Legacy (The Biodome Chronicles) (16 page)

He felt a strange sense of compassion for Lynden’s friend, holding Pinkie’s hair back, unsure of how to help her, or how to help his sister. As much as he despised Pinkie, he was a part of a community that created and sustained her type. When she finished, a moan escaped her lips, and she reached out to him, not for base favors, but for support. He eased her onto the divan, and placed a blanket over her twitching form as she rocked back and forth, the poison in her system purging and likely reacting to something else she took.

Fillion walked over to his sister and crouched next to her on the floor.

“Call the maid to clean up this mess. When Pinkie has come off her high, passing through the dark side and the crash, she is to leave and you’re
never
to see her again. Do you understand?”

Pinkie’s comment that she didn’t live at home and her tactic to sexually engage him made several sirens go off in his head. Girls like her take speed for one reason. Lynden nodded in reply as she continued searching Pinkie’s belongings to find a Cranium for him to hack or an ID.

“Why’d she throw up?”

“She probably combined the drug with something else, or she made herself sick from hallucinations and paranoia, part of the whole tweaking thing. Who knows.”

Lynden’s eyes widened, and she looked at her friend with uncertainty as Pinkie babbled away on the couch. His sister was still innocent in many ways, a small marvel considering their culture and her choice in friends.

Fillion let out a deep breath, watching his sister closely, and then said, “If she starts tweaking more violently, let me know, and I’ll carry her up to your room for safety, or maybe I’ll just call the cops.”

He didn’t wait for his sister to reply. He was done with the conversation, and with Pinkie, walking away as fast as he could, slamming the back door behind him. Fillion headed toward the dock briskly, wanting to seek solace from the undulating waves while heaviness settled in his heart for Lynden.

Pinkie hunted his connections and was scouting Lynden to become a CCG. His anger flared knowing his sister would be a hot commodity as a Cyber Call Girl. She was referred to as the “eco-princess” by the media, daughter of the monarch presiding over the Green movement, a teenage girl with a lot of money and family power, desperate for approval and relationships. God, he despised his parents. He threatened to call the cops to scare his sister, but he wouldn’t. It would do nothing except place a larger target on Lynden’s back, and he wouldn’t be here to protect her.

Lynden used to be playful, quite the tease, but this last year she had become sullen and unhappy. He couldn’t fix her—hell, he couldn’t fix himself. As more things that society embraced and encouraged became computerized, it became more difficult to test what was real and what was virtual, what was human and what was machine, making it harder and harder to feel grounded. Each new Smart-technology device, robot, and machine sucked away purpose, and with it, humankind’s happiness.

A smooth pebble caught his eye and he tossed it into the water, watching his reflection in the concentric circles. Humans no longer looked to nature for inspiration. Fashion and style didn’t reflect the brilliance of autumn, the glory of summer, the vibrancy of spring, or the monochromatic hues of winter, despite all the Green Movement scriptures everyone quoted. Rather, the modern human had become absorbed by the Net and transformed into an anime character, complete with personal
otaku
followers. Everyone reflected the world of mass media, video games, and electronic entertainment. Individual personas ranged from emo to cyberpunk in appearance, boasting wild colors and style for hair, multiple piercings and tattoos. Nothing was natural anymore. Society still wore the colors of earth, but refashioned their appearance to worship the product of their demi-god labors and creative powers. All the while, the guilt of breaking up with nature fueled society to convince one another that they still worshipped Mother Earth. Like his dad.

Fillion knew his image was the reflection of his culture and his generation. The back-to-nature hippies had their revolution nearly one hundred years ago. His generation was the counter-culture, an equally influential revolution pulling forcefully in this tug-a-war, determined to win. Even though it was pointless.

There was no going back. Technology was here to stay. Now what? How does humanity live with itself after playing God? Creating unliving forms that replace humankind’s hands, brains, and meaning for existence? Wise sages of his age would say God doesn’t exist, showing evidence of their own creative powers and intelligence. Used to be God was reduced to an energy, an unseen force that connected everything and everyone. But now that was explained as electromagnetic frequency, something humankind could harness and manipulate. There was no easy answer, but he had to find one. Everyone did. If the way they were living was so right, why did it feel so wrong? He felt the guilt, too, but refused to become a Green Moron.

