Romy: Book I of the 2250 Saga

by Nirina Stone

  “Would you like some chicken?” the commander asks. I shake my head, no. It’s too early for lunch and besides, I have no appetite. “Do you have something against chicken?” he insists. He’s mocking me, but I shake my head. “Chicken’s my favourite,” he says, leaning forward to grab a drumstick and take a massive bite out of it. What is with his obsession with chicken? I keep my eyes on his chewing and don’t move.

  I want to turn away, but don’t want him to think he’s intimidating me. The truth is, he has completely intimidated me. I’m terrified.

  His eyes are the exact replica of his great grandmother’s—that sharp, intelligent, slightly impatient look in their dark blue depths. Why is he staring at me?

  Heat builds on the nape of my neck and travels down my back. It’s a hot day. Why don’t they turn on the air or something? The longer he watches me, the more uncomfortable and hot I feel. I finally turn my eyes to look at Eric, who gives me a small sympathetic smile.

  Sweat prickles on my forehead.

  Finally, after what seems like far too long, Blair tosses the now clean chicken bone in the bin and turns his head slightly to the right to address Eric. He says, “Has she been introduced yet?” Like I’m not right in here in front of him, hearing his words.

  “Not formally,” Eric answers, his eyes still on me. The answer makes the commander sniff loudly, before he turns to stare at me. I start to lose my patience.

  Did he ask to see me, only to stare at me for a few hours? Because I can do so many other things than stand here with a frown on my face, getting frustrated with this man.

  “Good,” Blair finally says, “coz she’s nowhere near ready,” and he places specific emphasis on the word “she.”

  My eyes narrow marginally. Eric warned me he would be difficult, but that’s not at all what he is. He is incredibly rude. Who does he think he is? A Prospo? I have no idea what they’re talking about and they’re judging me based on what, exactly?

  “Ready for what?” I ask, not attempting to hide the contempt in my voice.

  Commander Blair doesn’t answer, so I look up at Eric’s face expectantly.

  “We have a formal Soren introduction for all Citizens that discard their number and reclaim a family name,” Eric replies, his voice strained. What is he not telling me? Actually, what is he telling me?

  “And why not?” I ask. “Why am I not ready?”

  The commander huffs again. By Odin I hate that sound! He reaches for another drumstick. “Because clearly, you’re just a typical Citizen,” he replies with a menacing smile. I have a sudden flash of him eating Citizens for breakfast while he chews around the chicken.

  “What does that mean?” My edginess is on full display. I decide to no longer hide my disdain for this man who clearly does not like me.

  “Ha!” His guffaw is so loud that I jump. “The fact you need to ask confirms what I’ve said.” But he hasn’t said anything! I decide I’ve had enough. I shake my head and back away. I am not in the mood for this cryptic nonsense, today. I quickly turn around and head towards the door. The other military man doesn’t look up as I walk past.

  Commander Blair’s not done, though. Before I reach the door handle, he says, “You may be a Soren, but by name only.”

  I feel like I’ve just been slapped. Still not understanding what happened, I grab the door handle, throw it open and walk through, my head high. I don’t care that the door slams so hard into the other wall, it shakes. I don’t care that my walking out without being dismissed is probably considered disrespectful.

  Wanting to get as far away from that awful man as possible, I stomp down the hall towards the veda. Before the door shuts closed behind me, I hear the commander say, “See what I mean?” while the others laugh.

  The entire way back to my room, I’m shaking so hard with my hands wringing by my side, I catch concerned looks from the Sorens in the hallways and veda.

  I enter my room, saying, “Uh, what a—what a—” what-a-what? I don’t have the right word to describe that offensive man. I want so much to throw something, but there is nothing to throw in my room, so I decide to take a quick cold shower instead, to give me the illusion that I can temper this heat.

  I start singing in the shower, louder and louder and louder until I drown out everything including any thoughts in my head.

  Father used to teach me this trick when I was a child, and nothing else has ever worked. “The colder the water and the louder the song, the better,” he would say.

