As he lowered into the hatch, he looked up at the ceiling. Fractured, mosaic pieces of nightfall stared back at him, dark fragments of a whole. And, yet, every line and point was connected, despite the illusion of separation. What were the points of connection he was missing?
***
The minute I heard my first love story, I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.
Sorrow prepares you for joy. It violently sweeps everything out of your house, so that new joy can find space to enter. It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart, so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place. It pulls up the rotten roots, so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow. Whatever sorrow shakes from your heart, far better things will take their place.
— Rumi, 13th century A.D. *
***
Skylar bent over the airlock with a stiff spine. Fillion paused to take in the scene. The cover for the buttons lay on the floor as Skylar studied the exposed electronic innards of the circuitry. A knife shook in the noble’s hand as he fingered a rainbow of wires, resting the blade against a blue one.
Leaf stood in the corner and watched his friend with a curious yet pained expression. Fillion gathered that Skylar had blabbed about the Techsmith Guild. Better coming from Skylar, he guessed. At least the Son of Wind would guard Ember’s involvement. At least, Fillion figured he would. Whatever. Games within games. So over it.
As Fillion neared the airlock, the Wind Element looked up from his crouched position with relief. “Whatever you do,” Fillion said, “don’t cut the red wire.” Skylar panicked and looked back at the wire in his hand. Fillion lifted a corner of his mouth. “Just kidding.” He chuckled and knelt next to Skylar. “Outsider joke.”
“Shall I cut the blue wire and cross it with the white one, then?”
“Normally, I’d say let’s cut the wires. But I don’t want evidence that we’ve been here. I’ll hack it and do a temporary software override. After we’re done, I’ll erase the log entries for any Guardian Angels standing watch.”
“Far safer plan, My Lord. I did not relish the notion of possible electrocution.”
“Nah, you’d enjoy it.” Fillion held a deadpan expression. “Become one with a machine and feel its energy. The buzz is glorious. Everyone is doing it.”
Skylar laughed, a rare sound. “I shall pass, thank you all the same.”
A knock sounded and the muddy sound of his mom’s voice called out his name. “I’m here,” he hollered back through the panel. “Working on it. Five minutes, tops.” Fillion pivoted on his knees toward Leaf. “Kill the lights?” Leaf flipped the switch and the room plunged into darkness.
Fillion tapped his Cranium and the user interface brightened the surrounding space. He found a place on the ground to sit a few feet back from the airlock and went to work. After a minute, the scanning software he and Mack created to communicate with non-Cranium technologies registered a hit. The Smart Tech comm center for the airlock pinged back and Fillion captured the frequency and hacked into the signal. In a few swipes, he reverse-engineered the encryption algorithm and deactivated the circuit logic. A hiss of depressurization cut through the silence, and Skylar opened the door.
“Give it a try,” Fillion shouted. The clunk and grind of a handle rung through the chamber and a light breeze came through the hole. Fillion tapped the air on autopilot, his fingers trembling, as he locked the layers of holographic screens. Then he turned off the vid feed and switched the camera to record. “Lights,” he said simply and scooted toward the open door as Skylar moved out of the way.
The airlock was sizable, at least three-by-three feet and four feet deep, and perfectly framed his mom. Her black hair shone in the bright lighting of the technosphere. Pale eyes that mirrored his own stared back at him with part curiosity, part irritation. She arched her eyebrow, as usual, when assessing an individual or expressing impatience. For a moment, Fillion waited for a reaction. Anything more than this. Most mothers, he was sure, would be showering their child with maternal exclamations of concern. But, no. She touched her hair and blinked, eyebrow still arched in anticipation.
“Before I introduce you to my companions,” he began, “I have a question.” He leaned into the airlock. In a softer tone he asked, “How are the Moores and Carsons? Especially the children?”
She brushed dark locks off of her shoulder and tilted her head. Lips, painted bright red, eased into a casual smile. “They are well cared for, if that is your concern.”
“Not the angle of my question.”
