Romy's Last Stand: Book III of the 2250 Saga Page 6

  I run towards the group to stop the killing but I’m pulled back by the shoulders, and turn to face Franklin head-on. “Don’t be stupid,” she hisses.

  “I can’t let them kill him,” I say, pulling back from her, ready to fight her if I have to.

  “Yes you can,” she says. “You must. You can’t just go around doing things like this any more.”

  Then the weapon discharges, only steps away from us. I’m too late.

  “Go. Home,” she growls, as she pushes me in the other direction.

  By the time I get back to the Elysium, the last person I want to see is Strohm. The last thing I want to hear is his speech about security and the ‘necessity’ of anything. So I turn around and make my way back to our hidden cloaked home instead. Our enemies will think it’s empty, well, because it is. They’ll know we moved to the Elysium.

  There’s a drone at the entry way there, of course. And it will let Strohm know where I am. I reckon I’ll have about twenty minutes before he comes storming to me for explanations and remonstrations.

  So I strip down to my skivvies in the veda as I wait for the doors to open and let me walk through a hallway, down another hallway until I’m at the skypool.

  I know it used to be an old Prospo pool, but I don’t care. I imagine a layer of oily grime all over my body so I dive in and only surface about a minute after, meaning to make several laps across the pool before I stop.

  Given that I can’t walk or jog around in peace any more, I find this to be the best form of exercise since I’ve moved back to Apex.

  Keeping my eyes open, I look down past the glass bottom to the ground and dots of trees over a hundred feet below me.

  The glass used to make me gasp. Despite the solid build of the thing, I couldn’t get over the thought that I could fall through it to a painful glass-shard death.

  My mind recites that it’s over thirty centimetres of solid glass manufactured just for this purpose, a brilliance of engineering that I’m sure the old Prospo living here barely admired.

  I find my pace and forward stroke several laps before I finally stop and hang off the east edge of the pool, breathing in the salty bleach scents from the water. My shoulders and upper arms are sore, but I know whatever knots I gathered there from my excursion into town are long gone.

  Then I freeze, sensing someone behind me. Strohm? Likely not. He’d know better than to come interrupt me during a swim. He’d know I’d need at least a few minutes more. So I turn around slowly, but before I see her, I say, “General. How can I help you?”

  “We were worried about you,” she says. She stands three feet from the pool, her arms crossed over her chest. It reminds me of the few times I was in trouble with her as a child. It didn’t happen very often but when it did, I kept my chin down and promised myself I’d make it up to her several times over.

  Now, I tilt my chin up to look at her straight in the eyes. I raise an eyebrow, waiting. What will she do? Lock me up? She can’t stop me from going wherever I want to go, and she knows it.

  There’s a part of me that fights rebelling against Mother. I was mostly a good kid, and that good kid wants to comply.

  I’m not that person any more—and she’s not that mother, if she ever was.

  Three orange-light drones hover behind her right shoulder, but I know two of them are for me. Because they’re actual hummingbirds, with little red lights blinking from the sides of their heads. I know them to be real birds installed with security—modified specifically for me. They know I won’t hurt them. They know I won’t harm animals.

  “You know those drones you broke were in place for your safety more than anything else.”

  “It’s the ‘anything else’ part I’m more interested in,” I say. “That’s the part that makes me stay away from them.”

  She knows what I mean. It’s not the first time I’ve snuck away from them and their “security.” I doubt it will be the last.

  The general uncrosses her arms and smiles down at me. “Finish up here then report to the Elysium,” she says. She doesn’t have to follow up with, “That’s an order, soldier.”

  “And if I don’t?” I say. Of course I will. She’s still got Blair imprisoned. She knows I’ll be there. She knows I won’t leave him there. Still—

  She huffs, then points at the hummingbirds as she steps away and the machine drone follows her. “Don’t break these,” she says, “or I’ll simply have one implanted in you.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t already,” I say to her retreating back. She pauses but doesn’t react.

  As my eyes rest on my new security detail though, I hear her laughter as she turns the corner and out of sight.

  “Fine,” I say to the two birds. “Fine. You’re Larry,” I say, pointing to the one on the right. “And you’re Stella,” I say to the other. Then, before I turn back around, meaning to swim for another hour or so, I mutter, “I’m sorry we did this to you.”

  Trapped

  Strohm yells, but I barely notice. His voice is loud enough to make the walls around us echo and seem to shudder under his rage.

  Still, I’ve found, the more he yells at me, the easier I can tune him out.

  One thing I can’t ignore though, is the vapor of gasoline and honey from his breath. I inhale through my mouth—the more concentrated it is in my room, the more my brain feels muddled. How can he possibly function with that stuff in his body?

  My hummingbirds sit on the corner of my bed beside me as he storms back and forth across the room, not letting up for a breath every now and then.

  “What do you do out there anyway?” he yells.

  “I walk around,” I answer calmly. “I want to see what it’s like for the people we rule, to see how we do things differently than the Prospo. I mean, don’t you?”

  “Of course not!” he yells. “Do you want to die out there? Is that what you’re trying to do?”