  It’s not a song anyone else would recognize because I’m making it up as I go. “I’m showering, coz I hate you. It’s cold, coz you’re a jerk. This is better, than all your nonsense. I’m showering, coz I hate you,” and I repeat. It’s nonsense, childish. It’s ridiculous, and it works.

  I finally step out of the shower, not bothering to grab a towel, and decide that I feel better. It was but a bad meeting with a bad man that I never intend to see again.

  I continue humming while I walk into my room and, with a squeal, trip over my feet as I jump back into the shower room.

  Eric leans on my desk, much as he did in Commander Blair’s suite. The shocked look on his face is the only thing I register as I reach for a towel and catch my breath before stepping back into the bedroom. Why didn’t I expect that he’d be right behind me? Of course he would. I’m not authorized to walk around the Iliad unsupervised.

  “I’m so—” he starts, standing tall, but I wave away his apology.

  This is certainly awkward. He probably caught a good eyeful. But I’m hardly ashamed about my body. Besides, if he’s going to show up in my room and stay in my room while I’m obviously in the shower, he will have to get used to that.

  He watches me while I tuck the towel in closer.

  “How much trouble am I in?” I ask, reaching for new clothes out of the closet. The clothes I wore earlier aren’t dirty, but I want any memory of my meeting with Commander Blair gone, as soon as possible.

  “You’re not in trouble,” he replies, “except for the part where you walked around without me or Knox, but I’ll allow one minor oversight. You’re right about Blair.”

  His eyes dart to my towel then to my eyes. Is he actually uncomfortable? I quickly pull on new clothes while he putters around my room. He opens up the balcony doors, pretending to do whatever he’s pretending to avoid the discomfort.

  “What do you mean I’m right about Blair?” I ask.

  “That he’s a jerk,” he says, smiling in my direction. Great. So he heard my awfully loud, off-key rendition in the shower. That embarrasses me more than the fact he just saw me naked. “I like your voice.” He’s clearly mocking me, as his smile grows wider. I can’t help but return his smile.

  I’m not sure what’s happened. Maybe I’m so desperate to get any post-Commander Blair anger off my chest, or maybe it’s Eric’s smile and the glint in his eye, or maybe I like the way he looked at me when I didn’t have a towel on. Whatever the reason escapes my mind as I have my arms around his neck, on my tiptoes, kissing him.

  At first he freezes. I think, Oh Odin, what an idiot I am, ready for his rejection. But before long, he wraps his long warm arms around my waist and he’s kissing me back.

  We finally pull away after a few minutes, and I taste the gasoline-smelling drink on my breath. It tastes better than it smelt. More like honey than gasoline.

  I feel Eric’s eyes on me as I back away and head to the balcony for some air. Although the day is still as hot as it was since my morning with Knox, there is a lovely breeze from the surrounding ocean. I sit on one of the gray metal chairs and wait for Eric to join me.

  “What was that?” he finally says, after we’ve sat together for several minutes.

  “I don’t—I don’t know,” I reply. “I really wanted to kiss you. So I did.”

  “So you did,” he chuckles, “though I’m a bit—”

  When he doesn’t finish his sentence, I turn to look at him, frowning. “Hmm?”

  “I
’ve wanted to do that—for a long time, Romy,” he finally admits with a laugh. “A very long time.”

  I wonder how long while I turn my head to look at the forest below us. The birds are chirping away—likely happy to have so much shade on a day like today.

  “I didn’t—” he starts and hesitates while he leans back into the chair and puffs out a sigh. “I didn’t think you’d react well to it if I did.”

  Good point. I probably would not have been too happy, considering that Eric is still my captor, my guardian. I’m still a Soren Prisoner, more so than I was at Azure, where I could leave whenever I felt like it. Not here. Not until they tell me otherwise. I can’t even have the balcony open unless I have one of them with me.

  I don’t want to focus on my predicament too much, or it might bring on the heat I felt earlier. So I simply say, “It’s just a kiss, Eric,” and turn to look at him. There’s a flash of something in his eyes, and I try to catch what it is, but it’s gone nearly as fast as it was there.

