“Calling the police now.”
“Thank you!” He sprinted across the street, back to the scene. “Hey!” he shouted. “Police drones are coming!”
“Shit!” A boy fisted another by the shirt. “Let’s go.” And like that, they were gone.
Mack quickly grabbed Fillion, who cried out in pain, but Mack didn’t stop to consider the damage. He needed to get his friend out of there. Throwing his jacket over Fillion’s head, Mack led them down an alley, which poured into another, down a side street, through a city-required permaculture garden, until reaching TalBOT Industries, only to find out that his dad had already left. The security guard alerted a chauffeur, one of two who always was on standby during business hours.
Twenty-three minutes and fifty-one seconds later, they walked into the Nichols residence. It was the first time Mack had used a timer in his Cranium. He wanted to know how long forever was inside of hell.
Fillion’s body was trembling, like he was going into shock. But he kept his cool. One eye was swelling shut, blood dripped from his nose and a split lip. He cradled his left arm close to his chest, breaths shallow.
“What happened?” Hanley asked. No trace of worry. No hint of grief.
The details rushed out of Mack’s mouth, slowing to a stop when Hanley circled around his son. The move was so predatory that Mack’s own animal instincts stilled the blood galloping in his veins. For a few seconds, he felt suspended between the primal need to fight and the desire to pull away in self-preservation.
“Have you learned your lesson?” Hanley asked Fillion.
“Um, he didn’t do anything,” Mack was quick to defend. “Didn’t provoke anyone.”
“Some random boys appear and only want to harm Fillion?” Hanley turned to Mack. “But not you? Even when you attacked them in defense of your friend?” He shook his head with amused humor, as if Mack was so naïve. “Seems strange, don’t you think?”
Mack opened his mouth to reply, but then thought better of it.
Hanley leaned down to eye level with Fillion. “Look at me.” When Fillion refused to do so, he repeated the words with a threatening undertone. Gray eyes sliced over to his dad, his gaze still though his body shook with self-control and pain. “You probably deserved this,” Hanley began again. “Your cocky attitude and flippancy invites trouble. Now you know the consequences. Don’t pick on boys bigger than you. And, when you’re older, never forget the same is true of men.”
“I think his arm is broken,” Mack interjected.
“I’m fine,” Fillion gritted between clenched teeth.
Lynden, who had stayed home sick, appeared at the top of the stairs and gasped. “Oh my god! What happened?”
“I’m. Fine!” Fillion snapped, breath ragged.
“Since you insist that you’re fine, I won’t call for the doctor. You need to toughen up anyway. My son isn’t a wimp.”
“Dad!” Lynden cried out. “He’s bleeding!”
“Stay out of this, Lyn,” Hanley had spoken with gentleness, like he had compassion despite how it might look. “It’s not for you to understand.” He looked at Fillion again. “This is an important lesson, one that will prepare you for a necessary future.”
That was always Hanley’s justification. Like somehow he was doing Fillion a favor. Like all the suffering was “for a reason” and Hanley was God, ensuring he didn’t give Fillion more than he could handle.
A core piece of Fillion had died within seconds of his dad’s comment; Mack witnessed the very moment the fire turned to cold ash in his friend’s eyes. Not even pain showed on his face, and he had to be in a helluva lot of pain.
Half an hour later, Hanley left for the downtown office to do “damage control” with the media. Della was out of town, as usual. Mack knew Hanley would return with a doctor, declaring “he was weak where Fillion was concerned.” Bullshit. He wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction of redeeming himself. Instead, he called back the chauffeur and brought Fillion and Lynden to his home.
Horror and injustice stitched into each of his dad’s features upon seeing Fillion. Mack had never seen his dad cry before. He was tougher than shit. A man of logic, steady and calm. Businesses and countries cowered in his boardroom. But he knew. Somehow without being told what had happened, he knew Hanley had punished Fillion for the media fallout concerning the Watson investigation and charges. Mack even wondered sometimes if Hanley had arranged for those boys to assault his son so that he—Hanley—appeared the victim of hate crimes instead of the reverse. Perhaps to encourage Fillion to never fight back against Hanley when he was older.
“I’m sorry,” Mack’s dad had whispered, pulling Fillion into an embrace. “So sorry.”
