Legacy (The Biodome Chronicles) (10 page)

“Your friend tells me you’re a virgin,” she said in a syrupy and amused voice.

Mack whipped his head Fillion’s direction and glared. Fillion nearly choked on the whiskey, unable to stop laughing.

“How old are you?” she asked Mack.

“He’s eighteen,” Fillion volunteered, trying to keep a straight face. He leaned in and said in a loud voice, “Be gentle with him. He might cry. And he definitely likes to cuddle.”

Mack flipped him off. But the subtle smile on his face let Fillion know his friend was far from angry. Checkmate. Fillion shrugged his eyebrows in a suggestive gesture, and then grabbed his tumbler of whiskey off the bar as Mack continued the charade of being a noob to hooking up. Fillion was going to pay for this joke, but it was so worth it.

The whiskey swirled in his glass as he moved his hand to the beat of the music. He needed to down his drink quickly and join the rave. Mack was now busy, and Fillion would need to find his own entertainment before stumbling back home.

He kept his eyes on the crowd and nearly spewed the amber contents in his mouth when he recognized the rainbow strands that belonged to only one person. She leaned in and kissed someone in the corner while her friend, Pinkie, stood nearby picking the pockets of the unsuspecting young man. Fillion slammed the glass on the bar, gaining Mack’s attention.

“I’ll be back.”

“Ah, shit,” Mack said, following his gaze. The girl turned Mack’s face back toward her with a seductive grin, and then resumed making out with him.

Fillion pushed drunks, dancers, drugged-out zombies, and lovers out of the way, his wrath increasing with each step as he marched through the rave. He reached out and grabbed Pinkie’s arm as she pulled the man’s money out. The victim continued to be blissfully unaware of her motives or his intervention. With a deep breath, he turned to the girl locking lips.

“That’s enough, Lynden.” Fillion watched as his sister pulled back with big eyes and a mortified expression. “Give the money back, Pinkie.” His sister’s friend with the pink hair and lips turned, offering a pretty pout. “Not going to work on me. Give it back.”

“What money?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his waist while presenting him with a suggestive look, her body slowly moving to the music.

He could feel her breath on his neck, her vampire motives hoping to drain him of his intentions and elicit another. Fillion closed his eyes, momentarily affected, and then pushed her off, wresting the money from her fist.

He turned around and slammed the gold and silver coins against the young man’s chest. It was painfully obvious that it was the guy’s maiden voyage inside The Crypt. “Leave. And if you come back here, you need to know two things. First, any female who walks up and just starts kissing you is a ticket girl. They are wolves attacking in packs. One is a decoy while the other steals your money, her ticket to a better evening and quick income. They are whores that make a promise and never fulfill, but get paid anyways.” He looked at Lynden with the last statement, each word sharp and pointed. She looked away, crossing her arms. “Second, get a wallet and chain it to yourself if you’re going to carry cash.”

He grabbed Lynden’s and Pinkie’s arms and began to walk away, then stopped, looking over his shoulder. He shouted to the young man over the music. “And if you ever touch my sister again, I will personally kill you.”

Fillion marched the girls out of the bar and onto the street. With a flip he turned on his Cranium to signal a cab, then closed the app with a wave of his hand. Pinkie turned to run away, and he grabbed her arm again, holding her in place while shaking his head in a silent command. The universe was seriously conspiring to kill him tonight.

“Stop being so self-righteous, Fillion,” Lynden scoffed.

“What the hell were you thinking, coming here?” he asked. “Where did you get your fake ID’s?”

“Probably the same place you got the ones you hustled.”

“Not even close. Give it to me.”

“You think I’ll hand it over just like that? Idiot.”

Lynden stomped on his foot, but Fillion didn’t flinch. His combat boots barely flexed under her weight.

“I could call the police and report you. And on you, too, Pinkie,” he said.

She gave him a sultry look in reply, still trying to manipulate him.

“We’ll just turn you in as well,” Lynden said, a little wobbly on her feet.

