Romy’s Last Stand
Book III of the 2250 Saga
©Nirina Stone 2016
Cover by Shardel (selfpubbookcovers)
Edited by Laura Kingsley
Table of Contents
Synopsis
Dedication
Bridge
Ceremony
Silence
Listening
Liberty
Truths
Enemies and Allies
Peace
Trapped
Blair
Plans
Wrench
Out Of The Frying Pan…
…Into The Fire
The Enemy Of My Enemy
The Beast Down Deep
Eaten
Equator Prison
Sharks
General Populace
The Calm Before
Working
The Vorkian
The Siren
The Vault
Prison
Meditation
Saviour
Fallen
Back
Friends
Team
Onwards
Metrills
You Must Kill Them
Escape
Strohm
Epilogue
THE END
About the Author
Copyright © 2016 by Nirina Stone
Synopsis
This is what it all comes down to. The big climax. The end. My death.
Romy hides in plain sight amongst her enemies. Her assignment? Help make Liberty the utopia it was meant to be, and it is right on track.
But between assassination attempts, security bots, deals with sworn enemies, and even more secrets than she can handle, she’s certain she won’t survive the end of the world….
If you haven’t read Romy [Book I] or Romy’s Legacy [Book II], I strongly suggest you start with those stories first. If you like novellas, The Vorkian [a dystopian novella] is available for FREE on all e-tailers. You can also grab your copy of Romy for only 99c for a limited time.
Remember to join Nirina’s Readers-only List to receive a free book (or more) and special news on book deals and new releases!
A quick note to my US Readers—Apex is a world set in a futuristic version of Apac, and Prospo City/Liberty = Sydney. That said, our language out here is colourful and a notch different.
However, no author, editor or proofreader is perfect. If you believe you DO come across typos, feel free to send me a note on where you found it, and I’ll be more than happy to fix it. Thank you!
Dedication
To my husband. When the world ends, I’ll proudly fight by your side—or run with you. Whichever we decide sounds better at the time :)
Bridge
Wind whips and stings my face as I push myself up the narrow metal stairs. It roars in my ears like the ocean, drowning out all thoughts or doubts about my mission today.
Not that there’s any chance of backing out now.
The hour-long walk I took to get to this point on the Habba Bridge only made me want to get here faster. Though it’s dark, I know I’m facing the north end with various buildings across from me, and murky cold water below.
It should have taken shorter, but for the portion of the bridge they blew up when they brought everything down in Prospo City. Not they, I correct myself. We. I definitely had a hand in this destruction.
I ignore the burning ice cold on my ears and look past the broken tip of the bridge, facing north to the tallest building across from me, remembering the one time I was here. I was in school, and they’d given us a short virtual tour of the Habba Bridge, followed by the Opera House.
I remember it being massive, overwhelmingly so. The other kids oohed and aahed around me as we listened in on the history behind this iconic place. But it seemed such a waste of space—not used for storage or food or energy. I remember the sun-bleached whiteness of the Opera House and its reflection in the surrounding waters. I wondered how people could watch other people perform all sorts of things in that place—singing, dancing, acting.
What sort of time did they have in the ancient days to waste it doing that? In a place that is now a broken down, greyish-brown version of its old self, empty except for ocean water in its belly. Its gleaming white tips are covered under a layer of greenery and more of nature’s accessories. Only to be admired from afar, not from within.
I steady myself, grabbing onto the bridge’s metal railing with my left hand as my right reaches behind me and pulls out my makeshift weapon. I haven’t had a real chance to test it out, and have to trust that it’ll do.
It’s taking a big chance, but then I’m not a soldier. I dip my chin sharply and my longvisionbot lowers over my eyes to see the details of the weapon better. I guess it’s a gun, but not really.
I put together a very basic weapon—with all the parts of a gun, without any of the metal. There’s no way it would go undetected otherwise.
There’s no time to admire it too long. I run a hand along its long plastic body and hold its heaviest part over my shoulder.
I look through the visionbot, stare straight ahead to the building across. Its lights are on in the fortieth floor, with pristine windows open and clear, just asking for someone like me to come along and destroy them.
I aim the weapon, peering through the visionbot, waiting for the perfect moment. I steady my breaths, knowing I could stand in this position for another hour before my target shows. But I stand tall. Today could be the day I end all this.
Today could be the day I’ve been looking forward to, over the last few months.
Today could also be the last day of my life, but I fight that thought, trying not to worry too much about it. After all, what’s a life worth if it doesn’t do something like this, to protect others, to save others from the same fate?
My visionbot detects movement and I narrow my eyes, finally seeing a person walking into sight.
It’s the back of someone’s head, but I recognize this silhouette anywhere. The short blond spiky hair atop a tall frame I know to be six foot four. He faces away from me but I can tell what sort of expression he has on his face this moment.
