Legacy (The Biodome Chronicles) (23 page)

How strange that not a single individual had ever chosen to leave, not even for medical attention, and he contemplated if Outside intervention really made any difference. Women had died giving birth. The lives of some infants had ended far too soon due to complications. What were they afraid of? Or, what were they hiding? His generation had never known any other life, but his parents’ generation was oddly quiet about their reasons for staying.

There were still many apartments available, more open apartments than occupied ones. The community cleaned the empty sectors once a month to ensure nothing fell into disrepair. What would happen to New Eden Township once the community was disbanded? He looked around the temperate forest, to the stone-capped timber and cob apartments, feeling a chill run down his spine.

Perhaps Connor could answer his questions, provided he had the strength for such a conversation this evening. Sooner or later, Leaf needed to have a man-to-man discussion with the Fire Element. A new Earth Element needed to be selected to replace his father. An Element had never been elected or replaced yet in New Eden history. And according to Jeff, there was no protocol in place. So Leaf decided he would assert himself and take what was his to have, despite his fear that he could never walk in his father’s shoes and do the community justice. Many changes were in store for this township, and Leaf contemplated the many histories and lessons he would share with his own children one day.

He thought of Ember, her beautiful way of loving others, and he drew a saddened breath. Leaf knew he needed her. She had a way of encouraging confidence in him, caring for his and his family’s needs without shaming him or making him feel vulnerable by the burden of asking for another’s assistance. Each interaction they shared together only increased this awareness.

Thoughts of Ember brought his mind back to her brother and their earlier conversation. Coal’s information added another weight to the yoke he carried, confirming a silent war for power over The Legacy.

***

Theater and role-playing have always proven an effective tool in psychology. For well over a century, hundreds if not thousands of patients have received treatment through psychodrama. And for years, psychologists and counselors have introduced role-playing as an effective method in helping their patients to cope, learn new skills, or even understand another’s point of view. After much study and research, not to mention personal experience, our scientific team believes LARP is the best method to overcome the psychological obstacles that exist with confined living and isolated homesteading groups.

—Hanley Nichols, “LARP and New Eden Township,”
TED Talk
, December 2, 2033

***

Seattle, Washington

F
illion walked into the dermatology office with a police escort, angry after another irritating conversation with his dad—that is, with Hanley. He had started to refer to his dad on a first-name basis, trying to distance the relation as much as possible.

Various patients watched
Fillion with distrusting eyes. Their judgmental stares made his skin crawl. The officer nudged his arm to keep him moving forward and his skin jumped, making every muscle tense. He wanted to flip off every single person in the room, including the police officer who tired of dealing with juvenile delinquents all day.

His father’s insult still stung. After making a same-day appointment for Fillion to see Dr. Saurk, Hanley also scheduled a private hair artist to come and “fix” Fillion’s hair so he looked more natural. Having a freak for a son must be very embarrassing for the great Hanley Nichols.

If only Fillion had been born with a birthmark heralding that he was conceived in Green Peace. A sign that he would one day rise up and lead the nations toward saving the planet, sustaining the agenda of a corporate propaganda movement. Then, and only then, would his father accept him, he reasoned. Instead, Fillion held values that moved with society, rather than shaming the generations as deflection against the truth, which Hanley accomplished successfully. His dad played a dangerous game to hide that he was as equally environmentally destructive as productive.

Green Morons. All of them! In an effort to save nature, they killed humanity. He still couldn’t comprehend how a person could go to jail for ten years for being cruel to their pet, but only five years for raping another human being. Insane.

If Hanley was able to deal with life like normal people do, by seeing a counselor—hell, he was even married to one—taking anti-depressants, and participating in anger management classes, there would possibly be no biodome city. Fillion wouldn’t be leaving behind the only world he had ever known. Or taking on the identity of a world that represented all he despised.

A young medical assistant, not too much older than him, called his name quietly. She led him back to a private room with instructions to make himself comfortable. Dr. Saurk would be there soon. She averted her eyes as her voice shook timidly. She knew who he was, increasing his anger.

Fillion smirked at the MA while taking off his shirt, tossing it across the room with a wicked grin. He then eased up onto the examination table while flexing his arms above his head as he lay back, keeping an even gaze on her the entire time. Heat crept up her neck and cheeks, and she looked at him one last time with subtle interest through lowered eye lashes before shutting the door.