Fillion leaned in and smelled her breath, letting out a sigh that formed every swear word, including a few in Japanese. When he recovered, he met her gaze, humored as she attempted to mock him.

With another annoyed sigh, he said, “Go for it. My ID is legit. Yours is not passable under real legal scanners, I guarantee it. You want to be caught for carding fake ID’s and drinking?”

She buckled, handing over the card, and Fillion felt relief that he didn’t have to follow through with his threat.

“How is that possible?” she whined.

“One day when you’
re a genius like me, you’ll figure it out. But because you are as stupid as you acted, you won’t be back until you’re actually legal.” Fillion watched the cab pull up and stop right before them. “Go home, Lynden, and grow up a bit more.”

“I’m not a dog, asshol
e! God, Fillion, you think you’re so cool.”

“I am cool.” H
e smirked. “Glad you finally caught on.”

She groaned while raising her hands to the sky in an angry plea and then looked away. Pinkie laughed at his sister, and then bit her bottom lip seductively as she bent over to adjust her shoe strap. Her bright pink corset top fell forward and Fillion’s muscles tensed in agitation.

“Oh, come on Fillion,” Pinkie said, giving him a sensual look as she adjusted her other shoe strap. “She’s having fun, just like you. Lighten up.”

He looked away with a disinterested posture of irritation, tucking strands of hair behind his ear. God, he wanted a cigarette. As if reading his mind, Pinkie pulled a pack out from her purse while bent over and offered him one with a coy expression. Fillion grabbed the laces on the back of her corset, and then turned to his sister, ignoring the cigarettes. Pinkie gave a flirtatious giggle, and he rolled his eyes.

With a soft tone, he said to his sister, “I know how to handle myself. You were asking for trouble, and a lot of it. What if that guy wasn’t done with you after you were done with him? What if he figured out he was robbed, and took his anger out on you? God, Lyn, they’re drinking and on meth in there! Ever think of that, Einstein? I’ve seen girls punished for ticketing, and hell if I’ll let that happen to you.” Fillion watched his sister absorb his words before he turned to Pinkie. “If I find out you brought my sister on another ticket night, I’ll have you locked away.”

Pinkie’s countenance darkened and her eyes turned to slits, and then she morphed into a seductress again. Fillion released his hold on the laces and took a step back, moving the hair out of his eyes with a quick head jerk. She slowly stood up and sauntered over to him.

“I could think of better ways to spend time with you,” she purred. “I had no idea you could be so hot, Fillion. You like submissive girls?”

Pinkie softened her features and tangled herself around him again. Her fingers slid down his chest and slipped under his shirt, caressing his skin with light, provocative touches. Leaning in, she kissed his neck, slowly moving to his jaw-line, and his skin shivered with disgust. He gently pushed her away, turned his head to the side and clenched his teeth, afraid he might snap if she touched him again.

“Yeah, I’m hot, but only because I’m respecting you and won’t give in to you.” Fillion glared at her with impatience. “Pathetically, something you aren’t used to. I guess there’s a first for everything.”

He had his stupid moments. But not stupid enough to become turned on by Pinkie, despite her classic punk pin-up girl looks, a vintage femininity he usually found irresistible. As the lines between men and women blurred to near nothingness, he became increasingly attracted to girls that clearly defined the opposite gender.

He opened the door to the cab, and pushed Lynden inside. Fillion turned to help Pinkie, but she kneed him in the groin, and then bounced inside the cab next to Lynden, laughing.

“Well, I don’t respect you!” Pinkie said, watching him struggle for composure. “Don’t ever threaten me again.”

He slammed his fist into the cab hood, activated his Cranium with a verbal command, and then turned to the cab driver with clenched teeth. “I linked to your system, you should have the address. Here’s some cash.”

He handed the driver two hundred dollars in gold coins, far more than the cabby expected. Most used electronic banking apps. Gold and silver coins replaced paper currency when the world went to a universal trade economy. Fillion preferred using gold coins whenever possible since they were not traceable or open to hackers, unlike banking apps.