Who knows what intel he’s in on right now. It doesn’t matter, anyway. The person he’s chattering with is about to move into frame, and I hold the weapon even more steady.
If this weapon fails in the worst way, I’ll likely die up here, decapitated. At least it would be fast. I move to rest my index finger on the trigger.
Then my target walks across to stand in front of him, her face in my vision. Her small face looks innocent, her eyes wide as she smiles up at Strohm and nods her head.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think they’re having a nice convo about what to have for supper later. But I do know better.
General Mason, the woman I once called Mother, is planning a new and detailed mission, I’m certain of it.
What it is doesn’t matter as long as I stop her before she causes any more damage.
I blink once, then aim the weapon at the spot between her eyes. I have my finger on the trigger when Strohm steps forward and stands far too much in the middle, where he’d end up shot too.
I hesitate, knowing that the plan was to shoot, no matter what, knowing that I must go through with this even if Strohm is caught in the line of fire.
My hesitation is enough time to lose sight of both of them as they move out of my focus, maybe to another room. Maybe they’re done for the day. I don’t know. I now have to wait for my next chance, hoping that wasn’t it.
Although I haven’t heard his voice in years, I imagine Father chattering in
my head. I imagine the voice urging me to turn around and not go through with it. “You will regret it,” he’d say, “you will regret it. Please don’t do it.”
Shut up, Father, I think, though I know it’s just my head messing with me. Why wouldn’t he let me kill her, anyway? It’s not like she’s ever been on our side. It’s not like she’s ever really been Mother.
She’s this—I don’t know—double? Triple spy? And she caused his death, not to mention several other thousands of people. Why shouldn’t I stop her?
I imagine him saying, “She deserves to die, but you don’t deserve to live with the guilt of doing it yourself. Please just turn around. Just go home. You can’t come back from this. Don’t do it. Just go home—”
I huff. Home. Right.
Then I see the distinct blinking purple lights of a drone up ahead and scramble to my knees to move. It’s about a hundred feet away. I have mere seconds before it detects me up here. So I shove the weapon back into its holster on my back and turn around.
The distance from this side of the bridge to the water below is just over four hundred feet from my estimation. Doing the math, I know I won’t have time to run down to get any closer to the water.
So I brace myself, wrap my fingers around the top of the railing and throw myself over.
The top of my weapon catches on the railing, and though I move my arms up to stop it from falling out, it slips and I push it further away from me. I’m falling faster and it’s too dark to make out where it is now.
I automatically count, knowing that I have microseconds before that drone will be on top of me. I count to twenty before my pointed feet finally hit the water, and the wind stops whistling past my ears as the rest of my body splashes into the water. The cold, cold water.
My entire body clenches and braces itself. The bodysuit will protect me to a point, though it does me no good to think about the limits of that point.
My snorkelbot forms over my face and I breathe in, forcing my arms to move and swim east where I know I’ll have another twenty minutes in the water before I’ll be able to climb out. I don’t worry about the drone now. This water is cold enough to keep my heat register too low for detection.
The roaring in my ears has stopped, at least. And my head’s version of Father’s voice is silenced as I sluice through the water. The muscles in my arms tighten and warm up as I move. My legs kick and swim further, and I move along at a steady pace, fighting the disappointment tightening my chest.
That was probably the best chance I’d have in a long time. It was hard enough getting the materials for the weapon, now it’s floating somewhere to the bottom of the water.
I had her in my sights, and all for nought. Who knows what sort of mission she has planned now, who knows how many more people will die by her hand. I had her in my sight. Ugh. Why did I hesitate?
Twenty minutes later, I slow down and look up through the water at the castle looming over me. Though it’s dark, I know it’s a reddish brown old-style castle from the sixteenth century, battlements and cannons included.
Of course it’s all camouflage, to make it seem like nothing but an ancient, decrepit building to be admired from far. The best kind of camouflage the Sorens can muster: a cloaking device of sorts. I thought it was impressive the first time Strohm showed it to me. A full-body holo that can be kept on all day, using very little energy from its internal solar powered screens.
Its only limitation? It’s not stable on a moving object. So a building on the top of a beach-side cliff is perfect. From afar, one could not see the cloaked ships. Up close though, there were too many chinks, too many ripples. When one looked down, one would notice dips and shadows and small waves on the ocean surface that didn’t belong. The Sorens used it to cloak their floating cities so that they could dock as close to shore as they liked and move about right under the noses of the blind Prospo. Clever.
I lift myself out of the water and grab for the rough rock face, making my way up the East side, still disappointed but knowing I don’t have time to mull over it too much.
For tonight’s a special one for me and Strohm. Tonight, over two years after I travelled back to Apex with Mother, pregnant with Strohm’s child, we’re finally getting married.
Ceremony
“Oooooh,” she claims as she pulls the ribbons tight on my back. She doesn’t notice my sharp intake of breath as my insides are pulled in closer than they should legally be allowed. “Isn’t it stunning?”
