Romy: Book I of the 2250 Saga

by Nirina Stone

  “Get on it, then,” Margo says, a half-smile on her face. She pulls her hand away from the trolley and walks towards the back of the library.

  “I mean to,” I mumble, before breathing out a huff of air I didn’t realize I held.

  I work steadily for a good three hours, stacking physical books and cleaning out tablets, uploading them with new articles, making sure they are all charged, and then delivering books and tablets to the various inmates.

  Most of the inmates opt for tablets, of course. Most people refuse to open old paper-based stories, still worried about ancient diseases lying within the pages. You won’t even find any outside Azure.

  They don’t care if inmates die from book diseases in Azure. We’re not that precious. But I still love the old papers, the feel and smell of them. Knowing that thousands, maybe millions of other people read them before me doesn’t stress me. I keep one large one in my bed, The Stand, by a Mister Stephen King, which I’ve read so many times, I can dictate every word by heart.

  It was about to be incinerated, but I grabbed it at the last minute when I realized it was one I hadn’t read yet.

  The book is horribly dog-eared and stained, and a few pages are missing—an unfortunate side-effect of decades of neglect or abuse. I’ve since read the tale on tablets too, so I know the full story, but I still prefer to flip through its old browned pages, and fill in the missing pages as I go.

  The inner cover says it was first published in 1978 and re-released in 1990. Centuries before the birth of the Nation we call Apex. All these places the book refers to—Texas, Nebraska, Colorado—they haven’t existed in over two centuries. In fact, most of the old countries North of the Equator don’t, but we don’t really talk about that.

  I try to imagine what those years would have been like even though the story is fictional. I like to think there is some truth to it and I’m peeking at a small piece of history they don’t officially teach us these days. Things could easily have happened in that book the way Mr. King writes, to lead us to the world we live in. It may not have been that ‘flu’ or any other airborne disease. It was likely what they teach us—that all the people destroyed one another in the north. It is what our history professors refer to as the Great Omni. But I like to think Mr. King’s words are related to our history, too. Because I often wonder if we’re taught everything there is to know about our past. I can’t imagine why we wouldn’t be, but still can’t help but wonder.

  I imagine the most powerful people in the Northern hemisphere blew each other and their innocent populace out of the sky, then most of the rest were taken care of in the aftermath from the various earthquakes and floods, to the not-so-obvious remnants of bacterial infections and illnesses.

  Apex was largely immune because of our distance from the rest of them, being far in the Southern hemisphere but we lost a massive amount of people too, in the hundreds of great tsunamis that followed.

  “The Human Race was nearly extinct,” I remember my history teacher saying.. “But those of us that survived are all the stronger for it.”

  As I walk past my own shared cell, lost in thoughts of old worlds, I’m surprised to see Arlene in there, sitting on her bed with her bad leg outstretched in front of her. Her soft salt and pepper curls frame her round brown face, giving her an almost childish air. The blue in her uniform highlights the small green specs in her soft amber eyes. She massages her leg, like she is trying to push her hands right through her calf. That can only mean bad things.

  “Mama,” I say gently, looking quickly behind me before walking into the cell. “Why aren’t you at the clinic?”

  “I was,” Arlene answers. “The doctors can’t help me anymore, Romy.” She looks up, and there are rivulets of tears on her cheeks. She’s been crying. A lot. “Well, not the prison doctors, anyway.”

  I approach her, but stop. Really, there’s no point in comforting her.

  “Have you called the Vorkian?” I ask her, holding back my tears. Crying is discouraged in Apex, even in prison.

  The Vorkian, or the ‘Death Doctors’ as we like to call them are Citizens certified in afterlife sales and marketing. Their job, their sole purpose, is to sell death to those willing to leave this world early. I try to avoid them at all costs.

  “Yes,” Arlene answers. “One is arriving today. He will be with the auctioneers.”

  I lean forward to give Arlene a quick peck on the top of her head, before backing out of the cell to distribute the rest of the books.