Being a cab driver was a ridiculous occupation since the cars drove themselves. But Fillion wanted Lynden to have an escort home, ensuring they didn’t reprogram the destination and go to another bar. Or worse.

He turned to the cabby and said, “I have your info now, so if I find out you go anywhere other than the address I sent you, you’ll be in a world of pain. I’ll hunt you down before I file a complaint.” Fillion wanted to punch something again, and resisted the urge to look at Pinkie. “Make sure they go inside. Don’t leave the driveway until they are inside the house. Clear?”

The cabby nodded enthusiastically and rapidly blinked his eyes as he pulled away. Lynden looked out the back window and then flipped him off, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep his emotions in check. It was the third time he’d been given the finger tonight.

As the cab disappeared onto First Avenue, Fillion checked his Cranium for the time. It was 4:58 a.m. The Metro was now up and running for the commuters. He should have taken the cab with the girls, ensuring they made it home. “Stupid,” he muttered to himself, thinking once again of the homeless men near his work. He was definitely losing his mind.

He walked away from The Crypt, having had his fill of zombies, and headed toward Downtown to catch a line to the Eastside. Mack would figure things out when he didn’t return. Not that he’d notice anytime soon. Fillion would see him at court later in the day anyway when he came to hear the verdict.

The air was cold, and he desperately wanted a cigarette to keep him company. Fillion would rather die than take one from Pinkie and encourage her come-ons. He wanted nothing from her other than distance. When he reached home, he hoped he was able to catch a few hours of sleep before attending his trial. Afterwards he planned to rehash events from “The Watson Trial.”

An image of Willow Oak Watson flashed in his mind, and he appreciated her fiery innocence. She was nothing like the girls he knew.

Fillion walked by revelers who had lit a garbage barrel to warm themselves, a luxury before running from the police once the flames were reported by a drone. The heat felt good against his cold skin, and he paused to enjoy more of the warmth. He tossed Lynden’s fake ID into the barrel, and then turned to the drunk next to him to bum a cigarette.

***

Sorrow prepares you for joy. It violently sweeps everything out of your house, so that new joy can find space to enter. It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart, so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place. It pulls up the rotten roots, so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow. Whatever sorrow shakes from your heart, far better things will take their place.

Inside of us, there’s a continual autumn. Our leaves fall and are blown out over the water.

—
Rumi, 13th century A.D. *

“I could tell you my adventures—beginning from this morning,” said Alice a little timidly; “but it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”

—
Lewis Carroll,
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
, 1865 *

***

T
his was the moment when Oaklee finally understood what it meant for Alice to go down the rabbit hole, a story her father often shared in their home to pass the evenings. Although, unlike Alice—whose journey was born of curiosity as a remedy to boredom—Oaklee was thrust into this adventure much against her will. She went from terror to wonder while falling deeper and deeper, unable to see what awaited her below due to the endless darkness. A sensation that only could be understood, she realized, while plummeting toward something dangerous, something unknown, something so wildly out of control that it liberates while it terrorizes. Endless questions demanded endless answers, drawing her farther down the hole.

One moment she felt her mind live in primal fear and self-preservation, and then without notice shift to complete and utter joy. Her body, mind, and soul were free to move and act without limitations, an out-of-body experience forgetting that there is a floor, waiting to receive the human form it will destroy. How else could one forget about hitting the bottom? It was always there. Yet, for a brief moment in time, it was forgotten, drowned out by waves of detachment. And then smash.

New tears salted the ground as Oaklee watched the morning sun peek through the trees, trying in vain to cheer her grief-stricken soul. Lying on her back, one hand on her stomach and one above her head, she watched with blurred vision and a fragile mind as the golden leaves fell from the willow oak growing from the center of the temperate forest. It was the tree responsible for her name. A name signifying that she was the Daughter of Earth.

As the leaves randomly fell, she contemplated how they sacrificially gave up their essence to sustain new life. Or was it the tree’s sacrifice? Each leaf was a part of Gaia’s play. Their final act: to decompose so a new level of soil could be made, an earthen writing tablet for the next layer of history to be recorded. One generation became the groundwork for the next. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Nothing was exempt, not even the leaves.