Then she moves to stand in front of me as she adjusts and puffs up the sleeves. Someone else behind me spreads the skirt out over the floor, turning me into a big round puffball. The one ahead is about an inch shorter than me, so I catch my reflection in the mirror just over her head.
The older I get, the harder it is to keep emotions off my face. This, right here. My lowered, heavily mascara-ed eyes, the slight pout in my shiny lips and the way my chin pulls up high: this is a face of pure disdain.
They’ve pulled my black hair up high and tucked it into a crown, its silver and gold and diamond-encrusted tips winking at me from the mirror. Soft dark ringlets sway over the nape of my neck. The hair’s tight enough to pull the corners of my eyes up, narrowing them more. My eyes sparkle, not from excitement, I know. From the adrenaline rushing through me over what I nearly accomplished tonight. What I failed to accomplish, I remind myself. Still, I will have another chance, and can’t allow myself to hesitate then. I have to.
She steps forward with a long sheet of silky see-through material and moves to drape it over my head, but I duck to the side just in time to avoid it.
“But it’s the veil!” she insists and I shake my head vehemently.
“It’s not very comfortable,” I say. I pull and tug on the dress’ ruffled skirts. The sentiment is true for the veil, the dress, everything. The gown is a mix of pink and light purple and white. Silk and satin and organza, layers and layers of puffy material making me feel like a dessert.
The type that looks lovely and creamy and light, but the moment you bite into it, it’s far too sweet and sits heavy in your stomach. At least the dress is not actually heavy. Whatever materials they used, at least I can still walk in it. I can’t breathe freely, but I can still move.
“Shimmery pink comfort is the best kind of comfort, don’t you think?” she says as she puts the veil on a chair beside us instead of trying to place it on me again.
Sounds like something the Prospo love to utter, I think, taking a closer look at her. Of course in P-City, now known as Liberty, no one is labelled a Prospo or a Soren or a Citizen anymore. We’re all called Liberators, we’re all supposed to be one and the same—a clean slate, a new beginning. But I can’t help wondering who she once was.
“What is your name again?” I say, realizing that’s rude, but she won’t mind.
“I’m Kanatta,” she replies with a soft smile.
Yep. A name like that was definitely once a Prospo. I wonder if, in her old life, she’d have ever imagined she would one day dress a mere Citizen on her wedding day, to a Soren to boot.
“Kanatta,” I repeat. “This dress is long enough to hide my feet. Do you reckon I could go barefoot?”
I eye the shoes in her hand suspiciously as she gasps.
The shoes seem fine enough—a soft pearl satin material with rounded tip. They have matching ribbons that would keep them from slipping off my feet. But their heels must be over four inches high. I’m not one for heels, though I know the aim is to bring my five-foot-seven height a little closer to Strohm’s six foot four.
“Absolutely not!” Kanatta cries, before catching herself. Her eyes dart down to where my feet should be under the gown and, though the reaction is slight, I catch her cringe.
I wonder if she’s thinking of my other foot, the plastic and metal one. It looks like my real foot, the skin merely a rubber version of it.
Underneath though, instead of bones and tendons, it’s all metal, plastic, wires. Its a bot with the skin of a doll.
“My apologies my lady,” she says, bringing her chin down. “Please forgive my outburst. If the shoes will be uncomfortable—”
I ignore the formal term and her sudden meekness. This is still not the sort of treatment I can get used to. But I might as well use it to my advantage, this time.
“Forgiven,” I say. “As long as you help me find a pair of flat shoes instead.” Then I add, “A pretty pair, of course. That match.” I don’t care, but try to appease her, give her a clear goal that will make her continue to feel useful.
She hesitates then, reading the determination on my face, nods and turns away with the four-inch heels. Phew.
When General Mason walks into the room, followed by her trusty bodyguard, I fight the urge to run for a gun and shoot her right here. The reason being, well, I don’t have a weapon.
She pauses at the doorway and places a hand on her heart, playing it up for the others in the room.
We both know she’s not as proud of me this moment as she’s putting on. Then she strides straight to me and puts her arms around my shoulders, giving me a swift kiss on the cheek. I don’t budge though wherever she touches me, she leaves my skin glacial.
“You are the most beautiful bride,” she says, touching one of my ringlets lightly.
“Thank you,” I say.
Please send them out of the room so we’re alone, I think. Then I realize it’s a silly wish. We’d never be completely alone. She always has the bodyguard who I really don’t want to hurt. Even if we’re alone, I won’t have the guts to do it. Not with her in front of me.
I’ll be the first to admit I’m a coward. But I’d shoot her from afar, no problem. Or at least, I thought I could, until earlier tonight.
“Are you ready to walk downstairs?” she asks.
No. But there’s not much of a choice, is there?
“That depends,” I say. “Is Blair being released?”
Romy's Last Stand: Book III of the 2250 Saga Page 1