The evening he had arrived in Seattle seared him with new clarity. She did wish to comfort her pain through him, connecting to his grief, and his throat constricted with fresh sorrow. “I will protect you.”
“I know.” Lynden sniffed and curled up tighter in his arms. “That’s why I told you.”
The trust moved him, and he felt his chest expand and contract. He continued up the stairs to her bedroom and gently placed her upon the unmade bed. She rolled over and buried her face into a pillow. Coal turned to leave, his arms itching to return to the garage and work more on his project until it was time to go and distract his heartache.
“Stay. Please.”
“Yes, of course.” Coal pulled the covers up to her chin. “I will sit by the window.”
“Fillion gets so pissed when I drink. Dictator mode activates each time.”
“He cares about you.”
“It’s like truth serum.” She giggled, the sound rolling out of her. “I confess everything and never remember a single damn thing I said or did.” Lynden met his eyes, her focus hazy. “Don’t remind me.”
He nodded and she relaxed her face, eventually closing her eyes. Seconds passed and became minutes, and still Coal stood by her side, worried that if he moved it would disturb the peace she desperately sought. When her breathing became even, he walked to the chair by her window.
Five weeks prior, he sat in the bedchamber of another young woman sickened from grief—another young woman named after a tree. Except, unlike last time, this young woman desired to be rescued. Distressed even in her sleep, Coal maintained silent vigil and vowed that tonight, he would fight in Lynden’s honor.
***
Young men have strong passions, and tend to gratify them indiscriminately. ...
Their hot tempers and hopeful dispositions make them more courageous than older men are; the hot temper prevents fear, and the hopeful disposition creates confidence; we cannot feel fear so long as we are feeling angry, and any expectation of good makes us confident. They are shy, accepting the rules of society in which they have been trained, and not yet believing in any other standard of honour. ...
They would always rather do Noble deeds than useful ones: their lives are regulated more by moral feeling than by reasoning; and whereas reasoning leads us to choose what is useful, moral goodness leads us to choose what is Noble.
— Aristotle, “The Art of Rhetoric,” 4th century B.C. *
***
Seattle, Washington state
Alight sprinkle of rain fell as Coal walked beside Mack and Lynden. Just a few minutes earlier, they had parked in the garage at TalBOT Industries, a leading Smart Tech company owned by Mack’s father. Coal readjusted his fingerless gloves and pulled up his large black hood. As instructed, he kept his head down. Nevertheless, he peered at the bright lights from lowered eyes and studied the wares displayed in the windows of shops they passed.
“Smoke?” Mack asked, holding out a pack as they walked.
“No,” Coal said. “Perhaps later.”
“Rainbow?”
She did not respond and, instead, pulled her hood further over her face. Mack shrugged and put the cigarettes back into his pocket, and lit up one for himself. Their boots sloshed on the damp concrete, each step an audible notification of the battle they marched toward. For Coal, it was to assist the Watsons and fight for Lynden, even if that meant breaking the law to do so. It terrified him, but he tramped toward the darkness in search of light with determination.
“In a few blocks, the cityscape is going to change.” Mack swung a glance his direction. “We’ll pass a park, the last pretty thing you’ll see. When that happens, don’t stop for anything. Keep moving. Don’t—I repeat, don’t make eye contact or talk to anyone.”
“I understand.” A car drove by and a small wave of water splashed toward them. Coal jumped back with the unexpected spray.
Mack grabbed his arm and pulled him close. “You’re cooler than shit. Nothing surprises you. Got that? You act like a noob, then your world will quickly become hell. Actually, hell would be preferable.”
Coal relaxed his face to appear bored and maneuvered out of Mack’s grip, moving forward. The young man quickly caught up and offered a lopsided grin. The approval encouraged Coal and he continued to mimic Mack’s movements, as if nothing held interest, and yet aware of everything as if he owned the world.
The streets grew darker and Coal shivered, wishing he had taken up Mack’s offer for a cigarette. It would have employed his anxiety in an occupation other than the thoughts consuming his mind
Before leaving the Nichols residence, Mack had explained the system. The underground needed the money. However, control was the greater currency. The hackers would act as if they had the option to refuse work.
“We need to woo the PM,” Mack had said. “Romance them. Court their fancies, whatever their dark heart desires.”
“That is a rather open-ended situation,” Coal had replied. “How will the PM take you seriously in a skirt?”
“Utility kilt,” Mack corrected as he flashed his legs and wagged his eyebrows. “It’s my business skirt. Wins them over every time.”
“Business skirt?” Coal had studied the black, knee-length garment, combined with combat boots. His forehead wrinkled in bafflement as he studied Lynden, who wore a similar style of dress. “So, to woo the project manager, you must dress as though a woman?”
Lynden sniggered and playfully nudged Mack with her shoulder. The young man scratched his head with his middle finger and she stuck her tongue out in reply.
“Haven’t you ever heard of a Scottish Highlander?”
“No. Do they wear skirts?”
“Hellz yeah, and some of the brawniest men to have ever walked this planet.” Mack struck a melodramatic pose, demanding that Coal and Lynden admire him. “Behold, Mackenzie Patton Campbell Ferguson the Third.”
