he was unable to inform Hanley Nichols that a transfer of power had occurred.

Coal had closely watched Leaf’s exchange with Skylar, and then looked for Ember. Leaf was humored that Coal felt a sense of protection toward Ember but did not regard his own actions with another’s sister, a sign of his youthfulness, or worse, a character flaw. His father was known for his impulsive responses and behavior at times. Perhaps Coal could not help his disposition. But Leaf would help him understand boundary lines. Coal would love to find himself in a position where he had to marry Willow in order to redeem her good name, and Leaf would do all in his power to safeguard such a situation. Willow deserved a union she desired, not one forced upon her by a lovesick young man.

A serving woman removed his plate once confirming that he was finished, not a single bite enjoyed. He felt a twinge of guilt that he had wasted perfectly good food, even though he knew the goats, chickens, and pigs would feast in his stead. In light of the card in his pocket, he could not deny his anxiety as much as he countered internally that Willow and Jeff were not the victims of poisoning.

He had sat before his meal in silence, head down, not wishing to converse with anyone—especially when he suspected that one at this table had murdered his father. What would he do if he proved his fears true? Perhaps Master Fillion could provide the promised salvation at that point, despite Leaf’s fear that the young man was more pomp and ego than substance. Yet his looks and overly confident nature did suggest he held real power and sway.

He glanced around the table, unsure of what he should do next, and watched as Jeff placed his fork down upon a plate, another meal left untouched. The card in his pocket poked against his skin, and Leaf decided to implore Jeff to explain its origins and meaning.

“Brianna,” Leaf began quietly. He timidly met the silvery blue gaze of Coal’s and Ember’s step-mother. She watched him with concern, her eyebrows arching up with the mention of her name. “May I trespass upon your kindness to keep Laurel for a short duration? I desire a walk before returning home.”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “Hopefully Ember will return soon with word on how your sister is faring.”

“Yes, thank you, I appreciate your concern,” he finished. In a bold move, he kicked Jeff under the table, and then spoke formally in a tone he hoped delivered his message to the barrister without alerting the table of his intentions, “I am off to walk to The Waters.” He glanced Jeff’s direction, and the lawyer gave a bow as all others did upon his departure, providing an extra nod.

Leaf let out a sigh as he walked out of the Great Hall and toward the fruit trees on the fringe of The Rows, feeling like he could breathe again. He was unsure if revealing the card to Jeff was a wise action, not wishing to expose himself or his family to further harm, but he did not know where else to turn. The arbor was a welcome relief, and Leaf climbed upon a rock and faced the mineral hot spring upon entering The Waters.

The shadows on the wall from the hedge shifted as the sun set and Leaf marked the time as he waited. Leaves crunched as footsteps drew near, and Jeff walked in, anxiety permeating every step as he approached. Dismay swirled in his gut when the lawyer refused to meet his eyes, a usual sign of guilt. Nevertheless, he was determined to the show the card.

The stiff paper was easy to grip as he pulled it out of his pocket and held it up for Jeff to see. The lawyer’s eyes startled and his skin paled, and an icy hand of fear gripped Leaf’s heart. With a single finger, he beckoned Leaf to follow as he silently turned and walked toward the chancery without a look back.

***

   
 
Fillion Nichols, the Internet-famous eco-prince and 17-year-old son of Hanley Nichols—the CEO and owner of New Eden Enterprises, and famed ecopreneur and visionary—was found guilty earlier this morning of a Class C misdemeanor for selling falsified identifications to minors in the state of Washington. He was sentenced to 90 days in a juvenile Community Service Rehabilitation Program and one year of probation. Although many teens use fake IDs, even the daughters of a previous millennial U.S. president, most are not in possession of nearly twenty IDs upon arrest. The typical sentence for a Class C misdemeanor is a slap on the wrist and probation, but the legal system wants to ensure that Nichols does not become familiar with the judge’s gavel like his father, according to sources close to the family.

     Community Service Rehabilitation Programs have replaced juvenile detention sentences for low-level convictions, acting as a detention facility with work programs and a central focus of giving back to society. Under the Youth Restart Pact of 2043, which aims to help ease overcrowding in youth detention facilities, time for crimes committed in the state of Washington can be served in Idaho, Oregon, or California.

     Fillion Nichols graduated high school two years ago at the age of 15 and was valedictorian of the computer engineering and physics department. He reportedly will become majority owner of New Eden Biospherics & Lab on his twentieth birthday. This is his first offense and he is scheduled to check into a Community Service Rehabilitation Program within the week.

—
Paul Sands, “Another Nichols Faces Crimes in Court,”
GreenTech Blog
, September 29, 2054

***

T
he world from his bedroom window held all his attention, and Fillion’s introspection became hypnotic as the water lapped against the pebbles along the banks of his family property. The Nichols residence was nestled along the shores of Lake Washington, across the bridge from Seattle.

