by Nirina Stone
Amelia Fifty Four has three bids, the highest of which is five hundred thousand credits. She looks at the screen and has that same smile on her face as Richard Fifty One. Yep, not bad at all for a Level B. I hope to get something similar, but expect more.
Then they call my name and I climb up the stairs. I guess I’m the last inmate under Level B, then. It makes sense since I was only tested at the last minute.
I look up to watch the sea of blue below my eyesight. It’s almost beautiful. It reminds me of the early days of my childhood when I would catch a small sliver of blue up high in the sky, when the clouds were not nearly this thick. I don’t see Father in the mass, but I didn’t really expect to, not with the entire Azure population here.
Hearing a small gasp as the screen pops up behind my head, I catch Knox’s eyes. What is that look on her face? Surprise? I turn my face to read what triggered her reaction. Then, I see:
Romy Fifty Two; A: 20 years; H: 5‘8; W: 130 lb; C: Robotics; OH: 5; EL: 30 years; C
‘Atrial Fibrillation’
Surely, she’s not shocked with the fact I have a heart condition? She’s heard all about it, she knows it runs in my family. Why would that make her act like—
Then I look up at the screen and note the unassuming ‘C’ at the end of the first line, like a half moon winking from behind a cloud.
“Wait,” I mutter, still staring up at the screen. “Wait,” I say a bit louder, looking around to the front. My heart races erratically as I catch Knox’s eye again, and imagine the look on my face is a mirror image of hers. I squeak one last, “Wait,” but no one can hear me. If they did, they would ignore me.
What do I want them to wait for? My heart hammers hard in my chest—trotting as hard as it did this morning.
I stand, frozen, not knowing what to do, what to feel other than completely terrified. I want to scream, “But I’m a B! I’m a B!” It would be futile. Azure inmates don’t have a say in whatever Level they end up with, they certainly are not given the chance to negotiate or appeal or really do anything than get auctioned and get sold to the highest bidder.
I can’t feel my knees anymore. I want to run off the stage, but I can’t move. Why am I a C? Sure, I’m not healthy but I’m certified! I’m certified!
Not hearing anything, not aware of what’s going on, I stare into the distance. I can’t tell if anyone even bid on me. It doesn’t matter, because there can be only one type of bid on a C, and that is the bid of the Sorens. They don’t bother with any other Level because they will never have enough credits for any other Level. There can be only one kind of bid and at the end of that, I will be nothing more than someone’s Soren baby-carrier for the rest of my life.
Well shit, I think, as they escort me down the stairs to the other side of the podium. At least they only expect me to live another thirty years.
I’m hot, dizzy. My vision goes murky as I walk. The moment I reach the bottom of the stairs, my knees crumple and I fall, then my vision turns spotty and dark gray. The ground flies up to my face and it’s the last thing I see.
When I wake up, I’m lying on a small cot in a tiny rectangular room that must still be in Azure, because of the light blue brick walls in the otherwise sterile room.
It’s quiet though, so I can’t be too close to the general population. I wonder how long it’s been and if they are still going through the auction, or if it’s been wrapped up already. I wonder if this is the room I will be in, when I get to meet my new employers.
Ugh. I remind myself that I’m a Level C, so they’re not really employers, are they? I can’t remember the word used to describe Sorens who bid on females for the sole purpose of childbearing.
It won’t matter what they’re called though. The first thing I will do is attack, the second is to get away as soon as they are incapacitated. If all that fails, I will find a way to alter my own state, somehow. I refuse to be attached to a machine and made to carry their future evil spawn for the rest of my life.
Still not hearing anything, I sit up and look around the room. I investigate all corners to see if there is anything I could use as a weapon, once the door opens and they come to get me. There is nothing sharp, of course.
The only chair in the room has no legs. It’s a round puffy-looking metal thing, impossible to pick up. I know because I try to lift it. All it does in my useless human arms is slide forward.