“The children show initial hesitation and respond with healthy and expected levels of anxiety when introduced to something new, especially technology. However, their curiosity and eagerness to learn turn any fears they possess into opportunities for education.”
“Their parents?” Fillion maintained even eye contact.
The smile returned and she fingered a silver necklace as she formed an answer. “The parents are different. Their statements are consistent, but each adult, and child for that matter, exhibit signs of delusions. One moment the adults seem connected to reality, and the next, they make false claims and unreasonable demands at an emotionally heightened state that is concerning.”
She straightened her head and rested her hands in the airlock. The professional facade disappeared and she stared at him in earnest. “Are you feeling well? You look pallid.”
The air in his lungs stilled and his fingers gripped the edge of his cloak. She was worried about him? Because he entered New Eden? Or because he was mentally unstable? Or because others were listening? Maybe he was over-thinking things. He probably looked like shit. He sure felt like it.
“Lynden misses you.” The mention of his sister’s name pushed the air out of his lungs and he tensed. Before he could answer, she continued, “It’s normal to relive fears through another’s experience. Your concern for the Moores and Carsons demonstrates a learned empathy. You understand the shock of interacting with an entirely different world.”
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Do I win a prize?”
“Since Grandpa Corlan passed away and the Watson Trial, you have continually expressed your anger through sarcasm and rude humor.” His mom leaned in a little further. “I know these past few years have been difficult for you.”
“Nice. Thanks for noticing.” He shook his head in ill-humor. “Now you want to have this conversation? Right this very goddamn second? Well, let’s see, the last time I saw you was probably eight weeks ago. Who knows when I’ll see you again after my time here is up. So shoot. Fire away.”
Della’s mouth set in a tight line and he snapped.
Fillion slammed his hands onto the base of the chamber and shouted, “I’m so fucking angry!”
His mom didn’t flinch. Strong reactions from people were probably nothing new to her. Still, he would be heard.
“And I’m hurt,” he continued, his emotions congealing into solid and substantial thoughts. “My community rejected me and publicized my shame when I needed them the most. And my family exploits me and expects me to take it and react as if I’m a machine. Any acceptance I received was an illusion. It was always about how someone could use me for their glory or pleasure. I’m pissed that so many years of my life were wasted under the belief that I was nothing. Nothing!”
He gripped the edge of his cloak again. The incubus that confined his life to a black, rotting coffin had awakened. The warm, tantalizing breath of each oppressive lie whispered seductive promises in his heart.
But no more.
He was done with death and wanted to live.
“I’m finally understanding my worth and value. The real me is emerging.” His vision blurred and the salt stung the tender skin beneath his eyes. “So don’t tell me how to feel or what to think. You no longer have my permission.”
His mom elegantly squared her shoulders and arched her eyebrow again. “Why am I here, Fillion
?”
“I won’t allow the lives of others to be deemed as nothing, either.”
Fillion adjusted his position and locked eyes with Skylar. Without a single word, Skylar walked over and knelt on the ground and faced Della. The Son of Wind’s face slackened and he drew in a quiet breath. Fillion rolled his eyes. Skylar’s reaction was typical of most men when they saw his mom. Reduced to a stupor. Dumbstruck. Blood pumping at accelerated levels. It was gross. And she reveled in it.
“Dr. Della Jayne Nichols, this is Skylar Kane, Son of Wind and the newest Wind Element.” He turned to acknowledge Skylar. “This is Dr. Della Jayne Nichols, wife to Hanley Nichols and the lead psychologist and second-in-command at New Eden Biospherics & Research.”
“A pleasure, My Lady,” Skylar said and bowed his head. “Your son is a quintessential part of our community.”
Della regarded Fillion and returned her attention, part incredulous, to Skylar. “How does the community fare?”
“New Eden is in the midst of Harvest, which strengthens the community spirit.” Skylar cracked a charming smile. “Our King and Aether is a fine leader.”
“I have heard it on the wind that some are not satisfied with New Eden’s leader.”
“There will always be those who oppose even the simplest of matters.” Skylar paused with a thoughtful look. “Heard it on the wind?”
