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

by Sundin, Jesikah

  “My parents wanted me to convey their congratulatory wishes.” Lynden flipped her hair and leaned back against the bar. “They sent a gift, too. Sorry they couldn’t make it.”

  “How’s your brother?” Kris asked.

  “Peachy,” Mack cut in, darting Lynden a look. The media was always listening. Everyone was always listening. Especially Hanley. “His hikikomori soul is finally in its element.”

  “I asked her! Attention whore.” His mom gave him a pointed look and Mack scratched his head with his middle finger in reply. She shoved him in the arm, laughing. God he loved his mom. Turning back to Lynden, she said, “When you see him next, be sure to send my love.”

  “Yeah, sure. OK.”

  “Good to see you, darling.” Kris kissed Lynden’s cheek again and pulled her into a hug. “Contact me when you’re ready to do a feature spread.” With that, she flitted off toward the dance floor, exclaiming at a friend that it had been ages while hauling Lana over for introductions.

  Mack sighed into his cup. Ages probably equated to two weeks. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and stared at them. One second. Two seconds. Then put them back into his pocket. Pursing his lips in thought, he swirled the whiskey in his glass tumbler. Round and round, aimless motions of activity with no direction. Like him.

  “You’re moping.”

  He downed his whiskey and pushed his tumbler toward the bartender. “This isn’t moping, Rainbow.”

  “Fine. You’re pining.”

  “Hellz yeah.” Mack looked at her now. “Still haven’t grabbed that skinny ass of his or made out with him. The bishounen can’t keep out of trouble with the law long enough.” She started laughing, the kind where’d she snort. His favorite kind. He tugged on a strand of her hair and smiled.

  “Maybe it’s time you took another lover.” She raised her eyebrow.

  He nodded his head, though the throbbing pain intensified with the movement. “Yeah? Who do you suggest?” He turned around in his seat and pretended to survey the reception of Socialites and Elites.

  “How about him?” Lynden pointed to a gawky dude with lime green hair, picking his nose in the corner. She started snorting again and his lips twitched with the effort to remain serious.

  “I’m not into green hair,” Mack said with a sly glance. “I like black.”

  “Hmmm... Oh, that one.” She pointed to a tall, lean guy, probably around nineteen or twenty, sporting a clean-cut, athletic look and fire engine-red hair. An older woman, no doubt the man’s mom, wiped something off his cheek. Lynden lowered her voice conspiratorially. “He looks like a nice boy in need of corruption.”

  “Hey,” Mack said to the bartender. “Send that guy over there a Mac & Jack’s, compliments of me.”

  “You got it, Mr. Ferguson.”

  He looked to Lynden and batted his eyes. “I hope senpai notices me.”

  Lynden shook her head and groaned. “Mac & Jack’s? Really?” He smirked. “That’s terrible. And wow. You move on quick. I now question whether you ever really loved Fillion at all.”

  “Never. Doubt. My. Love.” Mack grabbed his stout and enjoyed a long sip. “Never.”

  “Oh my god. He got the drink. Mama’s boy looks afraid.” Lynden turned around to hide her snicker, eventually burying her head into her arms, her body shaking. “Maybe it’s the shirt. Definitely the shirt.”

  Mack casually peered over his shoulder. When the athletic-looking-dude caught his eye, Mack threw him a wink and a sexy smile. The guy turned a sickly shade and shook his head no, quickly turning around. Mack almost laughed. Except, he just didn’t care. It was weird, this not-caring business.

  “Well, that was fantastically anticlimactic,” he said to no one in particular. Lynden’s body deflated in disappointment with his words and he sobered. He didn’t mean it as a slam against her efforts to cheer him up. Mack hunched over his drink again, cradling the glass. “He’s good-boy cute,” he added, happy when she perked up again. “Not cybergoth kawaii enough for my taste.”

  “Fillion is not kawaii.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Mack grinned at her. “I wasn’t talking about Fillion.” He shrugged his eyebrows and played with his tongue piercing suggestively. “There are plenty of fish in the underground.”

  “You never loved him.”

  “Martian monogamy isn’t for all of us.”

  “Smart-ass.”

  “Gasp!” Mack covered his mouth in animated astonishment. “Lynden Norah-Leigh Nichols, the filth that comes out of your mouth.” He shook his head with a tsk.

