As we walk, I realize the others are right about the clothing. I was dripping sweat in Maya’s armour, but now, the brown sack uniform allows a fresh breeze of warm dry heat up my legs all the way past my neck.
It’s still not the most comfortable thing to wear out here. It must be fifty degrees in the shade, I decide. Still, it’s better than what we had on before.
It takes a while to get to the south side of Tent City. And the entire way there, Blair and Franklin bump into so many people they know, I wonder if we’ll ever even make it.
The heat is finally getting to me so by the time we’ve arrived where Blair thinks Bo meant, I’m so thirsty my lips are cracking. “Did we have to leave our suits too?” I say, remembering how easy it was to just take a sip of warm water every now and then.
Pressure builds on the back of my head, and I know a migraine is imminent.
“Oh right,” Franklin says as she hands me a small flask and I take a long sip from it. “You’ll get used to it. Or, well—maybe not, depending on how long we’ll be here.”
“Okay,” Blair says. “We’re here. I hope she is too.”
I’m keen on finding whatever it is the Metrills need me to unlock. And this place—there’s a sense of dread here that’s seeping into my skin—and I’ve only been here a few hours.
We walk through another tent, a small one this time, and look around. There she is.
“This felt far too easy,” Franklin says just as the thought runs across my mind. Still, I walk up to the Metrill, who has her back to us, and I place a hand on her shoulder.
When she turns, I’m surprised by what I’m seeing. The Metrill I saw back in P-City wasn’t all that young, but this looks like a much older version of her, with hair nearly as white as Sanaa’s, she smiles up at me, the wrinkles on her face deep.
“Wait,” I say, “this isn’t her.”
“But look,” Sanaa says, pointing at the little square tattooed on the old woman’s right cheek. “She’s definitely Metrill nah.”
I remember in P-City, how the Prospo had been labelled on their faces, just so you could see who was what. I thought it was one of the stupidest things the Sorens decided to do.
Looks like the practice has been implemented out here as well.
“She may be a Metrill,” I say, “but she’s not the same one.”
“Does it matter, Romy?” Franklin says, her voice stiff. “We’re looking for a Metrill. Here’s one. Use her.”
I look back at the lady. Franklin’s right. We were looking for a specific Metrill, but truth is, any Metrill would do to help me get in touch with the rest, right?
“Can you help me?” I say, but before another word comes out, the Metrill steps forward and bites me on the face.
The Calm Before
In yet another tent, Blair smears a thick line of Maya’s oil on my left cheek where the Metrill bit me.
“We should have known,” I say as he gently rubs more black oil. The stuff smells like old ocean water and rotten potatoes, but fits in well with the other smells in this place.
At least it makes the wound sting less and I know it will help my nanites heal me.
“What?” Blair says. “That she’d be insane? How would we have known that?”
“It felt too easy,” I say, “finding her so fast. You know? Though I still don’t know if it’s the same one I saw.” I don’t know why it bothers me so much either, but I keep that part to myself.
“Anyway,” Blair says, “when we find the right one, let’s get what we need fast. I’d rather not be here any longer than we have to.”
I agree with him there.
“Done.” He puts the oil away and wipes his fingers on an old rag. Then he looks at me and leans forward.
Before I can react, he gives me a soft kiss under the line of oil on my face, the way my mother used to kiss hurts when I was a child. But it doesn’t feel the same way as when she did it.
He pauses in front of my face and sighs out loud. His breath smells like mint and warm sea air. Then he says, “Frankie’s right about you.”
I thought he was going to kiss me—I certainly didn’t expect him to say that.
“What do you mean?” I whisper. The thought that she’s said anything about me rankles. I know I’m far from being her favourite person.
“That you’re going to be the death of me.”
My cheeks turn hot and my eyes widen as he moves back, sits in a small makeshift chair across from me.