No longer dizzy, I drop to my hands and knees to look under the bed. Maybe there is a screw or something I can fashion into some sort of weapon. The bed’s legs, much like the ones in our bunks, are attached to the cold cement floor with massive metallic bolts. I don’t need to pry them to know they are securely fastened.
Standing up, I’m determined to rely on my hands, my feet, my teeth. I am not leaving this room without a fight.
The door opens and I freeze, my hands already claws as I build up some anger in my chest. They will not take me! I will scratch out their eyes if I must.
Doctor Michael walks into the room and finds me standing there, my eyes wide, my hands shaped like talons, my teeth half bared.
“Well hello, Romy Fifty Two,” he says in surprise. “Good to see you are awake and full of life.” He laughs as his eyes dart to my hands and back to my face.
“Doctor Michael. What’s going on?” I try to steady my breathing and bring my hands back down. They lie uselessly by my sides.
He walks into the room and points a hand to the bed, indicating that I should sit. “We were worried it was your heart.” He sits in the only chair in the room and slides it up closer to my bed, where I am now perched, meek. He checks my heartbeat then shines his trusty light in my ears, my eyes. He watches my pupils for a minute. “It was likely shock or excitement,” he says, as he rips off his gloves and throws them into the incinerator. “The auction is the biggest thing to happen to you in the last three years.” He stands and heads for the door. “You will meet your employer soon!”
“Doctor Michael!” I say, almost in a panic. I work on calming down my voice. The Prospo tend to shy away from dramatic outbursts—it makes them nervous. In fact, anything more than a flat, steady conversation makes them nervous. So I breathe in as he watches me, then take my time to release my breath. Steady, I think. Steady.
I wonder if Doctor Michael would find me a Vorkian if I asked him to. He is the most friendly Prospo I’ve ever met, though our relationship has never breached the expected level of professionalism between doctor and patient.
“I’m just confused,” I finally say.
His hand drops from the door handle and he takes a small step back into the room.
“I thought I would be auctioned as a Level B,” I continue, still trying to keep my voice calm.
“Ah,” he says, understanding in his tone. “I was surprised with that too.” He stands and watches me as I look back at him, the silence in the room the only thing breathing. “I hope your transition is smooth,” he finally says. Then he turns and slips through the door.
So much for that.
I sit down heavily on the cot. Okay, I have no weapons. I have no Vorkian. It looks like my initial plan stands. I need to fight whoever comes through that door. It’s a good thing my teeth are the strongest they’ve ever been. They will be my biggest ally, today.
I continue to sit and wait—and wait some more. Hearing nothing but my heartbeat flutter erratically, I stand and walk back and forth to do something other than sit.
My thoughts wander to Father and I wonder if he watched me fall. I’m sure he would roll his eyes at that. I was not trained to faint like one of those ancient stories’ damsels in distress.
At the same time, I hope he’s not too worried. The heart in our family has always been a bit of a lottery. He and I happened to land on the bad kind.
I think of Arlene and wonder if she’s had her appointment with the Vorkian yet. If she has, it means her leg’s no longer in pain so I am happy for her. Out of the two of us, I realize I’m the one in the worst po
sition. She doesn’t have to worry about what’s next any more.
The door opens slightly and I jump to my feet. Wish I stole something off Doctor Michael that might help me. The door opens wider and my hands are clenched again. My heart flutters and beats stronger. If it conks out on me today, I hope it lets me take someone along for the ride.
Standing in the doorway is a man. My eyes narrow as I get ready to take him on, my glare moving up from his shoes, his trousers, his shirt, to his face. And I freeze.
He has the wrinkled, wizened, unsurprised face only found on the old. The very very old. He must be over a century! Which means he can’t be a Soren. In fact, the longer I look at him, the more I’m convinced he’s a Citizen.
“Hello, Romy Fifty Two,” he greets with a mellow, soothing baritone voice. The kind of voice I imagine Deities in ancient mythical stories would have had. He smiles at me as my shoulders drop and my hands relax.
