“It is part of our deal,” she replies. “You do your part. I do mine.”
Right. It is our deal, but I know not to take her word for it. So I stand my ground and ask for proof.
She sighs. “I have a lot more to lose than you if you don’t go through this today, Romy.”
Still, I don’t move as she pulls out a thin foldable screen from her pocket. She places her index finger on it and it displays a moving image in the air, a small holo-rendition of whatever’s happening where Blair is being held. She holds it up for me and I see his face come into frame.
The last time I saw him was, what a month ago? He looks about the same. His thick hair lies in heavy clumps all around his gaunt, grey face. There’s a new bruise under his left eye, I see, and I wonder what sort of altercation he got into this time.
We spoke briefly the last time we spoke. He insisted I find a way to get on with my life rather than try to “save” him from his fate. I told him I’d get him out of there, no matter what it took.
We may not be the best of friends, but he’s one of the few allies I have left in this world. I can’t deny that he’s important to me though he’s the last person I’d tell—we don’t have time for those sorts of complications.
I watch his face for any other signs of distress, but other than the bruise, he looks okay.
“Where is he now?” I ask, watching the screen. He walks between two of the general’s guards, though it’s hard for me to determine what’s around or behind him. Then he steps into a waiting copta. I finally see something in the background—a thick orange wall with barbed wire across its front and top.
I know this wall to be over three hundred feet tall, and near impossible to penetrate. From far, it merges into its surroundings, the orange and red earth. Everything there is the colour of sunsets, but deadly. It’s unmistakable—I’m looking at the outer perimeter of the Equator Prison. Where Blair’s been held and questioned and tortured for the last twelve months.
“When will he get here?” I ask, trying to do the math.
“Tomorrow morning,” she promises. “We’ll have him showered and fed and—”
When she pauses, I raise an eyebrow. “And—? General?”
“And released to be your ward. As promised.”
Good.
“Let’s do this,” I reply, determined to get through with it.
It’s what we’ve agreed on this whole time. It’s my part of the bargain. If I’d accomplished what I wanted earlier today, this wouldn’t have to happen, but I messed up. So here we go.
She holds out her arm to me, and I fight the urge to push it away. Instead, I step gingerly to her just as Kanatta rushes to us with a pair of flat pale silver shoes in hand. She gives the general a quick nod and bends to her knees to slip the shoes onto my feet.
I silently give her kudos for not flinching when she touches the cool rubber skin on my fake foot. Then she’s gone and we head out the door.
The crowd’s murmurs and breaths flow to us as we make our way down the spiral stairs. I count fifty four stairs. We walk down in a steady pace, my arm curled around the general’s. This would have been impossible with heels.
“Strohm is very excited,” she says, not that I didn’t know that. That makes one of us. “So please, do what you can to keep this special for him.”
I don’t look at her. I know it’s Strohm’s day, a day he’s been looking forward to for such a long time.
None of this has anything to do with me, really, but what exactly does she think I would do to ruin it for him? Isn’t it enough that I don’t love him? Isn’t it enough that I’m only going through the motions?
“Try to smile,” she whispers, as we turn to take the last steps on the stairs and see the first part of the crowd.
They gasp and I respond by dipping my chin and offering the most meek smile I can muster.
Other than the guests, somewhere above us is a drone with its cameras trained on my face, showing me off to the rest of Liberty. I’m not a good actress, but this is easy enough.
Then I regret not accepting the veil that Kanatta nearly draped over me. It was sheer, but it would have felt a bit like a cloak I could hide under.
I peek up quickly, then keep my eyes down again. There must be over five hundred people here. I wonder if I know any of them. My heart flutters slightly, wanting the walk to end already. Where in the world did they even find five hundred people to come?
The music is soft, slow, and reminds me more of a death march than the happy coupling of a husband and wife.
When we finally reach the end of the aisle, the general gives me another swift kiss on the cheek and moves to stand beside me. I finally look up, into the loving eyes of my future husband.
Strohm smiles down at me, his light blue eyes sparkling and pooling with water. I smile at him, determined not to cause a scene. I would sooner have had a quiet ceremony with just him and the attendant—and Mother of course—she’d have to witness it to make sure I went through with it.
All this—attention—is the last thing I’d want in the world, especially for a day I’d rather not celebrate.
Then my eyes alight on my daughter’s face as he holds her gently in his arms. She coos and reaches out to me and I lean in to take her from his arms and cradle her in mine.
“Mmumma,” she says sleepily. “You vawee pweetee.”
“I thought—” I say as tears pool in my eyes too. It’s past her bedtime. That’s why he wanted to have the ceremony this late. I kissed her before the nanny took her to her room for stories and bedtime. Before I snuck off to the Habba Bridge.
“Surprise,” Strohm whispers. “I knew you’d want Abigail here.”
I don’t fight the smile as I look back up at him. At least there’s her, I think. Then I look down at Abigail and her smile matches mine. Her little dimpled fingers reach up to pull on my chin, making the crowd around us sigh and titter as I coo back at her.
I admire her wisps of sun-kissed curls and sky-blue eyes. She’s all Strohm, that’s for sure. There isn’t a lick of Mason in her.