  She snatched his stout and put it out of arm’s reach. “You don’t play nice.”

  “Kusogaki,” he growled. “You touched my beer.”

  Mack sprang from his seat with a kiai, rounding his eyes into a fierce warrior look. Lynden rolled her eyes, a mocking, challenging, and bravely triumphant move. For this, she would pay. He released a slow, drawn-out “hiya,” raising his arms into “praying mantis” then shoved her off her seat. She pushed back but it didn’t matter. The battle was over quick and she tumbled off the stool. Victorious, he hijacked her now vacant seat and grabbed his pint, enjoying a long, theatrical sip.

  Lynden plunked down in the chair he had previously occupied, arms crossed over her chest, and that damn eyebrow raised in humor, or irritation, or ... whatever. Did it even need a reason? Normally he would laugh and take a victory lap, talking smack, dancing circles around the loser, or high-fiving strangers. Instead, he rubbed out a smudge on the countertop.

  “You are moping!” Lynden lifted the corner of her mouth the same way Fillion did. Baiting smart-asses. Both of them. “Aw, poor Mack,” she cooed. “Does someone need a romcom and ice cream?”

  He ignored her. Just not in the mood to play anymore. Dubstep Elvis was making his head split. Dancers boogied away in their socks. Wait. What. He cocked his head to the side. Who in the hell came up with that stupid trend? His mom attempted to swing dance with Lana, pulling her in for a kiss, before twirling her newest wife under her raised arm.

  Maybe Rainbow was right. He did feel mopey. It had been five months since he’d seen Fillion. Five. Long. Useless. Months. And even then, it was only in passing as Fillion faced a judge to plead innocent. Before that, he hadn’t seen him since he’d entered New Eden, except through vid feed. But it was more than that. Fillion wasn’t here. Mack’s mom was getting married again, and Fillion wasn’t here to celebrate with him. Like always.

  “Partners for Life,” he spoke into his pint. The last drop of beer left the glass and he slid the empty vessel down the countertop to join the graveyard of dirty dishes. He needed to figure something out. There had to be a loophole. A legal back door he hadn’t thought of yet.

  Pulling out his pack of cigarettes, he said, “It’s a terrible day for rain.” Lynden pretended to wipe a tear off his cheek with a wry smile. “This one’s for you, mate.” He lit up and savored a long draw. Lynden plucked the cigarette from his fingers and puffed. She handed it back as she exhaled, resting her head on his shoulder with a shaky sigh.

  It wasn’t fair. Fillion was the only family she really had. The only family that cared, at least. Visits with Coal were limited, too. Mack caught a glimpse of his mom, head back, her loud laughter filling the room as Lana hung on her, equally as humored. Lynden noticed his mommies, too.

  They were two peas in a pod, he and Lynden. Loved and fought each other like siblings since preschool. Mack pulled Lynden’s seat closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She nuzzled in closer, settling her head in the crook of his neck.

  The song changed and he almost groaned until he heard the words “great balls of fire.” Mack smirked, holding in a bad joke, as he downed his shots of vodka—one, two, and finally three. The first wave of a buzz began to glimmer on the horizon. Finally. Cigarette dangling from his fingers, he enjoyed another draw.

  He winked when catching Lynden’s stare in the mirror over the bar. A feeble smile teased her lips in reply. The reception raged o
n in the background. Tiny reflected specks of gaiety over their shoulders. And then it hit him. A bullet shot to the brain. The idea that would open a back door legally.

  “Oh shit,” Lynden said into his neck. “I know that look. Whatever it is your half-drunk brain just schemed, Mackenzie, don’t do it.”

  Mack laughed. He was so going to do it.

  Seattle, Washington state

  Thursday, April 8, 2055

  Mack plopped into the driver seat of his car and rubbed feeling back into his limbs. Hell to the no for walking out in that garage again, even to sprint to his apartment for warmer clothes. Damn, it felt like the Arctic. After a week in Southern California, blue skies equaled warmth. He squinted up at the bright, morning sun. Well played, Mother Nature.

  The dashboard lit up with facial recognition and launched the biometric stat verification process.

