Romy's Legacy: Book II of the 2250 Saga

by Nirina Stone

  Romy’s Legacy

  Book II of the 2250 Saga

  Nirina Stone

  Contents

  About Romy’s Legacy

  1. Northern Adventures

  2. Legacies and Haven

  3. The State of Affairs

  4. They

  5. All Is As It Seems

  6. Again

  7. Surprise

  8. Interrogation

  9. Kibble

  10. Where Am I?

  11. Answers

  12. Flattened

  13. Heading Forward or Back

  14. More Questions

  15. Decisions

  16. Setbacks to Bear

  17. The Beginning of the End

  Author Note

  About the Author

  Also by Nirina Stone

  Copyright © 2016 by Nirina Stone

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the express written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Laura Kingsley (any mistakes are the author’s alone.)

  Cover Design by Shardel (Selfpubbookcovers)

  ISBN-13: 9781524236540

  ASIN: B01FVHSC56

  To my dad—for always encouraging me to question everything and to research, research, research!

  This one’s for you.

  About Romy’s Legacy

  It is 2255. The tyrants of the past are no more, and Romy’s life is perfect.

  Her quest to start a new community in the North has begun, food is plentiful, and everyone has ample space to live. All she has to look forward to is exploration and the occasional adventure.

  That is, until she encounters the new people and realizes her ideal community is not what she expected. She’s left questioning everything, including the fact that they aren’t merely “backwards travelers” any more than she is merely a Legacy.

  And what will she do when she’s found to be a traitor by her own people?

  Follow Romy as she grapples with her past and the new world, unlocking truths along the way that threaten to dismantle everything.

  If you haven’t read Romy [Book I], I strongly suggest you start with that one first. You can get your copy on a special 99c for a limited time, right here.

  Remember to join Nirina’s Readers-only List to receive a free book (or more) and special news on book deals and new releases!

  A quick note to my US Readers—Apex is a world set in a futuristic version of Apac, and Prospo City=Sydney. That said, our language out here is colourful and a notch different.

  However, no author, editor or proofreader is perfect. If you believe you DO come across typos, feel free to send me a note on where you found it, and I’ll be more than happy to fix it. Thank you!

  1

  Northern Adventures

  I tug the line, but the beast is strong. Its body breaks the surface of the water, and I catch the glimpse of a blue and white shimmer in the sunlight.

  The long serrated sword from which it derives its name slashes in the air. By sheer luck, we’re not close enough to be hit. It flips and flops and splashes back in the ocean, spraying water every which way.

  I tug again, harder, and get some leeway. It’s just inches away, I can feel it.

  I’ve been at this for over an hour, all the muscles in my body in knots. I reel it in, pull one more time, harder, just wanting the fight to be over. Finally, the line gives as the fish is hauled closer and I hope it’s more tired than I am.

  “You have it!” a voice yells. “Pull it in! Pull it in!” They’re cheering me on and I crack a smile as the muscles in my arms stretch past the point they’ve ever gone before.

  It’s close to breaking the surface now—it has to be. One more quick pull and it will be mine. My smile widens. I’ll be the talk of the group for the day, and not because of my last name for a change.

  Then it yanks me forward.

  My eyes shutter closed in time as my face slams into what can only be described as a frozen brick wall. The pain radiates to my head then down through my body as every inch of me tries to fight the cold.

  I purse my mouth closed, but a gush of salt water flows through my nose, searing my nostrils on its way in. The top of my left foot grated against something sharp on the boat as I fell over and I regret not listening to them when they suggested I wear boat shoes.

  The shock makes me breathe in and I swallow a mouthful of water. It hits the back of my throat, burning my nostrils more. This is not going as planned. My head slams into a hard surface before the current pulls me down, down, deeper into the ocean’s depths. This could be it, I think, surprised I haven’t panicked yet. I start off my new life by dying.

  Well, that’s what they would call ironic, isn’t it? I relax my muscles though, reminding myself I’m merely in the water.

  Just relax and take note of where you are and swim up. No biggie.

  The visor automatically extends itself over my forehead, and once my eyes are covered, I look ahead, too distracted to worry that my snorkelbot hasn’t deployed over my face.

  The swordfish is flailing in the water and with one final turn, dislodges the massive weapon I buried in its side an hour ago. The fishing rod I held is already out of sight.

  For a moment, the fish faces me head on, and my heart stops. I wonder if this is the part where it brings about a revenge I more than deserve. Its weapon looks far more impressive than the metal rod which now twists and falls into the depths of the black ocean.

  Instead of spearing me as I expect, the swordfish flips around and speeds away, leaving me in a wake of white froth and tiny shrimp.

  Steadying myself for a moment, the only sound I hear is my heartbeat, racing to escape from my throat. It beats fast but I work on relaxing myself again. Panicking won’t do me any favours. At least I can see around me. Looking down, I see a wisp of blood from my foot swirl up towards my face.

  Then, I sense beyond my feet the looming shadow of something else.

