Legacy (The Biodome Chronicles) (6 page)

“Who are
you
?” the man in the portal asked.

Oaklee closed her eyes and cringed, clutching Leaf’s cloak as she buried her face to hide. Leaf plucked the candle from her grasp as he maneuvered in front of her, and she was grateful, feeling lightheaded as the fear swirled around in a dizzying speed. She closed her eyes to listen to the sounds of nature, her usual way to find peace, but she could not hear the jungle. Only the Outsider’s voice echoed in her mind. This man’s speech was strange to her ears. His tone was soft yet unmistakably cold—and he pronounced his words in a very odd way.

Her brother began in an uncharacteristically loud voice and she jumped. “Forgive me for not being forthcoming, but I do not believe we should share this information with a stranger.”

She peered over Leaf’s shoulder and held her breath. The Outsider personified the complete opposite of everything earthy and natural. The outright defiance to nature moved a small part of her heart, an area that festered against her father’s death, her mother’s death, and the cycle of life.

“Well played,” said the man in the portal, giving Leaf a smug look. “However, you are in the communication room, and I’m your salvation. So, how can I save you today?”

“We do not need your… salvation.”

“We?” He leaned in and looked around, and Oaklee ducked. “Oh, god. You’re mental. Shit. Is everyone in the dome your brand of crazy? Or just you?”

Oaklee sucked in a breath and felt all her emotions spill over. “How dare you mock your office and our possible needs, sir.” She stepped out from behind Leaf, a hand clenched at her side while grabbing the candle back. “Where are your manners and compassion?”

The man startled and sat back against a throne, somehow spinning without standing, and then casually placed a fist in front of his mouth. A black glove covered the hand up to where his fingers began. Oaklee found his partial glove curious as it stretched up his forearm, and only on one hand, she noticed. Fingerless gloves were common during the colder months in New Eden, but who wore a single glove? And one so tall upon the arm? His eyes narrowed slightly as he returned the appraisal, and she knew he was hiding a smile. The fear returned and she lowered her head while maintaining a view of the man in her peripheral vision, thankful for the hood darkening her features.

“Forgive me, fair Maiden. You’re absolutely correct. As a gentleman, I stand corrected.”

The man gave a slight bow, and looked up into her shadowed eyes with a self-assured smile on his pierced lips. His voice was again gentle and fluid like the wind, yet bearing a rocky edge of contempt. Oaklee drew her brows together, perplexed by the Outsider’s manner of speaking.

She swallowed nervously, and chanced a look at Leaf. She was unsure of the proper protocol. Did she reply to the apology? How does one shake hands and seal forgiveness through such technology? Did she want to touch his hand? No, she decided resolutely. Anxiety overshadowed her sudden burst of confidence. Her brother stared into the portal.

With head still lowered, she glanced up and further studied the peculiar man. His dark-rimmed eyes frightened her a little. It was as if he had rubbed ash around them—a strange action, most especially for a man. His hands moved back to the table, and she noticed a silver ring on his thumb and a black ring upon a finger of the other hand. But most alarming were the black fingernails that tapped the tabletop. Were they diseased? His smile changed, and he stared at her openly, a mischievous glint in the curve of his lips as he enjoyed her inspection of him.

Oaklee blinked, snapping out of the trance, and understood she was being mocked. Her indignation took flight.

“You, sir, are trash!” Oaklee turned and walked toward the ladder.

Leaf caught her by the arm and held her in place. Hurricane Willow was now blowing, a family nickname she earned from the moments when her anger charged the atmosphere in a furious whirlwind whenever she felt the need to address a deep injustice. He tightened his grip on her arm as he turned to speak to the man in the portal. “I do not know exactly how you are a means of salvation—or even if it is true—but grant us one favor if you do possess such power. Please do not share with the Outside world that we communicated. It was an accident. We did not mean to activate the portal and summon you.”

Oaklee glanced in her brother’s direction as he let go of her arm, saddened by the pronounced dark circles under his eyes. Straight posture and an even gaze, Leaf made the picture of authority in steady command of this surreal experience, despite the grief marking his features. She timidly glanced over her shoulder for the Outsider’s reaction.

The man relaxed his posture and blinked at her slowly, and she felt her heart nervously pound in her chest. “I’ll keep your secret, but only if the Maiden says she is sorry.”

“I will not.” Oaklee glared over her shoulder as she burned with humiliation. The man lifted his eyebrow at her clipped words. “I am a Noble woman and will not fall to the whim of Outsider fancies.”

“What about me will you fall to?”

Disgusted by his question and his ego, Oaklee faced the man with narrowed eyes. In a tight voice, she said, “Rest assured, there is nothing about you I would
ever
fall over.”

“Pity,” he said, taunting her with another humored smile.

