Romy's Legacy: Book II of the 2250 Saga

by Nirina Stone

  I turn slowly and see a lurching shadow, the growl deepening as it grows bigger. Alright. Time to run faster. I skid around another corner and keep running, relishing the burn in my legs. I expect it’s running behind me and imagine that its breath steams on the back of my neck, so I push my legs harder.

  I refuse to get eaten. This is not how my story ends. Well it might, but not without a fight. There’s still too much I don’t know, still too much I need to learn about my past. I run even faster, surprised that there’s anything left to push, but not questioning the power of pure fear, pure adrenaline.

  When I turn another corner, I see a wide opening ahead. From this angle, it looks like the Metrills’ metal hallway ends. This isn’t a section I’ve been down before, and I didn’t know the hallways could end. The growl behind me, at most three feet away, urges me to push forward. I run for the space where I see the sky, and don’t stop until my feet no longer have anything to push off.

  The ground gives way and I fall, my hands reaching out to grab anything I can get ahold of. Not another fall. What sort of beasts will they have imprisoned this time, waiting for a death I’d rather not share with them.

  As I fall, I see it throw itself up and over me with a loud wail. It was the big brown bear that chased me or followed me to safety, I’m not sure. Now it’s falling too, and it’s a mere foot ahead. It shakes and moves its head around as if looking for me.

  Then it falls past me, it turns and throws a paw my way. I yell out and flinch back, but not in time. Its massive claw rips through my pants and lodges in my thigh, making me cry out.

  Then I’m falling faster, too, and I can’t decide what should draw my attention first, the claw in my thigh or the bear’s teeth about to clamp on my other leg, or the fact that we’re still falling and I can’t see the ground from where we are.

  Ignoring the pain in my thigh, I pull up my other knee and kick out at the bear’s face and chest as it howls. It reaches up its other paw, presumably to latch on to my other leg. I know the moment it succeeds, I will lose.

  So I kick harder, not stopping. Then I punch with both hands. I punch the top of its head, breaking bones in my hand as I do so. When it stops moving, I pull at its paw, attempting to dislodge it from my thigh, but the curved claw is good and stuck at just the right angle.

  I finally look down as we continue to fall and see greenness reach up to us. The ground. It has to be. How in Odin will I survive a fall to the ground from a height like that? I manage to angle myself so that I will land on the bear’s body—it will serve as a slight cushion, even though I know well that it won’t do much. My spine won’t survive such a fall despite the bear’s bulky body, so I brace myself as well as I can.

  Then a branch whips at my face and hair as I realize we’re ripping through tall trees. The bear lands in a tight spot between two branches and I manage to bite my tongue hard as we come to an abrupt stop.

  Something hurts on the nape of my neck, but at least it’s not broken, I think, as I wriggle my fingers and toes.

  It takes me a moment to register we’ve stopped falling as my body adjusts to the still feeling. My eyes don’t leave the bear as I pull its massive claw up and finally out of my leg.

  Then I lean away from it, pushing my head and back into the tree as I try to breathe and not scream, not panic, though it takes everything in me to try to stay quiet. My heart beats so hard, I can’t hear the wind rustle in the trees, though I can see the leaves move.

  Then, when the bear’s head lolls to the side, making its body sway the branch, I can’t stop the scream that finally dislodges from my throat. It doesn’t wake though, its body simply rolls forward, the branch gives way, and it falls with a loud thud to the ground.

  I hold on to the remaining branch, not wanting to fall on top of the bear or really anywhere near the thing. I’ll stay up here in this tree for as long as I can, taking stock of the damage. Then maybe scream some more.

  Taking a deep breath, I finally taste the fresh crisp air around me. Where am I? I thought we were underground this entire time with the Metrills but when I look up and behind me, my eyes move up a massive mountainside, the likes of which I’ve never seen before, except maybe in the Metrills’ archives about the geography of the north.

