“Yes, that is precisely what we have,” the girl said while keeping her eyes straight on him.
She was bluffing.
“Show me.”
“We did not bring it with us.”
“Next time, bring it with you.”
“There will not be a next time,” the young man in her company chimed in.
“Listen up, you neo-hippie peon. You forget that I’m the Dungeon Master, so you’ll do as I say. I hold the key to all communication and your salvation should you need it.” Fillion grinned while watching the questions burn in the man’s eyes, as green as the young woman’s next to him. Looking between the two, he figured they must be siblings.
The man lowered his head in a respectful manner. “As you say, Master Fillion.”
Fillion almost laughed at the outlandish title. God, this was funny. He couldn’t wait to share with his friend, Mack, that he made contact with Martians and that they called him their master.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“I am called Leaf, Son of Earth, and this is my sister Willow.” Leaf grunted in discomfort, and then corrected himself. “Forgive me, my sister Oaklee.”
A satisfied smile spread on the girl’s face. He watched intrigued as she lowered her eyes as an attempt to hide her amusement. Fillion blinked as their names registered in his mind, and all traces of humor vanished.
“What’s your last name?”
At that question, the pair immediately looked at the floor, deflated. Fillion almost felt bad for deceiving them. Almost. He had never had this much fun while working the graveyard shift, and it may be his last night. Tomorrow he faced a judge, and possibly a new future.
“Your surname?” Fillion nearly barked, becoming impatient.
Leaf gave his sister an apologetic frown, and then whispered, “Watson.”
“What the hell?” Fillion muttered.
He stood up and walked out of camera range and leaned his head against the wall. Was this a sick joke? Alarms went off in his mind as his body tensed. He knew this name, and he knew exactly who they claimed to be. A burst of anger surged through him, and he punched the wall. Muscles continued to flex for release when the physical pain failed to satisfy the hot rush of adrenaline. Did this have to do with his trial? Was someone pranking him? A reminder that the sins of the father fall on the children?
There was no possible way Leaf and Willow Oak Watson stood before him this moment. They had died nearly six years ago. He saw their death certificates, and he carried emotional scars from their passing. Life as he knew it changed the moment the media and lawyers hounded for answers and turned accusing fingers toward his family. The whole world knew of this brother and sister—and thought they were dead.
Fillion’s mind raced as a he struggled to plot his next move. He looked over his shoulder disturbed by his paranoid thoughts. Feet moved, but he didn’t feel a step as he walked back to the screen and leaned in. He tried to see different angles of their room while assessing through raging adrenaline if this was a cruel trick. They didn’t appear to be holograms or computer-generated. Drones, artificial intelligence, holographic technology—it was all so humanoid, it was uncanny.
“Prove your identity,” he said in a tight voice, sitting back down.
“Pardon? Why is this necessary?” Leaf asked.
Willow paled and peered up at her brother with round eyes. Her finger began to nervously twist a strand of hair.
“Prove it.”
Leaf’s face remained solemn. “My father is Joel Watson, Earth Element Noble. He died three days ago.”
Fillion winced with his words. Was this for real? He didn’t know how to reply, nor trusted his ability to remain calm.
Taking a deep breath, Leaf asked in a low voice, “What else would you like to know, sir?”
“My Lord, you do not need to answer his questions,” Willow said at his side.
She took Leaf’s arm in hers protectively, and Fillion looked away when a tear fell down her face. He wouldn’t give in to theatrics, especially if they were holograms recording his reactions. For all he knew, there was a group of people somewhere hidden from the video feed, laughing their asses off right now at his expense. They didn’t look or act like holograms, though. Their images were too sharp and they lacked the occasional glitch. Were they AI? He shook his head as more tears fell down Willow’s face. Leaf and Willow were definitely human, and a new current of emotions surged through him.
This was real to them. The whole idea was crazy, but they weren't lying. Joel Watson died? Did Hanley know this? Tears continued to fall down Willow’s face as she nibbled on a fingernail. Her reaction should draw out his compassion, especially after she humbled herself for him. But instead, he remained guarded, not knowing what the hell was going on.