He slowly pushed the hair out of his right eye, and winked at her in arrogance. Oaklee groaned in frustration and placed a hand on her hip, fiercely gripping the candleholder with the other. These games of power vexed her, and she was appalled that a man would treat a young woman so cheaply and without honor. She lifted her chin and looked away toward the wall, listening to Leaf sigh heavily as he shifted on his feet.

After several moments, she gave a sideways glance, astonished to find the man’s face lit with satisfaction. He had enjoyed her insult? Did he not realize she was serious? Oaklee decided
he
was the one who was not sane, partially mad with some Outsider illness, hence the black fingernails. Most men would feel their pride wounded.

The blood whooshing through her veins was inflamed and she forgot her fear and heartache. The rush of feeling alive vaporized with this awareness, and the winds of offense began to slowly lose momentum as her grief-stricken state crawled back into its proper place. Oaklee sobered and warily studied the man in the portal. They embodied two different cultures, but she discerned that he, too, hid behind heated emotions.

Leaf was right. The Outside world must not know that they had connected through a secret portal. And as a Noble, it was her duty to sacrifice for the greater good of the community and for her family.

The man fixed his gaze on her as he leaned back against his throne with a posture of indifference, running a hand through his hair as if bored and unimpressed. She almost believed he was serious but the corner of his mouth tilted up slightly in a near indiscernible grin. “How can you sleep at night, using a word like 'trash'? That's like a four-letter word to you hippies. God, I bet your mouth feels so dirty.”

“You, sir, may not treat—”

Leaf began to protect her honor, but she silenced him by placing a hand upon his chest, and gently shook her head. Her brother drew his brows together as he searched her eyes, and then gave a quick nod.

Oaklee turned back toward the portal and lowered her head in a bow—quickly, before she changed her mind. She could not shake his hand per their custom, but she could still exhibit the humility it represented. She took a deep breath to settle her nerves, and then said, “I am most sorry for insulting you, sir.”

To ensure he received the tone of her message, she maintained a downcast posture in a long pause, and then lowered to a curtsy as an act of honor. Although she would rather slap the smug expression on his face, she closed her eyes and willed compassion to surface, returning his stunned gaze with one of empathy as she nearly knelt on the floor. The man’s self-important smile faded and his lips parted in shock as he shifted in his chair. He dropped his head toward his chest, allowing long black hair to cover his face, and Oaklee stared at the bright blue streak curiously. Had no one ever apologized to him before? His shoulders rose and fell, the smooth lines of his tunic taut against his frame. The Outsider nonchalantly returned to an aloof posture and moved the hair out of his eyes with a quick jerk of his head, tucking strands behind an ear with timid movements. A distraught look flashed across his eyes as he focused on her brother, and she swallowed nervously.

Leaf turned her direction with a look of astonishment with the level of honor she bestowed, knitting his brows as he offered his hand to help her rise. The man in the portal continued to fix his attention onto her brother as he moved a hand to the right and pushed a button on a small black cube.

“This conversation is now private,” he said, and her fingers trembled with relief. The man met her eyes for several heartbeats and then asked softly, “Are you in trouble?”

The Outsider shifted forward on his throne, all traces of haughtiness replaced with one meaningful look. What happened to all the ridicule? Oaklee weighed his question, noticing in the corner of her eye that Leaf watched her closely.

“We are not sure,” Oaklee said in a tremulant voice, darting a look at her brother. “Do you know how to activate a Scroll?”

“You’re not sure if you’re in trouble?”

Leaf shifted on his feet and lowered his gaze, and she followed his example. They remained quiet and still, and Oaklee nibbled the inside of her lip as the tension silently increased.

With a sigh tinged with annoyance, the man fell back against his throne with a dramatic thud and lifted his eyes to the ceiling with what looked like a plea before continuing. “I’m Fillion, the nighttime master of the electronic dungeon at New Eden Enterprises.” Oaklee jerked her head up with a shocked glance toward her brother. The man in the portal leveled his gaze at her, increasing the heartbeat that echoed in her ears. “I’m pretty sure Maidens don’t take leisurely strolls at 2 a.m. and ask about technology without due cause. So, what are you planning here? A prison break?”

***

Nichols
: You see, Thomas Hobbes correctly illustrates this problem, and that is, unfortunately, the cycle of humanity when faced with the idea of power. As I wish to remove the idea of power from the city, I turn to an alternative solution. Please don’t misunderstand me, I am not saying chaos should rule, but rather an unseen force. How can someone fight air? We fight solid matter. Therefore, if you take away the illusion of solid matter, there is no argument. I plan on electing four Elements as a noble class, representing Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water, all four visible within the community. An unseen force, The Aether, will oversee the biodome city, this new Eden. The Aether is a part of the community organically, yet nobody knows who holds the position. One of the community may even be married to this person and be unaware. I am curious to see how this plays out. I wish for peace and harmony. I seriously doubt that will exist if there is always a quest for power and control.