He hasn’t been this gentle with me, not since several years ago, when we were with the Metrills in the north. In fact, I was certain he hated me—for getting him out of the EPrison, for going against his wishes, and for living the life of a Prospo.
So—-this—what does it all mean? Do I even have any time for this sort of complication? Of course not. Still—
“You’re overthinking it again, Rome,” he scolds gently as he laughs and turns away. He’s right of course. I know that. “You’re married to Leader Strohm.”
And with those words, he’s out of the tent.
Then I get angry. Why did he have to say that? It’s not like I don’t know. And I’m not the one going around staring him in the eyes or kissing scars or, whatever that was.
Still, I tremble, frustrated with the sudden humiliation that overcomes me. You don’t know anything, I decide. You haven’t a clue what I have to do—
But I shake my head, fighting off my oncoming headache. They’d put me in this near-empty tent so I could sleep it off, so that I’d be better able to handle this place as they go around looking for the Metrill I saw.
I lean back into the tiny hard cot and close my eyes, draping my arm over my face to shut out the light.
By the time I open them again, I realize it’s night time. My arms are to my sides, my eyes flash open, but other than the flicker of a candle in the room, it’s dark. I panic for a moment, wondering where the rest of the team are. Then I hear them, in another tent across the way, talking about—well about me, from the sounds of it.
I don’t make a sound as I listen.
“Do you reckon she’s really hearing her father?” Sanaa’s voice asks.
“I was there when all this happened,” Blair says, “I know what these Metrills are capable of. She’s not hearing him anymore—the docs took care of that—but he’s definitely still communicating with her.”
Then Franklin’s voice pipes up. “Why do you trust her so completely, Blair?” she says. “So vehemently?”
The words don’t make me react either way. I know she’s hated me from the start. In fact, if it weren’t for Blair—and maybe Sanaa—she’d have killed me by now.
There’s such a long pause, I don’t know if Blair plans to answer her. Then he sighs. “I don’t know Frank. I just do.”
“But how do you know she’s not a Soren puppet by now? She’s been in their care for so long, I mean she’s a Mason, for crying out loud! Look at her mother!”
“I know,” Blair agrees. “The thing about Romy is—”
Then someone coughs as though they’re about to lose their lungs in a different tent and I miss the rest of what he says.
I try not to react out loud in frustration. If only I had some of my things here. If only we didn’t lose everything on the ocean, if only I could just listen or have my little tracker and find out exactly where that Metrill is.
If only that other older Metrill wasn’t insane. If only Father would contact me already—if only, if only if only—
“You love her,” Sanaa says in a quiet voice.
“That’s going to be the thing that kills you,” Franklin says. “Because I believe she’s a Soren spy through and through. Just like her mother. We’re all going to die out here.”
Blair’s voice comes out gruff now. “Nobody said you had to come, Frank,” he says. I’ve never heard him speak this way to her. “You’re also welcome to leave any time. And you know nothing about Romy.”
With that I hear a loud whi
p as he leaves the tent, and heads—where—I don’t know.
It’s quiet in the other tent as I lay still, stunned that he’d come to my defense like that. I know he’s helping me on this mission because I’m the only thing standing between the Metrills and them destroying the Earth completely.
But what he’d said just now—it’s clear he’s motivated beyond just that. And I’m back to being confused again.
I’m lost in my thoughts, not sure how to handle this new development, when a loud blare hits us from everywhere. It’s relentless, louder than anything I’ve ever heard, and it lodges in my head. Just as I managed to get rid of my last headache, a new one starts in my temple.
Sanaa walks in to find me seated ramrod straight in my cot, my eyes big as saucers.
“Come on,” she yells. “Hope you’re well rested. It’s time to work.
Working
We’re all ushered to the east end of the slum, into several waiting vedas. Some travel up, I see, some travel down. I follow Sanaa but don’t see Blair or Franklin anywhere.
The blaring continues around us so I can’t ask Sanaa a thing. Work? What sort of work do they need in the late night?