Fillion leaned forward in his chair, and glared at Leaf. “I’m still not convinced.”
Willow snapped her head his direction and gasped. He didn’t offer his condolences or use a kind voice as dictated by the strictures of their social graces. But he didn’t care. She could think he was a man-made machine, devoid of proper human emotion, the computers turning him into a beast from lack of connection to nature, or whatever. At this moment, it was probably close to the truth.
Was she really Willow Oak Watson? A part of him wanted the nightmare to be true while the other part feared what that could mean. A rustic cloak engulfed most of her, fastened squarely beneath her neck. This restricted his focus to her long braided hair and the large eyes that expressed a Molotov cocktail of emotions. She was ready to explode, and so was he. She was nothing like he had imagined.
As a younger man he had fantasized about her, connecting to her story in order to escape his own lonely reality. Instead of her death, he had fabricated images of himself rescuing her from harm. There was no romance in it—his mind didn’t even wander that direction. Rather, they were delusional thoughts of regaining control and righting what was wrong. All of it was just a fool’s game to cope with the rejection he received at school and on the Net because of her death. And maybe a sign that he was clearly going mental.
Mack, his childhood friend, pulled him out of his nervous breakdown and introduced him to a hacking circle in the Anime Tech Movement's computer underground. The youth-driven punk culture formed out of the population explosion of the 2030’s. Raised in a school system that had outsourced STEM education to contracted teachers and companies from Japan, his gen was the most highly educated youth culture to ever have walked the planet. But there were no jobs left for their vast numbers. Left out, they had nothing to show for their genius but a dark and immoral grassroots movement. Fillion remembered the relief he felt, crawling into that hole and disappearing from “good” society, the society that continued to murder him with each careless insult and camera click.
God, he hated being reduced to nothing more than a character on the Net. Life was a game of entertainment, each with their part to play, and his soul provided countless hours of amusement for his otaku cyber-followers. By contrast, the members of the hacking circle asked zero questions and, frankly, didn’t care about who he was.
In his delusional visions, Willow was helpless and a victim, powerless against the Gamemaster that owned her life—like him. She had physically died, and he emotionally died with her in the wake of the media outcry from her passing. His dad was accused of neglect and manslaughter, brought to court and publicly shamed for her death and that of her siblings and mother. Although his dad was found innocent in the end, the stains of his implied guilt never washed off of Fillion. Every muscle tensed with shame over the last thought.
He returned his attention to Leaf, who shifted on his feet while holding his head in his hands. Fillion waited with building anxiety and tapped his fingers to the internal tune of “Wretched Anger” by CyberBlack, his favorite band. His hand paused when Leaf lifted his face and let out a slow breath.
With a look at his sister, Leaf swallowed, and then said, “Before New Ede
n, my father and Della Jayne were high-school sweethearts. They were pledged for five years, but ended their engagement when she was twenty-four. She is now married to Hanley Nichols.”
The young noble reached out and placed a hand on Willow’s arm, saying in a low voice, “Je suis désolé que tu ne savais pas cela jusqu’à maintenant, Oaklee. Père m’a fait promettre de ne pas partager jusqu’à ce que ce soit absolument nécessaire.”
Every one of Fillion’s theories about this pair being dumb flew out the window. The nervous and downcast features suggested that Leaf was apologizing and pleaded with Willow to understand something. Willow turned her head away from her brother.
“And so you chose to share it with him?” She shrugged off Leaf’s hand and stepped aside, creating space between them. “Je suis déçu de toi, Leaf. Je pensais que je pouvais te faire confiance.”
Fillion couldn’t help but admire her double-edged sword, despite the blood she drew. A wounded look stole her brother’s features as he momentarily sagged his shoulders. And then Leaf stood as tall as he could before looking Fillion’s way, burning with determination.
In a hoarse whisper, Fillion said, “He chose a wise moment, Maiden,” earning her attention. They stared at each other for several seconds before he looked down at his hands, examining the black fingernail polish as he gathered his erupting thoughts. He didn’t know this history as well, and another internal wound came to life with Leaf’s declaration.
