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

by Stone, Nirina

  “We are your assassin,” she says in a voice so quiet, I’m certain I’m the only one who heard the familiar words.

  “What did you say?” someone else to our right asks.

  The Metrill turns to the voice. “We—” she says louder, “are—your—assassin.”

  Then she hisses and doesn’t stop hissing at us until most of the crowd disperses.

  “See?” the man on the podium says. “And there’s more. Much much more! Bidding starts at three hundred creds.”

  Bidding? This is a first. He’s usually up on his makeshift podium preaching about the impending end of the world and the various Leader’s lies, but this is something entirely new.

  I want to walk away with most of the crowd, but curiosity has me planted where I am.

  Then the bidding starts. People around me don’t hesitate, and bid until finally someone offers two thousand credits and wins the Metrill. I could easily outbid that, but stay put. I have no Alto so no way to pay. The moment anyone here sees a wrist without an Alto, they’d know it’s me.

  “What will you do with her?” a man’s voice asks as the Vorkian steps forward to have his wrist Alto scanned by one of the man’s minions.

  He’s dressed in black jeans and a long sleeved button-down grey shirt, looking as casual as the rest of us in the crowd.

  I realize at the same moment he grins that he’s an ex-Vorkian, one of the Death Doctors that used to roam these parts.

  Without his suit on, it’s hard to tell, but for the grin. Only Vorkians have smiles like that—too shiny, too big, and not happy by any means.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he says, as he grabs the Metrill’s metal restraints and takes long strides away with her in tow.

  I don’t want to think of what a Vorkian wants to do with a Metrill. And I definitely don’t want to stick around to watch any more of this auction.

  Still, this might be my only chance—to track them, to find them later. She’s the only Metrill around. Maybe she can help me get in touch with them.

  I don’t think it through too long. I pull a tiny tracking bot from my sleeve—by Odin I hope this one works. I’ve placed dozens on Mother and her people and half the time, they conk out. As the Vorkian and his charge walk past me, I slip it on her back. It should hold, but it depends on what he intends to do.

  I turn and look back at her as I hasten my pace in the other direction.

  Much as I know she’s a Metrill, I’ve never seen one in such a state. I wonder where the Vorkian will hold her. I wonder why he’d want her.

  I also know I’m in no position to go around trying to save Metrills right now. Wherever they go, I’ll track them later.

  I walk through the centre of town and closer to where I need to go, knowing I only have five more minutes before I need to be at my destination.

  People walk past me minding their own business and I do the same. Then I turn a corner and jog the moment I know I’m on my own. I walk through a narrow pathway, a shortcut. It’s quiet but for my feet on the ground.

  That’s when I get jumped on from above and I fall to my knees.

  Enemies and Allies

  I curl into myself and roll over to face my opponent, my knees bent, my arms up. She wears a dark red mask over her face, made of leather and lace. Nice detail.

  Still, I run into her, pulling her small form up and over my head, then slamming her into the dirty ground underneath us. She grunts but is back on her feet before I can rush at her again.

  She throws a punch and I block it with my forearm, then slam an uppercut into her chin. I turn to run, but she has me on my knees faster than I can throw a punch.

  “Give up?” she asks. “Or is this where you die?” Her voice stays low, like a purr or a growl, depending on the level of intimidation at that moment. A growl, I decide.

  I twist around, pulling my arm with me and ignoring the intense pain as I turn. I throw a kick into her chest and she falls back, but I know she’s faster than that.

  So I crawl back, far enough away to be able to jump up again and throw a running kick into her chest.

  If there’s one thing I know about my fighting style, it’s that distance is my friend. Before I can though, another figure throws itself on top of me and I gasp.

  What the— she has her knee on my left cheek, my other one pushed into the ground so hard, I’ll be picking rocks from it later on. My arms are pinned underneath me and I wonder how she’s subdued me so well.