  The mountain’s sheer size is magnificent, considering that the trees I sit in must be over thirty metres each and I can’t see the top of the mountain from here. Then I remember that most of the trip from Haven to the Metrills’ home was steep, and uphill.

  As my heart finally beats a more normal staccato and my breath relaxes, all the aches and pains in my body hit me hard, and the nanobots don’t work nearly fast enough on knitting my leg back to normal. My body doesn’t stop shaking either. Shock, I think. There’s no fighting it. There’s nothing I can do about it now other than sit here for a while, thinking through my options.

  Okay, I’m alive. Nothing much is broken—nothing the nanites can’t fix. I don’t know how many falls this baby’s survived so far, but that wasn’t my worst. I touch my swollen belly. “If you’re still in there,” I promise, “I’ll take much better care of you when you’re out. Okay? Deal?”

  I have no weapon, no way to reach Blair or the Metrills, no way to travel all the way to Apex on my own. At least I know food will be aplenty out here, and I can certainly fashion myself a weapon out of the branches around me.

  I look back up at the mountain side and realize there’s no way for me to get back to the top, or wherever it is I threw myself out of. Its side is a grayish blue rock, not something I can climb up with my useless human hands.

  So my option right now is to climb down this tree and make my way—where? Why didn’t I think to ask Blair or Father’s holopersona the exact place the Metrills were planning to go? Somewhere northeast doesn’t narrow it down for me.

  Then I remember that the holopersona can contact me through whatever it is in my brain that the nanites can access. I wonder if I can, in turn, connect with him. I wouldn’t know how to even start to form a connection, so I think of him.

  “Father,” I say, “are you there? Can you hear me, Doctor Brian?” I furrow my brows and continue the chant softly in my head. Hearing nothing back, I groan out loud. Not a sound from him, not so much as the static that once announced he was trying to establish connection.

  Giving up, my tiredness finally hits me so I keep my eyes closed and lean further back into the tree. I’m too exhausted to think about finding a more secure spot, too tired to think about what would happen if I fell out of the tree and onto the bear—and what would happen if the bear actually survived the fall and my assault, what would happen if it were to climb up the tree.

  Despite my worry, despite not being able to stop the thoughts, I fall into a deep sleep.

  It takes me a moment when I wake up to realize I must have slept the night through because it’s dawn and the air is cool. After I scold myself sufficiently for falling asleep in such a vulnerable state, I touch the side of my leg.

  My pants are ripped from where the bear attached itself to my thigh, but otherwise, the skin is softer, the wound mostly healed. I scratch away at the crusts of dried blood on my leg and sit up. I roll my neck and, though it’s a bit stiff, I know whatever injury I had there is gone too. I wonder how the ancients ever handled living without nanites to heal them every day.

  I stretch my arms out and breathe in deeper. Another day to look forward to, I think, as my stomach rumbles and reminds me that it’s probably time for some sustenance if I’m to survive through this much longer.

  Then what to do after I’ve eaten? Okay, one thing at a time. I need to find food and, looking around at the surrounding branches, I know I won’t find anything up here. I look down, past more branches, and though I can’t see where the bear fell, I’m certain I’ll find its body not far from here.

  My stomach rumbles again and I mentally tell it to shush. I’m not nearly hungry enough to eat the remnants of that bear. What I do need is to get o
ut of this tree and hunt for something. Hopefully, I’ll find one of those gamey but delicious squirrels, and some nuts, some fruit.

  I slowly make my way down the tree and find the body of the bear lying on the ground on its side. Blood pools out from under its head and for a moment I’m relieved that animals won’t have healing nanites the way we humans do.

  Its skull is cracked open, oozing blood and brain matter. Ants and various other insects have already gathered on its belly, starting the decomposition. I’ll leave them to it.

  Taking stock of the sun’s direction, I decide to walk East. I can’t reach anyone from here, I might as well start heading towards where my old home was, towards Haven, to the ocean. Maybe if I dig far enough down, I’ll find something useful. It’s doubtful, but my options are limited.