Oaklee whispered to the leaves cascading all around her, “Why did you leave me, father?” She was convinced that he could hear her voice. She knew there was no ready answer to her question, but nothing seemed real anymore, and every thought and emotion felt amplified. Everything under heaven was appointed to die one day, and everyone was given a season to grieve and mourn in their lifetime.

She knew heaven was a breath away, but right now, it felt untouchable, a journey with such distance she feared that reunion with her loved ones was a hopeful dream rather than a promise. The longing in her heart ached fiercely. It was as if a piece of herself was slowly dying in response to her father’s passing.

She closed her eyes and fingered the wooden prayer beads fastened to her woven belt and listened to the sounds of life moving all around her while meditating. How could her father suggest her family leave New Eden, as if his death and absence would make way for such a journey? With one breath he shared a secret he had kept close to his heart for eight years in order to protect his family, and then in the next breath he left this world. He left Oaklee and her siblings alone with a knowledge that both frightened her and shifted her perception of life.

Orphaned. No parents, no relations within the community besides her siblings, and no one else to claim her as their kin beyond the walls. Was this how the leaves felt? Did they feel abandoned by the tree to forge a new life with their sibling leaves? Did they feel despair when they crashed, hitting bottom after their free fall? Did they feel like her? Disconnected, and suddenly sensing how small she was compared to the firmly rooted enormity that was once her life?

Opening her eyes, she watched a single leaf, perfectly golden, spiral right above her in a death dance. The leaf softly landed on her heart as if sensing the ache, a bandage for the open wounds. It was as if the tree understood the pain, extending a piece of itself in compassion to help her heal. Oaklee cherished the gesture, kissing the golden tribute, and then pressed it against her heart while closing her eyes once more. Nature gave a beautiful gift of thanks for receiving her mother and now her father, so it could flourish and live on, the cycle of life complete.

The motto of New Eden floated back to her mind: “In order to live, something must die, but death makes way for the resurrection of new life. This is the law of nature’s closed-loop system.” Enclosed inside a world within a world, a society born of science, she accepted the natural laws that governed their culture. Each one was reflected in the legacy her community was building for the ages to come. They were an experimental colony for Mars, an earth-based biodome civilization emulating the future of interplanetary homesteading. Did the outside world understand the law of a closed-loop system? Or was their biosphere and community too large to reflect this truth?

She had never seen the Outside, and her father’s request intensified the fear and curiosity of the great unknown. Master Fillion’s response to their loss, her first encounter with an Outsider, was so offensive that she concluded that life on the Outside must be depraved and inhuman. Why would her father wish for them to leave the safety of their community for such a lifestyle?

And yet, the Dungeon Master showed a vulnerability, a crack in his angry facade, evident when she humbled herself before him. It was a move he did not expect in such a sincere way. He was capable of understanding their pain and simply chose not to. In the end, she could not help but show him a kindness despite his lack of compassion.

Childish laughter broke her trance, and she rolled onto her stomach. Small feet ran around a sugar maple in excitement, and little hands extended with blissful innocence to catch the leaves midair. Oaklee’s breath caught as she watched her little sister join in the autumn celebration, her long blond tresses trailing behind her as she jumped and danced with the other children around the tree. Targeting a leaf in flight, Laurel lifted up her hands in a prayerful pose, gently grasping a leaf with the tips of her little fingers. She held up the prize and displayed a canvas bright with all the colors of fall as she looked around, gleefully locking onto Oaklee across the meadow.

Laurel was too young to fully share in her sorrow, so Oaklee smiled, lips trembling, attempting to share in her sister’s momentary joy. Her sister waved goodbye with childlike fervor, and Oaklee provided a lethargic reply, heart aching with an intensity that stole her breath as Laurel ran off with the other children. She rolled over to her back once more, tears wetting her cheeks as she gripped her prayer beads, wishing she could join the children’s celebration of life rather than die slowly from grief.