  Words have no place in Arlene’s future. I might as well keep them to myself.

  After signing out of work—not seeing Margo around. Phew—I head down the hall for School. Its official name is Corrective Services Training, but we’re all here to learn a trade, get certified, and then get a job, so—it’s school. I walk in, and I’m one of the last there.

  The other girls nod at me and I nod back. We’ve sat in the same class together for the last three years, but I’ve spoken to only one of them, once. It’s better that way—can’t get too close to anyone in Azure. We’ll never meet each other outside these walls, anyway. I sit down and we all wait quietly, patiently, for our professor to arrive.

  The windows in the room are barred, but I notice thick gray clouds rolling and sliding like heavy waves in the sky. Sensing movement, I turn my head to watch a fat tabby cat walk across the grounds, as if he owns the place. He probably does—there are more stray cats and dogs in our world than there are people. They don’t share our fertility problems and, though we hunt and eat them sometimes, they still outnumber us.

  The cat finds a patch of ground he approves of and kneads while he yawns widely and stretches. I wonder why he’s so fat. What can he possibly eat out there?

  The classroom door slams open, and she rushes in, a mess—she’s always a mess—with her blonde unkempt curls half up, half down, her wrinkly white shirt untucked and a brown stain on her right cheek. I can’t remember ever seeing her anything less than completely disheveled, our Professor Annie Forty Three. “I’m sorry I’m tardy,” she huffs out. She has this childlike high-pitched, slightly croaky voice, so whether or not she is in a hurry, she always sounds breathless.

  I let out a long breath myself, trying to curb my rising impatience. It’s almost hard to take her seriously, but for her expertise in robotics and engineering. I need to learn what she knows, and I need to know it well if I am to land a decent assignment after my time in the Hole.

  So I smile and wait until she drops all her things on the table, turns one way to fix a part of her blouse, then turns the other way before finally laying her eyes on our class.

  “You can’t imagine what happened this morning—” she starts, before catching herself. She makes quick childish coughs before looking up. “Is anyone ready to stand for the auction, today?” she asks and looks around expectantly. She’s met with stares and complete silence. “Romy?” she asks, her sparkly green eyes on me. “You’ve done really well. Are you ready?”

  I have two more years on my sentence so I frown at her. Why does she think I’m ready to be auctioned, today? I haven’t mentally prepared for it, going and finding myself employers this soon. “Have I learnt all the modules, ma’am?” I ask quietly.

  “Yes!” she answers, like it’s obvious. “Shall we test you, and see how you fair?” She rests one tiny hand on her waist, the other outstretched, as if to ask me for a dance. I’m not too sure, but there’s nothing to lose in trying. At the very least, a test will show me the modules I’m weaker in so I can focus on those before being released. I want to know as much as I can before getting out of here. After all, I get free education, free healthcare, and free food as long as I’m in Azure. So I nod, yes.

  The test isn’t long. I sit at an enclosed terminal at the back of the classroom, working through theoretical and physical problems while Professor Annie continues her lecture. I can still hear some of her class and, satisfied she’s not teaching something new, I continue at the terminal until it’s
complete. I’m surprised. It seems too fast, far too easy. Or am I just that good? There goes my vanity again. I need to work on that.

  After I press my thumb on the screen to indicate it’s complete, I wait patiently while the terminal sifts quietly through my detailed work and answers. After another few minutes, its black screen shows my result: a big fat PASS in a striking lime green colour pops up with an audible ping. The sound is Professor Annie’s cue that I’m done and that I can go.

  “Well done!” she says, looking over my shoulder. “I knew you were ready. You’re my brightest student—” Her eyes widen as she realizes she’s not supposed to say things like that. No Apex inmate is brighter or smarter or better than any other. Or so we’re told. “Sorry! I—uh—I, well—”

  “It’s alright ma’am,” I interrupt. Her stuttering makes me want to scream. I stand, walk back to my desk, and sit patiently while she thumbs the screen at the terminal, then hands me a card made of thick white polymer.