Fillion shattered. Broke all at once. Curled up in his dad’s arms like a small child even though he was twelve. His friend had sobbed until the doctor arrived. That was the last time he’d ever seen Fillion cry. Well, until Fillion was in New Eden and his mind had slipped into a PTSD hallucination during a vid session. A psychotic episode that was triggered by memories of this day. The day that started them all.
Two weeks after the boys beat him up, Fillion began seeing things that weren’t there. Talked to “the dead,” especially Willow Oak Watson. Someone who needed to be saved. Just like Fillion. Both imprisoned and punished by Hanley. It was so weird. And creepy. Uber creepy. His friend knew he was mental, too, which made the delusions and self-hate worse.
Hanley spun it as evidence of Fillion’s genius, which further showcased itself when Fillion graduated from high school two years early. It took everything Mack had to keep up with him academically, too. By age sixteen, the world had dropped its pitchfork and public shaming, raising otaku sites in worship instead. His best friend was beautiful, a bishounen, the kind of sensual, fine looks that made even straight men fantasize. And they did. Even now, the world continued to spin in a frenzy around their Eco-Prince.
Fillion kept it all inside, though. Showed no pain. Nothing.
But, for Mack, all he continued to see, regardless of how strong Fillion presented himself in the years that followed, was his best friend, broken, curled up, trembling, feeling protected and safe for those few, short minutes in the arms of Mack’s dad. Nobody would hurt his friend again so long as Mack lived. He made sure of it, too.
“Ready?” his dad asked, walking back into the sitting room.
Mack blinked back the memory and pushed himself off the couch. Rubbing out the nub of his cigarette, he replied, “Let’s roll.”
“Lunch plans?”
“Nope.”
“Let’s make a day of it, then, to celebrate your marriage. My treat.”
He smiled at his dad. “I have a few questions for you, actually.”
“Yeah? Shoot.”
“I think I may have met my first transhuman. An Untraceable.”
His dad whipped his head toward him, eyebrows low. “That’s not a question.”
“So they’re real?”
The car rolled out of the driveway. Once they were headed toward downtown, his dad brought up a screen and swiped: MELISSA Project. Modulated Engineered Living Information Socio-cybernetic Systems Android. 10 humans experimented on. 3 died. Rest disappeared.
Mack erased the message and swiped back: When?
21 years ago.
The one I met had to be 20, 22 tops.
His dad’s faced grew darker. Illegal augmentations. So has to be black market. Government shut down lab. Reports of nerve damage, neurological setbacks.
How extensive were the cybernetic systems?
Not sure. But 1 was bio-hacked.
The way his dad stared at him after typing, Mack knew that was how that particular specimen had died. He erased the last line and wrote, “Almost hooked up with one. Pretty sure of it. One hell of a freaky night.”
“Only you, Mack,” his dad said out loud through laughter. “Robots love you.”
“I’m their Overlord, desu.”
They pulled into the lawyer’s building and Mac
k filed away the information. Adjusting his utilikilt, he shut the car door and marched toward the elevator. All would be set for the big day after finalizing his pre-nup. The elevator door closed and he took a deep breath.
That’s right, otaku conspiracy theorists. Nichols-Ferguson nuptials were a smoke screen for a shady prison deal. Whatever it took to empower his friend to fight back. The conversation with Hanley had spurred an idea, too. One that would hopefully ruin daddy-to-be’s future plans for control.
“I know that look,” his dad said, shaking his head with warning. “That scheme you just plotted? It can’t be good. Synaptic misfire.”
Mack laughed. It was definitely good. Hanley would be weeping into his pillow, it was that brilliant. He grinned at his dad and winked. There was no stopping him now.
Tuesday, May 11, 2055
His body moved as if someone was shaking him. Then it stopped. Good. Sleep...
Smack!
A stinging heat spread across Mack’s bare ass. This was getting old. “Sleepy time,” he mumbled into his pillow. “Later. Before you leave. If you’re good.”
“Your alarm is going off,” a sexy voic` cooed near his ear.
“Huh?”