  He twisted in his seat to peer at the spare computer and android parts littering his back seat. “Hello my pretties,” Mack whispered. Metal clinked and clattered in reply as he rummaged for any signs of a forgotten hoodie.

  All week, he had tried to think of a viable reason to visit Gremlin, the underground’s electronics scrapper. Also the go-to black market smuggler, with extensive connections throughout the local prison systems—adult and juvenile.

  The more Mack thought of Fillion, the more he knew something was wrong. It wasn’t like Fillion to be this careful. Introvert?––Yes. Quiet?––Also true. Stubborn ass?––Ha! The most stubborn. Living with no heartbeat? Only true metaphorically. This dead-to-me business had to end. Soon. Or Mack might stage a crime simply to join his friend in detention.

  The imagined screams of horror from the female population were what kept him in check. Someone had to meet their demands while Fillion was away. He was charged by The Sir to be his official fake boy, anyway. Mack was here to serve. A job he took seriously. And he promised to take care of Lynden. There was that, too.

  When he had finally despaired of a believable alibi to visit Gremlin, Mack’s dad came through with a save––although, he didn’t know it. TalBOT industries offloaded boxes of e-waste for the underground to salvage and his dad had a shipment ready to go. So many boxes, in fact, that Mack had to dump the parts in the backseat and flatten the boxes for it all to fit in his car. The parts were young for e-waste, like maybe a year old tops. Certain circles in the underground would upcycle. Mostly, however, the vultures would pick through the scraps for gold threads and rare earth minerals. But, for Gremlin specifically, Mack selected the most valuable pieces. Bargaining chips.

  The dashboard refreshed to a start-up screen. He paid it a passing glance and returned to his mission.

  “Hey, Mack.” Susani—the AI conversational software modded into the command center of his car—moaned his name in a silky voice. He faced the dashboard long enough to let his eyes roll back in a look of satisfaction. She purred a laugh and added, “Love it when you ride me.”

  Mack tossed a robotic leg the size of his forearm to the other side of the backseat. “Susani, you’re my favorite girl to ride. But first I need heat.”

  “You want me to make you hot and sweaty?”

  “Nah,” he laughed. “Another time. Turn me on to room temp.”

  “If you want my heat, push my buttons and enter your password to start my engines.”

  Mack blindly pushed the start button, prompting the password screen to pop up. He had enough parts in his backseat to build an entire robot. Hell, a dozen robots. But no hoodie. Disgruntled, he turned around and swiped the code, a variation of what the girls called him. The engine roared to life.

  “Mmmm... I like that.” Susani’s sultry voice vibrated the computer panel and he laughed again. “Where can I take you today, Mack?”

  “Skyline Parking Garage.”

  “By the Ferry Terminal or by The Crypt?”

  “The Crypt.”

  “At this hour?”

  “Yeah. I have a work delivery.” Mack rubbed his arms as his car pulled out of its slot and rolled toward the gate. “Music station. CyberBlack.”

  The city rolled by in flashing colors. People shuffled in and out of coffee shops and skyscrapers. Clusters of people swarmed crosswalks like vibrant hued clouds moving across the sky—one direction, straight lines, and all at the same speed. The buildings were clothed in blinking, holographic advertisements and vegetation. Green walls—required by eco-city ordinances—vertically sprawled across commercial buildings in geometric patterns. In assassin-style trench coats, with messenger bags strapped across their backs and fingers tapping privacy screens, the business class brushed by drones and androids on the sidewalk. The familiarity of it all wrapped around Mack.

  Drumming his fingers on the armrest, he returned his attention to the work emails that wavered before his eyes. Sales distribution needed his assistance with an overseas order of nanotech processing chips. Again. There was always something. Nit-picky bastards. They wanted parts from TalBOT Industries, and only TalBOT Industries, but custom ordered only after shipment was received. This time, the initialization software was not to their liking and changes were demanded. He’d need to talk to dev about a patch to suit their stringent requirements. The money was too good to blow off. So was this company’s market influence.

  His car stopped at a light. He closed his message center with a sulking sigh. Too much to think about. He needed to remain focused on other details. Lost in his head, Mack was absently trailing a homeless man as he limped across the street, talking to himself, when a metal object crashed into his car. Mack’s head whipped toward the source.