Except of course when she pulls a tanty. That’s all Mason—though, admittedly, it’s also what any normal two year old does. Still, I like to think there’s a part of me in this little one.
Despite our rocky start, any doubts I had about wanting her went away the first moment I felt her kick in my belly.
I give her yellow crown a soft kiss and breathe in her milky lavender smell. I can’t help closing my eyes and feel my heart flutter again. This can’t be too bad. At least there’s her.
I lose myself in her eyes, barely registering the words from the attendant except when it’s time to utter my lines.
As I speak the words, I vow them wholeheartedly—they’re all for her.
And, before I know it, Strohm and I are married. The ceremony is done.
Silence
Abigail and I slip away to the north western wing of our home, her little fingers twisting my curls.
I move to tuck her little golden locket into the top of her pyjamas, one I’d given her on her first birthday, and to my absolute surprise, she hasn’t lost it yet.
“Mumma,” she says again and I say, “Shhhh baby.” I nuzzle her hair.
We were planning to show the new enclosure to her tomorrow, but I simply can’t wait another moment.
We walk up to a glass door and I hear a sharp intake of breath from her as soft lights illuminate the room beyond the glass. We walk through the doors and look up around us as she takes in the view.
“This is all for you, Abby,” I whisper.
It took us a year to have the sanctuary fixed, cleaned, and re-filled with butterflies. I try to forget that it once belonged to a Prospo, like much of our present lives once belonged to Prospos.
“See there?” I point up as a giant blue and black monarch butterfly flutters past us just a foot away, and lands on the bark of an eucalyptus tree.
She squeals and squirms in my arms, sudde
nly very awake, and I gently place her on her feet as I pull my dress out from under her little feet.
“Batta fliiiies?” she asks.
I say, “Yes, all sorts of different butterflies. But my girl—you have to sit very still or they won’t come close.”
Of course, she’s two, and she’s far too excited to do that. So I tell her to close her eyes as I describe my favourite place in Haven. I tell her to picture what I’m detailing though she’s seen nothing like it. The artificiality of P-City, that’s all she’s ever known.
“You’re sitting on a grassy hill, my girl. It’s dark but you can see the sun start to rise far, far away, beyond another hill. It’s quiet around you, though you can hear leaves in the trees and a little bit of wind. Just stay still and you’ll hear it all.”
She keeps her eyes closed and stays so calm. I’ve never seen anyone as still as she is now. Her breaths slow and her tiny fingers clasp my hand. Then I tell her to open her eyes.
The same monarch butterfly we saw flutters closer and lands for a moment on my arm, then flutters across to land on her hand on mine.
She stays so still I wonder if she noticed it. Then her face breaks into the brightest smile and I know it’s taking everything she’s got not to squeal again.
Then the butterfly soars up into the air just as the door to the sanctuary opens and Strohm walks in.
That’s when Abigail finally lets go and squeals and runs straight into his open arms. “Dadda!” she says, “Batta fly touched me, dadda!”
“Of course it did,” he says, “butterflies love sweet things and you are the sweetest thing on earth, my girl.”
Abigail reaches out with a tiny palm to touch his face and giggles as he kisses her curls.
When she pulls on his tie, he pretends to choke and falls to the floor. Her giggles turn into full laughter, to the point I wonder if she’s even breathing any more.
These are the moments I live for. These make it all worthwhile. She always lights up around him, and it’s the only time I ever see his boyish smile again.
It’s nice, our little—family. It’s not perfect, maybe not entirely conventional, but nice. It’s easy to forget everything else in moments like this.
When she finally calms down and she lets out a big wide yawn, she reaches for me again. Strohm laughs.
“Ready to head back to our party?” he asks me, his smile only slightly waning.
“Yes.” I tuck Abigail back into my arms. Might as well, I think. They’re all here for us after all.
The crowd is mostly military personnel, I soon learn. Everyone from prime ministers to generals to diplomats from Apex and the various Soren ships. It’s a gathering unlike anything I’ve attended before, a gathering of Leaders, commemorating the greatest marriage of all time.
Or so General Mason says in her speech as she stands at the front of the vast hall, all eyes on her. Her hair is loosened from its bun and her almond eyes glitter under the millions of sparkling lights from the ceiling. It gives her usually serious features a soft, childlike glow.
Except for the fact that she’s in her normal general’s uniform, one would think she’s having a fun time at a fun party. She raises her old-fashioned glass of champagne and offers a toast as all five hundred sets of eyes turn to us to do the same.
I sit at my “love” table with Strohm, and Abigail fast asleep in my arms.
“We should have Nanny tuck her in bed,” he says, not for the first time.
“She’s fine,” I insist, looking down at her sleeping face again. All the surrounding noise, the music, chattering, various speeches, haven’t woken her up.
Since she was a baby, she could sleep through anything. I wonder if it’s all the action she got used to while still in my belly. And she’s warm and cozy in my arms.
This is one of the rare moments I don’t have to chase her down. She’s never this calm when awake, why should I not take advantage? I know it’s a special occasion, bound for some rambunctious Soren partying that’s hardly appropriate for a child.