  Still, my cheek bleeds as I pull my aching arm out from under me and turn until I stand in front of my opponents. Just against one of them, I would already have a difficult time. Two? I’d be dead so fast.

  Still, I don’t give in. That’s not in my nature. I stand back and throw my arms down until my tiny weapons fall from my inner sleeves into my waiting palms.

  Leather and Lace makes a sharp hiss but stands her ground. My weapons are hollow metal I’ve fashioned from old delivery tubes found in the bowels of the Elysium. They are a natural extension of my arms. I hold them tight in my hands and bring my right arm up, waiting for them to charge me as I expect.

  My taller opponent looks like she’s about to charge, but Leather and Lace darts an arm out to her chest to stop her. Then she turns to me. “I thought you’d give up for sure, what with the two of us.”

  “I’ll never give up Sanaa,” I say. “Never.”

  My old instructor laughs out loud and runs into my open arms to give me a hug. I hug her back, leaning into her small frame as I realize how sore all the muscles are in my body.

  She continues to laugh though I don’t take my eyes off the deep frown under the glare that doesn’t let up from my ‘other’ opponent, Franklin.

  “That’s—” she grumbles, as she stares down at my weapons. “That’s cheating.”

  “Oh hush,” Sanaa scoffs. She dismisses Franklin with the wave of one hand. “When you fight for your life, girl, all rules go out the window, yeah?”

  That’s what my thinking was.

  “Besides,” Sanaa says as she looks up into my eyes. “Romy knows she wouldn’t stand a chance against both of us without some help.”

  It’s not exactly a compliment, but I’ll take it. I’ll take the lack of criticism to mean she approves.

  Besides, the reason I started arming myself is because I know that, given the chance, Franklin would take me out without hesitation. I’d have to take her on with whatever I have in hand to incapacitate her enough for me to get away.

  Still, keeping an eye on her stance, I know better than to gloat. The longer she mulls over how I beat her, the harder it will be next time.

  “All right,” Sanaa says as she takes my arm and we start towards her home. “Let’s talk.”

  “You getting better,” Sanaa says. We sit in her small home in the eastern end of Liberty. She shares the home with Franklin, amidst friends and enemies alike.

  Our situations aren’t much different, except I have fewer friends.

  I go to the sink to wash up, turn on the tap, but nothing comes out except air and a knocking sound from the pipes. “Water off again?” I ask.

  “It’s off more often than not,” Sanna replies. Working water was not something we’d ever had issues with, not even in C-City.

  “I wish you’d just come live with us,” I say, not for the first time. “You don’t have to deal with all this.”

  “And why not?” Sanaa says. “This is how the people are living these days, Romy.”

  A slight pang of guilt hits me, but know that she doesn’t mean anything by it. I’d live here too, with her—and Franklin, I suppose—if I had the choice.

  I make my way around the corner, where their back door opens up to a tiny courtyard, the only thing in it a massive barrel full of clear rain water. I grab the pot they have hanging on the side to ladle out some water and bring it indoors.

  Minutes later, we sip on hot tea and chew tiny crumbly biscuits, my favourites since we moved back to Apex. She takes th
e mask off and places it on the small round table beside her. I give them my little gift, a small round mirror cushioned in hard plastic, that fits in the palm of my hand.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a comm we can use,” I say. “I’ve hacked it so that it will only connect to this one.” I take out an identical mirror to show them. I press the middle of the mirror and a light blinks quietly on the other mirror, indicating the call’s being made.

  “They won’t be able to hear us with these—I hope.” I haven’t really been able to test them at long distances but they should work fine enough.

  Franklin continues to glare at me though I think the anger’s dissipated somewhat. It’s not like I really beat her, after all. Sanaa likely stopped her from killing me.

  “Those Metrills have taught you some new things.”

  I picture the Metrills, their little dance sessions in the field below ground, or rather, in the mountain. Then I remember the Metrill that the Vorkian bought at auction.

  “I saw one here,” I say, “though I wonder how—”

  “Where?” Sanaa asks.

