***
Either give me more wine or leave me alone.
— Rumi, 13th century A.D. *
***
A pop sounded in Fillion’s ear. He was relieved when the Cranium turned on. A joint dangled loosely in his mouth and he lifted his fingers to take another draw. God, that felt good. Smoke left his mouth in thin wisps as he peeked inside the partially opened window.
The Great Hall filled with loud, spontaneous laughter. Fillion rolled his eyes and shook his head in irritation. He scanned the tables until he spotted the source. Several heads tilted back at a far table and their shared laughter carried through the room and out the window. At least someone was happy. It sure as hell wasn’t him. Fillion leaned his head back against the stone wall with a weary sigh and stared out into the night. The cold air made him shiver, but he enjoyed the sensation.
“Cranium, what’s the time?” he asked in a near whisper. Activating the holographic user interface was out of the question this close to the medieval hippies.
Not knowing the time was driving him crazy. There were no clocks. Anywhere. He asked for the time twice during the day and everyone in hearing distance would immediately look around them, like they were scenting the air. And then, suddenly, their eyes would fixate on some object and narrow in concentration. Fillion looked in the direction and saw nothing except shifting shadows, furniture, trees, whatever. Their faces would relax and, with confidence, they would share the time. God, he thought he was crazy. At least he didn’t see imaginary time pieces.
“The hour is 7:49:21 p.m. Pacific Standard Time.”
The computer synchronized with his thoughts, humoring him. He drew on his joint again, the smoke leaving his mouth as he whispered, “Cranium, phone Mack.” Nothing. He knew John had Mack’s number because of Fillion’s trial. Just as he was about to try a different name, a notification ping echoed in his head.
“User interface,” he whispered, moving away from the window as his eyes hunted for human movements. He tapped on the privacy screen and then the notification. “What the...?” An ad hoc network with another Cranium user was attempting to connect. Inside the dome? The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Another notification pinged.
Drag0nMa1den2038 requests permission to sync systems.
Hell, no. Not without a background check first. He tapped on the red “x” and closed the interface. That had to be a ghost. A freak-of-nature Wi-Fi glitch.
“Cranium, phone Mackenzie Ferguson.” A static noise filled his head and turned to an outgoing ring tone. He pulled another drag on his joint as he stepped further away from the window. As casually as possible, he watched the dark air for moving shadows.
“What do you want old man?”
“Mack, it’s me.”
“Holy shit. How did you get John’s Cranium? Is this a secure line?”
“No, not yet.”
“Are you in the biodome?”
“Yeah. Hey, I don’t have much time.” Fillion jogged to the window and checked the scene. Same as before. Then he moved away again and whispered, “How’s Lyn?”
“She’s awake, but she refuses to talk about the assault.”
Fillion closed his eyes to rein in his anger. “Is she ... in pain?”
“They got her hyped up on narcs.”
“Good. I can’t safely use an interface. Are her images—”
“Yeah.” Mack paused and Fillion swallowed nervously. “I told her. I thought she was going to lose consciousness again so I told her you loved her in case ... you know...”
“Thanks, mate. I owe you one.”
“Oh god, don’t get sappy on me. Shit.” Fillion knew this was Mack’s deflection and tensed. “So, are the girls hot?” Mack asked, with a forcibly lighter tone.
“Covered head to toe. It’s sexy like a nunnery. You’d nosebleed.” This time Mack laughed, and Fillion smiled at the sound. “Hell, even your pathetic attempts at hooking up might actually work here.”
Mack laughed again and then let out a string of swear words in Japanese. When he finished, he sighed dramatically. “You’re an ass.”
“Get over yourself. Think of all the action you’ll get while I’m imprisoned.”
“It’s all I think of. Trust me.”
“At least I know where I stack up in your world.” Fillion paused and then asked, “Hey, do me a favor?” He debriefed Mack on the mysterious request from Drag0nMa1den2038. “I need a full background check. Before I left, I uploaded to our cloud the access files to the Green Moron commune.”
“Roger, roger. What’s up?”
“Probably a lefty’s catcher mitt.”