Adams
: This unseen force will be a member of the city, but their position is a secret to the other residents?

Nichols
: Precisely.

Adams
: And what happens if the secret is revealed?

Nichols
: Well, it is not so much about whether it is revealed, but why it should remain a secret. If a colony is on Mars, where can the people go and find safety should a war break out? There must be a government in place, but not identifying the king or queen should eliminate factions and power plays, ensuring the overall safety of the colony.

—Hanley Nichols and Jennifer Adams,
Atoms to Adams Daily Show
, August 15, 2030

***

T
he hooded man gave him a wary look. “You are a Dungeon Master?” The girl darted a quick look at the man and then blinked her eyes in confusion.

“You nailed it. I’m the one who controls the story and makes all the rules,” Fillion said with a flat voice. He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Was that an attempt at role-playing game humor? It was a stupid joke. But he’d play along anyways, too bored to resist an opportunity to poke fun at the context of their existence.

“Like I said,” he began again, trying to keep a straight face, “I’m in charge of communication and salvation. What part of this game is confusing you?”

The hooded man furrowed his brows in another contemplative look and the girl narrowed her eyes at him. Again. Fillion couldn’t help himself and smiled pretentiously in reply.

“How many captives are you warding?” the man asked in an even tone. The candle flickered with his breaths.

“Right now? Just a boy and a girl.”

The look on the man’s face was priceless. The
hooded man actually believed he was a prison warden. Fillion blinked back laughter. It was hard to hide his amusement as he thought of all the people he wanted to lock away—namely one. He welcomed the pinch as he bit the inside of his cheek to stay in control.

God, they were such idiots. The man and girl honestly believed in portals and dungeon masters. They probably thought Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy were real, too. Their soft British accents further humored him. New Eden Township was planted in the middle of a desert in California and colonized by Americans.

The society inside the Mars prototype was created by live action role-players. They were hippie save-the-planet geeks who had seized the opportunity to live out their fantasies for twenty-five years by claiming it all in the name of science.

They must take their jobs seriously, too. The second generation played the part to perfection. Fillion easily gathered that they were clueless to just how different they were from the rest of civilization. He couldn’t resist the urge to play along. Exactly what dangers could the peaceful glen of New Eden hold for its citizens? Did a tree fall and destroy a hut? He flinched at the girl’s next question.

“Do you know Hanley Nichols?”

“Yeah, I know him. What of it?” Fillion said with his trademark derision. The girl tilted her head, then opened her mouth ready to reply. He jumped in to redirect the conversation, “You didn’t answer my question. Are you in trouble?”

“You, sir, did not answer mine.” The girl lifted her chin, then raised her hands to push back her hood.

The video feed fuzzed, part of simulating glitchy communications from space. He was thankful the project ditched the delayed response. God, he went crazy when apps buffered, and that was nothing compared to a nearly 20-minute delay from Mars. The screen sharpened to their images once more, and he sucked in a quick breath. Candlelight flickered across her features and illuminated a fierce expression—made all the more prominent by the lack of piercings, makeup, dyes.
 
The young woman embodied everything natural, something he had never seen before. With the exception of small children, no one was natural, not even the hippies of his world, whose lifestyles were as mechanized as any other. Here was someone who purely lived out the romanticized notions of the Green Morons he detested, and he didn’t know what to say. He casually studied her features while reminding himself of their questions. Why were they asking about a Scroll? And his dad?

“OK. To answer
your
question, I do know how to activate a Scroll. Although, it’s ancient technology. The last model came out fourteen years ago. Were you even alive then?” He smirked, trying to buy time to process why they wouldn’t directly answer if they were in trouble.

“Yes, sir,” she said with an air of offense.

He sat back against his black leather office chair. The second generation had technology? His fingertips touched together in the shape of a pyramid. “I suspect you have a first-gen Papyrus.”

“Yes, that is precisely what we have,” the girl said while keeping her eyes straight on him.

She was bluffing.

“Show me.”

“We did not bring it with us.”

“Next time, bring it with you.”

“There will not be a next time,” the young man in her company chimed in.

“Listen up, you neo-hippie peon. You forget that I’m the Dungeon Master, so you’ll do as I say. I hold the key to all communication and your salvation should you need it.” Fillion grinned while watching the questions burn in the man’s eyes, as green as the young woman’s next to him. Looking between the two, he figured they must be siblings.

The man lowered his head in a respectful manner. “As you say, Master Fillion.”

Fillion almost laughed at the outlandish title. God, this was funny. He couldn’t wait to share with his friend, Mack, that he made contact with Martians and that they called him their master.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“I am called Leaf, Son of Earth, and this is my sister Willow.” Leaf grunted in discomfort, and then corrected himself. “Forgive me, my sister Oaklee.”