“Cranium on,” Fillion spoke evenly to the breeze that lifted his hair.

Instantly, a start screen appeared in his vision. He swiped the name “Willow Oak Watson” on the holographic screen, his finger like an artist’s paintbrush moving the air to summon his will. An article wavered in front of him, depicting the early death of Willow at the age of ten, her brother at age fourteen, and their little sister at age two. Lost in his research, Fillion didn’t hear the man approach him from behind until he cleared his throat. Immediately, Fillion maneuvered his hands like the jaws of a crocodile devouring a meal, making the hologram disappear. With a harsh twist over his shoulder, Fillion pierced his dad with an intense gaze.

“Do I still have a job after my community service time? Or do I have to wait until I’m twenty, and come back as the conquering hero?”

“If you were anyone else, no. I should fire you to not look weak, but I am weak where you are concerned. A demise, to be sure. Plus, I gave you my word that you have one more chance.” Hanley brushed at the gravel on the dock and then sat down next to Fillion and looked over the water, the tall pines and maples moving gracefully in the wind.

“Then what do you want?”

“Your advice.”

This gained Fillion’s attention. Was his dad serious? His conscience pricked with warnings. His dad was not trustworthy, constantly manipulating the world to satiate his impatient creative genius. Yet, he looked so sad, so hollow. Was it a trick to lure him in?

“Where’s John?”

“There are some things that not even John can advise me on,” Hanley said with a sad smile.

“Such as?”

“Such as, what to do for your generation living within New Eden.” Hanley let out an anguished sigh as a gesture of defeat. “Something you’ll learn firsthand soon enough.”

“I’m not following you.”

“My generation experienced the burst of the Green Movement. Your generation is the result of that explosion. I no longer know what world I live in, nor the world I am leaving to you. After project completion, a whole generation in New Eden never once seeing a mountain, nor a rainbow stretch across the vast sky, will be entering our world.” Hanley exhaled a deep reflective sigh.

“Wow. Pretty hubristic of you Hanley, to think the world rests in your hands. You know, that is a problem I can’t fix—and don’t want to fix.” Fillion made a move to get up, and then reconsidered. He thought of Willow and Leaf. They would be part of the generation migrating to the outside world.

Hanley noticed his indecision and launched in. “I already heard back from the judge, and she approved John’s request to send you to New Eden Township to serve out your community service.”

Fillion’s body went still. “That isn’t a registered program. How is that even possible?”

“Just think of all you can do to help your future business, to help a generation that will eventually join yours. It is genius really. You are the perfect solution to their problems.”

“Hell, no. I’m not going there. I refuse. I’ll tell the court that I feel my personal safety is threatened.”

“Right now all the other programs are full. There are not many options. If you would rather go to a work camp in Eastern Washington, then be my guest.”

Hanley gave him a sideways glance, measuring his reaction, so Fillion chose to school his features. He definitely didn’t want to do a work camp in Eastern Washington. They were brutal, he was told. And then a thought hit, and he felt his rage would explode.

“Did you plan this? Was the undercover cop part of some sick game you’re playing with me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You think I have enough power to manipulate an entire arrest and trial for my son?” Hanley scoffed, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I do. How does a motion for an unregistered community service program pass through a court in one afternoon? God, you think I’m an idiot, that I’m so stupid I’d believe such a lame attempt to hide your influence and manipulation. You probably plotted this a year ago. Or, longer.” Fillion looked out over the water, trying to calm the betrayal he felt, and sickened by the next thought that pushed to the surface. “You hired me six months ago knowing this would happen, didn’t you? You wanted to ease me into the idea of going to my personal hell on earth.”

Fillion spat next to where his dad sat, challenging him. He was seething at this point, and felt powerless once again. Hanley replied with a smirk, the smile never reaching his eyes. The game was shifting, and Fillion knew his dad was about to spin the table and reverse the accusations. It was typically his first move of deflection when the charm didn’t work.

“Why did you fry the core processor? What are you hiding?”

