Romy: Book I of the 2250 Saga

by Nirina Stone

  After Roberta checks that adjustments on her tablet have synced properly with the machine in the study, I ask, “Why do they do that? I mean, why do they talk in front of us without reservation, about all their family things? Private things?”

  She looks at me, amusement on her face. “They consider us a working part of the house, like the machines and computers,” she answers nonchalantly. It is our reality—why would that surprise me?

  Still, there’s a part of me that thinks it’s irresponsible of them to talk so freely around us.

  They are naive, though. They think they’re untouchable in their automated crystal towers. There’s another level of superiority, I suppose, that comes with that sort of thinking. How could I possibly understand it, not having lived with it myself?

  “We’re here to do our work quickly and quietly. Otherwise, we stay out of their way.” She shrugs as she heads for the door, too.

  Isaac walks with me from the robotics room to his quarters, a few doors from mine.

  We enter the room and, though this not the first time I’ve been in it, it’s the first time I take a real look around. Isaac’s room looks inconspicuous enough, in fact the set up is identical to my room. On closer inspection, I can see that this room is occupied by someone who has lived in it for a very long time.

  He has a large window and balcony facing the front gardens of High Towers. He never closes it, he says. He loves hearing the various noises of Prospo City interspersed with some of the rare birds we hear chirping in the trees across the way.

  Isaac’s room is a conundrum of sorts. On one hand, it is always impeccably clean. He does not have a single shoe or sock or towel out of place in his small space. His bed is always made, no matter what time of day or night I have visited him. In fact, I often wonder if he sleeps at all.

  On the other hand, he has a massive metal table pushed flush against the wall across from the open balcony. The table itself is old. It’s one of those solid types that would need five or six grown people to carry it out of the room. It is an Engineer’s table.

  But the table is not the most intriguing part of the scheme. It is what Isaac has stacked all over its surface that has me lost in its mess. And it is a mess—a massive, illogical collection of wires and metal bits and pieces of various sizes. There are glass jars filled with gooey liquid. Small towers made of shiny flat copper things I’ve never seen before, and more screws and bits and bobs than I can count.

  He also has broken things on the table—old soldering irons and screwdrivers, an iron, parts from redundant machines and computers that have not been in circulation in a century or more.

  He has it all piled up in no particular order and the mess is blanketed under a light layer of dust. I’m positive he has never allowed cleaningbots anywhere near the table.

  “I’ve decided to send you for additional robotics training,” he says. “There’s nothing wrong with learning more about your trade and becoming an expert at it, is there?” I don’t know if he is asking rhetorically. In any case, I nod and keep my eyes on him.

  “Why did you say that about my heart?” I finally ask, certain I had never heard a doctor say my heart condition would work against me as a surrogate. Yes, my heart is imperfect, but it’s a minor thing—nothing that would stop me from carrying a child to term, if needed.

  “You know,” he says, ignoring my question. “I wasn’t the only one to bid on you. There was a Soren there who would have bid more, but he knew I did not have many credits.”

  I look up at him as he speaks, not sure what question I should ask first. What Soren? Why would the Sorens care about Isaac’s bid and his credits?

  “So we negotiated and came to a reasonable deal—he let me win the bid.”

  Deal? Negotiated with a Soren? Let—him—win—? My frown deepens as I watch Isaac speak. I still have no clue what to ask him first.

  “I was pretty lucky you were categorized a C,” he finishes.

  “But I’m a B,” I blurt, realizing that whole side of the story still made little sense.

  Isaac doesn’t respond right away, but has a seat on the edge of his bed as he watches me frown and huff. “Does it matter?” he says. “A? B? C? Z? Does it really matter? You’re a Citizen.”

  What do I make of that sentence? I’m a Citizen, yes. It does matter that I’m not a C, yes. Because if I were a C, I’d be a Soren’s baby-making machine right now. And—and—I’m not really a C, I think. I was bid on as a C, but I’m definitely a B, aren’t I? Aren’t I?