“Dokka ikanaide. Boku ga chekku shiteiru kara,” he said with a sly smile. Fillion enjoyed their curious expressions, feeling the power of control return to his mind and limbs. He was fluent in Japanese; all the elite children of his generation spoke the tech tongue. “Don’t leave. I’m checking out your story.”
Willow angled her head as she watched him tuck long strands of hair behind his ear. Fillion knew he looked like a freak in her eyes, especially with the small black plugs in his lobes, multiple piercings up his ear and the Cranium device resting against his skull. A single touch brought the device to life. Willow took a step back and placed fingers over her mouth. The main holographic user interface popped up in midair. The medieval hippies gasped audibly and his eyes darted their direction. With practiced skill, despite the building tremor in his hands, Fillion went to select the privacy screen, then changed his mind. Let them watch holographic technology in action. Fillion wasn’t under contract to protect them from technological influence. At this moment, he couldn’t care less about any of those stupid rules.
With a quick glance their direction, he swiped the names “Joel Watson” and “Della Jayne” into a search bar. Information continued to load onto the screen that wavered in front of his vision. His finger manipulated the search results, pointing and moving up in a slow fashion to scroll. A multitude of articles popped up that mentioned their presence in “Eco-Crafting Eden.” It was a name he had never heard of before.
The first line of one article halted his movements, and he began to read: “Live action role-players this month began a first of its kind vlog, streaming highlights from their game as a weekly reality TV series. Social networks are buzzing with images and conversations about the impressive physical gaming world located just east of Everett, Wash. ‘Eco-Crafting Eden’ promises to be an epic adventure featuring civilizations in five ancient worlds that must rebuild post-apocalypse without the aid of modern machines but permitted to use progressive Green methods. Player characters have been assigned to Ancient Greece, Egypt, China, the Middle Ages or Colonial America.” He stopped reading and studied a photo, stunned when he recognized a few faces—not just his mom and Joel Watson, but his dad too. Fillion had never searched his parents online. He had better things to do than waste his time reading about his family on the Net. In light of everything he was seeing now, though, he realized his foolishness.
The engagement announcement appeared and he tapped it twice, opening up the article, and his eyes skimmed over the details. Leaf’s story was legit. His mom knew the Earth Element? Was engaged to him at one point? His hands framed the hologram, and pushed in the image until the article diminished. “Cranium off,” he said, relieved when the static sound in his head ended. In a fit, his muscles itching for some continual form of release, he took the device off his ear and tossed it forcefully onto his desk, rubbing his eyes.
The Watson siblings stood before him alive. They were connected to his mom through their dad, who was apparently dead. The lawsuit and allegations about the kids’ deaths was completely unnecessary. He had spent nearly six years in shame, and for what? He was so angry he could burn down New Eden. It was a good thing he lived in Seattle, a couple states away. What was he going to do? He felt as if his heart stopped beating when a familiar pang arrested him, constricting the life from his body as the grip grew tighter.
“Do you have any other sisters or brothers, Maiden?”
“What is your intention, Dungeon Master? Do you have plans for such a relation?”
“Easy, Willow Oak Watson. I have no plans. It’s my last question.”
Fillion’s heart kicked up again at saying her name aloud to her living face. He sucked in a breath, and then whispered, “Oh, shit,” when realizing his goof, hoping she didn’t catch on that he used her full name, one that wasn’t introduced to him.
“Yes. I have a younger sister, sir, and that is all I shall share concerning her life, or mine.”
Willow cooled her posture and maintained an even stare. He kicked himself under the desk. She had picked up on his mistake. He was such a stupid idiot.
He rested his elbows onto the desk and lowered his head. Fillion closed his eyes, desperate for direction and an escape. But the furious look on Willow’s face burned in his mind. If they were alive, why were death certificates issued? And for all three siblings? Did his dad know all along? A string of expletives exploded inside his head.