“To be young and carefree again.”

Startled by the voice, Oaklee sat up and clutched the golden leaf in a strange fear that her gift would be taken away, just like all the things she had loved. Her eyes found Coal, and she fell back onto the leaf-littered grass with a sigh, letting her arms tumble to her side, long hair spilling all around her. She felt annoyed with her friend’s intrusion that abruptly stopped her downward spiral. Oaklee wanted to die quickly, and the interruption would only prolong the agony. It would be like Coal, she mused, to save her just when she needed it.

He gave her an odd look, a mix of fear and sadness. Yet behind those emotions Oaklee recognized his yearning, his desire for them to take a leap and leave childhood behind. She simply did not have the energy nor the presence of mind to be in Coal’s company just now.

Entering adulthood had altered their friendship, and she was uncomfortable with the course of this new journey. Willow Oak Watson remembered with absolute clarity the day society marked her as a woman. She had spent her entire childhood dreaming of such a day, and the moment she turned fifteen, resentment replaced flights of fancy as she stood on display before the community. Girlhood instantly seemed a silly and foolish age of romanticizing notions and ideas born of nonsense.

Her father’s voice resonated through her memory of when he declared her a Noble woman of value during the Emergent Ceremony, and her identity as the Daughter of Earth, God’s handmaiden. Pride marked each of her father’s features as the village monk blessed her with the sign of the cross and gifted her with the prayer beads now fastened to her waist.

Eyes were always on her, and wise matrons with kind and patient voices reminded her with every opportunity that, as a woman, it was time to leave the freedom of youth behind and embrace the driving purpose of her life. In less than five weeks, she would enter the age of marriage. Society would pressure her to fulfill the duty of a noblewoman by setting an example for the other young women inside New Eden Township by marrying young to preserve the moral integrity of the community. Many deemed the idea of uniting the Daughter of Earth with Coal, the Son of Fire, to be natural and encouraged each step. But she was not ready for change. Especially now.

She needed the comfort of predictability, and she wished for her relationship with Coal to remain a safe haven. Oaklee continued to reach out as a friend and hoped Coal would accept her terms. The Code did not forbid courting while in mourning—death was part of life—leaving her unprotected in a time of grief. There was nowhere to hide or escape. The community co-existed in a seamless way, day after day, interwoven tightly to prevent loose threads from damaging the tapestry this world was fastidiously creating.

They all were confined and only one had direct connection to the Outside world as part of his job to ensure the citizens of New Eden Township were regulated by the laws and bylaws of California and the United States government.

Thoughts of her father filtered back to her mind, and his instructions pounded in her head until she thought it would crack. Oaklee closed her eyes and swallowed against the pain, resting her hand on her forehead to apply pressure against the escalating thoughts.

She glanced up at Coal
, and her breath hitched as she held in the urge to cry; and he subtly creased his brows. Reluctantly, Oaklee patted the patch of earth next to her, and Coal accepted the invitation, keeping his dark eyes trained on her face.

“Please stop looking at me so, My Lord. I shall not shatter, no more made of glass than you.”

Coal appeared unconvinced.

She tried to smile playfully. “I am still the same, see?” It was a shallow attempt to cover a shallow lie. She was not the same young woman, and both she and Coal knew that nothing would ever be the same.

He was with her when her father died. He heard the secrets as well.

Coal smiled to placate her feelings before looking at the ground with a sober expression as he plucked a piece of grass, twirling it between his fingers.

The Second Ceremony for her father’s ashes was to begin soon, the reason she had sought solace. Three days ago her father walked the Earth, and now he would be returned to the soil today, to the very garden he worked in daily.
The Rows were the final resting grounds for all loved ones.
Composting ashes was a ritual all families experienced in New Eden. More than a memory, loved ones became a necessary ingredient in sustaining a whole community
.
Her father fed this community in life by working the soil; he would now feed this community in death by nourishing the soil.

After a few moments
Coal found his voice. “Willow, are you ready?”

“No.”