  On the way there, I’ll hunt and eat as I did when I headed in that direction with Blair’s glidingbot. And then—? And then who knows what I’ll be able to do? I know that the Sorens have no way to track me now. Father’s holopersona can’t hear me. Blair probably thinks I’m dead. I have no idea where the Metrills are.

  I look up the mountainside again. This will take a while, since I’ll have to walk around the thing. East it is, I think, and force my legs to move forward.

  Then I stop and cringe when I hear a small sound coming from the bear’s body. For a second, I decide to keep walking anyway. I’d rather stay oblivious to whatever animal has found it and started to gnaw on it. Too gruesome for my tastes.

  But curiosity wins out and I glance back to the bear.

  It seems to move, but not with the natural bear-like swagger I’ve come to recognize. It pushes off the ground with one paw, jostling whatever insects have managed to station themselves in its stomach.

  Then it brings the other paw to its side and seems to vibrate for a moment. I was certain the thing had died. Parts of its brain still cover the ground, now shadowed under its massive body. Now, watching it slowly pull itself up on all four legs, I’m certain I’ll be the one soon to die.

  So much for walking East. I look all around me for a stick or rock or something, any weapon that will temporarily protect me from its large mass. By the time its head rolls up and its big black eyes catch mine, I know my only option is to run. Other than the fatal crack in its skull, it doesn’t look like it broke anything. How is that possible after such a fall? It will outrun me and even if I manage to make it up a tree, it can climb up after me.

  I back up slowly, hoping maybe its broken head rendered it blind, hoping that somehow this will still all turn my way. But hope can only take me so far I think, remembering Blair said something like that to me, just yesterday.

  I hesitate when the bear’s eyes follow me without trouble as more blood drips down the side of its face.

  What horror is this? Given that it doesn’t move, I continue to back up, and move a good foot away before I can’t go any further. My back hits the gnarly rough bark of a tree and, looking up, I know it’s far too thin and far too short for me to scramble up to safety.

  Then the bear strides forward, meaning to eat me whole, I’m sure. Looking quickly left and right again, I think this is it. After I’ve died, I’ll be taken care of by the same insects I saw in its belly. No one will be able to find me, out here—there’s no way for them to track where I am. This is how I die.

  I’m tired, and can’t help feeling distress. Watching its paws on the green ground, all I can do is hope it works on me quick. I hope my nanites don’t work so hard that my death will be delayed much longer than it needs to be. I’ll welcome death any day, over a long painful torture of teeth and claws.

  When the bear lurches back and pulls itself up to a standing eight feet tall, my breath hitches. My eyes alight on the spot where insects were eating it and still see small worms making their way around in there. How? I remember little of my school days about dead bodies and their disintegration, but I do remember that they don’t tend to eat anything that’s still alive. Right?

  Ugh who cares anyway, these shouldn’t be the last few thoughts I have when I’m about to become bear breakfast.

  When it lurches forward though, I pull my arms up to my face in defense and yell a futile, “No! Please stop!”

  I don’t know if it’s the panic or my sudden movement, but that’s when I feel something move inside my belly—the baby. I reach down to touch my stomach, as if holding it will protect us from the bear’s claws.

  I’m so sorry, I think, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from this. The thought surprises me but I keep my eyes closed. My breathing increases along with my heart rate and I brace myself for the inevitable pain when the bear’s massive claws land on my tiny, useless, arms.

  When I hear nothing and feel nothing for what seems like forever, I peer through a small crack between my arms and watch as the bear’s front paws come back down to the ground.

  It tilts its head down as if in submission. Okay, that is definitely not the reaction I expected, but did it actually understand what I said?

  “Look up,” I say, wondering what on earth sort of hallucination this is. When it tilts its head back up to look me in the eyes once more, I physically pinch myself to wake from the strange dream.

  But I feel the pain on my arm and the definite tiny movements in my belly. This is no dream. This bear is listening to me. It can’t be, but it is.