He wondered again how Fate could be so vicious. He no longer questioned if there were forces of good and evil at work. He knew firsthand. In his life, he would make important strides toward goals society applauded, only to be patronized and belittled due to his age once the goals were achieved. Fillion’s own intelligence earned titles such as “prodigy” and “gifted.” But his dad, as well as the rest of the world, failed to recognize the motive behind the internal drive to finish high school. Hanley enjoyed the praise of having a son such as him. He always absorbed the glory and agreed with the general masses that the future looked promising. It didn’t matter in the end. Nobody in the white-collar science and technology community wanted to work alongside a “child.” And nobody wanted to hire Hanley Nichols’ son and business heir.

Humankind—a race so completely deceived by its own self-importance.

Three years ago, his dad shared a family secret after realizing his son possessed an aptitude for physics, computers, and engineering, and was on track to graduate high school two years early. It was the same exact path his dad had experienced. The Legacy was drafted before Fillion was born, and he was loathe that one day New Eden Biospherics & Research and New Eden Township would be his. He was to become fifty-percent owner while his dad retained twenty-five percent ownership. The Aether received the remaining twenty-five percent ownership. It was a position and Legacy that would remain even after project completion, passed down through The Aether’s family line. Fillion swore he would never become like his dad, and working in the dungeon felt like a betrayal to his self-made promise. Owning his dad’s kingdom—one that continued to destroy his family—would be the same as suicide.

His heart swore profusely at Fate, then at himself for giving in to his darkest feelings. What other lives could his dad single-handedly destroy? Apparently, his dad wasn’t meant to be a life-giver, despite his claims to be just that. His Midas touch didn’t turn things to gold, but to a golden death, ablaze for the world to witness and to judge.

The Watson children supposedly died nearly six years ago from salmonella contamination, just two years after their mother died of puerperal fever—both easily curable bacterial infections in his world. Journalists and activists knocked on his family door once again, demanding answers. They pointed to the mass-media gallows of social justice they had built, proclaiming their sentence over his dad. Hanley was framed as a villain, hung by an online viral rope campaigned and strung by the women’s and children’s rights activists. Mobs led by an organization that promoted women’s causes and children’s health nearly forced their way into the private township. Arguments and emotionally charged debates flamed across the Net with their propaganda, fueling the agenda to sabotage the experiment. If they had succeeded, the project would have failed.

Fillion was twelve at the time, and he remembered with clarity the moment his life changed. While walking home from school one day, he was attacked by three older boys who were determined to see if he would become a child-killing psychopath like his dad. They beat him up while hurling insult after insult. When they were bored with the results, they left, leaving him bruised and bloodied, his ribs and arm broken. Hanley extended zero compassion, instead his dad asked what Fillion did to make the other boys so upset. That moment was the last time he cried, the tears drying up as he began dying inside. He felt the shame and anger powerfully, even to this day.

His thoughts returned to his Cranium, and he continued reading about John—his dad’s childhood friend and attorney—once again winning another case on his dad’s behalf. This time, he proved that man’s rights were protected by their personal and religious beliefs under the U.S. Constitution. The government couldn’t require anyone to receive medical attention, not even children. That was a parent’s choice to make. The parents of New Eden had made the choice to receive naturopathic intervention with the knowledge that they could leave and seek additional medical attention should they so choose. New Eden Enterprises had even gone so far as to install a communications room to alert the company of any immediate needs they may have. Not a single soul had chosen to leave the walls of New Eden, not once, for any reason. This raised additional questions and allegations from the media and public.

He looked out his window, pulled by the water currents. Fillion already felt restless from being under house arrest. Nerves continued to torment him as he waited to hear where he would be sent to provide community service for ninety days. Mack had to leave for work, something Fillion was grateful for, not wanting company or to talk. He turned off his Cranium and walked out of his room, across the hallway, stepping down the ornate stone staircase.

The stone wall flanking the stairs had become green with climbing ivy rooted in square marble pots, positioned artistically on every other step. He laughed inwardly at the irony of bringing the outdoors inside. At the pace humankind was establishing, his dad would say, it may be the only way to preserve any form of the planet’s habitat. Living in a biodome may become a necessity.

Fillion scoffed at such a notion. It was a Green Moron justification to live how they please while manipulating the rest of society into believing it was evil simply by existing and being co-dependent upon earth’s resources. Somehow, scarring the earth with Greentech and eco-architecture—erecting habitats that exude a natural earthiness, but are man-made nonetheless—was better than the traditional buildings created by those lower on the environmental caste system. Each man-made item, regardless of engineering, disrupted nature, displaced animals, and added to the carbon emissions crisis. Who cared if the Greenies did
slightly
less harm than the rest? Both groups were guilty. Fillion simply couldn’t see the logic in such environmental-social wars.

“Whatever,” he muttered under his breath, and then shook his head when realizing that he was talking out loud again.

“Where are you going?” a female voice asked quietly.

Fillion turned and saw his sister in the sitting room near the stairs. “Are you my keeper?”

“Pinkie isn’t doing well,” Lynden said.

Fillion stepped into the room as his sister cringed. Pinkie kicked the divan, declaring something was crawling up the cushions.

