Romy's Legacy: Book II of the 2250 Saga

by Nirina Stone

  “I was taken by the Sorens when I was just a few months old,” he says. “They took a while to find me and save me before the Prospo could find out who I was related to.” Right—being Mornie Blair’s descendant, he would have been a target. “Franklin’s family took me in, brought me up as one of their own. They’d do anything for me—and I, them.”

  “Who’s Franklin?”

  “My dearest friend,” he says, “And Sanaa’s second best student. Second to yours truly of course. You’ll meet Franklin where we’re heading.”

  Right. Sanaa, my old instructor from the Iliad. I don’t bother asking if I’m on any “best” list with her—the truth is more than I can handle. She called me lucky once, merely lucky. Not talented, not a good fighter, just lucky. “And stupid,” she’d said on more than one occasion.

  If this Franklin is Blair’s “dearest friend” I wonder why I haven’t met him yet. “Did he not live with the Sorens?”

  Blair stops for a minute and smirks at me again. What was that look for? “Not for a while,” he admits. “Franklin’s been stationed in Apex for years, and will be where we’re going for a few days.”

  Okay, I think, recognizing the vague terms, and knowing he won’t offer me what I want.

  I know an answer’s not likely but I try anyway. He seems on a roll with offering me answers. “And where are we going?”

  He just looks over at me, one eyebrow raised high. “Nice try,” he says, “but you know I won’t tell you that.”

  “Why not though?” I ask. “Do you just enjoy being this intriguing, mysterious, coy thing?”

  “Do you find me intriguing?” he says, and he offers me his most charming smile, but I’m not charmed. Not even a little bit, I tell myself. I don’t answer.

  “Thing is, Rome,” he says. “I’d rather you see it for yourself because you wouldn’t believe me. I’d bet you thirty tons of swordfish meat that you wouldn’t believe me.”

  Okay, I think, knowing I’ll still insist on it. In the meantime, what he says reminds me that I’m hungry.

  I’m also tired and frustrated and want something other than the tasteless foodpills he packed. We’ve killed and roasted the occasional native rodent and plucked fruits for a change of pace, but it’s not enough. I want bread, by Odin! I need salt! I glare at the commander’s back as we walk.

  We’ve been walking this steady pace for the last couple of days. That first night, after I challenged him and wouldn’t relent on making him tell me what was going on, he finally stopped and looked over at me.

  “Look Romy, one fine day you’ll realize what a huge favour I’m doing by not filling you in right away. You need to see things for yourself, to experience what you need to, before it all hits home.”

  “Just tell me,” I’d insisted. “Just fill me in.”

  “Okay,” he said. “But what makes you think you’d believe a word I say? Who am I to you anyway? I mean, the people you claim to trust have lied to you all your life.”

  Good point, I thought. Still, I stared up at him until he continued. “If I told you the things I know now, before you get to where we need to go, guaranteed you won’t believe me. Guaranteed.”

  The mystery alone confounded me, but I also knew I was going to follow him all the way there if at least to find out why I was hearing Father’s voice in my head.

  We only stop at night and sleep in a dark blue tent the size of my palm. He doesn’t trust me enough to let me sleep in my own tent though I don’t understand that—it’s not like he can’t lock the things.

  I had asked him that first night, “Why didn’t you steal some motorbots or something for the journey?”

  “For the same reason I killed your Alto,” he’d said, “so that they can’t follow us.”

  I’d nearly forgotten. Everything is traceable. Everything.

  Still staring at the commander’s back, I slow down until I’m walking a snail’s pace. I know he’ll be upset but at this point, I don’t care. I don’t care if he breaks one of my legs this time either. I doubt he will because that will cause him more grief—but I don’t care if he breaks something else. I’m done.

  He finally turns around to face me. “What now?” he says. “You can’t already be hungry.”

  “I’m tired,” I reply, “I want to stop.”

  He stares up at the sun as it prepares to set, and sighs in my direction. “We’re nearly there, Mason. We’ve only been walking a few hours since our last stop. You can do better than that.” He’s right. I can walk for days.

