Transitions: Novella Collection (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2.5)

by Sundin, Jesikah

  “Yeah, because you’re so normal.”

  “No, you are.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  Jett’s eyes darted to an officer walking by. “Let’s practice reciting vows then.”

  “Peachy.”

  He tracked the officer’s movement, too. When he passed, Mack swiveled in his chair toward Fillion. “Do you trust me?” he asked his friend. Slivers of Fillion’s gray eyes locked with Mack’s through the dark strands. From the corner of his vision, Mack noted how Fillion double tapped the back of his own hand through knotted fingers.

  The correctional officer walked by again. Did they suspect something? Probably not. Mack was feeling paranoid, though. Why? He had no clue. He and Fillion hadn’t discussed anything dangerous or game changing. He straightened in his chair and cleared his throat. Recite vows. Act natural. Fillion met his eyes once more.

  “Nothing will end between us.” Mack tapped twice. “Not even our marriage.” He tapped once. Shit. That was a double negative. He hoped Fillion understood, though. “Just to spend time with you—” he tapped twice “—to share my thoughts and dreams with you—” he tapped twice again “—would end my suffering.” He tapped once, trying to maintain a deadpanned expression. Fillion’s lower cheek twitched again.

  “Wow.” Jett blinked back her surprise. “Not what I was expecting. OK, Fillion?” No response. She waited. Mack waited. They remained silent and patient. After a minute, Jett patted Mack’s arm.

  The officer at the podium looked at Mack and tapped his wrist. Old dude, people haven’t worn watches in decades. The message was clear, nonetheless. “Time is wrapping up,” Mack announced. “Fillion,” he continued, “next week is on, right?”

  His friend tapped twice.

  “Officer is coming,” Jett said.

  “Take care, mate.” Mack tried to smile for Fillion, but fear seized him. Though they joked around, keeping anyone who was watching or listening on their toes, he now knew his gut was right. Something was wrong. Maybe not with the trial. But with Fillion. The officer gestured for Fillion to leave. “See you again, soon.”

  A weight crushed Mack’s chest when Fillion was led away. The same helplessness that had plagued him for five months now suffocated all efforts to be cooler-than-shit. He reminded himself that this was the best he could do. Legally, his hands were tied. And Hanley was watching. Ready to pounce. Probably knew what Mack was doing. He grit his teeth. Tough shit, daddy-to-be. Hopefully, next week, he’d have a clearer picture of Fillion’s needs and could take action. Something. Anything. His friend needed to regain control, and Mack would be there to ensure it happened.

  “Hey,” Jett nudged his shoulder. “He’ll be OK. Made it this long, right?” When Fillion disappeared behind a door, Mack acknowledged her. She smiled with understanding. “Ready?”

  He tapped the table once, but got up and followed her to the door.

  Thursday, May 6, 2055

  His dad sipped coffee from a vintage Darth Vader mug while perusing news feeds. Mack sat on the opposite end of the table. For two years, they had met once a week for breakfast. Normally they’d shoot the breeze or discuss business needs. This morning? Silence. Mack picked at his croissant and pretended to be busy on his Cranium. But, really, he was trying not to implode.

  Headlines were cropping up all over the Net this morning.

  “Incarcerated Eco-Prince, Fillion Nichols, is tying the knot with long-time friend and Tech Heir, Mackenzie Ferguson, sources confirm.”

  “Tears of joy from stunned fangirls world-wide drown Net communities over marriage rumors.”

  “Net-famous bromance shocks otaku with secret wedding plans.”

  “Nichols-Ferguson nuptials a possible smoke screen for shady prison deal.”

  Hanley had to be shitting his pants.

  Mack was surprised his own dad was so calm. Though, his dad was always calm. The calmness was on a spectrum from mellow-and-cool to eye-of-the-storm threat level. The atmosphere at the table this very moment positioned somewhere in the middle. A tension that balanced on the point of a sharp-edged blade.

  Aaaand, that tension finally tipped.

