Legacy (The Biodome Chronicles)

by Sundin, Jesikah

  When he recovered from the portal’s flash, Leaf watched with growing horror as a face flickered onto the glass. The face appeared to look back at them while leaning forward, creasing dark eyebrows, and then his eyes widened as his mouth slackened.

  Leaf grabbed the candleholder from Oaklee and maneuvered his body in front of his sister as protection, hearing the rustle of fabric as she lifted the hood of her cloak to further hide in the shadows. The visitor looked expectantly at him, as if still trying to decide if he was real. Leaf questioned at that moment if the man was real as well.

  “Greetings. We come in peace,” Leaf said, extending his hand in a welcoming gesture.

  It seemed the natural thing to say and do, he reasoned, when meeting an Outsider for the first time. The man in the glass angled his head, and creased his brows once again. After a moment, he burst into laughter, falling back against a large chair that appeared like a throne compared to the humble wooden variety found in their homes. Leaf glanced over his shoulder casually and exchanged a worried look with Willow. He returned his attention back to the portal and gasped when the image cleared and he realized the manner of person with whom he was interacting.

  Chin-length black hair swept forward across the man’s face, decorated by a single bright blue streak on one side. One eye peered at him inquisitively while the other eye remained hidden by the black and blue hair. Two metal rings protruded from his bottom lip, a primal look emulating how Leaf envisioned savages of eras past.

  The mysterious man wore a tight black tunic with shortened sleeves, exposing a tattoo on his right bicep of a tree in flames, bearing red fruit. Another tattoo circled in a ring around his upper left arm in what appeared to be Celtic knots. Leaf thought of the linden tree tattoo on his father’s back. The community used henna during certain celebrations; and only the first generation possessed permanent tattoos, received prior to Moving Day. Why was this man’s tree on fire? Leaf pondered the pain of fashion in the Outside, thankful for his own simple lifestyle.

  He met the man’s exposed eye, an otherworldly shade of blue intensified by a darkly drawn border. Leaf stood up straight, squared his shoulders, and returned the silent challenge in the man’s hard stare.

  “Who are you?” the man in the portal asked.

  Oaklee closed her eyes and cringed, clutching Leaf’s cloak as she buried her face to hide. Leaf plucked the candle from her grasp as he maneuvered in front of her, and she was grateful, feeling lightheaded as the fear swirled around in a dizzying speed. She closed her eyes to listen to the sounds of nature, her usual way to find peace, but she could not hear the jungle. Only the Outsider’s voice echoed in her mind. This man’s speech was strange to her ears. His tone was soft yet unmistakably cold—and he pronounced his words in a very odd way.

  Her brother began in an uncharacteristically loud voice and she jumped. “Forgive me for not being forthcoming, but I do not believe we should share this information with a stranger.”

  She peered over Leaf’s shoulder and held her breath. The Outsider personified the complete opposite of everything earthy and natural. The outright defiance to nature moved a small part of her heart, an area that festered against her father’s death, her mother’s death, and the cycle of life.

  “Well played,” said the man in the portal, giving Leaf a smug look. “However, you are in the communication room, and I’m your salvation. So, how can I save you today?”

  “We do not need your… salvation.”

  “We?” He leaned in and looked around, and Oaklee ducked. “Oh, god. You’re mental. Shit. Is everyone in the dome your brand of crazy? Or just you?”

  Oaklee sucked in a breath and felt all her emotions spill over. “How dare you mock your office and our possible needs, sir.” She stepped out from behind Leaf, a hand clenched at her side while grabbing the candle back. “Where are your manners and compassion?”

  The man startled and sat back against a throne, somehow spinning without standing, and then casually placed a fist in front of his mouth. A black glove covered the hand up to where his fingers began. Oaklee found his partial glove curious as it stretched up his forearm, and only on one hand, she noticed. Fingerless gloves were common during the colder months in New Eden, but who wore a single glove? And one so tall upon the arm? His eyes narrowed slightly as he returned the appraisal, and she knew he was hiding a smile. The fear returned and she lowered her head while maintaining a view of the man in her peripheral vision, thankful for the hood darkening her features.