“A saying from a former life. Does your father use this term?” Della blinked and tilted her head in a way some would perceive as coy. Fillion wanted to gag. “You are Timothy’s son, correct?” She released a quiet laugh and Skylar shifted on his knees. “I must confess, you remind me a bit of my husband when he was younger.” Her smile fell and a puzzling expression replaced the momentary amusement.
“My father still uses this term, My Lady.” The impassive tone of Skylar’s reply made Fillion smirk. His mom noticed and cleared her throat with a dainty sound, the same way Brianna often did when corrected.
“In your opinion,” Della began again, “are there many who exhibit symptoms of depression or anti-social behaviors?” She wove her fingers together and rested her hands in the chamber.
“The residents of New Eden are hearty and healthy.”
His mom’s eyes brightened. “Are there any who show aggressive tendencies?”
Skylar silently questioned Fillion, who offered a faint smile of assent. “Only recently, My Lady. Our Aether has shown remarkable strength and steadfast wisdom in handling each incident.”
“The Moores and Carsons say they will only return if you are King. They are unwilling to support the man who is claiming the position of Aether, for several reasons, the main one being they believe he suffers from deep mental afflictions. After several interviews, it appears your Aether may possess traits of isolation confinement and extreme environment syndrome. Are you familiar with this term?”
“Yes, My Lady,” Skylar said, steady.
“You do not believe this man exhibits such traits?”
“He is of a sound mind, and I am proud to stand behind him as our leader.”
Della rolled her focus to Fillion and drew her brows together as if wincing. Then she relaxed once more and touched the silver necklace. Fillion had never seen it before. It wasn’t her usual style—simple, and modestly short, doing nothing to draw enough attention to her assets. Her movements created a breeze and a mild honey scent wafted their direction. Now his stomach was sick. Could she be any more cliché? Skylar, to his credit, didn’t react. Instead, he remained poised and steady.
“Apparently, your father promised both families positions of esteem if they rallied in your cause,” she said, hooking a finger through the silver chain. “You do not support your father’s wish for you to claim a place on New Eden’s once invisible throne?”
The normally rigid, straight posture Skylar carried deflated. Fillion’s eyes bugged out, despite all efforts to contain a reaction. He figured it was Timothy who influenced the families who left, but to hear it confirmed? He studied Leaf from across the room. The dark shadows beneath Leaf’s eyes deepened as he paled.
“I do not support any efforts to place me on a throne in New Eden, invisible or otherwise.” Skylar lowered his head. “For I am not a thief.”
His mom remained quiet and her eyes roamed over Skylar’s bent form. “Of course not.” Her calm, saccharine tone infuriated Fillion and he gripped the edge of his cloak, wanting to rip it—or something—into pieces. “Why did you believe I viewed you as a thief?” The plastic smile returned to her face. Fillion knew what she was doing. But before he could intervene in her attempt to twist Skylar’s words, the Son of Wind lifted his head and spoke in a clear, strong voice.
“I did not, My Lady. Your original question was in regard to my reasons, not another’s possible view or opinion.” Skylar offered a charming smile, and Fillion almost laughed. “My apologies for any confusion. Allow me to rephrase. I shall not rob another of their birthright. If Hanley desired for my family to hold the status of Aether, he would have written my father’s name in the Legacy instead of Claire Johnston.” He bowed his head in a gesture of honor. “If you will excuse me.” Skylar flashed Fillion a look and stepped over to the corner where Leaf awaited direction.
“I did not realize my interview was over. Why did he leave?” Della asked.
“Doesn’t matter. In New Eden, it’s rude to demand an explanation when someone excuses their presence from a room or conversation.” Fillion relaxed his face to disinterest. “No status updates here. Privacy is a rare resource and respected.”
“The established trust between individuals must be remarkable. To diminish curiosity or demands out of respect for another’s privacy is a mark of strong bonds. Interesting.” She tapped a finger against her red lips. “Coal is careful with Internet use and remains respectfully guarded. I wonder if introducing Internet culture would dramatically weaken the community’s views on personal privacy with one another and thus weaken their bonds.”