Then we’re ushered into a waiting veda with about fifty others. As it moves and my shoulders weigh heavy on me, I realize we’re part of the group that’s heading up, towards the top of the EPrison.
Finally, the blaring ceases though my ears keep ringing for several minutes later.
As we step out of the veda with the quiet group of people, we’re each handed a pair of gloves and a basket tied together with leather straps.
I follow Sanaa’s lead and throw the straps over my shoulders. I look up and see a field of corn ahead of us. Above that is a screen of sorts which now rolls away out of my sight.
“There are several levels of food to harvest and keep,” Sanaa whispers as we get to work picking and shucking the corn. “We got lucky tonight.”
Before I can ask her what she means, she moves away and gets to work. Well, I’m just grateful I managed to get a couple hours rest. This isn’t too bad. It’s like we’re in Citizen City again. I can definitely handle this type of work.
Four hours later, dawn breaks. My back’s sore, my hands slick and sweaty by the time it’s done. Three quick blares and the group moves back to the veda again after depositing our gloves and baskets filled with corn husks before the entrance.
Then we’re quietly brought down to the Tent City level and disperse. I’m so tired I don’t even look for Sanaa, I just head straight to where our tents stand.
This, I think. This is the day we need to find her, do what we need to do and get out of Dodge. Much as I love the work, I don’t know how much of that I can handle day in and day out. I haven’t done field work in years.
When I get back to our tents, I crawl in, meaning to get on the cot and sleep off the night’s work, but instead I’m met with a sharp jab on my chest. A shark soldier stands five feet away, his teeth far too healthy and shiny for the EPrison.
“The warden has summoned you,” he says, as he jabs me again until I’m out the tent entrance. Oh boy. This can’t be good. I look around, but don’t see a trace of Sanaa or Franklin or Blair anywhere. As for Minchin, I realize I haven’t seen him since we were at Bo’s. I wonder if he’s still there.
Then I realize my own thoughts are playing tricks with me. Because I should be terrified right now, of meeting with her. The warden herself, the siren of EPrison. I don’t want her thinking of me at all, least of all wanting to meet with me.
Before we reach the vedas, I see a kerfuffle in the corner.
Two other soldiers hold on to the shoulders of a young boy, he can’t be more than sixteen, while a third shark-soldier holds a rough-looking weapon, somewhere between the shape of a machete and a sickle.
Before I realize what’s about to happen, the third Sharkman brings the weapon down in a quick arc and slices through the boys’ hand, leaving him screaming and wailing in the blood as they walk away calmly as though it’s another Saturday.
The shark I’m with pushes me forward as I yell, “Why did they do that? Why did they maim him?”
The soldier looks back at the scene as if it’s the first time he’s noticed what happened.
“He must have stolen something,” he says. “This is the way of the EPrison.” He pushes me forward again, and though I’m tempted to fight him, to run to the boy, I see that at least he’s been taken care of by others that watched the spectacle. This is the way of the EPrison.
I walk ahead until we get to the doors, then he pushes me through until we’re down the stairs, through yet another veda that he accesses with his Alto, and we’re in her quarters before I panic.
The warden’s rooms are on an upper floor of the EPrison, right under where all the food’s located as far as I can tell.
The door slides shut behind me as she rushes forward to take my hands in hers and gives me a big shiny smile. I fight off a shiver, though her smile looks genuine enough.
“Would you like some fruit?” she says, pointing to a massive bowl perched on a glass table behind her. I shake my head no, but not before I spy the decanter of water—made of mostly ice, and slivers of cucumber.
“Ah,” she says as she watches me swallow. “But water, yes?”
How can I say no? I know just by watching her move, that she’s dangerous, but oh. Water.
She’s already poured it into a large see-through tumbler and brought it up to me before I can say, “No. Thank you.”
“Oh honey,” she purrs. “There is no need for all that. I know who you are now. We—Leaders, we elite—need to stick together, take care of each other. Don’t you think?”