  “Forgive me, fair Maiden. You’re absolutely correct. As a gentleman, I stand corrected.”

  The man gave a slight bow, and looked up into her shadowed eyes with a self-assured smile on his pierced lips. His voice was again gentle and fluid like the wind, yet bearing a rocky edge of contempt. Oaklee drew her brows together, perplexed by the Outsider’s manner of speaking.

  She swallowed nervously, and chanced a look at Leaf. She was unsure of the proper protocol. Did she reply to the apology? How does one shake hands and seal forgiveness through such technology? Did she want to touch his hand? No, she decided resolutely. Anxiety overshadowed her sudden burst of confidence. Her brother stared into the portal.

  With head still lowered, she glanced up and further studied the peculiar man. His dark-rimmed eyes frightened her a little. It was as if he had rubbed ash around them—a strange action, most especially for a man. His hands moved back to the table, and she noticed a silver ring on his thumb and a black ring upon a finger of the other hand. But most alarming were the black fingernails that tapped the tabletop. Were they diseased? His smile changed, and he stared at her openly, a mischievous glint in the curve of his lips as he enjoyed her inspection of him.

  Oaklee blinked, snapping out of the trance, and understood she was being mocked. Her indignation took flight.

  “You, sir, are trash!” Oaklee turned and walked toward the ladder.

  Leaf caught her by the arm and held her in place. Hurricane Willow was now blowing, a family nickname she earned from the moments when her anger charged the atmosphere in a furious whirlwind whenever she felt the need to address a deep injustice. He tightened his grip on her arm as he turned to speak to the man in the portal. “I do not know exactly how you are a means of salvation—or even if it is true—but grant us one favor if you do possess such power. Please do not share with the Outside world that we communicated. It was an accident. We did not mean to activate the portal and summon you.”

  Oaklee glanced in her brother’s direction as he let go of her arm, saddened by the pronounced dark circles under his eyes. Straight posture and an even gaze, Leaf made the picture of authority in steady command of this surreal experience, despite the grief marking his features. She timidly glanced over her shoulder for the Outsider’s reaction.

  The man relaxed his posture and blinked at her slowly, and she felt her heart nervously pound in her chest. “I’ll keep your secret, but only if the Maiden says she is sorry.”

  “I will not.” Oaklee glared over her shoulder as she burned with humiliation. The man lifted his eyebrow at her clipped words. “I am a Noble woman and will not fall to the whim of Outsider fancies.”

  “What about me will you fall to?”

  Disgusted by his question and his ego, Oaklee faced the man with narrowed eyes. In a tight voice, she said, “Rest assured, there is nothing about you I would ever fall over.”

  “Pity,” he said, taunting her with another humored smile.

  He slowly pushed the hair out of his right eye, and winked at her in arrogance. Oaklee groaned in frustration and placed a hand on her hip, fiercely gripping the candleholder with the other. These games of power vexed her, and she was appalled that a man would treat a young woman so cheaply and without honor. She lifted her chin and looked away toward the wall, listening to Leaf sigh heavily as he shifted on his feet.

  After several moments, she gave a sideways glance, astonished to find the man’s face lit with satisfaction. He had enjoyed her insu
lt? Did he not realize she was serious? Oaklee decided he was the one who was not sane, partially mad with some Outsider illness, hence the black fingernails. Most men would feel their pride wounded.

  The blood whooshing through her veins was inflamed and she forgot her fear and heartache. The rush of feeling alive vaporized with this awareness, and the winds of offense began to slowly lose momentum as her grief-stricken state crawled back into its proper place. Oaklee sobered and warily studied the man in the portal. They embodied two different cultures, but she discerned that he, too, hid behind heated emotions.