  “In town. She was auctioned, and a man—I’m pretty sure it was a Vorkian—won her. I wonder where he’ll take her.”

  “Probably the Equator Prison,” Sanaa says matter-of-factly. “A lot of those guys work as bounty hunters now.”

  Right. I’d thought retired Vorkians were busy selling the idea of moving to people of Apex who were still unsure of living in the north. Of course some of them would graduate to more mercenary work. It makes sense.

  “But why the EPrison?” I ask. “Why not Azure?”

  “Oh don’t you know?” Sanaa says. “Azure’s no longer open for business. It’s been shut down. Everyone ends up in Equator now. It’s more appropriate—only the ‘Too Dangerous’ are taken away now.”

  I picture the Metrill I saw. Though she looked all slight and non-threatening, I know better than to think she’s not ‘Too Dangerous’.

  After all, she’s part of a people who plan to bring absolute destruction to Earth. What would someone like that be labelled, if not ‘Too Dangerous’?

  “Okay,” Franklin says as she stands, “machine’s ready.”

  Right. We need to scan me to ensure Mother’s people haven’t left any sort of tracking on me. We check every single time I’ve come to visit Sanaa, and know better than to skip on it.

  There was only one time when I was tracked—we destroyed the thing, but not before we had to make a run for it. Sanaa’s small space doesn’t contain much—just the most basic things for someone used to being on the go.

  I step into a small see-through tube and stand, unmoving, until the machine pings, indicating that I’m clean. Today.

  Then I take another seat and eat more of the crumbly cookies.

  “So,” Sanaa says, “have you mourned properly?”

  Of course she’s heard of what happened to Abigail by now, and Sanaa’s not one to waste words on consolations or comfort.

  I let out a long breath. “I’ve railed, I’ve cried, I’ve hidden in my room, and I want to kill every member of the Axiom.”

  “Of course you do,” Franklin says. I’m surprised she’s said anything at all.

  “Naturally,” Sanaa agrees. “But have you thought of Abigail?”

  Is she kidding? “I think of her every waking moment of every day, Sanaa.” I don’t like thinking of what she’s insinuating with the line of questioning.

  “Good,” she says. Either she accepts what I’ve said or she knows better than to push me on it.

  Then I tell her my intent to kill the general, how I failed that night.

  Sanaa laughs, though Franklin doesn’t react.

  “Well I don’t know about that,” Sanaa says. “I knew you weren’t going to go through with it.”

  What’s she on about? Of course I was!

  “You know and I know, you’re not some sharpshooter. Even if you’d pulled that trigger, you wouldn’t have hit her.”

  She’s got a point there, but I would have kept shooting. I brought along more than one bullet.

  “Maybe you just wanted to see if you could go through the motions but you’re not ready to kill your mother,” she says. “You need to focus on other things now.”

  What does she know? Still—I was there, I had the opportunity. I didn’t follow through.

  Blair, I think. I should focus on Blair. For a second, I contemplate keeping the news to myself. Because in the short time I’ve known her, I’ve learnt that Franklin can be impetuous. The last thing I need is for her to do something rash that’ll get all of us killed.

  The alternative though, when she finds out he’s here, because she will find out, will be unbearable. Besides, I’d rather she’s on my side anyway.

  “Blair’s been released to my custody,” I say, my eyes on her. “I didn’t tell him you escaped in case of spy drones. He thinks you’re still there.”

  “There” being the Equator Prison where they were both held for the last year after a year of staying free, out of the hands of the Soren.

  She stands abruptly, meaning to move to the door. Just as I expected. I get up to stand in her way. If looks could kill—

  “There’s no way you’ll get him out,” I say, “not without getting yourself killed first.”

  “Then I die,” she growls. Still she doesn’t shove me out of the way so I keep talking.

  “He’s to be released to be my ward,” I rush, “so he’ll walk around free. He’s fine. He’ll be fine. He’ll be alive, and free.”