He enjoyed messing with people. Exactly what was her definition of comfortable? What if walking around in his boxer briefs put him at ease? He rolled his eyes in irritation, and then looked around the room curiously. A knock on the door interrupted his attempt to find calm, and he clenched his jaw.

“Well, I see you made yourself comfortable, Mr. Nichols,” Dr. Saurk said dryly as he walked into the room, glancing up at him briefly before returning to his holographic chart.

Finally, someone with a sense of humor, and who wasn’t afraid of him. He continued to lay there, refraining from any response as he burned holes into the tiled ceiling.

The older man continued while consulting his chart. “Your father scheduled surgery to heal the piercings and remove your tattoos.”

The doctor quirked his gray bushy eyebrows and gave Fillion a slight smile of amusement while looking at the symbol of New Eden Enterprises in flames on the bicep of
Fillion’s right arm.

Dr. Saurk
began taking notes on the rest of the tattoos, angling his head as his gaze swept over the inked images. First he studied the various sized stars
trailing from the left side of his chest to hip;
the Celtic knots forming a bicep ring on his left arm;
 
then the word “hacker” vertically in Japanese hiragana on his lower right stomach; followed by the small broken heart with angel wings spread across his chest to his shoulders. The older man asked him to sit up. Fillion did so reluctantly, watching as the doctor noted the word “cyberhacker” in hiragana down his spine. The smile remained on Dr. Saurk’s face as he made further notes in the chart on the various piercings on Fillion’s body, and Fillion felt his annoyance turn to rage.

Fillion said evenly, each word spoken slowly and with emphasis as he laid back down, “He’s not my father. He’s my employer.”

“Yes, of course. And I’m a duck who says quack.” The doctor pulled up a stool and sat down, rolling over to the head of the bed to look Fillion in the eyes. The older man assessed him a minute before speaking once again. “You have a patient employer, son. He must really value your
skills
, the risk of keeping you on outweighing the risk of losing you.” He met Fillion’s scowling gaze for a few seconds and then casually changed the topic. “Before we begin the procedure, do you wish to receive a sedative?”

“No.”

“All right then, let’s find you a fashionable gown to wear.” Looking up, the doctor paused. “No, I think you would rather shock the office by walking through with a bare chest.”

Without further comment or fanfare, the doctor stood up, motioning for Fillion to follow him. They emerged from the private room, and Fillion watched the women in the office glance up. A few revealed their shock, looking at Dr. Saurk in question. They knew who he was, all of them. The women watched him while frozen in their office chairs as he sauntered across their work space shirtless and pissed. Some exchanged subtle glances with one another. And others promptly brought up images on the Net, comparing the photos to the flesh-and-blood version striding past them.

Fillion glanced over and saw the young MA, winking at her as he walked by. The feel of power teased him as he wrestled against the thoughts of judgment. He enjoyed watching the heat creep up her neck and cheeks again. God, this was fun, anything to distract from this demoralizing situation. The older man allowed Fillion to walk into the small surgery and jump up on the table before shutting the door, giving the women a stern look as he did so.

“Well, I daresay those ladies had the most excitement this office has seen in quite some time. I think you single-handedly boosted morale.” The doctor laughed quietly, his bushy gray eyebrows dancing with each rumble.

Fillion maintained an aloof expression. He just wanted to get this over with.

With a humored sigh, the doctor said, “OK, now down to business. Let’s heal the piercings and then we’ll discuss your tattoos. I have a feeling they are quite meaningful to you.”

“Why should you care?”

“Looking at you is like watching your father at your age. I know. That’s the worst possible thing I could have said.” Dr. Saurk waved his hands as if magically casting a spell to convince Fillion to stay calm. “He isn’t the only person who once defined ‘cool,’” Dr. Saurk finished with a wink.

“You were friends?”

“We
are
friends, son. I have known him most of my life. We went to school together in Monroe. Our mothers were friends.”

Dr. Saurk let that thought settle as he began turning on equipment. Fillion tried to envision his dad as “cool,” a thought that irritated him further. Of course his dad was cool. He was a narcissistic sociopath, possessing charisma, wit, and good looks even in his fifties, with a silver tongue capable of winning any argument—and if he didn’t win the argument, it was on purpose. Everybody loved him even though they didn’t trust him, a paradox only a sociopath could create. Who the hell locks themselves in a dome for twenty-five years? Hanley was a cult leader and New Eden Township was his church.