  Then something in its cracked skull blinks at me, one, two, three times. I stand up to lean forward and take a closer look. It’s a small amber light peering up from a small spot on the right side of where the bear should have a skull. It blinks again, once twice, thrice.

  “What in Odin are you?” I ask, though if it answers me, I’ll likely bolt. “Who did this to you?” When it doesn’t respond, I continue with, “Sit.”

  It plops on its behind and waits for my next instruction. So I brace myself and say, “Don’t move,” then I gingerly approach it until I’m close enough to touch its blinking light.

  Keeping the animal’s paws within my peripheral vision, I examine what looks to be metal—the inner workings of a bot placed among the bear’s cranium like it was meant to be there all along.

  I recognize some of the parts and realize this is no regular bot at all. This bear’s been implanted with bot parts. But why? Did the Metrills do this? They’re the only people that I know of around here, so they’re the most logical explanation. Unless the Sorens—I suppose it’s possible they did this. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve done something so repugnant to me, and it certainly wouldn’t be beyond Mother or Eric or even Blair to keep me in the dark about something like this. It looks like something they’d definitely consider Intel and therefore not worth filling me in.

  Trying not to think about them, I poke at the blinking light—it looks like the amber is now darkening, then I realize it’s an indication of the bear’s energy, most likely. All bots I’ve ever dealt with are solar powered. I wouldn’t be surprised if whatever this bear has in it runs on the same concept.

  “Okay,” I mutter. “I don’t understand why they’d need to have a bear with a bot in it.” The Sorens wouldn’t go through all this trouble for anything less than a weapon. But a weapon for what?

  I repeat myself. “Okay.” Looking around in the small part of the bot that’s showing, I don’t know if there is a Comm in there somewhere. So I say, “Can you contact someone for me—uhm—bear—?”

  It tilts its head in my direction again, but doesn’t react otherwise. I guess not. Well that’s a bust. I might as well start walking East, then.

  And I’m certainly not about to use this poor animal as transport. So I touch its matted rough fur on the side and say, “Goodbye,” and turn to the East. I’ll stop along the way to grab a walking stick and maybe bark of some tree to use as protection against any other wild things I run across.

  I walk a slow pace under the sway of the trees for about ten hobbled paces before I realize I’m not alone. Turning around, I’m not entirely surprised
the bear is following me.

  That it moves so quietly gives me pause for a moment. It didn’t so much as step on a branch or crackle any dry leaves along the way.

  “Okay, Stealth,” I say, “you need to stop following me. I don’t know how I can help you. You’re on your own. So stay.” When I turn to walk away, its shadow stays behind me, at my pace.

  “What do you want from me?” I ask. It tilts its head again, reminding me of the way dogbots would react when they were expecting something from their human owners. “Oh—” I say, “You’re not mine. You need to stop following me.”

  I’d love to say this is where it finally listens and stops walking with me, but no matter what instruction I give the thing, it stays put by my side.

  “Alright,” I finally say, realizing it’s faster for me to keep walking and not bother with it. At least it could help me keep away any stray wolves or cats that wander these parts.

  At least it’s a companion and after I learn to give it specific instructions, it hasn’t been aggressive towards me. If that changes at any time, well I’m in trouble. Until then, it doesn’t give me much choice but to let it walk with me.

  We stop to gather berries and I instruct Stealth to help me hunt for some meat. It’s bizarre, watching him hunt like a canine and come back with rodents on its back, their kill swift and clean—he just snapped their necks and threw them over his shoulder.

  Then we sit. He eats berries but doesn’t touch any of the meat I offer him, even though I leave some of it uncooked. Then we continue on, East, towards the water. It takes several days, maybe over a week and we’re still not there. I wonder if we’ll ever make it. And when we do, what then? What if I can’t get off this land at all? I suppose I could stay here and survive well enough on my own. I could become one with the animals, I think as I look at Stealth. I can’t help chuckling at the thought.

  We find a small stream and camp out. I find bundles of moss, soak it in water, and clean parts of the bear where the insects no longer reside, but where blood has clotted.