  It’s my Certificate. There are no words on it, only a small black mark barely the size of a beauty spot.

  “That dot,” Professor Annie says, “contains all the information they will need about your training. Once they transfer the details to your Alto, you won’t need the card any more.”

  I already know all this, but let her continue her little speech—she seems to like the sound of her voice. I accept the card and stand to head out the door. There’s not really anything else that needs to be said. Now newly certified, I can go and request a spot at the auction. I’m certain to be a Level B, now that I have this in hand.

  Room 103 on the mezzanine is not a room at all. It’s little more than a hole in the wall, with an attendant in white who appears somewhere between being bored and being glum.

  As I walk in, she props her head up listlessly like I’m a shadow. Then, realizing she’s no longer alone, she does a double-take and perks up immediately. I wonder if she’s had any joe yet, today?

  “Auction?” she asks, her nearly non-existent eyebrows reaching for the ceiling.

  “Yes,” I say, not moving. It’s better not to move towards white-uniforms in Azure unless they specifically ask you to. They’re finicky, like these furry little bunnies my family used to keep.

  “Card?” she asks, one hand outstretched.

  I take one step forward and place the small white card in her waiting palm. I notice she has lines on her cheek, like she fell asleep at her desk for a while. For a long while.

  “Wait, please,” she says. I stand, unmoving, and watch while she pops the card in her terminal, then asks me to place my thumb on another smaller screen. Once my identity is confirmed, she sends me upstairs to the clinic.

  I’m supposed to head to the clinic only after lunch, so Doctor Michael is surprised to see me.

  He sits up quickly, his hair flopping into his left eye as I walk in. Why doesn’t he keep it short, like the rest of the men in white uniforms? Maybe he likes to have it scrub at his eyeballs all the time.

  He smiles at me and I greet him. “Good Morning Doctor Michael.”

  “Good morning to you, Romy,” he replies, eyeing me up and down. “Is something the matter?”

  “I’m ready to be auctioned,” I reply, handing him the white card.

  “Oh,” he exclaims. “I thought you had a couple more years?”

  “I do—or I did. But I was tested today, so—” I look behind him at one of his machines, and scratch the back of my neck. It’s not itchy, but I’m not sure what else to do with myself.

  He nods, and takes the white card from me, then he stands. He has me undress, and put on a thin light blue robe so he can conduct his thorough examination. He checks my height, weight, body mass index, teeth, tongue, eyes, everything.

  “The teeth are excellent,” he says. “No problems since the first day?”

  “No, thank Odin!” I say, referring to the awful tooth ache that led me to Azure three years ago.

  Once I was registered and settled in, they went in and pulled that killer tooth right away. I haven’t looked back since.

  “It will be a bit different today,” he says after the physical exam. He snaps his gloves off and throws them in the bin. I hear the tiny incinerator charge up and burn the gloves away. “They will also want me to monitor your overall health—brain, heart, you understand.” He watches me sympathetically.

  I move towards the treadmill, nodding. He attaches the heart monitor to my chest. They will learn about my heart condition, which means I won’t have a chance to be auctioned as a Level A. It’s what I expect, though it’s not what I want of course, but there’s nothing I can do about having a bad heart.

  It’s not ideal since Level A’s are the ones the Prospo fall over themselves to bid on. Level A’s are always certified—most of them have two to five certificates—and they are fully healthy. They can take on really any kind of assignment you give them and, barring any unusual fatal accident, they will stay alive the longest.

  He turns the treadmill on and I walk a comfortable pace. After five minutes of this, I will need to run for another twenty, and the monitor will record my heart beats as I go. I do this part easily enough.

  I can push my heart harder than they ever allow me to, but Doctor Michael turns it all off within the time-frame, and I step off the treadmill with only a light sheen on my forehead.

  “Alright,” he says. “The physical part is done. I have it included on your card.” Then he has me dress myself, and head up one floor to have an official ‘interview’ with a Prospo named Doctor Fiona.