His head popped off his pillow. He squinted his eyes and stared at his Cranium. Sure enough, the damn thing was screaming at him. Groaning, he face-planted back into the pillow and somehow turned it off with a blind flop of his hand. Peace hath been restored. The shrieks of time, vanquished. Behold! Mackenzie Patton Campbell Ferguson the Third, Warrior-Between-the-Sheets and Robot Overlord.
Humored with himself, he rolled over to face the owner of that smooth, sexy voice and—oh god. He tried to not flinch. She was, uh ... not what he was expecting. Old. She was old. Like twice his age. Maybe older. And, not attractive. Bad teeth. Dry, frizzy hair, like it had given up its will to survive. She was a little haggard looking. Damn. He never got in this much trouble when Fillion was around. How much alcohol did he have last night?
“Hey lover boy.”
“Hi.”
“Ready for that sendoff? I’ve been a good girl.”
The panic, it was rising. “Sorry, can’t. Just remembered I need to stop by work before my next appointment. Schedule is tight.” He pulled the blankets up to his chin. Through the power of his groggy mind, he continued to send silent signals, hoping, praying, that the cougar had social cues, willing her to get out of bed.
“Feeling bashful?”
Dammit.
He nodded, slow and uncertain. Then shook his head no. Vigorously. Act natural, he played on repeat in his mind. “Uh, do you need a cab?”
“Nah, I live close.”
“OK, then.”
“Will we see each other again?”
“Nope.”
“I thought we had something—”
“I’m getting married today.”
Her eyes lit up. “I was your last?”
“Something like that.” He cringed.
Why wouldn’t she get out of bed? The rules of hooking-up, woman! No connecting beyond the physical mechanics of connecting. Still, she laid there, looking at him with expectancy. He hated awkward hook-up goodbyes. The universe was punishing him for something, he was sure of it. Fine. Be that way, Karma.
“I like this tattoo best,” she drawled, tracing a finger down his arm.
Forcing a polite smile, he said mechanically, “I’m going to shower. Alone. Have a nice day.” She leaned in for a kiss, but he jumped out of bed, covering up with pillows, and tried to walk to the bathroom like he was cooler-than-shit. It probably looked like he was stepping on Legos. Felt like it to his ego. He talked shit about liking all women, especially with older women to flirt and be silly. To make them feel good. But hell to the no. He needed to lay off the alcohol. And he needed his Fillion back.
Showered and dressed, he peeked into his room. Safe. She even made the bed. Who did that? Tip-toeing on ninja feet, he creaked open his bedroom door and peered into the hallway. Nothing. Then something. He jumped back trying to smother the horror. But failed.
“She’s gone. It’s safe to come out now,” Lynden said. The smile on her face said it all. He narrowed his eyes and moved past her, like she hadn’t caught him cowering behind his bedroom door. Or squealing in fright. “Fun night?” She asked.
“Don’t want to talk about it.”
“Mommy issues?”
“Ha! Ha! Very funny.”
“She wanted to make you breakfast, but I told her to leave. She didn’t even know who you were. Thought I was your angry, vengeful bride. Yuck!” Lynden arched that damn eyebrow. “You owe me, Mackenzie. I saved your sorry ass this morning. Literally.”
He laughed. That was awful. But true. “My hero!” He batted his eyes at her, but got nothing. Not even a flicker of a smile. “All right, name your price, Niji Doragon Ōjo.”
She ignored his nickname for her—Rainbow Dragon Princess—and softly said, “Come home after the wedding. Don’t go out.” Turning her head, she nibbled on her lip ring. “Tell me all about it. We can celebrate together. I’ll make us dinner.”
“You can cook?”
“Yeah, Selah is giving me lessons.” She shrugged. “Something to do, you know. Plus Coal is always hungry. He eats his weight in food. It’s gross.”
“You’re so full of mumblage.”
“Whatever. He doesn’t stop eating. All. Day. It’s not natural.”
“Admit it. You think it’s hella sexy to watch Farm Boy eat.” He tugged on a strand of her hair, waggling his eyebrows and biting his tongue in a silly, flirtatious grin. “Kinda kinky.”
Before she could verbally slap him, Mack lowered to bended knee and took Lynden’s hand in his, throwing her off. Just his plan. Her eyes rounded and she darted her gaze around the room. It almost looked like she was blushing.