  He’s looking right at me, though. He responds with, “You’re right,” and doesn’t say another word until it’s time for him to leave.

  Here I go again

  Within a few months, I’ve lived on the Iliad longer than I did in P-City. Eric has authorized me to keep my balcony door open whenever I like so it’s open nearly twenty four hours a day. I’m happy to smell the strong pine odour on all of my clothes, shoes, bedding, hair. It has quickly become my favourite smell in the world.

  Between sparring sessions with Sanaa, I’m also assigned to work in the library, though it is a much different environment to the one in Azure and there’s no one like Margo. I’m in my element, fixing various tablets and bots, in between stocking library shelves and digitizing all newly rescued books from the Archives. The collection is growing—slowly, but it’s growing.

  I can walk around the grounds and pretty much anywhere else on the Iliad without a chaperone. I’m as free as I can be, living in Soren City amongst people that I recognize wherever I go.

  We nod and greet each other, and we sit in one of the many Mess Halls together to share a meal. I start to make some more friends other than Knox and Eric. In keeping with Soren tradition, they all call me Mason, and I address them by their family names as well.

  They also teach me a few words of the Soren Language. It’s a mix of a couple of ancient languages with the occasional Universal English term thrown in.

  It’s not an easy language to adopt, but I’m thrilled when I understand some of the words as they all speak fluently around me.

  I also walk in the forest every morning, usually before dawn. My purpose is to soak in the complete silence and darkness before the various activities across the ship begin.

  That is where I am headed, my hair up in a messy bun, and my most comfortable sweat pants and sweat shirt on. The moment the sun hits the horizon, I immediately break in a sweat, so the few minutes of cold before dawn is well worth it.

  I walked down the stairs for a while, but the vedas no longer make me nervous, so I press the button and wait patiently for the doors to open.

  When they do, I freeze in my tracks and nearly turn to walk through the doors again. The only occupant in the usually empty lift is Commander Blair. He is similarly clothed in worn sweatpants and a cotton shirt, with music buds in his ears. He gives me a terse nod and waits for me to enter the lift. Otherwise, he has a blank look on his face. Doesn’t he recognize me?

  I’ve noticed some Sorens jogging in the forest in the morning. Is that where he’s heading? It’s a massive area—surely I will be able to avoid him in there, today.

  And yes, he dislikes me, but he wouldn’t actually do anything to me. Would he? I contemplate my options in a split second, and finally step in, staying as close to the doors as possible when I turn my back to him.

  It feels like the longest veda ride down, but we’re finally out in the massive hallway. I hear him walking a steady pace behind me and my back stiffens.

  I turn towards one of the entries to the forest, but change my direction at the last minute to use another entry a little further down. I can tell he’s no longer behind me, and breathe out a sigh of relief when I’m finally under the dark canopy of the trees.

  There is no one else around, which is what I always hope for when I walk in here. My walks help me clear my mind and get me ready for the day, so I’m not entirely keen on spending them chattering away with a companion.

  I start to walk the path, getting into my comfortable pace. I let my mind wander as usual. Then I turn a corner and there he is, stretching his right leg on top of one of the green wooden benches strewn around the path. I look to my left. There is no way to take a different direction unless I turn and walk towards where I started.

  On my right is the railing on the edge of the ship. So I keep walking ahead.

  Why should I go out of my way to avoid him? He won’t likely hear me move past him anyway, with his music buds in.

  I slip past without a sound and, hastening my pace a bit, turn a corner and marginally slow down.

  “Hello Romy Fifty Two,” he says lightly over my left shoulder. I jump and stop in my tracks to face him. He stops too, jogging on the spot. “Where’s your keeper?”

  My what? Does he mean Eric?

  Even in the dark, the commander’s eyes are as striking as Mornie Blair’s.

  “It’s Romy Mason,” I reply softly, ignoring his second question. I haven’t been called by my number or my first name, in months. It sounds foreign.