  I kick my feet and swim up fast, not wanting to see what it is, not wanting to know. Faster, faster, faster!

  The surface of the water and the boat are further away than I thought, so I kick my heels harder, fighting my burning lungs’ urge to take a breath. I make the mistake of looking down again, and the shadow grows larger as it moves closer.

  It’s soundless, its movements unhurried. Slow as only a shadow can be. Why rush?

  The water around me feels heavier on my skin, as if the thing’s mere presence has changed its density.

  Though it’s still nothing more than a black mass, I know without a doubt it has teeth. I can’t stop the scream that makes me swallow another large gulp of salt water.

  Then something from below slithers around it, throwing occasional sparks in the water. I’ve been told about some of the giants in the ocean, but this—?

  That’s when panic finally takes over and I try to scream, knowing I’m about to get eaten.

  But someone’s already dragging me back up through the water. Heavy arms wrap tight around my chest and I’m pulled like a tiny weightless fish to flop in a soggy mass in the boat.


  I cough and sputter, having nothing left to do but feel relief as I fight the fire in my chest and throat. I take deeper breaths despite the coughs, relishing in the salty sweet taste of fresh air. I’ll never take it for granted again.

  I’m not dead, obviously. Death wouldn’t be this painful.

  The burn in my chest gives way, and I can finally focus on everything else. It’s cold—brutally so. The fall must have damaged my suit’s temperature gauge as well as the snorkelbot.

  I shiver, until I feel the heavy blanket—not a blanket, a tarp—thrown over my body. It’s so heavy, I can barely move, least of all shake with the cold. How can heat and cold be so different yet so alike?

  Trying to ignore the pain, I open my eyes for a moment. The visor’s retracted and salt water drips from my hair onto my lashes and stings my eyes. My nose is leaking, still burning from the fight.

  Now that I’ve confirmed I’m alive, the next feeling is humiliation.

  That was my third time on a hunt, my first time at the front with the missions team. And what a complete disaster I was.

  They’re sure to respect me now. Not. I’ll be the Mason Legacy that tripped, fell and nearly drowned—all for the want of giant swordfish for supper.

  It would have been my chance to prove I can do anything the Sorens can, my chance to prove I’m not merely a land-locked Citizen, and what have I proven? Right. That I’m merely a land-locked Citizen, unable to do a simple task on the ocean that they can do with their eyes closed.

  My teeth no longer chatter, so I stop and take a deep breath. I brace myself and try not to move for a few minutes. I hear no noise from the others. Are they busy somewhere else? Would it be safe to peek out and take a look? As my breathing steadies and my heartbeat slows, I try to fight the picture in my head—that they’re dealing with that shadow made of teeth.

  I grab a handful of the stiff tarp and pull it down ever so slightly. It emits a low crinkle, but the sounds of the ocean and wind around us are louder. I tug harder and finally peek out from under the tarp. The first thing I see is an empty bench. Looks like they threw me into the back of the boat, far from the action at the front. There’s no one else around me. So I push the tarp all the way off and sit up, wrapping my arms around my knees.

  The boat rocks ever so slightly, and I’m suddenly nauseated. It’s still something to get used to, the slow headache-inducing motion. This tiny fishing boat is much worse than the Iliad, my first Soren home. Much much worse.

  When it rocks again, I jump up to my feet just in time to run to the side and retch into the water. The water I throw up burns even more coming out, than it did going in. At least I didn’t hit the ground or the sides of the boat this time.

  When I finally feel only a little better, I realize I’m no longer alone.

  “Hmm—” it’s a low voice, one I’ve come to recognize and react to instantly. Usually my reaction is a mix of enmity, anticipation, sometimes anger. Lately though—lately, I’m confused with the occasional feeling of respect, and dare I say, admiration.

  I’d never admit it out loud of course, and certainly not now. I’m exhausted, cold, and not in the mood for this at all. Still, I turn to face him head-on and frown in response to the smug amusement on his face. His intense blue eyes seem to look right through me. His hair’s wet on the top, rendering a dark blue tint that I’d never noticed.

  “Fish too big for you, I guess. Should we have started you on something smaller? Like krill?”

  Blair’s sharp eyes sparkle as he speaks. He’s clearly proud of his little joke. I narrow my eyes at him and turn around to retch some more. I’ll deal with him and his jokes later.

  For now, I need to focus on not hitting myself or the edge of the boat with my sickness.

  We’ve been living in the north now for three months, “the north” being the northwestern ranges of ancient North America, an area the ancients once called British Columbia.

  Mother’s people have established quite the colony here—some of them had been around for a year before the rest of us moved north. It’s lush, it’s green. Fresh fruits, vegetables, seafood and venison are readily available, and we have more space than we could ever need.

  There’s a lot of work to do still, to get everything ready before more people migrate to join us and establish a community.

  We’re building homes, and they’re all above ground. It’s something to get used to, for us born and raised underground or on floating ocean cities.