Mack chuckled. “Laughing Man ghosting your contraband device?”
“Exactly.” Fillion smiled. “His eyes are everywhere.”
In a hurried, muffled voice, Mack whispered, “Your mom just walked in.”
“Call you tonight.”
Fillion didn’t want to talk to his mom. And he certainly didn’t want her to know he had a Cranium. He pulled the forbidden technology off his head when he felt it vibrate. “Shit.” He wrapped his fingers around the Cranium with a tight fist. Then he put the device back on against his skull. The incoming ring tone paused to announce “Dr. Della Jayne Nichols,” and he cringed.
In a quick swipe to his ear, he disconnected the line. “Cranium, block incoming calls, messages, and emails from Dr. Della Jayne Nichols and Hanley Nichols.” When the computer confirmed the request, he pulled the device off his head and tucked it inside his sack.
It was a miracle the Cranium still powered up. He was sure Hanley would have cut him off by now, or John would have reported the loss. Weird. Fillion’s fingers shook and he closed his eyes. Emotions needed to take a back seat before he deflated into an even sorrier excuse for a human being. At least his mom would take charge with Lynden, to save face if nothing else.
Before cinching up his bag, he pulled out another oregano joint and used the butt of the nearly finished one in his hand to light up. The hemp paper crinkled and trailed smoke as Fillion drew on the rolled up garden herbs, then he flicked the first joint’s ashes.
By afternoon his hands had twitched for something to defend their existence. Especially when stuck in Jeff’s office. Out of habit, Fillion continually reached up to turn on a Cranium that wasn’t there. Then, he would reach up to tuck his hair behind his ear only to remember it was chopped off. His hand had flopped to his side and his body had sunk lower in the chair each time.
He twitched and muttered “shit” more times than he could count. He swore The Elements and their eldest children thought he was afflicted with Tourette’s or something. He was such a baby and conjured images of himself curled up in a fetal position on the floor as a slow panic began to rise. But he squelched it, determined to live without becoming a tech-wimp. He had skills. He was street smart. And he was intelligent enough to force mind over matter. Maybe.
Leaf had watched him struggle and finally excused himself from Jeff’s office—during another ridiculously long meeting—and returned with a tinder box from the Herbalist. When no one was looking, Fillion blew Leaf a kiss and winked. The young noble seemed to hold back a laugh and avoided eye contact. The memory elicited a small smile as Fillion exhaled into the night sky. He watched the smoke vaporize into nothing as if it never existed. If only he could do the same.
The Elements and community scrutinized his every move. All. Day. This was his first blessed moment of solitude. Just beyond these glass walls, he was viewed alternately as a freak, a hated icon, and a sexually desirable idol worthy of worship. The Net buzzed with his image, plastered throughout the dark recesses of even the most obscure social media sites. He wanted to vomit with each conversational thread that tossed around the term “misbehaving Eco-Prince.” The media’s title for him circulated through the masses with orgasmic frenzy, each climax at the expense of his soul. What did they care? He was just a character on the Net to arouse and entertain the otaku’s ravenous appetite fo
r human flesh.
Lynden was now the fresh catch of the day featured at the ether’s feast of sacrificed souls. Between the two of them, the Nichols name was no doubt uttered as a contented sigh from the Net community as it belched and moaned in appreciation.
So, inside the dome, it was easy for him to ignore the first and second gen’s rudeness. It was nothing compared to his other life. If the Green Morons here were trying to intimidate him, it wouldn’t work.
When he had emerged from the Cave and introduced himself as Corlan Jayne, however, every hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Brianna’s eyes widened and she took in a sharp breath. Of course she recognized his handle. He and Brianna were clearly related. There was no doubting the resemblance they shared—both with the same near black, mahogany hair and gray-blue eyes, as well as other Jayne family traits. Not only did she know the name, but so did Connor—big surprise—as well as Norah and Timothy, all reacting in their various ways. At a loss for words, Brianna had delicately cleared her throat.