“Always assuming the worst of me. No compassion for your son, like usual.” Fillion gave his dad a look he hoped conveyed hatred. Hanley didn’t blink an eye at his feelings. Instead, he knew his dad was buffering before launching into the next phase—soliloquizing, showing off his intelligence, his background and foundation for such infinite wisdom. He was predictable, like a common algorithm.

“Twenty-five years ago, I met a woman.”

“I don’t care to listen to one of your boring orations.”

“This concerns Willow Oak Watson and her siblings. I do think you care.”

Fillion shifted uncomfortably, wondering how his dad could possibly know of his interest in Willow. Hanley must have seen the article over his shoulder before he closed the Cranium. He turned away, and looked out over the lake, letting the silence fill the span between them, unsure of what to say.

Hanley chuckled in response, always believing they were alike. Both processed and mastered information rapidly, graduating early from high school, impatient to conquer the world—or, in Fillion’s point of view, to tear down the one his dad had created. He looked back at Hanley, noting the many questions behind his eyes, much like his own, possessing a distrusting glint as they studied each other. And then suddenly, Hanley’s eyes widened. Fillion looked back over the water, hoping he didn’t give away the answer in their unspoken conversation.

“Very clever, Hanley, you know how to read over someone’s shoulder. I’m not impressed with your sleuthing skills.” Fillion picked up another pebble kicked up on the dock, and skipped it across the water, hoping the deflection worked.

“I need to show you something.”

His dad looked around and over his shoulder, a nervous twitch marking his eyes, and then brought his gaze back to him. Fillion nodded slowly, unsure of how to take his dad’s sudden shift in behavior, sensing the anxiety with his body language. He knew he was crazy for agreeing, but his dad went from smugness to fear, a transition and attitude he had never witnessed before with Hanley. Since verifying Leaf’s and Willow’s identities, he knew there was more to the story. And after his dad showed him the “something,” he would demand answers.

***

     Onlookers outside the U.S. Supreme Court erupted into a cacophony of rage and celebration today as Hanley Nichols, CEO and owner of New Eden Enterprises, received a verdict of innocence after standing trial for allegedly breaking the Antarctic Conservation Act and the Antarctic Treaty and its Protocol on Environmental Protection, a lawsuit brought before the Court by major environmental organizations and activists.

    
Although Nichols pled guilty to dumping large amounts of excess brine into the Ross Sea along the U.S. territory of Antarctica, a byproduct from DesertSEA—his desalination irrigation system that enabled the deserts to bloom once again—the Justices declared that depositing brine back into the oceans from desalination is not an illegal act.

 
  Nichols won a Nobel Peace Prize two years ago for re-foresting the Sahara and Gobi deserts and creating an economic boom in arid regions from their newly developed agriculture. Still, New Eden Enterprises is accused of bringing life to the deserts while making deserts of the ocean, killing marine flora and fauna.

—Patrick Karns, “Nichols Cleared in DesertSEA Trial,”
Washington Post
, September 23, 2026

***

H
anley stood up with ease on the dock, brushing the dirt and gravel off his pants. Fillion kicked a pebble into the water, lifting his face to the gray sky as tiny pin-drop sprinkles landed on his skin. The leaves began to gloss against the matted sky while the rain drops danced across the water.

Fillion stared out over Lake Washington, tucking his thumbs into his pants and raising his shoulders against the chill as a breeze blew his hair across his face. Lost in the moment, he pondered how a dead sky made the rest of nature seem alive, drawing motion from creation’s otherwise inert state. Trees swayed. Leaves raced through the air. Clouds crept along. Raindrops crashed, erupting into lacy splashes.

Without a backward glance, Hanley walked with purposeful strides toward the house. Fillion watched for a few seconds before trailing behind him and into the house through the large French doors near the dining room. He followed his dad around the kitchen and grabbed an apple out of a bowl as he ambled by. They continued downstairs into Hanley’s private office near the back of the first floor, shutting the door behind them.

The room was strange. Every detail from furniture to art to collectibles reflected both the old world and new world, a transition his dad had experienced as part of the Millennial Generation. Fillion took a large bite of the apple, chewing as he surveyed his dad’s office.