  “It’s not like I can run from you,” I say, “and it’s not like I can fight you, so why don’t you tell me. Tell me where we’re going.” Maybe I’ll stop wanting to fight him. Maybe I’ll voluntarily want to go there. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

  “You can be a relentless pain in the butt, you know that?”

  Well, yes, I think. But who in their right mind wouldn’t be, right now? What have I got to lose?

  “Alright,” he says, “but we’ll have an earlier start tomorrow. Let’s set up the tents for the night. I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

  Catching the implication of the words what you need to know instead of what you want to know, I nod and stand beside him.

  He’s quiet for a minute, as if deciding where to start. Then he throws off his backpack and unpacks our gear as I do the same.

  “When we came here the first time,” he says, “everything was perfect. We found land, it was unoccupied, with fields and fields of fruit. We thought we found nirvana.”

  The word means nothing to me, but I imagine the Sorens were beyond thrilled with this newfound world we were told no longer existed. The Northern Hemisphere was completely destroyed, per the history books. We thought we were stranded in Apex, living with life as we knew it under the control and the misinformation of the Prospo. None of those leaders are around any more to create more damage though. They are in prison awaiting trials for all their crimes.

  The Sorens have always been nomadic. Most of them are born and raised on floating ocean cities built from old cargo ships, so it was only a matter of time before they found that the north was, in fact, liveable.

  “That is,” he says, “until we saw the people.” My mind goes straight to the girl I attacked in the forest, the same girl in my dreams. Rojhay’s girl. “They were gentle and seemed friendly enough. They spoke another language, dressed differently, had weird customs. We assumed they were backwards natives or travellers or something.”

  The Sorens had initially lived with what they like to call the ‘Northies’ for a while. They learnt each other’s customs, treated each other with new foods and new recipes—basically, subsisted well together.

  “Until,” Blair says, “we realized that they’re more technically advanced than we are. That they were keeping secrets about weapons and technologies from us. Your mother was livid.”

  Mother. “Is she really okay, Blair?” I blurt. “Was she only knocked out? Really?” I don’t know why I ask him. It’s not like I could be sure, anyway. He could easily lie to me right now.

  “Argh,” he says, “she’s fine Romy. I promise.” What’s with the attitude? “You know—for someone who loves books and research, you’re remarkably naïve about your world.”

  What the—where did that come from? And what in the world does it have anything to do with Mother? “Well I’d like to learn more about it,” I say, “but no one’s keen to fill me in.” Isn’t that the truth? My eyes were pulled open in Apex when I realized the amount of lies I’d lived with. But I’m still largely in the dark.

  “Filling you in with what exactly,” he says, but he’s abruptly cut off when we hear a loud howl about thirty metres from our camp.

  “What is that?”

  He cracks his neck and looks south. “Wolves.”

  9

  Kibble

  “Wolves?” I gasp. All my muscles clench in fear and anticipation. I’ve never seen one up close. I don’t know tha
t I ever want to see one—I know they can kill people and can grow pretty big. Especially on this side of the world, with no natural predators to keep them at bay.

  “I’m surprised we didn’t bump into any sooner,” he says as he stands to step out of the tent. “This is wolf country.”

  Oh great, I think. To think that we have no major weapons with us because Blair didn’t want to risk having any tracking device lodged in the weapons. So what do we have, to protect ourselves with? Sticks? This is great.

  I don’t say a word, but Blair gives me a look like he could hear everything I thought.

  “Are you scared?” he says.

  “What, aren’t you?”

  He laughs—or guffaws, really. “Of course I am,” he says. “They’re wolves, for Odin sake. I’d be daft not to be.”

  Oh—fantastic. what I need right now. We’re about to get eaten by wildlife and he takes time to make jokes.

  “Okay,” he says, unzipping the outer tent. “Time to meet our maker.” He smirks at me and walks through the gap, then strides straight out on to the grass. I peek my head through the gap and watch his back. I recognize his stance—he’s ready for what Sanaa likes to call “a dance.”