  I sit back in the cold metal chair, my hands clasped in my lap, and try to remember how they conduct these interviews, and where I needed the most improvement when I trained for them. I don’t interview well at all, in fact, I have a tendency to annoy interviewers. It might have something to do with my inability to answer questions in short form.

  So I bite my tongue and attempt to remember what Father said. “Just breathe. Sound out their question in your head before you answer. Always think first, before you answer. Compliment them on their choice of question.”

  This will prove difficult.

  Doctor Fiona walks in, and gives me a cursory glance over her thin round glasses. They are for show, those glasses. No one in Azure, and certainly not a single Prospo, has bad eyesight.

  If she’s trying to intimidate me with the faux glasses, it’s not working. They reflect the lights off the ceiling and have an almost comical effect on her skinny face. Chewing on my top lip, I look at the wall behind her. Best not to think comical thoughts—that will make me laugh, which will only land me in trouble.

  “Good morning Romy Fifty Two.” She takes a seat behind the table, across from me. She places a small recording device on the table, and then lays her hands flat as she watches me.

  “Good morning Doctor Fiona.” My voice is equally flat. I focus on a spot over her nose and breathe.

  “Tell me about yourself,” she starts. I’m stumped. What does she want to hear about me? That I’m a Citizen? Or that I’m twenty? That I have a bit of a temper, but can cool down nearly as fast as I heat up? What?

  I frown at her for a moment. Tell me about yourself, I repeat in my head. Okay, Father, here goes.

  “My name is Romy Fifty Two and I am twenty. I have completed early Certification in Robotics and Engineering. I love to read and research, and I love Apex.” The last part is a lie, but she doesn’t need to know that. The one thing the Prospo love more than saying, “I love Apex,” is hearing everyone else saying, “I love Apex.” I breathe. What’s to love? A Citizen doesn’t have much to live for in Apex. It’s great for the Prospo, but not the rest of us.

  She looks at me over the rim of those glasses, and I wonder if she has a difficult time looking through them and that’s why she keeps doing that? If so, why bother with them at all?

  “Tell me about your role within Azure,” she says, still not moving her hands from the table.

  I look down at them qu
ickly, then back up at the spot over her nose. I take a breath in. Then I breathe out, thinking about the library, but trying to keep Margo out of the picture.

  “I work in the library, sorting through the various books and e-tabs, organizing them, filing, recharging batteries and fixing broken tablets, maintaining a database of the paper materials. Then distributing all of them to inmates across Azure.”

  “Why did you select robotics as your trade?”

  Is she serious? My frown deepens, and I work to soothe out my face. She assumes there is choice involved when you live life as a Citizen. Okay. These Prospo are so sheltered in their tall crystal towers, how could they imagine otherwise?

  I realize she is staring at me, and I haven’t responded to her yet. Think, Romy, think.

  “That is an interesting and excellent question,” I finally respond. You’d like that one, Father. “I selected robotics because I have a natural affinity for working with all things technical. I also mentioned I am an avid reader and researcher. I love studying the various components of robotics and electrical engineering. I admire their design, construction, operation, and application.”

  Oh no, I’ve said too much, haven’t I? I look at her expectantly and she still does not move. I want to add more, but bite my tongue and wait.

  Finally she says, “Thank you Romy Fifty Two.” She picks up the recording device and steps out of the room.

  Breathing out, I note the tension in my upper back. I’ve been sitting up stiff this entire time. My stomach growls and I realize it’s lunchtime. I stand at the door to wait, and when no one else comes in, I open it and walk through.

  The cafeteria is already full when I arrive. Its walls are a stark white, with a line of Azure blue a few inches from the bottom. Bright sterile lights illuminate the cold tile under me, which only serve to absorb any noise my feet would dare to make. Despite the hundreds of inmates, there is barely a sound.

  I quickly grab a platter of food—it actually looks and smells decent today. Finding my bunk-mates, I sit beside them, my tray clattering on the table.