I wonder if this is a trick. Is this how the Sorens take people by surprise? They send in a kind elderly person to soothe you and make you relax, then they come in and take you? I’m not sure what to think, any more.
I frown and reply, “Hello.”
“I am Isaac Oh Two,” he says, still smiling, “I am your new employer.”
Isaac Oh Two
Isaac’s wrinkles are deep. So deep, I wonder how he washes between the folds. He tells me he is one hundred and seventy years old.
The oldest person I’ve ever met was my Great Aunt Isabelle. She must have been about his age when she passed away. But she already had the papery thin almost transparent skin unique to the elderly. She was tiny, shorter than any other adult I knew and, despite her tough as nails attitude, she seemed fragile. I was always careful touching her, worried her skin would break and fall apart in my hands—crumble like dust and fall to the ground.
Isaac’s dark skin appears rubbery and elastic, though. Nothing papery or thin about it. He catches me staring and I turn away.
We are sitting side by side in a Prospo car being driven by one of their automated drivers. I’m nervous. I’ve never been driven by an automated car before. It’s one of the safest modes of transportation available. It’s definitely safer than having me in front of the steering wheel. I remember the last time I drove, and try to focus on something else.
“You are nervous,” Isaac says, his small dark eyes on my face. He has a constellation of tiny black spots on his cheeks, giving him the illusion of freckles.
“Yes,” I reply, thinking that it’s a given, but not wanting to insult him. I have a soft spot for the youngest of the young and the eldest of the old. They make me protective and almost maternal. Almost. They make me want to drop my guard, and if there’s one thing I’ve learnt in the last twenty years, it’s that it’s best not to drop your guard.
“Do you have questions for me, Romy Fifty Two?”
I look at him, comforted by his kind old face and eyes. My confusion about today’s events only escalated the moment Isaac walked through the door.
“I’m not really sure where to start,” I reply honestly.
“That’s okay,” he says, looking out the tinted window. “We have plenty of time for questions and answers.” Then his eyes close and I think he’s fallen asleep. I stare out the other window, to the road that now looks familiar as we make our way towards Prospo City.
I take stock of what he has told me, so far. Isaac works for a Prospo family in an area of the city called High Towers. He is their robotics engineer and he is in need of an apprentice. He was an Azure inmate himself and was auctioned to the family before its current Father’s father was born. So, Isaac is working for the third generation of the same Prospo family. I am stunned—that is a long time to work for one family.
He also doesn’t speak much. But when he does, even if it’s only one word, it’s like he is sharing something exceptionally wise and unheard of to my inexperienced ears. I’d love to sit and talk to this man for hours, but I suspect there won’t be too many hours left of him.
We drive on and I turn to watch him from time to time. It takes three hours to drive from Azure to Prospo City. I wonder why the family did not opt to send him in one of their coptas, like all other Prospos do when they need to travel all the way to Azure. The trip would take twenty minutes, at most.
When he opens his eyes right as we are about to enter Prospo City, I ask him about the coptas.
“Why rush?” he asks and closes his eyes once more. I find myself thoroughly intrigued.
When we enter the Prospo family’s vast home, Isaac tells me they will not be home for a few weeks, so it will give him the opportunity to train and acclimatize me before they return.
“They are still in their summer home,” he tells me. “They move two to three times a year, depending on the weather and their mood at the time.”
This is true for all the Prospo, though the weather does not change that often in Prospo City, not since the early days. It’s likely that they get bored with their environment and decide to move to the ‘other house’ for a few months. I’m going to have a difficult time not rolling my eyes around these Prospo.
That was one part of my pre-Azure training father always found the most challenging. “You need to be respectful,” Father would say.
“Of what?” I’d answer. “Of the fact that these Prospo can’t tie their own shoes without our help?”
He would look at me for a while, then say, “You need to be more respectful than that.”