  The Darth Vader mug clanked loudly on the marble dining table. Dark blue eyes studied Mack over a privacy screen, the very same deep, thoughtful shade as Mack’s own. But that was the only thing they shared, besides a name and similar intellect. And geeky interests. And ... OK, so they had a lot common. Still, Mack resembled his mom with a sturdy Scottish build, a playful smile advertising that he was up to no good—always—and golden brown hair. Well, his natural hair color, that is. Currently it was a solid shade of indigo-blue, like the midnight sky. His dad, by contrast, was a small man with blond hair and thin lips pressed into an eternal look of contemplation. A small man, he reminded himself, with a large presence. And right now, Mack felt it.

  He resisted the urge to squirm in his seat. Dammit, he was almost nineteen. Too old for this shit. But he loved his dad. He loved his mom, too. Didn’t like disappointing either of them. Or causing them problems. He was fortunate to have great parents, especially for being a corporate brat. Even more fortunate to have a healthy relationship with them in adulthood. But, in moments like this one, he understood why some had chosen to cut ties and keep family matters strictly business.

  His dad continued to stare. Mack stared back. Then his dad did something unexpected. He started laughing. Not soft, jolly chuckles of the amused. Oh, no. Tears were already forming and he’d just begun. Mack opened his mouth to say something. But his dad raised a hand for Mack to stop as he lowered his head to an arm resting on the table. Still laughing. Body heaving. In-take breath growing wheezy.

  Weird.

  Wide-eyed, Mack focused on his uneaten croissant. What to do? He had no freaking clue. His dad had cracked. Holy shit. He broke his dad. His and Fillion’s marriage was that awesome. Their upcoming union had clearly unleashed tidings of goodwill and joy to all of humankind, Net confirmed. Yin-and-yang moved into alignment. Global feng shui? Hell, maybe Earth would finally know peace.

  No.

  There was still the matter of Hanley. Well, dammit. Daddy-to-be ruined all the fun.

  “Mack,” his dad said, holding in another laugh. “This ... is ... awesome.”

  Yes! He knew it.

  “Hanley ... oh god ... that bastard is probably experiencing an aneurysm right now.”

  Mack lowered his head in mock-respect and said in a solemn tone, “Our prayers have finally been answered, esteemed Father.”

  His dad lost it. Maybe Hanley hadn’t ruined all the fun.

  Dammit. An incoming ping echoed in Mack’s head. A computer announced Hanley’s name and Mack swore he saw his spirit leave his body. “Shit!” He grabbed his dad’s arm. “He’s calling me!”

  A fresh wave of laughter seized his dad, who collapsed in his chair, tears streaming down his face. Mack let out a string of swear words as he tramped out of the dining room to the sitting area. Forget world peace. The apocalypse had begun. They were all going to die. The ephemeral thread of life, delicate as a dew drop, had finally burst. Or however that damn metaphor worked. Shit. His intelligence was fleeing, too.

  “Survival of the fittest, bitches,” he grit as he tapped his Cranium. “Calling to congratulate me?” he threw at Hanley. From the other room, he heard his dad laugh again.

  Traitor.

  “On what, exactly?” Hanley sounded like his ever charming self. “That you’ve finally admitted to having feelings for my son? Or for embarrassing Japan?”

  Shit. He forgot about Akiko. How could he forget about Akiko? He’d been drooling over her for years. Damn, she was Sekushī. But Hanley didn’t know he knew about Akiko. It was a comment meant to throw off his game. Not today, kisama.

  “Look,” Mack said, voice low. “You know this is a business arrangement, so there’s nothing personal to discuss.”

  “You made a bad deal.”

  “He’s eighteen.” Mack si
ghed wistfully. “Kids grow up so fast. Transitions are hard, I know. My condolences.”

  Hanley chuckled, as if amused. But Mack knew it was all an illusion.

  “Psychologists are concerned that Fillion is not fit to make legal decisions,” daddy-to-be said. “He is still my ward in many ways.”

  “No, he’s a ward of the state.”

  “Mack,” Hanley continued with a silvery voice, “he is already in a contracted engagement, one he wouldn’t risk breaking. Trust me. The wedding won’t happen.”

  “Then why call me at all?”

  “To give you the opportunity to do what is right. If you really love my son, you won’t show up next week.”

