But this time, Strohm doesn’t stay quiet. “We’re moving to the Elysium.”
The news has me stumped for a moment. We’ve lived here in Liberty, on the top floor condominium of an ex-Prospo Building, for over two years now.
It took me a while to get over the fact that it was a Prospo home. All they did was move it here, onto the water’s edge.
My quarters, with its collection of dozens of Prospo outfits and things, belonged to someone else. Someone who is likely dead or imprisoned somewhere by the Soren. I haven’t touched most of the outfits, opting instead to stick to my usual Soren uniform of jeans and t-shirt.
I stopped fighting the general and Strohm about living here though, months after I moved in.
Once I realized fighting them was getting me nowhere, and once I realized I needed to focus on having Abigail.
Now he says we’re moving back to the Elysium, one of the Sorens’ many floating cities. It’s nearly identical to the Serenity, my old home, but is a slightly smaller version, and houses about half the people the Serenity had.
“Why?” I ask. Why not just move us to another part of Liberty, if our enemies have discovered our current location? I turn back around to face him.
I prepare myself to scream if he answers me with his three favourite words. “It’s intel, Romy.”
But instead, he keeps his eyes steady on me. “So that we can make a quick escape,” he replies, “if we need to. Our enemies are amongst us now, Romy. Some of our own people are with them. That’s been made clear to me.”
The people that attacked us at the party. They killed a good number of ours, though Strohm and the general and I were the top targets. And we were the three that survived their attack. Not a good assassin.
I hope to get a hold of them myself and show them just what I would do to the people who killed my daughter.
I play it over and over in my head, my rage only appeased by pictures of blood and gore and fingers detached from their bodies.
“What makes you think they’re not on the Elysium?” I ask.
“We have intel that they’re not,” he replies. “Reliable intel.”
My stomach sinks. I already know the answer but I ask anyway. “What intel would that be, Strohm?”
“Intel from ex-Commander Blair.”
I make my way down to the bowels of the ship. All the halls of the Elysium remind me of the Serenity, to the point that I nearly forget where I am half the time. Except for the absence of a massive library on the Elysium, I would think I was on the same floating city.
The three Interview rooms in the Elysium are all occupied and I walk past the guard in front of Blair’s room.
“Lady Mason,” the guard says as he bows to me and lets me through. I wish so much we didn’t have to be labelled such things, but I nod back and walk through the door, watching it close behind me.
“There she is,” Blair’s voice reaches me as the echo from the door stops. “There’s m’lady.”
I turn to face him, prepared for the sarcasm, but not prepared for the way he looks at me up and down, leering at me. Is that anger in his eyes?
At least he looks healthier than when I saw him last, being taken out of the Equator Prison. He’s clean-shaven, his cheeks are fuller, and his hair is brushed back, sleek and black but for the grey strands on his temple. Even the bruise under his eye has all but disappeared.
But the anger—
“Blair,” I say. “How are you being treated?”
His eyes narrow. “Well I am a Soren prisoner, Romy,” he says. “And a known traitor to my people. How do you expect me to be treated?”
Normally, I should have known it wouldn’t be good, but the general did promise. She would know better than to go against my wishes right now.
“I think you’re treated fairly well,” I reply, watching his eyes narrow further, “considering.”
They’re watching us, I know. They have their drone in the corner recording everything we’re saying in here. I wonder if the general’s watching or if she’ll only check the recording after the fact.
Blair scoffs. “And you, m’lady?” he asks as he leans back into his chair and rolls his eyes. “How are you being treated?”
“Blair,” I warn, “now’s not the time for this.”
For whatever he’s aiming to do, calling me a vessel or a traitor or whatever it is he thinks he wants to call me.
“I can’t imagine a better time, Rome.” he says. “I told you not to go through with this. I told you to leave me there.”
“Yes and I did it anyway, Blair,” I say, still miffed that he’s not happy to be out of that place. I don’t say what I really want to, not with that drone there. I don’t say that I was worried, that I just wanted him out, that I needed him out. “I need your help.”
He leers at me again. “Clearly, you’re doing just fine without my help.” I ignore the way he looks at me.
“I need you to help me convince them about the Metrills and their plans.”
When I told the general and Leader Strohm everything I knew about the Metrills, they were all ears.
That is, until I told them the Metrills’ ultimate plan.
The plan labelled ‘Project Atlantis’ where they meant to finish off what the ancients had started—and failed to do—with the Great Omni in 2050.
The intent was to rid Earth of all of its people, making way for whatever new beings would take our place. Instead, they succeeded in decimating all of the northern hemisphere.
“Wait,” Strohm had laughed. “I mean sure, they were left with some impressive tech but their belief system is rather silly, Romy. Don’t you agree? They meditate and take advice from spectres and ancient texts.”
I agreed with him, remembering the dance, the meditation, their beliefs that the Legacies were deities.
“But they’ve lived underground and sequestered all this time,” General Mason had said. “Who knows, maybe they believe the Earth is smaller and rounder or flatter than it is. They’re not really an evolved people, like us. So consider your source, Romy.”
“No,” Strohm had said, “I definitely can’t take their threats seriously.”