We walk through the elaborate front entrance and I stop. The entrance alone is bigger than my entire house before I moved to Azure. It’s magnificent. I have a difficult time keeping my mouth closed as we walk through.
The family owns four levels of the building, Isaac tells me. The first floor hosts not only this sprawling foyer, but the various rooms of the Citizens employed with the family. There is also a kitchen on the other end of the hallway.
The next floor up has a kitchen, entertainment room for the children, TV room, and the formal living space including the dining room. The top two floors consist of the family’s bedrooms, another massive playroom and living space, the Father’s office, and a third kitchen.
Why does one family require three kitchens, I wonder? The Prospo don’t cook—the act of cooking is considered vulgar. Nearly everything in Prospo City is automated and convenient and fast.
Isaac deposits me in my room, instructing me to settle in, while he goes to check on some of the machinery. It’s a nice room. It’s definitely much more space than I have ever needed before. I have nothing to put away, so I sit for a few minutes, trying to count my luck. I thought Sorens were coming to get me. I thought I’d be fighting or dead or locked up to a cot, violated and screaming.
This room, with all its redundant furnishings, is far from any of that. I take a breath and wonder how this all happened. How did it come about that a Citizen, an employee of a Prospo family, was the one to bid on a Level C with a bad heart?
Sure, the Sorens were not traditionally the only people to bid on Level C’s. Citizens bid as well if they have enough credits and there are not too many other competing bidders.
But in the small chance a Citizen bids on and wins an Azure inmate, it is to bring them back to Citizen City. Where they will be employed to dig deeper into the earth, to build more homes that more Citizens can then move into, far from the surface of the Earth, where it is either too hot or too full to live.
I’ve never heard of any other case where a Citizen bid on and won an Azure inmate, and then had them driven to Prospo City to work. That simply does not happen. Who is Isaac? Who is this family? I’m lost in my thoughts when Isaac comes knocking at my door.
His face peeks through my door.“Are you rested?”
“I am.” I sit up and wipe down the front of my pants. There is an attached shower to my room, so I have already cleaned up and changed into my new uniform that I will wear, for the rest of my life. It is a deep purple blouse and matching pants
. At least the colour is attractive. At least it’s not icy-blue.
“Let’s get some sustenance and then you can meet the rest of the Citizens in their employ,” Isaac says, as I follow him out the door.
The kitchen for the Citizen employees is quite large. I think I’m going to be surprised by a lot of things about this new life. Isaac introduces me to the other two Citizens in the ‘Winter’ house.
“This is Romy Fifty Two,” Isaac says, waving in my direction. “This is Jerome Forty.” He points towards a tall brooding man with dark hair, thick black eyebrows and kind eyes. “And Roberta Thirty Five,” Isaac continues, pointing to the woman. She’s about my height, and has a smile so big, her eyes nearly disappear. She’s all soft and round, from her cheeks to her arms. She keeps her auburn hair in a tight bun on the top of her crown, with tiny wisps floating over her ears and temples. Both Roberta and Jerome have that youthful look of most Citizens. In fact, if not for their numbers, I wouldn’t know they’re in their mid-thirties.
We all stand and stare at each other for a minute before Jerome makes a signal with his hands, then heads to the table and sits down. “Jerome does not speak,” Isaac explains. “But he knows how to make his thoughts clear. Have a seat.”
The four of us sit in a corner of the table and I wonder how Jerome landed this assignment if he’s mute. My new environment is nothing like I expected at all.
“So Romy,” Roberta says as a small blue robot glides in and deposits our food on the table. “You’re our new robotics engineer! How exciting!”
Exciting? Is she teasing me? Or does she really mean this assignment is anything less than necessary? I smile at her. They have been here much longer than I, this ragtag of three. I need to play nice. “Yes,” I finally answer.
“Oh!” she replies, looking at Jerome and Isaac, then back to me. “Lucky me, we get to have another chatty one!” She giggles and shakes her head, tilting it down to eat.