“Yuck!” Lynden had declared and walked away. “You can take your male pride and stick it up your wannabe Highlander ass.”
“She’s just jealous because she’s Irish,” Mack said with a wink Lynden’s direction. “Born in Dublin like all good Jaynes.”
“Oh please,” she had responded, rolling her eyes. “Don’t start that war.”
“Sooo,” Mack drawled, “we are going to convince the PM that they want to be wooed by watching you cage fight.” Mack looked at Coal. “We probably don’t have to do much wooing at all. I mean, come on. Look at you. Who wouldn’t want to watch your body in motion?”
Coal loosed an anxious sigh. Until he had punched Mack in the face, Coal had never physically struck another person in anger, only metal—well, and a pillow. There were make-believe wars as a child. And men participated in the Spring Tournaments, an event held at the end of each April during “Bringing in the May,” which determined the May King for May Day and Whitsun Feasts. All fighting was for fun and sport. He tried to explain this to Mack. But the young man waved him off with comments that Coal was a natural and to study cage fighting online—for it, too, was all for fun and sport.
Lynden encouraged him to seek Ignis’ help. For several evenings in a row, Coal received tutelage from his holographic Companion, swinging punches with the computerized man. Cheers and laughter bolstered him as Lynden sat in the black leather chair beside the window while he practiced. Before falling asleep, he watched videos of cage fights and memorized the known game worlds.
Would a virtual arena feel real?
Before leaving the apartment, Mack had given him the opportunity to bow out. Coal refused. He had left New Eden explicitly to garner information and, at this point, the underground appeared the only resource to fulfill this quest without alerting Hanley. Too, Coal had agreed to Mack’s warning that to assist Fillion would require that he “misbehave like a boss.” Coal would do whatever was necessary to protect his family.
Thoughts of cage fighting dissipated in the rain, and Coal furtively studied the surroundings as they walked. Buildings loo
med in every direction and created the illusion of a dense forest. Lights flashed, blinked, and bled strands of colors across the wet streets. Drones flew just above their heads on occasion. The majority of machines whirring around belonged to businesses and to the government. Curfew was one o’clock morning time in certain neighborhoods and blocks. It was shortly after midnight, so the police drones would not yet interrupt their journey. As they passed under a street lamp, a humanoid android approached. Its fluid steps and strangely brightened eyes were unnerving.
Mack whispered, “Ignore it.”
The electronic man stopped in front of Coal, and Coal held his breath and side-stepped around the android. The robot turned its head and watched him, no doubt aware of his biometric response to its presence.
“Are you the Martian?” the android asked, pivoting on its feet their direction.
“Shit,” Mack muttered. “Move. Fast. Media droid. Last thing we need.”
Coal picked up his pace, and licked his lips. Fingers touched his and he nearly yelped, but he remembered Mack’s admonishment to remain cool. The fingers interlaced with his and he angled his head toward Lynden. She maintained a straight, downcast posture, the hood covering all her features save her lips, which sloped up in a faint smile. He squeezed her fingers and she squeezed back.
A few hours after passing out, Lynden had awakened in a groggy haze. She stared at her fully dressed state and looked around the room, startling when locking eyes with him. Coal approached her bedside and knelt on the ground, and had asked if she fared well.
“What happened?” she asked, squinting her eyes with sleep.
“You imbibed in a fair portion of sake.”
“Shit.” Lynden released a heavy breath. Vulnerability flashed in her eyes, before she hardened into indifference, and she said, “Whatever I said or did, it wasn’t true. OK? Why are you in my room anyway? I never took you for a lurker.”
“You asked me to remain.”
“Oh god, did I share something?”
“Yes,” Coal said, lifting a corner of his mouth. “I had the pleasure of experiencing transforming strawberries.”
“Transforming—what?”
He had taken her hand and tugged her out of bed. “I will show you. Far safer than enchanted apples.”
Coal’s chest tightened with the memory, and he contemplated Lynden once more. The hood had fallen back on her head some, providing a glimpse of her features. Blue-glitter eye shadow glinted from her dark-rimmed eyelids. Lips, painted blood red to match her front strands of hair, formed a tight line. A black kimono-style jacket flared over her blue and black plaid skirt. Lace-like tights covered her legs, the holes so large that Coal could not fathom their function. She finished her ensemble with shiny blue combat boots.
He was getting used to the otherworldly fashion of Outsider women. However, the black corset top Lynden wore this evening concerned him greatly. It left her upper chest and shoulders bare, save for the black ribbon tied around her neck. Tiny freckles kissed her exposed skin, and tempted him to do the same. If it inspired such thoughts in him, he could only imagine the thoughts other men would sport. Coal needed to think of something else, not wishing to disrespect Lynden. So, he returned to absorbing his surroundings as surreptitiously as possible.
Trees grew out of the sidewalk every few steps. Their partially naked limbs stretched toward the sky as if begging to be spared from their artificial environment. Coal reached out and grazed a tree as he walked by, his fingertips extending his sympathies, for he understood. He felt similar.