  Leaf was right. The Outside world must not know that they had connected through a secret portal. And as a Noble, it was her duty to sacrifice for the greater good of the community and for her family.

  The man fixed his gaze on her as he leaned back against his throne with a posture of indifference, running a hand through his hair as if bored and unimpressed. She almost believed he was serious but the corner of his mouth tilted up slightly in a near indiscernible grin. “How can you sleep at night, using a word like 'trash'? That's like a four-letter word to you hippies. God, I bet your mouth feels so dirty.”

  “You, sir, may not treat—”

  Leaf began to protect her honor, but she silenced him by placing a hand upon his chest, and gently shook her head. Her brother drew his brows together as he searched her eyes, and then gave a quick nod.

  Oaklee turned back toward the portal and lowered her head in a bow—quickly, before she changed her mind. She could not shake his hand per their custom, but she could still exhibit the humility it represented. She took a deep breath to settle her nerves, and then said, “I am most sorry for insulting you, sir.”

  To ensure he received the tone of her message, she maintained a downcast posture in a long pause, and then lowered to a curtsy as an act of honor. Although she would rather slap the smug expression on his face, she closed her eyes and willed compassion to surface, returning his stunned gaze with one of empathy as she nearly knelt on the floor. The man’s self-important smile faded and his lips parted in shock as he shifted in his chair. He dropped his head toward his chest, allowing long black hair to cover his face, and Oaklee stared at the bright blue streak curiously. Had no one ever apologized to him before? His shoulders rose and fell, the smooth lines of his tunic taut against his frame. The Outsider nonchalantly returned to an aloof posture and moved the hair out of his eyes with a quick jerk of his head, tucking strands behind an ear with timid movements. A distraught look flashed across his eyes as he focused on her brother, and she swallowed nervously.

  Leaf turned her direction with a look of astonishment with the level of honor she bestowed, knitting his brows as he offered his hand to help her rise. The man in the portal continued to fix his attention onto her brother as he moved a hand to the right and pushed a button on a small black cube.

  “This conversation is now private,” he said, and her fingers trembled with relief. The man met her eyes for several heartbeats and then asked softly, “Are you in trouble?”

  The Outsider shifted forward on his throne, all traces of haughtiness replaced with one meaningful look. What happened to all the ridicule? Oaklee weighed his question, noticing in the corner of her eye that Leaf watched her closely.

  “We are not sure,” Oaklee said in a tremulant voice, darting a look at her brother. “Do you know how to activate a Scroll?”

  “You’re not sure if you’re in trouble?”

  Leaf shifted on his feet and lowered his gaze, and she followed his example. They remained quiet and still, and Oaklee nibbled the inside of her lip as the tension silently increased.

  With a sigh tinged with annoyance, the man fell back against his throne with a dramatic thud and lifted his eyes to the ceiling with what looked like a plea before continuing. “I’m Fillion, the nighttime master of the electronic dungeon at New Eden Enterprises.” Oaklee jerked her head up with a shocked glance toward her brother. The man in the portal leveled his gaze at her, increasing the heartbeat that echoed in her ears. “I’m pretty sure Maidens don’t take leisurely strolls at 2 a.m. and ask about technology without due cause. So, what are you planning here? A prison break?”

  ***

  Nichols: You see, Thomas Hobbes correctly illustrates this problem, and that is, unfortunately, the cycle of humanity when faced with the idea of power. As I wish to remove the idea of power from the city, I turn to an alternative solution. Please don’t misunderstand me, I am not saying chaos should rule, but rather an unseen force. How can someone fight air? We fight solid matter. Therefore, if you take away the illusion of solid matter, there is no argument. I plan on electing four Elements as a noble class, representing Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water, all four visible within the community. An unseen force, The Aether, will oversee the biodome city, this new Eden. The Aether is a part of the community organically, yet nobody knows who holds the position. One of the community may even be married to this person and be unaware. I am curious to see how this plays out. I wish for peace and harmony. I seriously doubt that will exist if there is always a quest for power and control.