  I step out of the tent and wonder if the wolves would leave us alone if we throw some food at them and make a run for it. Then I shake my head, knowing full well we wouldn’t be able to outrun a pack of wolves. Why would they bother eating foodpills, anyway? And we have no extra squirrel meat on us. I stand in much the same stance as Blair and wait.

  For a while, all is silent but for the occasional hoot of an owl from one of the trees, then even that is silent. Blair breathes quietly and I try not to hyperventilate. I’d hate to die right now—especially still not knowing what the heck is going on with Mother and the Sorens and why we left. Why they think I started the fires.

  I hear a rustle to our right and turn to look at the same moment Blair shifts his stance to face that direction. I look back and forth, knowing that they could come at us from really anywhere now.

  When a massive triangular head pokes through the bush, the eyes are the first thing I notice. They’re ice blue, nearly white, and their owner glares at us with a snarl, its teeth gleaming in the moonlight as it emits a low growl. It watches me for a split second before its eyes alight on Blair—as if determining that he’s the alpha here that needs to be challenged.

  The second thing I notice is that it’s not a wolf at all—in fact, it’s a type of big cat. It’s about the size of a small horse, with short sandy fur and a small strip of white on its nose. It has a feminine way about it—slinky and graceful. If it isn’t about to kill us right now, I’d say it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It crouches forward, the thick sinewy muscles in its haunches rise and fall with each step.

  And we’re its supper.

  It continues to growl and leans back—the movement is so slow, I wonder for a moment if it’s about to sit.

  Then it lunges at Blair.

  Despite its size, the cat moves fast so I think it’s already on him. Then Blair manages to scoot back and roll away before the animal’s great paws hit the ground. Blair jumps back and crouches low, waiting for the next attack. I look around me for anything—a stick or a rock or something to throw at the cat, but our clearing is neat, nearly empty but for our tent.

  I dash to the tent and pull at the material—there has to be a piece of metal or something in there that I can use as a weapon. I hear the growl behind me, followed by a grunt, and know that he’s grappling with it. I have only seconds.

  Blair yells out and I move faster, pulling at a long piece of metal that I hope will do the job. It’s not sharp, but it’s solid enough to make a dent. And a dent is what I intend right now.

  When I turn, I see that Blair has his hands on the cat’s jaw, pushing at it, punching its face to no avail. He scoots back some more, only succeeding in bringing along the massive feline body. I don’t think. I throw myself at the animal’s back and start hammering its head with my metal stick. It emits muffled sounds as I beat, beat, beat the thing.

  Until it turns its head slowly in my direction and snarls at me. Did it even feel any pain at all? If it did, all I accomplished was piss it off. It snarls again, a long guttural sound that rumbles in my chest as I slowly back away from it. It has a small tear over its eye, and a sliver of blood drips down its beige fur, on its way to its eyeball. The cat narrows its eyes as its snarls grow louder, wetter. The growls scrunch its nose until lines form up to its eyes. It flattens its ears as it crouches lower, and I know I’m next to be pounced on.

  I hold on tight to my steel weapon, hoping to shove it in the thing’s eye if it gets close enough. I watch its teeth, hoping it doesn’t actually get close enough. White threads of spit slide down its jaw and land on the ground as it braces itself to eat me.

  That’s when Blair lands on the beast’s back and starts pummelling its great head with his fists. He looks like a little boy on a pony from this angle, with the moonlight hitting him so. Then I see his muscles bunch up as he aims for the cat’s eyes with something. The moment I identify the weapon as a small knife, Blair drives it into the cat’s right eye. The animal backs away, whimpering, and swatting at the knife with one paw. Its loud cries echo on the surrounding trees, and for a second, I feel sorry for it.

  That is, until it turns its head again and takes a massive chunk out of Blair’s side.