I knew they had a point, and I know destroying the Earth is not as simple as pressing a button.
But I also know the Metrills are not some backwards people, not to be taken seriously. Still, there was no convincing the general or Leader Strohm of that.
Now Blair is saying to me, “What makes you think they’d believe me about the Metrills?”
“I don’t know—” I say. I hadn’t thought about it too much. Just that I needed someone else to corroborate my claims. And I needed to get Blair out of the Equator Prison.
“But my options were limited, Blair. They were torturing you! You would have died there. I saved your life.”
“Is that what you tell yourself happened here?” His arms lie straight on the table in front of him. They’re still, though he’s not being held in place, not by anything physical I can see, in any case. Of course he must be on the freezer serum.
“Is that what helps you sleep well at night? The thought that you did something great and selfless and you saved me?” His voice rises in anger and a vein pops in his forehead. I wonder if he’s trying to fight the freeze serum. Then I wonder why they have him on it in the first place.
He wouldn’t hurt me—would he?
I frown, watching his anger. What in Odin’s happening here? Sure I didn’t expect him to be ecstatic to be here, but this is a far better place than the Equator Prison. Surely?
“What’s the difference?” he says, responding to the question I haven’t spoken. “Between being in here and being there? At least over there, I don’t have to watch you live your perfect Prospo life as a ‘Lady’. At least over there, I was amongst friends.”
Franklin, I think, then stop before I say anything incriminating. The drone’s still on me, I tell myself. There was no way the general was willing to release more than just B
lair to me, for my part of the deal.
Though I’ll admit, I didn’t exactly fight to have Franklin released. I’m certain she wouldn’t have, for me.
“I—I saved your life, Blair!” I repeat. I’ve tried not to get angry, but this is ridiculous.
My eyes alight on his arms again. Of course my deal with the general couldn’t include Blair walking around freely in our society. He’d be a target in public. He’s safer in here.
“I know you’re not free,” I say, “but I’m working on it.”
He scoffs again. “I’m sure you are—working on it. How did you get me out anyway?”
“I have—” I hesitate, not wanting to say anything that the drone might bring back to Strohm’s ears, but not knowing a way around it. “A deal with the general.”
Blair needs not know what the deal is. No one but the general and I know what it is—not even Strohm. For once, I’m the one who knows something he doesn’t, and I’m not inclined to change that.
The news makes Blair laugh. “I thought you were smarter than that,” he says in a low voice. “But it doesn’t matter anyway because I need to go back. Whatever your deal is, you need to renege.”
Is he joking?
“You would rather die there?” I say, not bothering to keep my voice down.
“Well—” His eyes lower to my feet and up to my face again. “Not all of us want to be Soren political puppets.”
The new charge has me stumped again, and I’m angry enough to want to send him and his ungrateful self right back.
Before I’m tempted to hit him, I stand and walk away. I don’t know what happened here, but he’s clearly no longer an ally and I have to figure things out myself.
Before I leave though, I turn to him. I place a flat palm on the wall beside the door, pushing slightly on the wall. Blair watches the action and darts his eyes back at me.
“How do I contact Fath—I mean Doctor Henessy’s holo?” At least if Blair refuses to help me, I can try to get in touch with the holo, see what’s going on with the Metrills. He was always willing to chat with me.
“You’d need to activate the thing they have in your brain. I have no idea how. I’m sure you’ll figure it out though. Make a deal with the devil if you must. It’s what you do now, right? Make deals with devils? Good luck.”
Great. Thanks, for nothing.
Getting back to my quarters on the fifteenth floor of the Elysium, I walk up and down, not knowing exactly how to ‘activate’ whatever it is in my brain that the holo can connect with. I remember the first couple of times I’d heard the holo’s voice, when they first managed to establish a connection while I was in the north. I remember the intense sound within my brain, drowning everything in static.
It wasn’t easy for them to establish the connection in the first place, but once they did, I could hear Father’s voice in my head clearly.
Of course, one of the first things Mother had done was have doctors fix that part of my brain so I haven’t heard the holo in years. The Metrills still need me to unlock the code to help them with the next step in the ‘Atlantis Project’.
Hmm I wonder. I wonder if instead of me trying to unlock something, I can somehow get them to hunt me down like they did those times. They need me—so—
Strohm walks into my quarters before I can make any sort of plan.
The rooms on the Elysium are small enough that we can each occupy our own quarters, not having to share with anyone. Though Strohm and I would be fine taking up the same room, he didn’t insist otherwise when I requested my own space. I let him think it’s because I’m mourning our daughter.
It’s not wrong, but he doesn’t need to know it’s not the only reason.
“You went to see Blair,” he says. It’s not a question or accusation. Merely a statement.
“Yes,” I say. “I wanted to see how he—how he’s being treated.”
“And—?”
“And he’s fine,” I say. “I think.”
“And what did he say when you told him of our marriage?”
I pause for a moment. “I didn’t—I wasn’t there long enough to talk about it.” I say.
It wasn’t something I wanted to tell Blair, to be honest. I couldn’t look him in the eye, feeling how I feel about him, no matter how complicated, and then tell him I was married to another man. Not that it matters. He was plenty resentful of me, anyway.