Elite? We don’t have a thing in common.
She takes a covetous sip from the tumbler and places it in my hands. It feels like heaven. So nice and cold in my dry, hot hands. I fight the urge to place it to my temple, make the headache go away.
I didn’t miss what she said though. Ignoring the term “elite” I think, How does she know who I am?
“You wonder how I found out,” she says. “Well, your mother, General Mason contacted me, asking if I’d seen you yet. You look surprised. You hoped she didn’t know where you are, huh?”
She keeps reading my face, analyzing my reactions, and I swallow again, keeping my eyes on her.
“Huh,” she repeats. “Well that, I did not expect. I thought for sure you were sent here—why YOU I didn’t know—you who’s so precious to her. But I thought you were sent to spy on me. Now, now I know you’re not. Care to fill me in, dahrl?”
I sense movement in my peripheral vision and turn my eyes to the far corner of her room, and finally notice the figure there.
It’s a man—clean cut, shaven, and naked but for a bronze cuff around his neck. He watches me, and my first thought is He’s dead on the inside. Despite his situation, he looks well fed, clean, healthy.
But then his situation tells me otherwise, because he’s crouched on his haunches in a massive metal bird cage, only big enough to keep him crouched like that. I don’t even see a door he can come out of.
“Oh him? My specimen?” she says, without looking over at the—specimen. “He’s just in there, you know, for shits and giggles.” She punctuates the sentence with a slight giggle, not a sound I’ve heard from anyone but my daughter. Certainly not a sound I’d ever expect here, from her.
Then she cuts it off with, “I saved him from certain death. He doesn’t have to work in the fields or withstand any punishment the prisoners do. Look at him! He’s happy!”
As my eyes land back on the man, he beams at me. His skin’s a soft gold colour, making him look less like a man and more—ethereal. She must have had him painted. but with what?
“Do you think me cruel?” she asks.
Keeping my eyes on the man in the cage, I say, “Cruelty’s subjective. Depends on which side you sit.”
It makes her giggle again. “No,” she says, “it’s not
at all subjective.” And she leaves it that.
She throws a bunch of grapes at the man and he catches it easily, snacking on it excruciatingly slow, as if to enjoy every aspect of every grape.
“So,” she says again, now that she’s got my attention. “Care to fill me in?”
My first reaction is that I’d sooner not. Of course I don’t trust her.
But then, there’s a part of me that wonders if she’d help me—help us—if she knew what the Metrills are up to?
I mean, she’d have a vested interest in surviving their plans, wouldn’t she? On the other hand, who knows what she’s capable of. I’ve only seen her a couple of times. There’s no doubt in my mind she’s dangerous—and if she were an ally, which I highly doubt, it wouldn’t last long, it wouldn’t work to our benefit.
All this thinking takes a few seconds but she’s preparing herself a plate of fruit as she waits for me to speak. I wish the rest of my team was here, as she takes the fruit and plops herself on an oversized purple cushion in another corner of the room.
“Look,” she says. “You can mull over things as long as you like but honey, I’m your friend in here. You don’t believe me. That’s okay. You may go as you wish, but please don’t waste your time here working the fields like a common—EPrisoner. Walk around, be merry. Get comfortable. When you decide to embrace my friendship, my door is always open to you—and your little friends.”
There it is. I place the tumbler of water back on the ornate glass table. The slight inflection in her tone as she said, “little friends.” Other than the caged man, that right there is precisely how I know not to trust her.
I back away slowly as she continues to smile at me.
“I’ll see you around,” she says, as she bites into a crunchy green apple, “Laaady Romy Mason.”
I’m out the door, and make my way as fast as my legs can possibly take me, back to my tent in the hidden corner of our prison.
I can’t shake her sparkly green eyes from my mind though. I can’t shake the thought that we should leave sooner than we planned.
Romy's Last Stand: Book III of the 2250 Saga Page 13