But I just say, “I’ll go tuck her in myself in a few minutes.”
Besides, her presence discourages others from coming up for a chat, which I’m more than okay with. Let Strohm receive the congratulations for both of us.
Strohm smiles and turns to look up at whoever has come to congratulate us for the hundredth time.
I watch his face for a moment, his genuinely happy smile. Then I count the three, no four empty bottles of champagne in front of us. My glass still holds the golden liquid I’ve sipped from for each speech. He must have had the rest.
I won’t say a thing though. It’s not the first time Strohm’s had this much to drink, and besides, it is his special day.
Then he stands to make a toast of his own. I hold Abigail closer, looking up every now and then at Strohm. As he speaks, it’s clear he knows this is his shining moment. This is his ultimate Leader party, his day.
“We’ve never been people who wait around for things to happen,” he says, and I realize I missed the first part of his speech.
People cheer and yell, “Hear hear!” from the audience.
“Waiting,” Strohm says, “is for the patient. For the kind. The old. We, the Sorens, always pride ourselves in taking what we want.”
A loud roar of applause takes over and I look at Abigail. She stays still in my arms, her breaths steady. I hope she’s dreaming of butterflies.
“We take it,” he says. “We improve it, we make it our own. And we adapt when we need to.” More applause.
“We took our rightful world back, but we’re not done yet.” His voice rises over the din of the excited crowd.
“Are we?” he asks them. “Are we done yet?”
A slight pause, then a resounding, “We’re not done!” from the crowd.
“Are we done?” Strohm yells.
“We’re not done!”
“Are we done?!”
“We. Are. Not. Done!” they yell louder. I know the vid drones must have been shut off before all this. No way would they show all this to the people in Liberty.
I smile down at Abigail again, wishing it was time for the guests to leave already, so I could get out of this dress. A piece of whatever makes it hold my insides in place digs into my side, leaving an itchy, painful sting in my ribs that’s about to make me yell.
But I focus on Abigail again. Her tiny kitten mouth is slightly open as she snores and I breathe in her milky strawberry breath.
Maybe I can go tuck her in now and finally slip out of this dress.
They won’t even notice the bride’s stepped away, would they? As they imbibe in the drinks and food and festivities? As they congratulate each other on a job well done?
I stand up, not bothering to interrupt Strohm as he stands to take a drink with the latest person he speaks to.
Abigail makes a slight mewling sound and I slow down my movements. I don’t think she’ll wake, but still, I head carefully across the room to walk back up the stairs to her room.
That’s when the first screams and gunshots reach my ears. Then more screams, before bullets spray across my chest. I automatically look down, but time slows down and it doesn’t register.
I turn to see dozens of people flat on the ground, including Strohm. I hurry to him but he’s already moving, turning around to find us. He runs up, blood splatter on his front, tears running down his cheeks as he yells something at me. I look down, the pain a distant echo.
Warm slickiness pools in my arms and I realize Abigail hasn’t moved at all. Her face stays still, her mouth slightly open. Blood seeps under her into my arms and down the front of my dress.
Her face is still serene, peaceful, but a tiny dribble of blood grows on the corner of her mouth and drops down her cheek into my arm.
It’s only then that I realize we’ve been hit. Strohm yells again and pulls us along with him. I follow blindly in shock.
I hurry behind him and we’re running, running up the stairs an
d away from the carnage below.
The dream starts a different way, every time. Sometimes, I’m in the mountains in the north, sometimes in the bowels of a ship or in the midst of Prospo City.
This time, I’m running in a forest I don’t recognize. But like always, I’m being chased by a big lug of a shadow with heavy hooves.
Its hot breath bristles on my neck and I increase my speed, but it’s always faster. I run so hard, my thighs ache from the effort.
Then, just as I think it will catch me, I throw myself over a cliff into cold dark water below that’s otherwise still. This is the moment I’m relieved I finally got away from whatever that was, with its inevitably sharp teeth. I swim my way slowly to the surface of the water, always forgetting that this is the part where something below me wraps its massive jaws around my waist.
My body snaps into two and the pain wakes me up.
But when I wake, relieved that it was a dream, I wish so much that it was real because I’d rather not wake to this. I’d rather die painfully again and again in the dream than know what’s waiting for me in real life.
All the people of Apex are born with nanites in our bodies. Whether we were born Prospo or Citizen or Sorens. The injuries Strohm and I sustained at the attack took all of two days to cure, with the help of boosters.
But Abigail had no chance. She might have been fine, even though she was a toddler, but one bullet hit her straight in the heart, stopping in her tiny body before it could lodge in mine. She saved my life, and now she’s dead.
“Why can’t we develop something that wraps around our hearts? That could have protected her?” I yell at no one.
She may not have really been mine, but we didn’t have much time for me to rectify that.
Strohm’s in his usual spot in the chair beside my bed, his head in his hands as he watches me.
“Another dream?” he asks, understanding. I nod and turn my back to him. It’s not his fault, I know. Still, I’m not in the mood to analyze anything with him. I just want to go back to my dreams and get back to dying in them.
Romy's Last Stand: Book III of the 2250 Saga Page 2