An apartment building gave way to a low wall made from rubble. Beyond the stone-like fence, a lush garden, the size of a city block, spread before them. Fruit trees dotted the landscape, and Coal stared with horror at the sheer number of apples and pears decomposing upon the ground. Coal slowed his steps and gaped at the city’s oasis.
Why grow food only to let it go to waste?
“Keep moving, Mr. Awesome,” Lynden said, yanking his arm.
“This garden is teeming, but the food is left to rot.”
Mack dropped his voice low. “City law mandates permaculture gardens every two miles within city limits. It’s part of the Green City Initiative.”
“Who may benefit from the food?”
“Those who pay taxes,” Mack said. “The employed and land owners.”
“And yet they do not.”
“Nobody wants to appear needy. It’s a sign of desperation. A couple of decades back it was a sign of elitism.” Mack eye’s shifted toward Coal in a side-glance. “I know. Like I said, control is the greater currency. Trumps everything. Even hunger.”
A drone slowed its flight on the sidewalk before them and a holographic woman appeared, well figured and dressed in undergarments. “Hey boys. Want to touch a real woman?”
Coal lowered his eyes as his skin heated. He looked to Mack for direction. With a wide, mischievous grin, Mack walked right through the woman, lifted his hand, and flipped off the drone, never breaking stride. Lynden chuckled and gave a slight shake of her head.
“There’s Pioneer Square. Head down. No stopping.”
The boarded and gated windows disturbed Coal, a more unsettling kind of disturbance than the ostentatious storefront displays of the wealthier areas of Downtown. The shift was so sudden, that Coal wished for the gaudy holographic ads in the windows simply for more light.
Dark lumps against the walls grew in number and he gasped when noting gaunt, pallid faces beneath the occasional lights from the street. Some of the forms extended hands, weary voices pleading for food or money. A few reached forward and attempted to tug pieces of their clothing to gain attention. The sounds of anguish wrapped around Coal until he thought he might suffocate from the shame of walking by whilst they suffered.
He tapped the device on his ear, “Cranium, phone Mack.”
“What?” The voice whispered in his head.
“Who are they?” He whispered back.
“Homeless.”
“I beg your pardon?” Coal resisted the urge to stare at the individuals, and kept a downcast posture as instructed. In his peripheral vision, he noticed a woman gather a child close to her, similar in size to his brother Blaze, and lift a piece of cardboard over them for a blanket. The sight nearly made Coal jump out of his skin with fury.
How could neighbors watch those from their community waste away like the fruit in the garden?
Mack whispered, “No jobs, no homes.”
“Surely there are places for them to stay warm and dry. Especially the children.”
“They have to rotate. Too many homeless, not enough shelters. The foster system is clogged. People aren’t taking kids anymore. They can barely feed their own.” Mack let out a sigh. “Don’t do anything stupid. No heroics.”
“This is a grief I have never experienced. The pain is intolerable,” Coal whispered. “Is there nothing we can do?”
“No.”
“I have an apple in my pock—”
“Shit, don’t mention food or show it.” The urgency in Mack’s voice alarmed Coal, and he tightened his hold on Lynden’s hand. “They’ll mob you. If you’re lucky enough to survive that, then you’ll get the privilege of being hauled away by the police for inciting a riot.”
“Can they not eat from the garden?”
A low, dark laugh rumbled from Mack. “What do you think?” Silence ticked between them for a minute, but Mack kept their line open. “They’re micro-chipped. If they step foot in that space the police drones will arrive and use sonic waves to subdue them.” Mack paused. “It’s population control. Too many people live too long, so let the hungry die––”
Coal disconnected the line, unable to listen to another word. Hot tears gathered and he tensed, slowly exhaling through clenched teeth. A finger caressed his inner-wrist in slow circles and he blinked, drawing in a ragged breath.
“Save the injustice for the cage,” Lynden whispered to him. “I can’t stand it either.”
&n
bsp; Fat drops of rain now fell from the sky, and she blew a wet strand out of her eye in annoyance. A swelling crescendo of sound accompanied the outpour of precipitation. Coal lifted his head to the smudged dark sky as he trudged along, enjoying the tiny beating upon his face. Anxiety melted with the night’s tears, and anger poured into him instead. Resolved to unleash justice’s fury, he hung his head toward the sidewalk once more and kept a corner gaze on Mack, who took a sharp turn into a nearby alley.
Lynden’s steps hesitated for the briefest moment, but her rhythm returned before he could question her. Then, she pulled him close, answering his silent concern. He released his hand and wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her tight to his side, and her shoulders relaxed a notch.
Mack paused before an unmarked door, touched his Cranium, and then shoved it open. Coal assisted Lynden inside the dank, abandoned building. A musty scent assailed him, and he wrinkled his nose in response. The high ceilings dripped, and the plopping sounds of droplets ricocheted throughout the room. A man materialized from the shadows behind a pillar and, upon recognizing Mack, relaxed and disappeared behind the broken support once more. Mack walked past him with a slight nod and continued down a long, winding hallway. Lamps hung haphazardly from the ceiling and streams of water poured down the walls and created small puddles on the concrete floor.
Elements (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2) Page 40