  “Doesn’t sound like he’ll be ‘free’ at all,” she says. “And I don’t know what sort of mindscrew you think you’re working on me, but ‘alive’ and ‘fine’ are not the same thing.”

  I take a deep breath. She’d only manage to get herself and him killed if she tries to force her way in there. I don’t much care if she gets killed but I didn’t do everything I did in the last two years just so Blair would die.

  “Look,” I say, “I can’t stop you from trying to get him if that’s what you want to do anyway. You and I both know that—but I need Blair. He can help me when it comes to the Axiom and he can help me find the Metrills. He wants to help me. Which means he’d want you to help me, too.”

  It’s not entirely the truth, but does she need to know the extent of his dismay with me?

  “When can I see him?” she says as she backs off.

  “I’ll bring him to you the first moment I can,” I say. “Give me a week. I’ll smuggle him out.” If it means I have another week of not having her come in, guns blazing.

  “I’ll give you three days,” she says.

  Fine. Three days it is.

  Then Sanaa says, “Let’s train,” and the three of us spar for another hour before I have to get back.

  Peace

  I keep my head down, hoodie up, and keep my chin low again as I walk back through the town.

  My weekly meets with Sanaa have fast become my favourite excursions of late, even though Franklin’s been around the last two times I’ve gone to see her. Still, it’s nice to be able to train again.

  Trouble will await me once I get back to the Elysium, but it’s worth it anyway, no matter what it will be. Besides, it’s not like I’m sneaking off to do anything wrong—just to train with my old instructor.

  As long as I stay hidden, who are they to tell me where I can go or who I can visit? It’s not like I’m strolling around in a ballgown.

  Still, I know Strohm will be angry I took down two of the security drones just to go see Sanaa.

  He’s not my owner. He’s not the boss of me, no matter how he tries to be.

  As I walk through town, I see that a tour’s about to start and I turn to walk away from it.

  “Oh I have no credits,” a young girl says.

  “Oh no darling,” the tour-giver says. “It’s free, of course it’s free. For the good of the nation. Come check it out. Today’s special is about Leader Strohm and Lady Mas
on’s love story.”

  I already know the lies the tour guide’s about to spread to the people, but don’t get away until after I catch an earful.

  “Here’s where they first met,” he says, pointing to a corner in front of an ex-Prospo Knowledge Hub. It was brought down in the great liberation three years ago, and has since been rebuilt into a smaller version of itself. I look around me at the old street signs and know it’s not a place I’d ever visited before, least of all where I’d met Strohm. Still, the people eat it all up.

  “It was love at first sight you know,” the tour guide says. I turn a corner just in time as he says, “They were always meant to be.”

  I nearly give in to the urge to scoff but swallow instead.

  Now’s not the time or place to try to right the lies. Besides, I guess it’s better that they believe all this than give in to their base instincts to kill each other.

  Then someone yells out, “Oh Strohm the great Strohmbahsta!” and the crowd laughs aloud.

  They silence when another voice joins in with, “And his wife the great lady Romy Mason, also known as Romy Offstrohm.”

  The reference isn’t familiar but I know the owner of the voice is being taken away as his voice is drowned out by the shuffling of our little army.

  I turn around—four this time, like they’d need more than one or two really to take someone as scrawny as him away.

  They’re dressed in blacks and dark blues, the colours of our house. They all wear the same black and blue helmet, the only things different being the line of paint they have across their eyes—some are black, some red, some yellow, others white. It depends on their level in the army.

  I hasten my pace, not wanting to see what comes next, but knowing I must.

  He will be made an example of in front of all the people. He will be read his rights, then told of his crime insulting one of the Leaders. Because the punishment for insulting my name is greater than that of the others, he will be executed right there in the middle of the raucous.

  I’ve fought against it, but Strohm has left this ruling in place. He insists it’s necessary. “The people need to learn to respect us,” he says, “and fear us. We’re not just Leaders. We’re necessary or everything we’ve fought for is meaningless.”