  An android’s face pressed to his window and Mack jumped. The glass and computer screen eyes blinked. Mack blinked back, equally surprised. The body in casual dress still moved, walking into Mack’s car with clattering bumps again and again.

  Finger flying through the air, Mack turned on his Cranium and launched the scanning software he developed to breach most android security features and capture ownership details. The android shouted, “Move!” When Mack failed to comply, the android shouted his request again. Data streamed upward in Mack’s vision almost immediately. The security features were that laughable.

  Courier class.

  Employer: Keller-Donald, Attorneys at Law.

  Name: Drew 182.62.W5Y.23C

  Inception date: February 3, 2051

  Owner contact information uploaded into Mack’s Cranium. He turned off the vid feed and closed his screens. “Gotcha, dokyun.” He shoved his door, knocking the robot onto his metal ass. “Cheap motion sensors,” he mumbled under his breath. To Drew he said, “Tell your owner to expect my bill.”

  “Correction. You were in my path, Mackenzie Patton Campbell Ferguson the Third.” Drew lifted a hand and shook it angrily at Mack. So it had facial recognition software? But otherwise blind as a bat? Mack inclined his head and studied the courier droid. The robot twisted its head to mimic Mack’s movement and said, “My owner will be in contact with you.”

  People stared and pointed. Some turned on Craniums to take pictures. Others shook their heads and continued walking. Horns honked behind him. Mack ignored it all and continued to analyze the courier’s every movement. The android appeared to be doing the same with him.

  To act casual, Mack rested his arms on the top of his car door and spit onto the road, saying, “I don’t argue with computer chips. I’m your Overlord, tesaki.” He slid back into his car and slammed the door, releasing a flood of swear words.

  “Are you done playing?” Susani asked him. “The light is green.”

  “Yeah. Drive.” Mack inhaled deeply and released a slow, shaky breath. Was Drew a warning? A signal? The car eased forward and followed traffic through the intersection. He needed to do something before his mind ate him alive. “Actually, Susani, I want manual control.”

  A steering wheel formed from the dashboard and moved toward him. He felt the transmission shift as he placed his foot to the accelerator pedal.

  “I
like it when you take control and handle my parts.”

  “I bet,” Mack replied with a laugh. “They all do.”

  Five blocks later, he passed Skyline Parking Garage and pulled into an alley near The Crypt. The narrow road cut through the towering, historical brick buildings. Trash lined the walls and blew across his path. The nondescript entrance to the underground passed by on the right. Mack, however, wanted the service door at the end of the alley.

  Rolling to a stop, he turned off the engine and hopped out to inspect the damage. “Shit,” he said under his breath. Scratches scarred the black paint job, leaving behind a series of silver marks. “Asshole. May a rabid dog chew off your arm and piss all over your circuitry!”

  The door to the drop-off opened and Gremlin poked his head out. Black hair tipped in orange spiked around his head. A tattoo of loose wires dangled down his cheek and neck, the wire ends leading to various piercings.

  “Hey. Been awhile, man.” Gremlin reached out and shook Mack’s hand. “Whatcha got for me?”

  “Mostly android parts. A few control boards.” Mack opened his car’s back door and grabbed a box to pop back into shape, keeping his shit together despite the chill in the air. Dammit. He should have ran back to his apartment for warmer clothes. He was one with the sun. He was fire. He was freezing his ass off.

  Gremlin whistled. “These look fresh. Still have that just-out-of-the-factory smell to ’em.”

  “Test parts. Honorable discharge.”

  “Clean? Or do the serials need scrubbed?” Gremlin briefly looked up from his inspection when Mack laughed. “Sorry, automatic question. Forgot who I was talking to.”

  “I have a box in my trunk you would appreciate.” He signaled for the trunk to open and walked over. Gremlin peered inside and whistled again. “Sexy, right?” Mack asked, wiggling his eyebrows. “Go ahead. Touch. Stroke. Nosebleed,” he added with a flirty smile. “I did.”

  “Let’s talk.”

  Gremlin stuck his head inside the service door and shouted for help. Two men appeared from the shadows and propped open the door, sleep still pulling on their features. Mack understood. Ten in the morning was early after an all-nighter of subterranean activities.