They needed his help. And he guessed they had no clue just how valuable their lives were to New Eden, as well as to the science community. Yet the world couldn’t know they existed. His dad would probably be accused of creating a marketing gimmick, unleashing another round of media frenzy. Fillion wasn’t sure he would survive a second Watson Trial. God, he wanted to kick something, punch the wall again—and get drunk as soon as possible.
“OK. Listen, Leaf Watson,” Fillion began. “You need to unplug the portal before you leave. When you return, plug it back in, turn it on, and wait for the password screen, then unplug and plug it back in again. That activates a back-door function—skips the password and connects you straight to the dungeon. You have twenty seconds to unplug the portal once the password screen appears, or you’ll need to start over. I’m the nighttime master. Do not—I repeat, do not try and contact the daytime master. He’s cruel and will torture you.” Both Leaf and Oaklee’s eyes widened. “I have personal leave through Thursday night. Do you keep a calendar in New Eden?” Leaf nodded slowly. “Good, remember that. I’m nice, but my counterparts are not. Contact me again on Friday night about this time.”
Fillion was pretty sure he wouldn’t be a free man come Friday night, but it gave him time to work out an alternative.
“Thank you, Master Fillion, we shall do as you say,” Leaf said with a bow. The nobleman looked at Willow, and then nudged her to respond.
She gave her brother a quick glare, and then lowered into a graceful curtsy. “Yes, thank you, Master Fillion.”
She looked up as she curtsied and smiled at him, offering a truce. It was a quick and silent gift before she masked her face with a subtle side-glance at her brother to ensure he did not witness the exchange. Fillion accepted with an imperceptible nod, unable to look away, and confused by her gesture as Leaf disappeared from the video feed.
And then the screen turned black.
At first, Leaf kept his back to Willow, unsure of how to respond or proceed with her brazen behavior. He knew his sister could be a tempest, but he never knew she could be as insensible as to lie so boldly in calling the str
anger’s bluff, especially with a man who held power from the Outside world.
“Willow, we do not have the Scroll,” Leaf said gently.
She looked away from the looking glass, and met his steady gaze, the defiance still burning in her eyes.
“Yes, I know, My Lord. And my name is—”
“I prefer Willow, and you do not have permission to control my every thought, word, and deed, dishonoring me with your emotional outbursts.”
Leaf had stepped forward and spoke within inches of his sister’s face. He stared back with forcefulness to match her own.
With a steady calm, Leaf said, “I do not desire to walk on eggshells in your presence. Control yourself. That is your responsibility. It is not to control me.”
Oaklee turned around, stung by his unfeeling words. After several deep breaths, and a moment to refocus her thoughts, she felt a coolness flush through her senses, bringing her emotional thermometer back to room temperature.
“I know you are angry,” Leaf continued more softly. “I am, too.”
She faced her brother with his admission, and noted the slump in his shoulders and his drawn features. Her brother was a man beyond his years. The first generation often said Leaf was born an old man—mature, wise, upholding a strong sense of honor and rightness. She was wild, and he was tame. With the exception of his green eyes, Leaf looked more like their father with rich brown hair, curling at the ends near his ear lobes, and his tall stature, classic nose, and wide mouth, his smile easy and friendly. Yet she felt all those wonderful qualities—of Leaf the gentle, Leaf the kind, Leaf the steadfast—were bestowed on everyone else, and the scraps were thrown in her direction. Nevertheless, as the new head of their family home, and according to the custom in their culture, she needed to yield respect to him.
Normally, she did not apologize vocally and, as she already went against her sentiments with Master Fillion, she remained silent while extending her hand in a gesture of peace. Oaklee expected Leaf to shake her hand and grew nervous as he stared with a placid expression at her outstretched offering. Then an affectionate smile formed on his face as he took her hand and kissed it before pulling her into an embrace. Her brother had ceremoniously sealed his life to hers, an act of protection, a gesture that caused Oaklee’s mind to reel as she sifted through years of resentment.
Legacy (The Biodome Chronicles) Page 6