  “I’m no less safe out there than I am in here,” I say. It’s not entirely what I believe, but really—

  “Didn’t they hit us in the supposed security of our own home, Strohm?”

  I know the words will only infuriate him more but frankly, I don’t care. It’s the truth. And he’s quite clearly in the mood to fight. So, fight we will. Still, I never raise my voice back. It only pisses him off more when I stay calm.

  “Why did you do this to them?” I say, pointing at Larry and Stella.

  “You have no problems taking bots apart,” he says. “But you don’t hurt animals. I’d rather have real bodyguards but—”

  But I don’t have an issue hurting people, I finish for him in my head. It’s true too. People are far worse than animals.

  I did once though. I did hurt an animal—tried to take its bot out but they make the things end up relying on their machine parts to the point where they can’t survive without them.

  “Mother already threatened me that she’d have me implanted,” I answer, “so you really didn’t have to do this to them.”

  Strohm shoves his hands in his hair and makes some sort of impatient huffing sound. “They’re staying, Romy,” he says. “They’re staying with you.”

  “All right,” I say.

  Finally, I don’t want to fight him anymore. I just want him and his gasoline breath to get out of my room.

  “Mother wanted me to report in,” I say. “Here I am. What do you need?”

  “We need you to stay in your quarters,” he says, “for the next two weeks.”

  I dread he’s more inebriated than I thought. His voice is lowered, and he keeps his eyes on me as he sits on the bed, keeping the birds between us.

  “You need me to—are you nuts?” I ask. Like I’d sit here watching the walls for a day, least of all two weeks. “Why?”

  “We’ve received—reliable intel—that someone has been set out to assassinate you, specifically you. Might be more than one someone.”

  I shake my head, remembering the way people sang my name in the town. Then I re
member the Axiom.

  “Why now?” I ask. “Why me specifically?”

  I don’t do anything remotely political, I think. Sure, the drones are on me sometimes but that’s just to show the people that we’re not Prospo, that we’re good leaders… And then it hits me.

  “The Axiom think I’m a real threat. They think with me out of the way, they’d have a better chance of recruiting more people to come after you.”

  Despite what happened at our wedding, things had been relatively calm in town. Due in large part to the people falling in love with our daughter, and let’s admit it, falling in love with me. I’m unclear on why. I’m hardly friendly or approachable. I’m not soft—except when it came to her, I was taffy.

  “But why now?” I say. That part’s still not clear. They came after us. Now it sounds like they’re re-focusing to only come after me.

  “I don’t know,” Strohm says, “but it’s safer for you if you stay here.”

  “Well it’s not gonna happen,” I say, but before I finish my sentence, he’s shouting again. And I’ve tuned him out. I’m supposed to sneak Blair out of here, to get him to see Frankie. How in the world will I do that, stuck here in my room?

  “Why two weeks?” I ask, interrupting him mid-yell.

  “We’re seeking them out now.” He wipes a sheen of sweat off his brow. He looks far more tired than I’ve ever seen him. I wonder what’s really going on. “But our best guys are a week out, so they’re on their way here. They reckon it’ll take another week to find the enemy’s lair. And I know what you’re thinking, you’re not going to comply. But you have to—this time.”

  “Have to—” I reply. “And why do I have to?”

  “Because Blair’s life depends on it,” he replies. “If you don’t do this, the general has given permission to have him taken care of.”

  What? That’s not at all part of our deal. I’ve done everything they’ve asked of me, I’ve been doing my part of the bargain. I haven’t strayed—well that they know of.

  Having me imprisoned or not allowing me to go anywhere was never part of the deal.

  “I’m already being monitored,” I say, my eyes pointedly on the birds. “You have eyes on me twenty four seven. She’s threatened to have me implanted. You can’t—you can’t imprison me like this!”

  My voice is finally raised but the last words end on a quiver. I’m not about to cry though. I’m just—well peeved. I’m already not free, I think. I already have to sneak around just to get some air away from them—away from him. And now they expect me to sit here willingly, imprisoned in this tiny room—

  Am I powerless here? Am I?

  Decidedly not. As he yells back at me I stare past his figure to the wall behind. I don’t care what he says or how hard he yells, or how his raised voice makes the walls around us shake. I don’t care about his reasoning, his threats, his angry eyes.

  They can’t keep me in here. I wouldn’t hurt the birds but I also don’t want Blair to suffer for this. So I have to do what I can to get him out too. I can do what I’m best at.

  I’m already coming up with a plan and need a few minutes to think, with him out of here.

  So I say, “Yes, fine. I’ll stay in here two weeks if you want. I won’t try anything. I can read books, I can stay busy enough. I can fix some bots. Under two conditions—”

  “What’s that?”

  “First,” I say, “I’ll stay on the floor, not just in this room, but I won’t move from this floor.” At least I’d be able to walk around a bit. I’d be able to jog around.

  “And second, you have Blair released as my ward,” I say. “Today. You have him posted in the room across from here. You can have your guards on him as you like. But I don’t trust Mother to keep him in the cell where I can’t access him. He has to be close.”

  “I don’t—I don’t know if she’d agree to that,” he says.

  “You can convince her. You’re lucky I didn’t insist you have him set up right here in my quarters.”