A satisfied smile spread on the girl’s face. He watched intrigued as she lowered her eyes as an attempt to hide her amusement. Fillion blinked as their names registered in his mind, and all traces of humor vanished.

“What’s your last name?”

At that question, the pair immediately looked at the floor, deflated. Fillion almost felt bad for deceiving them. Almost. He had never had this much fun while working the graveyard shift, and it may be his last night. Tomorrow he faced a judge, and possibly a new future.

“Your surname?” Fillion nearly barked, becoming impatient.

Leaf gave his sister an apologetic frown, and then whispered, “Watson.”

“What the hell?” Fillion muttered.

He stood up and walked out of camera range and leaned his head against the wall. Was this a sick joke? Alarms went off in his mind as his body tensed. He knew this name, and he knew exactly who they claimed to be. A burst of anger surged through him, and he punched the wall. Muscles continued to flex for release when the physical pain failed to satisfy the hot rush of adrenaline. Did this have to do with his trial? Was someone pranking him? A reminder that the sins of the father fall on the children?

There was no possible way Leaf and Willow Oak Watson stood before him this moment. They had died nearly six years ago. He saw their death certificates, and he carried emotional scars from their passing. Life as he knew it changed the moment the media and lawyers hounded for answers and turned accusing fingers toward his family. The whole world knew of this brother and sister—and thought they were dead.

Fillion’s mind raced as a he struggled to plot his next move. He looked over his shoulder disturbed by his paranoid thoughts. Feet moved, but he didn’t feel a step as he walked back to the screen and leaned in. He tried to see different angles of their room while assessing through raging adrenaline if this was a cruel trick. They didn’t appear to be holograms or computer-generated. Drones, artificial intelligence, holographic technology—it was all so humanoid, it was uncanny.

“Prove your identity,” he said in a tight voice, sitting back down.

“Pardon? Why is this necessary?” Leaf asked.

Willow paled and peered up at her brother with round eyes. Her finger began to nervously twist a strand of hair.

“Prove it.”

Leaf’s face remained solemn. “My father is Joel Watson, Earth Element Noble. He died three days ago.”

Fillion winced with his words. Was this for real? He didn’t know how to reply, nor trusted his ability to remain calm.

Taking a deep breath, Leaf asked in a low voice, “What else would you like to know, sir?”

“My Lord, you do not need to answer his questions,” Willow said at his side.

She took Leaf’s arm in hers protectively, and Fillion looked away when a tear fell down her face. He wouldn’t give in to theatrics, especially if they were holograms recording his reactions. For all he knew, there was a group of people somewhere hidden from the video feed, laughing their asses off right now at his expense. They didn’t look or act like holograms, though. Their images were too sharp and they lacked the occasional glitch. Were they AI? He shook his head as more tears fell down Willow’s face. Leaf and Willow were definitely human, and a new current of emotions surged through him.

This was real to them. The whole idea was crazy, but they weren't lying.
Joel Watson died? Did Hanley know this? Tears continued to fall down Willow’s face as she nibbled on a fingernail. Her reaction should draw out his compassion, especially after she humbled herself for him. But instead, he remained guarded, not knowing what the hell was going on.

Fillion leaned forward in his chair, and glared at Leaf. “I’m still not convinced.”

Willow snapped her head his direction and gasped. He didn’t offer his condolences or use a kind voice as dictated by the strictures of their social graces. But he didn’t care. She could think he was a man-made machine, devoid of proper human emotion, the computers turning him into a beast from lack of connection to nature, or whatever. At this moment, it was probably close to the truth.

Was she really Willow Oak Watson? A part of him wanted the nightmare to be true while the other part feared what that could mean. A rustic cloak engulfed most of her, fastened squarely beneath her neck. This restricted his focus to her long braided hair and the large eyes that expressed a Molotov cocktail of emotions. She was ready to explode, and so was he. She was nothing like he had imagined.

As a younger man he had fantasized about her, connecting to her story in order to escape his own lonely reality. Instead of her death, he had fabricated images of himself rescuing her from harm. There was no romance in it—his mind didn’t even wander that direction. Rather, they were delusional thoughts of regaining control and righting what was wrong. All of it was just a fool’s game to cope with the rejection he received at school and on the Net because of her death. And maybe a sign that he was clearly going mental.

Mack, his childhood friend, pulled him out of his nervous breakdown and introduced him to a hacking circle in the Anime Tech Movement's computer underground. The youth-driven punk culture formed out of the population explosion of the 2030’s. Raised in a school system that had outsourced STEM education to contracted teachers and companies from Japan,
 his gen was the most highly educated youth culture to ever have walked the planet. But there were no jobs left for their vast numbers. Left out, they had nothing to show for their genius but a dark and immoral grassroots movement. Fillion remembered the relief he felt, crawling into that hole and disappearing from “good” society, the society that continued to murder him with each careless insult and camera click.