It had been years since he came to this part of the house. He was fourteen and had wanted to spend the night at Mack’s house. His dad had mumbled a barely audible reply, not even raising his head to acknowledge his presence. After that quick visit to his dad’s dungeon office, he never asked again. Fillion just did what he wanted. Neither of his parents seemed too concerned when he didn’t show up after school or check in after a day away. Lynden always freaked out, though, so he would text her and let her know, but not his parents.

The apple crunched under another bite, and he allowed his eyes to travel over the room as Hanley shuffled some paperwork on his desk into a large folder. Was he stalling? He didn’t need to organize paperwork to have a discussion.

An oiled frame caught Fillion’s attention, containing various character skill and action cards from a LARPing game Hanley played over twenty-five years ago. What was the name of that LARP? Was it Eco-Crafting Eden? He was curious if the cards had something to do with the game his dad had played, and he made a mental note to look it up.

He studied the different action and skill cards, taking another bite of his apple, curious how to play each one. The cards didn’t have any words on them, just imag
es. A few he figured were game-or-fantasy-world specific, as he couldn’t figure out the context, but a couple had obvious meaning. Their picture and color scheme said it all. Most LARPing games didn’t use individual playing cards like these, making their framed existence all that more intriguing.

The bookshelf grabbed his interest next, housing collector copies of a bygone object now completely digital. The books reflected a muted rainbow of colors, and his fingers touched the bindings with reverence. He loved books and read often. His pointer finger stalled on
Neuromancer
, one of his favorite books, and he smiled while taking a bite of his apple.

Chewing slowly on another bite, his finger continued to move and then he pulled out a collector’s copy of the first
Serenity
graphic novel, shaking his head in annoyance. He was named after the actor who played Captain Malcolm Reynolds, as well as the character. Hanley became infatuated with interplanetary homesteading from this series and built an empire around that reality, writing the plot, creating the set, and casting all the characters—including his own son.

Fillion didn’t want to go to New Eden Township
, and he still couldn’t believe how his dad had played him.

In his peripheral vision, he watched Hanley place his thumb on a concealed biometric scanner behind a large piece of wooden furniture. Fillion jumped back and dropped the book in his hand when the bookshelf began to move, revealing a secret room.

“Are you serious?” Fillion said, nearly choking on his last bite of apple. Bending over, he picked up the graphic novel, and then walked over and placed it on his dad’s desk. “Hanley, that is horribly old-fashioned.”

“Yes, and necessary now more than ever,” Hanley said gravely, motioning with his hand for Fillion to follow him into the secret room.

“Not until you tell me what this is.” Fillion crossed his arms over his chest.

“Trust me.”

“Hell, no! Why should I?”

“Because I know your secret, and the walls are listening.” Father and son stared at each other for a few seconds before Hanley stated in complete frustration, “Fillion, I give you permission to go back to hating and distrusting me after our bonding moment back here. Come on and stop wasting energy.”

Amused by his dad’s outburst, Fillion walked to the entry of the secret room, tossing the apple core into a trash can.

“You need to compost the apple core,” his dad said.

“It’s organic material, it will compost no matter where it’s located. It doesn’t need a special bin to make that happen.”

“True, but to help the environment, we need to compost properly.”

“Yes, because nature is always so neat and tidy about composting. Good point.” Fillion rolled his eyes. Green Morons. “I would think, being pro-environment, that you would see the benefits of giving back to nature in the landfills that need the help in more ways than other areas. I’m sure the earthworms and microbes will enjoy my apple core over the non-biodegradable trash. Or are you and all the other Greenies prejudiced against landfill earthworms?”

With a bored look, his dad said, “Come on, we need to talk. You can give me your ‘Compost Revolution’ speeches inside. Not sure if you are the right poster boy for that movement, though.”

Fillion relished in the victory point he just received. As the bookshelf closed behind him, he said, “I’m the poster boy for no movement.”

“I think the girls disagree with that statement. I’ve seen your pictures on the Internet. What does your generation say? Oh, yes, they are
otaku
for you.” Hanley gave him a bemused expression before using an old-style flip switch from inside the copper walls, rather than the holographic switches found inside the house.

“Stalking me?” Fillion asked, inspecting the copper mesh closely. Was Hanley using copper to block WiFi signals?