  “Because he won’t marry me?” Mack laughed. “Shit, Hanley. My heart is all a flutter. I didn’t realize you cared about me so much. Best. Day. Ever.” Hanley remained silent. The type of calm that didn’t even register on his dad’s spectrum. A chill wended its way up Mack’s spine until the hair on the nape of his neck prickled with warning. Fillion’s dad wanted him to ask about the contracted engagement, but he wouldn’t. “Tell Mrs.-Fillion-Nichols-to-be that next week isn’t a deal-breaker.”

  Hanley paused. “What assurances can you give me?”

  Mack thought a moment. What had Fillion agreed to? This had to have happened after their last conversation the day of the zombie apocalypse. Either Hanley was lying or Fillion had sold his soul to the devil. The smug smile Mack heard in Hanley’s voice confirmed the latter. Yet, the man was nervous. Or embarrassed. Maybe both.

  He needed to give Hanley something to feel in control. He hated negotiating with the devil incarnate, but he’d made deals with lots of devils before him. Hanley would see right through lies. Then it hit him: validation. He’d stroke the narcissist’s ego. Money talked. That’s what this phone call was really about, anyway. Fillion’s dad knew he couldn’t stop them from marrying, regardless of their reasons for doing so. Or any prior agreements made with his son.

  He clucked into the phone like he was still thinking. Bringing up a screen, he looked up the financial data on New Eden Enterprises. A slow smile crept up Mack’s face. “I hear stock prices have plummeted since Fillion’s incarceration. Sucks. This morning, however, prices shot up for a change and seem to be trending upward, even now. Seems public opinion favors my and Fillion’s wedding. You’re welcome.”

  “Tell me, which way will the stock move if Japan backs out of the engagement? Are you prepared to be responsible for any financial set-backs that may affect my employees? As you’ve so adeptly noted, Fillion has already cost me a considerable chunk of change in his choice to sabotage the experiment. He may not have any employees to manage once he comes of trust majority.”

  Mack rolled his eyes. “The point I’m making is that this is your moment to capitalize on regaining the public’s good opinion. Make an announcement in support of your son.”

  “Still not good enough.”

  “You think Japan will want to remain in a contract with a failing company? No empire lasts forever. You know the history books. Hell, if the stock drops low enough, maybe they can buy you out.” He allowed that to sink in a sec, then added, “Maybe I will.”

  Hanley laughed. “And what do you suggest I tell Japan, since you’re so full of wisdom?”

  “Sorry, that’s not my problem. If you want it to be, we can discuss consulting fees.”

  Mack stared at the ceiling. He could feel Hanley’s fury shoot through the Wi-Fi signal. Think. Think. Think.

  “But I’m a nice guy,” he continued again. “So I’ll confirm that you know what to tell the betrothed family in Japan, because you already have this figured out. Am I right?”

  Nothing. OK, then... Time to spell it out.

  “Corporate Japan understands numbers. They speak the language of positive public opinion. It’s wrapped into their culture of honor. Making an example of Fillion for the company? Sure. I get it. Sends the wrong message otherwise.” Mack wanted to vomit. “But push too far and...”

  “You’re saying...”

  “Yes.” Mack smiled. “That’s what I’m not saying. A temporary arrangement. Benefits everyone all the way around.”

  “Interesting.”

  “I am, it’s true.”

  Hanley chuckled in that charming-but-slimy way of his again. “Legal back door?”

  “What is this back door you speak of? I’m a good boy and abide by the laws of this land.”

  “If what you’re not saying fails to happen,” Hanley said slowly, “I’ll press charges against you for taking advantage of my son while he is mentally incoherent.”

  Mack stilled with relief. “Yeah? Well, that’s not very relational. I could think of better wedding presents. A vacation home along the Riviera. A private jet with our monograms inscribed on the side. Fine bone china for our china cabinet. Or maybe you can have a constellation named after us. Hell, all of the above.”

  “Oh, Mack. You know I’ve always thought of you like a second son.”

  “Nice save.” He shook his head in disgust. Really? The psychopath thought he’d fall for that? Not in a million years, kureejii.