The older man eased Fillion back onto the surgery table and opened up some straps. “This looks positively medieval but I have a feeling you’ll enjoy that notion, especially in light of your predicament. I need to strap your arms, legs, and head to ensure you do not move while the laser is knitting your skin.” He fastened the straps, and then began to walk away, putting a finger into the air, and then halted his steps as if remembering something suddenly. “We should place a sheet up to your neck, otherwise Lacey will have attention issues.”

Dr. Saurk chuckled again, and Fillion couldn’t help but smile a little at hearing the old man’s laugh. The doctor liked to tease him but didn’t patronize him.

After an hour of being subjected to the latest laser technology, Fillion stretched and moved his head from side to side, stirring blood flow once again. He moved the hair out of his eyes with a quick jerk of his head, and then looked at himself with the mirror Lacey placed in his hands. Her fingers lingered in his palms a few seconds before meeting his eyes in the reflection. He bit his bottom lip flirtatiously, and she turned away as fast as she could. With a smile, enjoying the power surge through him, he studied himself in the mirror. He relaxed his features, marveling at how his skin didn’t have a trace of a single piercing.

“Well? What do you think?” Dr. Saurk rolled over on his stool to Fillion from across the small surgery like a little boy ready for a good romp.

“It looks great, I guess.”

“That’s what I thought, too. Let’s leave them.”

Dr. Saurk turned around, allowing Fillion to wonder at his comments privately. He blinked, and then looked down at his tattoos, baffled by the doctor’s defiance of his dad’s request. He was seriously going to let him keep his tattoos? Fillion swallowed, moved by the doctor’s gesture. For the first time in his life, an adult had valued his opinion over his dad’s and shown him respect.

Before he could say anything in reply, Dr. Saurk said in a conspiratorial tone, “I don’t believe you can have too much of a good thing, eh?” Turning around, he wagged his eyebrows again. “Want to raise the blood pressure of all those ladies one more time?”

Fillion laughed as Dr. Saurk turned a deadpan expression while leading him out of the surgery and back to the private room. The women glanced up as he sauntered down the hallway with a bare chest. He ran a hand through his hair and added a cool detachment with each stride. Their various reactions humored him, especially Lacey who met his flirty stare with one of her own.

Back home, he raced up the stairs to his room, shutting the door forcefully behind him. Not for a second did he want Hanley to think he was happy, although he hoped to see Dr. Saurk again. He was pretty cool for an old man, such a refreshing contrast to his mom and dad. His mom was always spouting psychology mumbo-jumbo, hoping to bridge communication between him and his dad. All the while, Hanley was a living ecological bumper sticker, always having some watchword ready to defend his convictions and change lives. The latest: Image.

He fell onto his bed while staring at the ceiling. Movement caught his eye, and he startled when seeing his sister sitting in a chair by the window in his peripheral vision. Her multi-colored hair, at least seven shades in all, popped out against his black walls. She had replaced the diamond stud in her nose with a small fire opal, the iridescence complimenting the carousal of colors on her head. It was surprising the rainbow didn’t leech through her skull and permanently turn her head into a pot of gold.

“So it’s true?” she asked, arms crossed.

“That you look like a clown from Cirque du Stupid? Yes. I’m sorry to be the bearer of such upsetting news.”

“Fillion Malcolm Nichols!” Lynden stomped in frustration. “I’m serious!”

“So am I,” Fillion said while scooting up to his headboard, grabbing his neon blue acoustic guitar. He ignored his sister’s hot air that blew out of her orifices like steam, heating his bedroom with her silent tantrum while he plucked away at some chords.

After a few minutes, his sister made another attempt. “You’re really going to become a member of New Eden on Saturday?”

Fillion stopped playing his guitar and gave her an irritated look. “If you already know, why are you asking me? Just say what it is you really want to say, Lyn.”

“OK. I’ll miss you. If you went to a work camp, I could at least visit you.” Lynden’s eyes began to water. He watched her blink back the emotions, and then bring her sisterly ire back to the forefront of her expression.

The unexpected words cooled his temper and he softened, giving his sister a reassuring smile and wink. He went back to playing his guitar, and strummed a tune he knew was her favorite.