  Every time the sun’s rays hit my back, I need to stop whatever it is I’m doing and turn to face it.

  Mother tells me to be careful, she tells me the sun can be harmful to those of us who grew up under clouds, but I simply can’t help myself. It’s a somewhat drier heat than I’ve ever felt in Apex, and I want to absorb it all in case it goes away completely.

  I dry retch over the hard metal rim of the boat and close my eyes to concentrate on the sun’s heat on my neck and back.

  Blair sighs out loud, making my eyes pop open. What now?

  “We’re heading back,” he says. “No swordfish tonight—”

  Thanks to me, I finish for him in my head.

  “What made you panic, anyway?” he says, as he turns to face the water.

  I run a hand through my wet hair, stringy with seaweed and salt.

  “You saw her, didn’t you? You saw Maya.”

  What? “You named the swordfish?” I cough.

  “No,” Blair says. “The Beast.”

  My shoulders shake as I picture the shadow lurching up in the water towards me.

  “Why ‘Maya’?” I ask, trying in vain not to remember how close it came to my feet.

  He chortles, as the boat’s captain, Minchin, walks around the corner to join us.

  “We figured it’s a better name than ‘That Beast Down Deep,’” Blair says. Like that was the next obvious choice.

  Then he turns to Minchin who pulls off his dishevelled red hat and scratches the pale brown dreads on the side of his head. “What do you think mate? Can we go for Maya?”

  Minchin’s black eyes alight on me then back on Blair as he smirks. His eyes crinkle as his smile widens, bringing out tanned crow’s feet across his otherwise young face.

  “Not in this trawler,” he says. “She’d take us down like we’re nuthin’.” He looks at me again, then lifts his left arm and pulls off what I assumed was a brown glove. Instead, the entire hand pulls off and in its place is a dark brown stump. I’d never noticed before, his entire left hand is a working prosthetic.

  “She hates the taste of us but still comes in for a nibble sometimes. She’d use your scrawny little self to pick out bigger bites from her teeth.”

  I know it’s meant as a joke and I chuckle. Then I picture the thing—Maya—chewing on me and my laugh abruptly stops. I can’t imagine a worse way to die than getting chewed on—alive—by thousands of teeth. I shudder.

  Minchin laughs even louder as the wind whips at his short dreads. Then he turns, plugs his left hand back on and pulls the tarp away from sight.

  Back on the Iliad now, clean and showered, I prepare to have a quick chat with Eric, my old Interviewer and occasional boyfriend, I suppose. That’s all we have, these days—quick chats.

  He’s busy helping to lead the new nation that was once Apex, and I’m busy here, in Haven, an entire world away.

  This is the first time we’ve spoken in two weeks, and the time between is getting longer and longer. Not that I’m complaining.

  I missed Strohm for nearly a week after we moved here, but since then, I find my feelings towards him have cooled, and I often wonder if they were that hot in the first place.

  I’ve read this saying, far from the eyes, far from the heart, which suits—but was it supposed to happen that fast?

  In any case, he’s not planning to come here any time soon, and I’ve had my share of Apex. So I’m not sure why he still insists on having a MirrorComm conversation, but I comply. It’s the least I can d
o, for my old captor.

  “Hey,” he says through the MirrorComm. His straw hair’s shorter, and either it’s the comm or the light, but his eyes shine brighter than normal, giving his face an unearthly glow.

  “Hi Strohm,” I smile, though his smile back is far from enthusiastic. It gives me pause. These regular conversations are his idea—you’d think he’d be happier to see me.

  “What’s new in Haven?” he asks.

  I break it down for him. Everyone’s busy, life is good. The animals are getting skittish around people so hunting is proving more difficult. We need to move out further to find more fresh food, but there’s still an abundance.

  “Are the homes ready?” he asks.

  “Nearly,” I say. There are over a thousand new homes built, and a few hundred more to go. “We’ll be ready.”

  “And Blair?” he asks.

  Commander Blair and his small troops are here to protect us and help build the new community. I know that Eric, being one of the Leaders in Apex, is in direct contact with him. So why is he asking me?

  “His team don’t have much to protect us from,” I reply. “So they’ve been busy training some of us—some of the Havenites—on new hunt techniques.”

  That’s what I was doing, earlier today. Learning to fish on the new ocean, during one of the mission team’s perimeter checks. They prefer “older” styles of fishing and hunting, they say. I don’t question their preference for being more hands-on, rather than relying on easier methods.

  It’s a very Soren way to be, I reckon, and still something for me to learn.

  “Sounds—sounds like a risky endeavour,” he says. His voice is low. I wonder if he’s bored with the conversation. If he’s expecting more excitement from what we’ve been doing at Haven, he’s in for some disappointment.

  Haven is ideal. It’s perfect. When I say as much, he raises an eyebrow at me.

  “It’s best not to get too—comfortable,” he says. “Maybe I’ll ask Blair to focus on training the people more on defensive techniques than—hunting.”