He had lowered his head and watched Willow from the corner of his eye. She ignored everyone and everything. Save the strand of hair she furiously twisted onto her fingers and the grass she burned holes into. Damn. The anguished expression on her face had made his heart sink. He already knew she’d hate him. Fillion was just buying time.
And, god. The endless, petty droning of The Elements. Fillion thought they would grow roots with feet planted in that meadow for all of eternity. Hell was not a lake of fire. It was an enclosed glade filled with the sound of LARPers in a political debate and pretend peasants who looked on wide-eyed. Staying put felt like agreeing to eternal damnation. Especially when the Epic Meeting in the Meadow dragged on and on and on.
A chair scraped the wood floor nearby. Fillion snapped out of his thoughts and investigated the source through the opened window. Inside the Great Hall, the nobles had settled at the head table. He was assigned Coal’s place next to Willow, who had been going to great strides to ignore him. Hence his smoke break outdoors to ease her suffering—although not before lifting a jug of wine from a table near the exit.
All Fillion wanted to do was chain-smoke the evening away. And think. And get drunk. And ... he turned his head and peeped back inside at Willow. She stared at his empty chair, eyes puffy and face pale. Was she thinking of him? Or Coal? He knew the answer to that and closed his eyes as he thunked his head against the stone wall. “I’m so lame.”
Unable to help himself, he looked her way again and bit the inside of his cheek. The wine sloshed in the jug as it bumped against his leg; and he lifted it to his mouth and savored a long drink.
Laughter reached his ears once more, but this time he turned away from the window. This damn feast was in his honor. He loathed with every nanoparticle of his being the role of center-of-attention. The community was weary of him, making an already stressful situation worse. Leaf’s plot twist with Coal didn’t help either. Hanley was such an idiot for a genius. His dad’s biodome lab rats couldn’t handle one stranger. What the hell were they going to do when they faced an entire world of strangers from strange lands and with strange cultures?
His limbs still tingled with unreleased anxiety and fury. He needed to find something for them to do before he exploded. Fillion took another swig of wine followed by a drag on his hippie organic herbal joint. It wasn’t the same as a cigarette, but he wouldn’t complain about the lack of tobacco. At least he had something to smoke, or he might have lit up New Eden Township. He smirked with that thought, and then let out smoke rings, gently blowing at them to reshape their momentary existence. And, man, was he thankful for alcohol.
“Corlan?”
Fillion turned his head toward Leaf, who appeared in the shadows a few feet away. “Yeah?”
“You are needed.”
“Peachy. How do I get to entertain the community this time?” Fillion rolled his eyes. “My heart flutters in anticipation.”
Soft, padded footsteps cut through the still night as Leaf approached. Fillion directed his focus onto the blackened limbs in The Orchard and hoped Leaf got the message.
“Quite the opposite, I assure you.”
Nope. Alone time was over.
“Save your reassurance,” Fillion mumbled and then took another drag on his joint.
“I did not regard you as a man who wallowed in pity.”
“You regard me, Leaf? I’m flattered.” Fillion chuckled, and then bit his bottom lip flirtatiously. He received a wry smile in reply. “I’m not wallowing in pity. I’m escaping. Two different things.”
“Unless you are escaping to wallow in pity privately?”
“All right smart-ass, what’s my mission? How can I serve the glorious community?”
“The glorious community wishes to serve you.”
“Fine. Take me to your leader.” Fillion flicked the nub of his joint and rubbed it out, casting Leaf a sly, humored look. With a hand over his heart, he said, “Rest in peace hippie organic herbal joint. You were good to me.”
Leaf stared at him curiously and then shook his head. To stall even more, Fillion offered Leaf the wine jug with raised eyebrows. He didn’t expect Leaf to accept, let alone drink straight from the medieval bottle. But Leaf took the offer with a smile and then surprised Fillion further with a long swig.
“Easy, mate. You’re increasing your attraction factor by the second.”
Leaf let out a loud laugh, nearly spewing the wine from his mouth. “You have strange criteria for the elements of attraction.”