  “You know—” Isaac says, after he’s watched my face for a few minutes. Sometimes, it seems he watches me to see if I understand something and, if I don’t right away, he’ll keep talking until I do. “I was born when the sky was mostly blue. I would watch the sunset every single evening until the day everything turned gray, and all we were left with were clouds, for miles and miles.”

  I remember that Isaac’s last name is Oh Two, and a quick calculation tells me he was likely born in or around the year 2080—thirty years after the Great Omni.

  “I still remember my family name,” he says. I want to ask him what it was, but he’s already talking again. “We’re not the first generation of people to be auctioned to more fortunate people for employment. Our modern ancestors’ ancestors used to do that as well. Those people’s family names were taken away from them, too.”

  I’m still frowning. I get that these are all lessons I should learn anyway, but I don’t understand what any of it has to do with what he told the Diamonds about my heart.

  I sit back, my hand resting lightly on my leg. I don’t want to put it anywhere near his funny collection on the table in case I disrupt something he actually put there on purpose—some pattern or some logic my eyes have missed.

  “I love the Diamonds,” Isaac says. His eyes are watching movement right outside his balcony door. “But it’s not right of them to take you on as a surrogate, if you don’t want it. Which you clearly don’t. I had to take it out of their minds as an option. Like it’s not right for Sorens to take people, either.” He turns his head to train his eyes back on me. “That’s why I told them that about your heart. Understand?”

  Not really, I think, but nod my head and smile. “Thank you,” I say. “I was terrified. I don’t want to carry their baby.” As soon as I say it, I know there’s no way I would allow it to happen. “I would sooner die—” I start, when he raises a hand to stop me.

  “Careful,” he says, “what you say about the Diamonds.”

  I frown again. I was not about to insult them, but to finish my sentence with, “than become anyone’s surrogate.” I realize something important—the Diamonds adore Isaac like he’s a grandparent, but then, Isaac also loves the Diamonds. He helped me because of some code that my lot as a Citizen does not make my body theirs to control. But I better not see it as proof of his disloyalty to them, in any way. He is as much a part of the Diamond family as I am not.

  “You may not approve of their lifestyle,” he says, “but they are necessary. We are all necessary.” I’m not sure what he’s referring to, but realize I disagree.

  The Diamonds, like the rest of the Prospo, have been nothing but a source of confusion and pain to me. They live naively in their tall glass castles without a clue how their lifestyle affects the rest of us in Apex.

  “Our relationship with them is necessary,” Isaac continues, “so you need to be careful how you think about them.”

  How does he know what I think about them? I have kept my opinions about their lifestyle, their ‘Art’ and their ideas to myself, not even so much as rolling my eyes when the Prospo mother says one of her many ignorant comments. So how could he know?

  He stands up to walk towards his balcony doors. “Our history always repeats itself, but we are not due for complete destruction for a while yet.” He has one hand placed up high on the side of the door, the other on his waist, while he watches the world outside his window. I recognize the low sound of his voice and his postur
e. This is Isaac indicating that the conversation is over.

  Before I go, I glance around his room again, remembering my old bunk. “I used to have this old book,” I confide, “back at Azure. Do you miss paper books?”

  He sounds out something like an impatient sigh. “I’ve always preferred tablets to books,” he says. “Books smell like death to me.”

  I watch him for a minute, not sure what to make of this wise elderly man who remembers the sky, loves his Prospo family, and does not like books. There’s so much to learn about Isaac. I hope he’s right and we have plenty of time still. I walk out the door and close him in his room, his eyes still on something happening outside his balcony window.

  Amy Diamond asks me if she can interview me for a school report she is working on, The inner workings of Azure and its Citizens.

  I’m reluctant, but she assures me the interview will be fairly short so I can get back to work. I don’t understand why she says all that. It’s not like I can choose to say no to her requests—and she knows that.