  “Are you sure?” he asks, giving me a roguish smile. He stops his jog and stands so still, all I see are his teeth, glowing like a curved white stripe in the dark. What does he mean by that? I frown at him, irritated that my usually relaxing walk has been disrupted. Not just by anyone, but by him. “Because you’re Romy Fifty Two,” he claims. “You’re not quite a Mason yet.” Then he turns and jogs in the opposite direction.

  Did he follow me those several feet only to say that?

  The heat of the sun reaches me as it rises, and I watch him jog away, the frown still on my face. I mutter a word I know to be a curse in the Soren tongue. No English word will be strong enough for what I feel.

  Ugh. I turn again, intending to keep walking down the path, but I look down at the ground ahead and want to be anywhere else but here.

  My motivation is gone. My legs are still cold despite the sun, so I turn down the first exit path I find and head home. Today’s walk was a bust. Maybe I’ll try tomorrow.

  The next morning though, he’s there. And the next day, and the next.

  It may be time to find a new morning routine, but at least he doesn’t stop to talk any longer. He gives me a stiff nod, and that’s it. I get accustomed to him jogging one way while I walk the other. I decide the arrangement will work just fine unless he speaks to me again. I’m able to let my mind wander as much as before, and I think often about Mother’s stories about our family name’s legacy.

  She has told me almost all there is to hear about Great Grandma Rosemary Mason. She was a pioneer, one of the leaders of the few thousand people that escaped the north before its destruction. Rosemary was particularly effective in the way she handled dealing with the Prospo once the various communities were formed in Apex.

  “She was militant,” Mother explains. I picture Mornie Blair. Then I picture her son and shudder. “She led an army of Sorens to destroy the Prospo from within their ranks. Working over years, over decades, they would do everything from blowing up various Fertility Factories to posing as Citizens at auction, and then destroying Prospo homes.” I flinch on the last part of her sentence, but she ignores my reaction and continues. “It was because of her that I entered P-City as a personal groomer. It’s how I met your father.”

  The other Leaders’ names were Rock, Maloney, DeSouza, Ying, Blair, and Strohm, Mother tells me. “Of all the Leaders, only the Strohm, Blair, and Mason names survived.”

  The names, now familiar, are what the Sor
ens call The Legacies. So it’s something Eric and I have in common at least.

  After that one kiss many many months ago, Eric and I steal more kisses every now and then, but never talk about what it means or what it doesn’t mean. I think he realizes, as much as I do, that we’re attracted to one another. But it’s all we will allow ourselves to admit. My mind is not in the right space for that sort of complication.

  Because Mother is coming to stay on the Iliad for the next few days. She says she has an important assignment for me, something involving P-City and the future of the Sorens and everything they have been working towards, this entire time.

  I sit in my room and wait with nervous anticipation. It has been nearly five years since I saw Mother in person. Will she still smell the same, I wonder? Like sunshine and baked goods and mud? Will she feel small and wiry, her hugs still warm?

  Chatting with her over the Mirror Comm has been more than I could ever hope for, so being able to have her in front of me is nearly too much to believe. The only thing that would make today’s visit more perfect is if Father were here, too. I quickly wipe away a tear.

  We still don’t know where he is or what exactly happened, but Mother is convinced he was murdered, that last day I saw him on my screen.

  I still hold hope they sent him to the Equator Prison, but Mother says she sent Sorens to check in, and he was nowhere to be found.

  So I have to adjust to the thought that Father is dead, and his own people—the Prospo—killed him.

  There is a soft knock on my door, so I stand up and quickly walk over to pull it open. Before I can say anything, I’m in her arms, and she’s sobbing into my shoulder. My sweet little mother, stronger than anyone else I’ve met, but always prone to tears.

  “I never thought I’d see you again,” she says later, while we sit out on my balcony. The sun hits us just so as it slinks past the horizon.

  “Me neither.” I watch her quietly. She seems taller than I remember, but then a lot has happened in the last five years. “What is your ship doing in the Atlantic?” I ask, though she likely won’t answer. Despite my newfound freedoms on the Iliad, Eric has not trusted me enough with details, yet.