“How much did she drink?” he asked with a resigned sigh. One look at Pinkie and he knew it was more than just alcohol. “Did she try and shoot her brains out?” Lynden shrugged, increasing Fillion’s irritation. “Brain or crystal meth?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Brain?” Lynden kept her eyes on the floor.

“Did you try any?”

“No!”

“Good. Finally something smart.” Fillion was relieved his sister wasn’t completely stupid. Her ignorance on either drug boosted his spirits a little.

“Hey, sexy.” Pinkie stood up, and sauntered over to Fillion clumsily.

The tweaking made her movements jerky and uncoordinated and he took a deep breath, willing patience. He looked at the mantle clock, 5:39 p.m., and wondered how long ago she shot up. God, he hoped it was Brain so this phase wouldn’t last as long.

She moved her shaky hands up over his chest to his neck. “I still think you’re hot.”

Fillion took a step back, refusing to make eye contact, and made his hair fall over his eyes. Something inside of her snapped at his lack of interest in her come-on and Pinkie jumped back. She looked over her shoulder in a paranoid move, muttering something about whether anyone heard that noise, and then tried to punch him as if in self-defense.

She screamed, “Don’t threaten me! I hate you!”

He caught her arm, which she yanked away violently and then darted her eyes around the room nervously. Pinkie began babbling about meaningless, random things, sharing thoughts as they came to her mind. He hated the constant talk of tweakers. Fillion closed his eyes and tried to keep his breathing calm and even. His impatience with his sister’s choice of friends brewed once again.

He turned around and whispered harshly to his sister, “Seriously, Lyn. Is there another pool of genius to pull from than hers?”

Fillion placed his arm gently around Pinkie and guided her toward the divan. It was probably pointless if she was still restless while coming off of the drug, but he wanted to try anyway. Lynden gave him a hurt expression, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I’m not so lucky as you. I don’t have what it takes to be accepted into the winner’s circle. I know I’m a loser, so get over it.” Lynden brushed a tear away, and then hardened her expression, glaring at him when Pinkie started laughing.

He gave his sister a sad smile, forgetting she was affected by their dad’s actions just as much as him.

“You need to call her parents.”

“I don’t know their number.”

“What’s her real name?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve always just called her Pinkie.”

“Your intelligence is so inspiring.” Fillion rolled his eyes at her. “God, Lyn!”

He felt a new rush of fury for his parent’s lack of involvement. Where was their mom, the famous relationship psychologist? Their dad who spouted tomes of peace and harmony?

“I’m right here,” Pinkie said with snappish annoyance. “I don’t live with my parents.”

“Yeah? Let me guess. You live at a convent.”

“You can tell?” Pinkie gave him a coy glance, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

“What’s your real name?”

“I suppose you want to know how old I am, too?”

He gave her a disinterested shrug, looking away. Anything that appeared too eager might encourage more come-ons.

She leaned into him, and placed her shaking hands under his shirt, whispering in a low, sultry voice, “You don’t fool me. I know lots of guys like you.”

“Doubt it.”

In response, she pressed her body against his in such a way that it exposed most of her breasts, leaving little to the imagination. Fillion went still and harshened his look as he met her eyes. Her hands continued to inch up his torso slowly, trying to tease him with her touches as her fingers shook. He didn’t like to be touched by leeches, and he didn’t like to be touched by tweakers.

“I’ll tell you my name and age if you kiss me.”

“I don’t play those kinds of games.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at girls. You like games. You like power. I can empower you in ways you never knew possible.”

He shifted on his feet in a move of cool detachment, irritated with her innuendos. Was she profiling him? Perhaps hoping to start a scandal by luring him sexually? This fear is why he hadn’t hooked up in over a year. People always wanted something from him, and his family’s wealth and power would be her ticket to a better life. She was definitely using Lynden to get to him, and if he didn’t work out, she would use Lynden to gain status in the underground. He knew her type. She was a common predator, stalking the elite to secure a better meal.

With disgust, he grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands out from under his shirt, glaring at her as he did so. He knew that strong emotions from him would most likely stir up the paranoia. As expected, her eyes widened as she peered over his shoulder, and he resisted the urge to look, releasing her hands. She began itching her face and then looked over her arms, picking at her skin while babbling away about boys she knew.

He turned faintly to give his sister a side-glance, and then said in a low command, “
Moshi mitsukarenakattara, kanojo no Cranium wo motte kitara, ore ga hakku suru.
” Lynden nodded, and began looking for her friend’s bag. Fillion turned around, and gave Pinkie a polite smile, resuming his walk to the divan.

They halted their steps before the large couch. Pinkie turned around in a quick move, placing a fidgeting arm around his neck while giving him a suggestive look as she grabbed his belt loops with the other hand and attempted to pull him down. He knew it was her last-ditch effort to win this war they had, and he rolled his eyes at her impertinence, holding his ground. A look passed over her eyes stark with fear as her skin turned green, and he swiftly turned her to the side as she puked.