  Kevin Diamond is also in the room, but he has his head and face covered under a Virtual Reality helmet as he lies back on one of the couches. All I see are his pink-tipped spikes poking past the top of the VR helmet. We won’t see him for hours, he is lost in his fake world.

  “He’s busy building another virtual theme park in his city,” she says, rolling her eyes. “He’s so useless. All he does is build theme parks all day.” I nearly ask her what she likes to do during the day, but bite my tongue at the last minute.

  Amy sits across from me in their second living room, a small recording device between us while she sets up. She whips her hair back, her locks an exact replica of her mother’s. I place my hands on the table in front of me, sliding my fingers over its cold stone surface. I breathe and try to remember Father’s instructions about Prospo interviews. This isn’t an official interview like the one I had at Azure before the auction, but I’m nervous. I’m very nervous.

  She asks a series of fairly simple questions, and I find myself relaxing significantly. It’s only a small school report after all. She sits back with a smile throughout the exchange, and I mirror her posture. After a while, she says, “So—tell me all about Azure!”

  So far the questions have been simple and more high-level, so I’m taken aback. I picture the blue walls, the matching uniforms, the sounds, the smells, the food, my work, Margo—

  I’m not sure where to start.

  “Oh!” Amy says, leaning forward. “I should be more specific than that. Tell me first, how long did you live in Azure?”

  “Three years,” I reply, then realizing she is waiting for me to say some more, I add, “of a five year sentence.”

  “Why were you released early?” she asks next, nodding her head as I answer.

  “I—I was tested early, and after getting my certification, I was eligible to be auctioned.”

  “How very interesting,” Amy answers, playing with her fingernail. Her voice does not sound like she finds it interesting at all. I keep my eyes on her until she looks up at me. She takes a deep breath, then lets it out and smiles at me some more. Despite her smile, despite her friendly demeanour, her eyes narrow slightly and I’m reminded of Margo once more.

  “Why are you here?” she finally asks, with a new edge to her voice.

  “Isaac won me at the auction,” I respond. My heart jumps and flutters in my chest.

  “I know that,” she replies steadily. “I also know he says he needs you here. But why—” She leans back, her head on a slight angle, her eyes studying my posture. “Why are you here?”

  I play through our conversation so far and feel a frown form on my forehead. What does she really want? Why is this line of questioning relevant to her school report? What in the world am I doing here? I certainly can’t tell Amy about Isaac’s wrist. Although he and I have not spoken about it, I have the impression he would rather keep the Prospo in the dark about it. So how do I explain why he wanted to have an accomplice?

  “Isaac is getting older,” I finally reply. “I expect that he wants to ensure your family has someone competent to handle engineering when it is time for him to retire or—move on.”

  There. I handled that diplomatically. Father might not agree but he’s not around for me to ask for advice, so it will have to do.

  Amy looks at me, a half smile on her face. Is she mocking me?

  “What makes you think we need you?” she finally asks, with a sharper edge to her voice. Her eyes are so narrow, I can barely see her pupils. Yep, Margo’s eyes. “I mean—” She leans forward to turn off the recording device and leans back. Her hands on the table are a mirror image of mine. “Machines do everything. My robotics professor tells us they are all self-sufficient, most of them are able to self-repair.”

  I know this to be true. Nearly all the machines in their home can fix themselves, and there are smaller bots that exist solely to repair other bots and computers. It is a modern, well-tooled home.

  “So,” Amy continues, “what makes you think the machines need you to repair them? What here, if anything, needs you at all?”

  I go over some of the work Isaac and I do throughout the day. We are definitely kept busy. I decide to use his words. “What we do is not maintenance, per se,” I finally reply. “It is mostly prevention.”

  “You seem to suffer some delusion,” she finally snaps, “that I’m asking you why Isaac is here. I don’t need you to speak for Isaac.” She leans forward on her elbows. “I get why he’s here, and it’s not to dust and oil some stupid bots.” A spray of spit lands on my arm and I flinch.