  “It wasn’t a save. You’d do the same if you were in my shoes. Parenting is never easy.”

  “I’ll never be in your shoes.”

  “Then count yourself fortunate.”

  “Every day.” Mack’s father eased into the sitting room, traces of humor erased from his face. “All previous agreements with Fillion still standing?” Mack asked Hanley.

  “I give you six months.”

  “Then what?”

  “I revisit my agreement with Fillion.”

  “Deal.” Mack resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. “Hey, I need to go. This chat has been ... special. I think we bonded and stuff.”

  “Wish I could be there next week.”

  “Well, you could drop charges. That’d solve so many problems.”

  Hanley laughed. “Always the jester, aren’t you, Mack? Give your father my regards. We’ll be in touch.”

  Silence.

  Mack tapped his Cranium and let out a long breath. He felt like a balloon that had just deflated in a frenzied flight across the room.

  “This chat has been special,” his father mused to himself. “I’m going to use that line.”

  “It’s all yours.”

  “Threats, charms, the usual baggage?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “He let you think you won?”

  “Yup, that, too.”

  “And, did you?”

  Mack looked at his dad. “Someone will pay for my victory. I’ll give you one guess as to who.”

  His dad sank into a chair opposite of him. “Hanley’s choices are not your problem.”

  “Not my fault, but still my problem.” He combed his fingers through his hair. “I promised Fillion I’d take care of her while he was away.”

  “Ever a good friend.” His dad smiled, sad and reflective. “Or is there really more between you boys?”

  “Nah, we joke.” Mack let his head fall back on the arm of the couch as he stretched out and lit up a much needed cigarette. “Queerplatonic partners. Zero romantic attraction.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Hey, I have a pre-nup appointment with my lawyer in forty-five minutes.” He dragged on his cigarette and blew out the smoke. “Come with me?”

  “Sure. Let me move a meeting to later in the day.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  His dad squeezed Mack’s shoulder and said with a wink, “Anything for my boys.”

  Walking away, his dad called into work to rearrange his schedule. He’d shared sentiments similar to Hanley, but Mack knew his dad spoke truth. He’d always taken care of Fillion, especially when Hanley and Della neglected to do so.

  Mack would never forget the look on his dad’s face when Mack brought Fillion home with a broken arm and ribs, bruised and bleeding.

  School had just let out. Fillion and Mack
were walking to TalBOT Industries to finish their homework before parting their separate ways, as usual. Mack’s dad had given them free access to a robotics lab filled with geriatric androids and drones. Tinkering with parts and programming software to make the robots do stupid shit like fart or flip someone off was how their twelve- and thirteen-year-old minds passed most afternoons.

  A block out from the school, Mack was telling Fillion of his plans to prank the seventh floor by programming the custodial Rosa to mutter, “asshat,” in reply to greetings. But he never got to finish. A group of boys swarmed them, grabbing Fillion.

  “Faggot!” one of the boys yelled, pushing Fillion hard.

  “Pussy!”

  “He even looks like a girl,” another said, yanking Fillion’s head back by his hair. “Gonna cry out for your dad to save you, princess?”

  Fillion said nothing.

  “Stop!” Mack yelled.

  One of the boys spared Mack a passing glance and said, “This doesn’t concern you.”

  “Like hell it doesn’t,” Mack replied, and charged him. Then charged him again. And another. He kept doing that until one of the boys shoved him to the ground. It didn’t matter. They were older, stronger, and they had formed a wall around Fillion. That’s when he heard four words that changed everything.

  “Son of a killer!”

  The next few minutes passed in a terrifying blur. Two boys held Fillion while others took turns delivering fisted blows and hard kicks. Mack cried out to passersby. Nobody would stop to help. Pedestrians looked away. Soulless humans, all of them.

  Desperate, Mack stopped a Companion drone, ignoring the elementary age child it kept company. “Call the police, please.”

  “You have a Cranium,” the hologram replied.

  “It’s not working. I tried.” He lied. Really, he didn’t want the media to trace the call back to him. All he wanted to do was protect his friend from more unwanted attention. The drone didn’t seem to have facial recognition software. Or, if it did, it chose to keep the information to itself.