  Adams: This unseen force will be a member of the city, but their position is a secret to the other residents?

  Nichols: Precisely.

  Adams: And what happens if the secret is revealed?

  Nichols: Well, it is not so much about whether it is revealed, but why it should remain a secret. If a colony is on Mars, where can the people go and find safety should a war break out? There must be a government in place, but not identifying the king or queen should eliminate factions and power plays, ensuring the overall safety of the colony.

  —Hanley Nichols and Jennifer Adams, Atoms to Adams Daily Show, August 15, 2030

  ***

  The hooded man gave him a wary look. “You are a Dungeon Master?” The girl darted a quick look at the man and then blinked her eyes in confusion.

  “You nailed it. I’m the one who controls the story and makes all the rules,” Fillion said with a flat voice. He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

  Was that an attempt at role-playing game humor? It was a stupid joke. But he’d play along anyways, too bored to resist an opportunity to poke fun at the context of their existence.

  “Like I said,” he began again, trying to keep a straight face, “I’m in charge of communication and salvation. What part of this game is confusing you?”

  The hooded man furrowed his brows in another contemplative look and the girl narrowed her eyes at him. Again. Fillion couldn’t help himself and smiled pretentiously in reply.

  “How many captives are you warding?” the man asked in an even tone. The candle flickered with his breaths.

  “Right now? Just a boy and a girl.”

  The look on the man’s face was priceless. The hooded man actually believed he was a prison warden. Fillion blinked back laughter. It was hard to hide his amusement as he thought of all the people he wanted to lock away—namely one. He welcomed the pinch as he bit the inside of his cheek to stay in control.

  God, they were such idiots. The man and girl honestly believed in portals and dungeon masters. They probably thought Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy were real, too. Their soft British accents further humored him. New Eden Township was planted in the middle of a desert in California and colonized by Americans.

  The society inside the Mars prototype was created by live action role-players. They were hippie save-the-planet geeks who had seized the opportunity to live out their fantasies for twenty-five years by claiming it all in the name of science.

  They must take their jobs seriously, too. The second generation played the part to perfection. Fillion easily gathered that they were clueless to just how different they were from the rest of civilization. He couldn’t resist the urge to play along. Exactly what dangers could the peaceful glen of New Eden hold for its citizens? Did a tree fall and destroy a hut? He flinched at the girl’s next question.

  “Do you know Hanley Nichols?”

 
; “Yeah, I know him. What of it?” Fillion said with his trademark derision. The girl tilted her head, then opened her mouth ready to reply. He jumped in to redirect the conversation, “You didn’t answer my question. Are you in trouble?”

  “You, sir, did not answer mine.” The girl lifted her chin, then raised her hands to push back her hood.

  The video feed fuzzed, part of simulating glitchy communications from space. He was thankful the project ditched the delayed response. God, he went crazy when apps buffered, and that was nothing compared to a nearly 20-minute delay from Mars. The screen sharpened to their images once more, and he sucked in a quick breath. Candlelight flickered across her features and illuminated a fierce expression—made all the more prominent by the lack of piercings, makeup, dyes. The young woman embodied everything natural, something he had never seen before. With the exception of small children, no one was natural, not even the hippies of his world, whose lifestyles were as mechanized as any other. Here was someone who purely lived out the romanticized notions of the Green Morons he detested, and he didn’t know what to say. He casually studied her features while reminding himself of their questions. Why were they asking about a Scroll? And his dad?

  “OK. To answer your question, I do know how to activate a Scroll. Although, it’s ancient technology. The last model came out fourteen years ago. Were you even alive then?” He smirked, trying to buy time to process why they wouldn’t directly answer if they were in trouble.

  “Yes, sir,” she said with an air of offense.

  He sat back against his black leather office chair. The second generation had technology? His fingertips touched together in the shape of a pyramid. “I suspect you have a first-gen Papyrus.”