  “Isaac is part of our family,” she continues, her eyes still on me. “If he has a need to dust or tinker or open things and put them back together to keep his mind busy, that’s fine.”

  My back stiffens and I’m inclined to lean back to take the pressure off, but dare not move.

  “But you,” she continues, disgusted. “My parents allowed Isaac to bid on an ‘apprentice’ because he insisted on it and they have a hard time saying ‘no’ to him.”

  She leans back and smiles a slow smile as she moves her arms to her lap. “You,” she repeats, “you’re a redundancy.”

  My breath hitches. She is right. There is no reason for me to be here. There is no need for Isaac’s job either, but they allow him to tinker and work because he thinks it’s necessary, when it’s not.

  My chest rises and falls a few times as I take stock of what Amy has said. What does she plan to do? What does all this mean? Will they send me back to Azure since I’m of no use here? Or will they allow me to attempt to find another family that does need me?

  There are some families in Citizen City with older machines, who would have more need of a robotics engineer than most Prospo families.

  Surely they will allow me that?

  But then, watching Amy’s face, I realize of course they won’t. They don’t owe me a thing. There is no obligation on their part to do anything other than discard me. I’m not useful here, so I will probably be sent back to Azure. My thoughts go back to Margo, and I shiver.

  Amy stands up, a smirk permanently etched on her face. “Have you ever had a caninebot?” she asks, her shadow reaching across the table between us.

  “No,” I reply, my thoughts elsewhere. “Though we used to have two stray dogs in my neighbourhood in Citizen City.”

  “Eew, that’s disgusting!” She leans one hand back on the table. “Were there at least cleaningbots to pick up after their waste?”

  I laugh. The robots in Citizen City are assistants in place to make our work more efficient. They are not complete replacements of people like the ones in Prospo City.

  Most of them are there to help with food preparation or fixing other broken things. Anything luxurious like a fully automated outdoor vacuum or a caninebot will not be found anywhere in Citizen City.

  “Hmm,” Amy says, as if she is trying to imagine what Citizen City looks like. I bet whatever she is pictur
ing is far from reality. “Citizen City must smell like dog shit all the time,” she says with a grimace. Her eyes land on me, as if she can smell dog waste on me right now. I hesitate for a moment—I’ve never heard a Prospo swear before.

  “It must,” I reply, “but I never noticed.” There are far worse things to worry about in Citizen City than the smell.

  “Anyway, Daddy has promised me a caninebot,” she says cheerfully, all thoughts of dog waste out of her mind. “Since you won’t be around much longer, I’m going to call it Romy,” she says with a turn and a wave, as she walks to the door.

  I’m still sitting at the table in the same posture I was in when we started the interview. I realize that Kevin is sitting up and watching me, the Virtual Helmet in his lap. How much did he hear of our conversation? I’ve never been alone in a room with Kevin before so, feeling self-conscious, I stand to get back to work. He coughs behind me while I head towards the door.

  “My sister’s an idiot,” he says so softly, I barely hear his words. But there is no mistaking what he said. I turn around and watch him carefully. “Isaac wants you here, that’s why you’re here.” I’ve never heard him speak this much in one sitting, before. “And my parents will be nominated for another baby soon. You’re to be their surrogate.” Then he pops his Virtual Helmet back on and I turn to walk out the door.

  My conversation with Isaac about the whole ‘surrogate’ thing pops back in my head, but of course Kevin is right. His parents will keep me around because I will be their surrogate, the same way Roberta was, years ago.

  Isaac may imagine that I’m his apprentice and may think he’s taken it out of the equation, but he is old. He can’t protect me from them and, even if he could, he won’t be around forever.

  I’m frozen in front of the door to the robotics room, not sure what to do.

  I can simply walk out the front door and flee to Citizen City, or try to contact a Vorkian. Or I can attempt to steal one of their vehicles and commit another non-Too-Dangerous crime that will land me back at Azure.