“Are you flattered?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.” Fillion listened to his dad chuckle. “Nothing says creepy like an old man stalking a teenage boy on the Net. Very flattering.”

“Touché.”

A light came on right as the secret door closed, illuminating four leather recliners, a narrow table in the center, and a bar along the back wall, sporting various bottles and labels. Hanley walked over to a cedar box on the bar and pulled out a cigar. He offered it to Fillion who took it with a wry smile on his face. Hanley sat in one of the leather chairs, and invited Fillion to take a seat in the chair opposite of him, which he did with the same disrespectful ease he approached everything in his life. He accepted the cigar, knowing his dad was trying to schmooze him to make him feel important and grown-up. Hanley probably didn’t even know he smoked, but he would play his game, and keep his dad on his calculating toes.

“Does Willow have blond hair and green eyes?”

“First, explain what this is.” Fillion motioned to the room.

Hanley gave a smile of indulgence while offering him a lighter, a smile suggesting that he was allowing Fillion to believe he controlled the universe. Fillion responded with a cool look, following his every move.

“This is a copper Faraday cage. It blocks all electronic signals, in and out. And it’s enclosed within soundproof walls.”

“And why is this ‘necessary now more than ever’?” Fillion said in a mocking tone, trying to sound like his dad. With a long puff on the cigar, he let out a classic “O,” giving his dad a self-satisfied expression. Hanley kept his face emotionless, and Fillion knew he didn’t want to give the impression that his practiced smoking shocked him. Even though he knew it did.

“I’m surprised with all your hacking skills you don’t know this,” Hanley countered calmly, waiting patiently to see if his statement met its mark.

Fillion bristled. He knew what a Faraday cage was and how it worked. But he had never seen an actual room constructed around the idea. He had only seen open-air copper cages.

With another light chuckle, Hanley said, “The media has the ability to hear whatever they want out in the open using highly powered satellite systems, and some even go so far as to use insect drones and nanotechnology. They spy for the government and for their own gain.”

He knew this information as well, but never thought of building a controlled WiFi room. It was ingenious. As hackers, he and Mack operated under handles developed around legal ID’s they possessed, comprised of fake demographics, medical records and GPS stats, which were modified regularly. They often communicated through old-fashioned paper and pen, something that could be burned and destroyed. A thought began to form, but it was cut off when he heard his dad’s voice.

“So, does she?”

“Yeah. The hair is a deep gold, and her eyes are like sparking emeralds,” Fillion said in the most dramatically poetic voice he could muster. “Smitten? She’s a bit young for you, Hanley.”

“And yet, she’s dead,” Hanley stated simply, ignoring the barb.

Fillion sobered and took a long puff on his cigar. He internally kicked himself for walking so easily into his dad’s trap. With an aloof posture, he stood up and walked over to the bar, pulling out a bottle of whiskey. Fillion poured himself a shot and one for Hanley, keeping his head lowered as he extended it toward his dad. Hanley took the shot glass with raised brows. Before his dad could say anything, he downed the liquid and swallowed slowly, enjoying the burn. God, he loved this stuff. Slamming the glass on the counter, Fillion waved at his dad to continue while taking another puff on the cigar as he sauntered back to his chair. Hanley continued to watch him with raised eyebrows, and Fillion internally laughed, humored that his defiance still had shock value.

“How did you know what she looked like?” Fillion asked, puffing on the cigar.

“Because twenty-five years ago, I met a woman.”

Fillion sighed and rolled his eyes, recognizing the story his dad tried to begin while sitting on the dock. Shifting in the chair, he gave his dad a look of annoyance. “Let me guess, Willow’s mom. Shocking! Hanley, you tell the best stories.”

“Shut up and listen!”

There were times, like this one, Fillion knew his dad wanted to slap the attitude right off his face. Instead, he took Fillion’s lead and swallowed the whiskey. With mocked interest, Fillion turned eager eyes on his dad.

“After receiving my innocence from the Supreme Court, thousands of protesters lined Pennsylvania Avenue. All showed me in various ways how they hated me, but one. She smiled at me, and I realized at that moment, I would be OK. I don’t know how I knew that, but she imparted a peace I so desperately needed, and all with one simple smile. I never forgot her green eyes, and the kindness they had shown me.”