“You don’t have any credible information gathered from the Techsmith Guild?” Fillion asked.
“Techsmith Guild?” Della lifted her hands from the airlock. “In New Eden?”
“I guess Hanley keeps many secrets from you.” Fillion shook the hair out of his eye and clenched his jaw. In a few, brief sentences, he explained the plan and purpose of the Guild. Every so often, he would look Leaf’s way. The Son of Earth remained still, as if a corner statue. His mom didn’t blink, either, the intensity of her gaze growing as he continued. “Skylar is the leader of the Techsmiths.”
“To test the socio-psychological functions of interacting with technology and Earth, as if an actual colony on Mars?” She pressed fingers to her temple and gently rubbed as she closed her eyes. “With real twenty-two minute delays?”
“Sums it up well.”
Fillion combed his fingers through his hair, itching to grip the strands and scream. If Hanley could keep years of research from Della, what else was he hiding? Nothing Hanley ever did was what it seemed on the surface. There were always multiple plot points. What was the real reason for the Techsmith Guild? What was hidden? And did the real purpose have something to do with Joel’s death? He could ponder these questions in length. But he needed to stay on track.
“You’ve met the leader of the Techsmith Guild and the one the Carsons and Moores desire as King,” Fillion said. “Now, I want you to meet The Aether of New Eden Township.” On cue, Leaf knelt beside Fillion and peered into the chamber.
A small scream echoed through the airlock. Della’s hands, perfectly groomed and decorated in jewelry, covered her mouth to muffle the sound. Color drained from her face and she stared wide-eyed at Leaf as if he were a ghost. “Who ... who are you?”
“Leaf Watson, My Lady,” Joel’s son said with a half-bow. “It is an honor. My father spoke highly of you.”
Tears glistened in his mom’s eyes as she studied Leaf’s face. “No. Not possible. I have seen Leaf Watson’s death certificate. Investigations and a
monumental trial confirmed his death, as well as that of his sisters, and ruled out any possible project negligence.” She fingered the necklace around her neck. Fillion squinted his eyes to study the pendant. Was that a linden leaf? Calm and even tempered, his mother asked, “Were you close with Leaf Watson? Honoring his memory by emulating him is a common way to keep a loved one alive.” Fillion knew this voice. It reeked of clinical stoicism and pretentious compassion. “His loss must have been traumatic for you.”
“My father died in my arms,” Leaf replied, his voice breaking as his body tensed. “I also held my mother’s hand as she breathed her last. My sister, Laurel, cried without cease that day. Father was so grief-stricken, he refused to leave Mother’s side or allow others to enter our home for fear she would be removed. I held Laurel and Willow Oak all night long as I dipped a rag in goat’s milk for Laurel to suckle. She was but four days old.” Leaf wiped away a tear. “The day my father died, he reminded me of the time I cared for my sisters in his absence. Four hours later, as he struggled for breath, he urged me to gather Laurel and Willow Oak, leave New Eden, and seek out Della Jayne, a woman to whom he was once betrothed. He died as your name left his mouth, My Lady.”
The professional demeanor shattered, and Fillion’s mom released a sob as she covered her face. “No, no, no,” she cried. Her shoulders trembled and she leaned her head on the edge of the chamber as a guttural moan shuddered from her small frame. It was unbearable to listen to and watch, and Fillion lowered his eyes.
The anger that consumed him earlier melted into pity. And before he realized what he was doing, he whispered, “Mom,” with an outstretched hand. Tears stained her unnaturally youthful face and she gaped at his gesture. What the hell was he thinking? God, he was such a sap. And stupid. An idiot. They didn’t touch. The whole world touched, but not them. Leaf’s strength and story had emboldened Fillion, as it often did. Warmth flushed his body as he mentally prepared for her rejection. Through the haze of vulnerability, however, a thought hit him. Perhaps she was the same as him? Angry and broken. Maybe they’d both been played by the same Gamemaster?
Elements (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2) Page 52