  The look in his eyes is a mix of—hurt, anger, pain—emotions I haven’t seen roll off him since Abigail died.

  “I wouldn’t allow that,” he growls. “You’re my wife—”

  I don’t argue with him but I stand my ground. It’s not like I’d allow anything to happen. I just don’t trust the general. I have no reason to trust her.

  I don’t know the real reason she’d want me to stay in my quarters, but I’d rather have my part of the deal close—just in case. Still, I don’t speak as Strohm glares at me. He doesn’t need to hear any of my reasoning. He just needs to comply.

  So I simply say, “Besides—you owe me.” I don’t elaborate, he knows what I mean.

  It would have been a year ago when I’d heard rumblings about him and someone else. I’d searched my heart for feelings of betrayal or jealousy, anything. Instead, I promised him I wouldn’t leave, take Abigail, or tell the general what I knew. As long as he’d do me a favour—like this—from time to time.

  “I’ll talk to her,” he says.

  “Get back to me within the hour,” I say.

  “Or what?” he scoffs, but stops when I don’t react. He already knows what I’m capable of when I’m not met with halfway. He’s still slightly drunk, I realize, but I hope he remembers.

  He nods and steps back from me.

  All right, so I’ve got an hour to go do some research. I ask Strohm to be excused and he’s gone.

  My loving husband. I head to my MirrorComm and press on the buttons that will show me where that Metrill I saw is headed.

  Blair

  He sits across from me, the expression on his face not one I’ve seen before. Still I wait for him to speak first. This is the first time we’ve been really alone in, what two and half years?

  He looks around the room, a mirror-image of mine, just across the hall. The doors are both open so he can see past me into my quarters. When his eyes land on me again I just sigh.

  “Say it already,” I finally say. “Say how much you hate me for getting you out and how much I should have left you there, and what a complete political puppet I am. Come on. Let it out. I know you’re dying to.”

  I’m rambling, and I know it. But really, I’d rather have it all out in the open now.

  “I don’t hate you,” he finally says. “I do wish you’d just left me there but I definitely don’t—hate you.”

  What is this new thing? Last time I saw him downstairs in one of the interview rooms, he was holding back—as much as Blair can hold back—the vitriol. But it was there.

  “Why not?” I say. “I went against your wishes. And you’re right. What’s the difference? You were a prisoner there. Now you’re a prisoner here. Just location. Right?”

  “Wrong,” he says. “The EPrison’s not a prison.”

  I’ve heard only a little bit about the place but I know enough to know I’d never want to go there. Still I don’t understand his change of face.

  “So—” he says, his eyes darting behind me then back to my face again. “So thank you, Lady Mason.”

  There it is. I was just waiting for that. I already hate when everyone else around me here says that but coming from him, it’s the worst sort of insult.

  I lean away from him but don’t have the energy to tell him to stop.

  “I mean,” he says. “Thank you, Romy.” He tilts his head slightly forward as if to nod.

  “What’s the matter with you?” I finally blurt. “I was expecting yelling, some more insults, maybe a fight. But this—” I throw my hand up in his direction as if I’m addressing his whole body. “This—I mean, what is this? What in the heck happened to you in the last few days?”

  “Nothing,” he says. His eyes widen as if surprised that I’m upset he’s not. “I’m saying thank you for saving my life. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “Well—” I say, staring into his eyes, wondering if maybe they’ve had him implanted with something.

  It would be just like the gen
eral, maybe just like Strohm to do such a thing. “Are you implanted?” I ask. “With something? Are they watching you, watching us right now?”

  He guffaws. “No, by Odin. I wouldn’t allow that to happen. I’m clean, Rome.”

  “Then—” I say, “Why are you acting like this? So—I don’t know. So not like you, so not Blair—”

  “And what does that mean exactly?” he laughs.

  “You’re usually—well, meaner,” I say. It’s not the right word to describe him but I can’t think of any one single word that describes the way Blair is. “More direct, you know? No holds barred, say what’s on your mind, no filter—not like this. And I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘Thank you’ before.”

  “Well,” he says, “maybe I’ve changed.”

  Maybe, but not likely. So I have to watch myself. It’s still possible he’s being monitored somehow.

  Just because I don’t see any drones around, doesn’t mean that he’s not being watched.

  So I hold off on what I really wanted to talk to him about today. Instead, I think of ways I have to hack another drone to stop the monitoring. Then I realize he’s talking to me and laughs when my eyes reach his and he knows I haven’t heard a thing he’s said.

  “People are dying,” he says. “Have you heard?”

  My mind goes straight to Abigail’s still form in my arms as she slept through her death—then I rapidly blink, but can’t prevent the tears from falling.

  “Odin, I’m sorry Rome.” He reaches forward but leaves his hand hovering over my knee at the last minute. “That was—stupid—I didn’t mean—I meant that people in Apex are falling ill—”

  The change in subject makes me lift my chin. “Falling ill?”

  “Their nanites are disintegrating,” he says. “They’re not healing. There’s some sort of ancient malaise that’s rampant in Apex and they’re dying from it—”

  Malaise. The same illness that had me stuck in bed for three days straight back in Liberty.