“God, you’re telling me.” Fillion smirked when Leaf responded with a droll look. They began to walk and Fillion pushed Leaf in jest, satisfied when Leaf lost his balance. Unable to resist, Fillion grabbed Leaf’s arm to steady him and felt his bicep. “I do declare, Leaf Watson, you’re quite the man.” Fillion wagged his eyebrows suggestively.
“Alas, I cannot return the compliment, Corlan Jayne,” Leaf replied with a shy grin as they approached the entrance to the Great Hall. “Stop acting like a simpering woman.”
“Heart-breaker.”
The smells of dinner met them as they entered. Cheeses, wine. And roasted goat, prompting Fillion to reflexively work his jaw in disgust at the memory of the stringy, gamey meat.
Latticed windows twinkled in random patterns from the tiny flames that danced throughout the Hall. The candles flickered in free-standing candelabras and hung suspended overhead in large wrought iron chandeliers. Despite his many annoyances, Fillion conceded that the image before him was magical. Especially when he looked her way.
Willow shifted in a high-back wooden chair and watched through lowered eyes as they approached the head table. A strand of golden hair, made richer by candlelight, wove in and out of her fingers. Fillion’s heart rate kicked up. He swore under his breath at what a sap he’d become, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at himself.
Leaf slowed his steps in front of Connor. “We are ready, My Lord.”
The cryptic message kept Fillion’s pulse pounding. What the hell was going on? The community began to quiet as Connor raised a hand in the air and stood.
“Esteemed residents of New Eden, it is indeed an honor and a privilege to host our first guest within these walls.” Connor offered Fillion a kind smile, but sadness wrinkled Connor’s forehead and the skin around his eyes. “Corlan Jayne visits us from Seattle, in Washington state. He has left his community behind to join our family. Let us bestow upon him our heartiest welcome and ensure he is not treated as a stranger, but as a long-lost part of our community come home.”
The majority of residents drummed their hands on the tables and murmured approval to each other, although it sounded hollow to Fillion’s ears. He wanted to dissipate like the smoke he had exhaled to the night as his eyes traveled over the unfamiliar faces. A few unhappy and skeptical faces in the crowd, directing dark stares at Connor, drew his eye. He liked these people. At least they were honest. And having a hell of a time, like him, by the looks of things.
/> “It has come to my attention,” Connor continued in a loud, but eloquent tone, “that many have brought gifts for Corlan.”
“What?” Fillion swiveled toward Leaf and whispered, “I can’t take their gifts.” Both Connor and Leaf turned his direction with tight smiles.
Leaf leaned toward him and whispered back. “You would not wish to offend those who extend hospitality, would you?”
Fillion shook his head and looked at the dirt floor. This was ridiculous and unnecessary.
“Come form a receiving line over yonder to personally welcome Corlan,” Connor said. He placed a hand on Fillion’s shoulder and directed him toward a small stage.
Residents from the nobility and village moved through the room, armed with objects of various sizes. “The village” was a term the community used to signify those not belonging to a noble house, he had learned. Which was confusing because the village was also a location. But the word “peasant” would apparently be demeaning, so whatever.
Fillion stood in front of the stage. His eyes scanned the room and each face in the line. This was torture. Another circle of punishment inside hell.
A girl came forward first. Maybe his age? Maybe older? He couldn’t tell. Her hands shook as she extended a small wreath made from small dark green leaves and bowed. “For you, sir, on behalf of our family,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice as she spoke. Her hazel eyes reminded him of Lynden and another weight pressed against his chest. “May I place the Crown of Honor upon your head?”
Fillion swallowed. Crown of honor? “Sure. What’s your name?”
“Anna, sir, of the Paylin household.” She gestured toward her family, who smiled and bobbed their heads.
Leaf leaned toward him. “If a person is the source of celebration, it is customary for the eldest unwed daughter in the chosen home to present a Crown of Honor.”
Fillion gave what he hoped was a polite smile and then lowered his head. He felt like a dork but complied to keep his behavior in check. God, it was hard. The girl placed the wreath on his head, her hands trembling but gentle. He whispered, “Thanks, Anna,” and met her timid gaze.
Elements (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2) Page 5