“Lynden Norah-Leigh Nichols,” he began in the most formal voice he could conjure, “would you do me the honor of becoming my roommate? Like for reals instead of this sneaking up on me business?”
“Really?”
“For. Reals.”
“Uh...”
“Yeah, you can even re-decorate the place. I don’t care.”
“I’m not sure I can move out yet. Need to finish school.”
“I don’t think Mommy and Daddy will mind. Tell Rob to come here for lessons. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“I cook you dinner every night. That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?”
Mack tried to keep his lips from twitching. “I won’t ask you to do my laundry, if that helps.”
“And you clean up your own messes.”
“You clean up my own messes.”
“What?”
“Deal.”
“Smart-ass.” She flipped her hair. “Say it the right way.”
“I’ll clean up my own messes. Nag, nag, nag...” Mack arched his eyebrow to mock hers. “Better?”
She full-on grinned. The kind of smile that Mack had always loved. “Yes,” she said with a tiny, excited jump. “I’ll get some of my belongings today and meet you back here. How about steak?”
“Mack like meat.”
She raised her eyebrow and he laughed again. The damn kusogaki beat him to the bad joke. At least she didn’t groan this time. Like usual.
The rest of the morning moved on fast-forward. The next thing he knew, he was sitting in the visitation room with Jett, watching as Fillion and another inmate approached their assigned table.
“Hey,” Mack said, feeling weirdly nervous all of a sudden. What the hell?
“Hey,” Fillion said back, subdued. As usual. Still didn’t meet his eyes, but at least he was talking.
Mack shifted his focus to a man with dark blond hair with royal blue tips and smiled with recognition. “Blue, come to witness our union, huh?” He extended his hand, which Blue shook. “Thought I heard that you were arrested. Sorry, mate.”
“Good to see you, too, man.”
Jett looked am
ong them all and asked, “Are we ready?” Both Mack and Fillion nodded their heads. “OK, you may join hands.”
Fillion met his eyes and Mack winked. A barely-there smile touched his friend’s lips, like he was trying to hold in a laugh. But it was evident he was freaking out and playing it off as sedated, like last time. At least to Mack. Fillion’s eyes darted to a camera then back to the floor, shoulders lifting a notch, no emotion to his visage. Time for fun. Face straight, Mack took Fillion’s hands in his, caressing the back of Fillion’s hand with his thumb. That did it. Fillion started laughing. God, it had been so long. Mack forgot how much he missed that sound.
“Still on?” He asked his friend. Fillion tapped the back of Mack’s hand twice. “Go ahead,” he encouraged Jett.
Rolling her eyes, Jett began. “We gather here today to witness the union of Fillion Malcolm Nichols to Mackenzie Patton Campbell Ferguson.”
“The Third.”
She sighed. “The Third.”
“Now, say it from the beginning.”
“Are you serious?”
Mack looked at her, schooling his features. “I’m always serious, josei.”
“Yeah, no humor touches your lips. Ever.”
“I’m working on it. Don’t judge.”
“I feel sorry for your parents.” She brushed dark purple strands off her shoulder and began again. “The union of Fillion Malcolm Nichols to Mackenzie Patton Campbell Ferguson the Third.” She waited for him to say something more, daring him almost. But he blinked flirtatiously at Fillion instead, trying to keep his friend smiling. That was his job. Make Fillion laugh. He knew it. Fillion knew it. Hell, even the otaku knew it. Jett leaned into Mack’s field of vision. “You want my fancy speech or skip to the vows?”
“Vows,” both Mack and Fillion said simultaneously.
“We’re one already,” Mack deadpanned. “It’s a sign. Speaking of signs, I had our astrological chart done. Aries and Gemini compatibility connect on a strong physical and intellectual level.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Win-win.”
Jett shook her head. “Remind me never to officiate one of your weddings again.”
“Damn. That’s cold.” Mack feigned being scandalized and she caved in and chuckled. “I’m wooing my sapiosexual husband-to-be, desu. Nuptial foreplay.” He returned his attention to Fillion, same playfully serious face as before. “Anyway, since our love is written in the stars, I had a constellation named after us.”
Transitions: Novella Collection (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2.5) Page 22