  I run up, intent on hitting it again but it dashes off into the forest, leaving us panting in the clearance to the echoes of its cries. I look beyond the bush and, seeing no sign of other attacks, hurry to Blair. He looks up at me then falls to his knees, his hands holding on to his side, as if to keep himself together.

  Blood gushes down his torso and his leg—far too much blood for his nanobots to be able to help him. I drop the steel and am by his side, holding him by the shoulders as he bleeds out.

  “Well—shit,” he gasps, “Sanaa will be pissed.”

  I can’t help my laugh, but tears also well in my eyes as the shock subsides. The pulse in my neck is so loud, I can hear the ocean. “Shit,” he repeats as he looks at me.

  “What do I do?” I ask. I’ve seen everything Blair shoved in our backpacks. I don’t think there’s anything in there that can help. Other than his stash of jane, and that will only serve to keep him comfortable while he dies. “What do I do Blair?” I ask again.

  “Do you believe in Heaven?” he laughs. I frown at him. Now’s not the time to make quips using Vorkian words, I think.

  I grant him a smile, anyway. Then I grab a handful of material from inside his bag and push it against his side.

  He thanks me before saying, “A piece of cloth isn’t gonna cut it though.” Why is he so glib right now?

  “Maybe,” I say, “maybe if we try to stem the blood, the nanites will be able to work faster. Do their magic.” I know, before Blair rolls his eyes, that it’s wishful thinking. The way he’s holding himself, it’s clear the cat ripped something major. Blair gasps again, then asks me to take the jane out of his backpack.

  I light it up for him and hold the sweet-smelling stub to his lips while he takes a long drag. He sighs. “That’s more like it. This will do fine.”

  He looks up into the sky and I lean next to him as my eyes rise to look at what he’s watching. The moon looks down on us, flooding us in its light. I count the bigger rocks to its side, knowing that there will be eight of them, as there always have been since before my birth. I’ve always thought the larger rock looked like a big fish about to swallow whole a school of smaller fish. To think that, once upon a time, it was all part of one big moon.

  “I wonder what sort of parties they’re having up there right now,” Blair says.

  Humph, I think. Since we brought Prospo City down and spread the truth about their lifestyle, nothing on Earth or the moon or Mars has been the same. “Or do you think they’re all busy killing each other? Do you think there’s anyone at all left up there?”


  I never really thought about it, I realized. The distance has been such that, there might as well have never been anyone on the moon, to me.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I’m surprised Mother hasn’t insisted on annihilating it.”

  I’ve been watching the rock all this time, waiting for them to destroy the rest of it, waiting for them to finish what our ancestors started, many years before.

  “They were so busy celebrating, not much of anything else,” he says. “So who knows? Every great society is fated to die. Sorens believe it’s our turn to rule—maybe we were a bit hasty.

  “You know your name always makes me think of the Romans. Did you know much about the Romans?”

  His abrupt change in topic makes me wonder for a moment if he’s losing his mind.

  That’s more ancient history than I’m used to researching, so I say, “No.” Of the little that I know, I’m aware of the influence they had for generations to come, from our laws to our roads to our art. But that’s about all I know.

  “Maybe all societies get complacent after a point, after they bring down their enemies.” Is he talking about the Prospo, I wonder? I did always think they were easy to overcome once we teamed up to go after them. Maybe they were too soft, used to their luxuries, not having to worry about anything, not having to work their bones off for their next meal. “The powers that lasted the longest were vigilant. They knew their successes weren’t foregone conclusions. They were paranoid enough to keep their enemies close.”

  I still have no idea what he’s referring to, but let him keep puffing and talking without any interruption.

  “I heard about a Roman that I thought knew what he was doing. I always wondered why he wasn’t more important than, say Caesar. Oh what was his name though? Ha! I can’t even remember his name, this one Roman that impressed me.” He coughs and I pause, watching, waiting for him to cough up some blood, an indication that the final moments are coming.

  My eyes rise to watch the moon and her small bits again. I wonder if he’s right and they’ve only been busy partying up there. Or maybe they’re all dead by now. Who knows?