“Well I’m about to go have a chat with him,” Strohm says and he turns to walk out my door. He waves a hand in my direction and I stay still.
This should be interesting. I sit at the desk in front of my mirror and press on the MirrorComm.
The drone I placed on the wall in Blair’s interview room should catch everything Strohm and Blair discuss. And I plant myself in front of the mirror, ready to listen in to it all.
Our drones aren’t efficient at recording sound, but I’ve hacked this one to pop up a transcript for me to read as it watches them.
Listening
I expect Blair and Strohm to yell, to fight, to not be able to speak to each other anymore. The last time I witnessed conversation between them, they could barely speak over one another’s yells and accusations.
Now, watching them hug and talk like brothers, the way I imagine they used to be before I came into the picture is something else entirely. Unexpected, yes. And confusing.
“My brother,” Strohm says as he leans across the table and places a hand on Blair’s shoulder. “I’m still surprised, but glad you didn’t die in the EPrison.”
“It felt like it most of the time,” Blair laughs, “though I have to say it wasn’t the worst feeling in the world.”
Strohm nods and says, “I can imagine. I’m glad you’re here though. I’m glad the general changed her mind, for whatever reason.”
“Yeah, the general,” Blair says. “What’s going on there, brother?”
“I’m not entirely sure but she seems open to hearing all your intel about these—about these Axiom.”
Axiom? I remember Strohm telling me that’s the name of the underground rebellion intent on assassinating him, the general, and me. And succeeding only in killing our daughter, amongst a dozen other personnel they didn’t intend to hit. They’re not the best in the business.
“What does she think she can do to flush them out of hiding?” Blair says.
“We haven’t agreed on the details for the plan yet, but we’ll be living here. General Mason, Romy and I for a while until we figure things out.”
“Rome was here to see me earlier,” Blair says as his eyes alight on the door. “She seemed—distressed—about something.”
“It’s our—our daughter, Abigail. She was—killed—in the Axiom attack at the ceremony.”
Blair’s eyebrows rise slightly, then he’s back to the brooding frown. He leans back into his chair heavily. “Sorry brother,” he mutters. “I had no idea. I wasn’t exactly—respectful—towards Romy.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Strohm says, dismissing him with one hand. “She needs some time, that’s all. She’ll come and visit you again I’m sure. For now, she needs to process.”
“Of course,” Blair nods. “I forgot to ask you last time. What was the ceremony?”
“Right,” Strohm says, “Romy didn’t tell you the news. It was our wedding.”
The reaction in Blair’s face is slight, imperceptible. Then he swallows hard and stares at the door.
“Of course,” he says. Something lights in his eyes—some realization. “Grats, brother. I know you were looking forward to that for such a long time.” He pauses. “How are you—processing?”
Strohm shakes his head from side to side. “All I want right now is the taste of vengeance. All I want is Axiom buried in the ground—alive—and a drone overhead to let me watch them slowly die.”
The words give me pause. I’ve never heard Strohm speak like this before. I don’t doubt he loved our daughter, but to watch him speak of vengeance and the exact words in my mi
nd is something else entirely.
“In that case,” Blair says, “help Rome find the Metrills, brother. Do what you can there. They have access to tech that’ll help you—help us—win this once and for all. And Romy’s precious to them. She’s our Ambassador with them. They’ll help. Tell her to research about them in the archives, the ones from the fifties. She’ll find a way to reach them, that way.”
Strohm nods as he stands to give Blair another hug over the table. “I’ll do what I can.”
“And please—” Blair says, before Strohm walks out the door. “Please offer Lady Mason my sincerest condolences.”
I shut off the MirrorComm before I hear any more. Lady Mason, he’d called me. He hates me, it’s something I can deal with. But I wouldn’t know what to do with a Blair that feels sorry for me. It’s not a side of him I want to see. It’s not a side I want to deal with.
When Strohm comes back to my quarters after his chat with Blair, I decide to ask him what their conversation was about, fully expecting him to say, “It’s Intel,” and leave it at that. But he’s refreshingly open with me, entrusting me with everything they discussed.
“This—Axiom,” I say. “Tell me more about them. Who are they? Why were they here?”
“As far as we know, they’re a mix of maybe eighty percent Prospo. Sorens and Citizens make up the rest of the mix. Though their assassins are Soren.”
“How?” I ask. “How did they come about?”
“They’re the people that don’t believe what we did in Apex was necessary. They want us gone so they can re-establish the society as it once was. With the Prospo at the helm.”
“But the Sorens and Citizens with them. How could they want that back? Don’t they remember how it was? How bad it was?”
“I guess they believe what they have now is worse.”
I wonder why, but then, if there’s one thing I’ve learnt over the years, it’s that nothing is ever as I believe it is. There’s something else going on, something else I’d probably rather not know. Otherwise, why would a group of Citizens and Sorens want to be on the side of the Prospo?
How could they possibly want Ivy Heff factories back, and the bidding on people for the purpose of jobs? What could be worse than all that?
Romy's Last Stand: Book III of the 2250 Saga Page 3
