The Reprisal Page 12

  “Rosemary,” Mandate Tony said in greeting.

  “Tony,” she said demurely. “A pleasure.”

  “. . . Likewise.”

  It came down to whether Romy trusted that the Amach could get to the cannons first. When it was put in those lines, then yes, she did believe that. Because she believed and trusted in Atlas.

  Romy extended her hand. “To a peaceful alliance for the longevity of our people,” she said.

  He’d been speaking, but cut off at her words.

  He didn’t like that she’d stolen his thunder, so she continued. “I hope it may heal wounds we’ve caused each other in the past, and pave the way for a prosperous future for all.” The people clapped and when Romy gave them a beaming smile, they shouted in approval.

  Mandate Tony smiled and it etched into the lines of his face. He extended his hand. “Just as you say, Soldier Rosemary.”

  His hand was cold where hers was clammy, a fact that had the amusement coming back into his broad, impassive features. Romy let her gaze fall to his left hand. To her surprise he wasn’t missing a finger anymore. A closer glance showed her a jagged scar at the base of one knuckle.

  They turned away from the microphone, heading back to her knot together. “It’s shorter than your other fingers,” she said.

  “You’ll die, Rosemary,” Tony said. “It’s only a matter of time.”

  “Will you chop off my finger, Tony?” she replied, smiles plastered on for the cameras.

  “Of course not,” he said. “Someone else will do it.”

  Romy pursed her lips and turned slightly toward him. “That’s why you’ll lose the war,” she said, brow raised. “Because you don’t get your hands dirty.”

  “I’m aware you have no problem with that.”

  Her stomach dropped, but hopefully it didn’t show on her face. “No, I don’t, when the situation calls for it.” She paused. “And I do think your name is calling for it. Don’t be too quick to point the finger, Tony.” Romy glanced at his left hand again. “Just because you don’t do it yourself, doesn’t mean your hands aren’t filthy.”

  She ducked behind the curtain and re-joined her knot.

  Tina gave her a passing nod and joined the Mandate and his small contingency.

  “You did it,” Thrym said, squeezing her arm.

  “Looked like it got intense at the end,” Phobos said.

  Romy gave a curt dip of her head. “Just a bit of friendly talk.”

  Deimos wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “That’s my girl.”

  “You spoke well,” Romy replied. “Did you mean it? About the alliance?”

  “Yes. For now.” His gaze grew far away. “I hope it helps.”

  “Has to be more effective than sharing carbonara.”

  Tina re-joined them. “Come on. Time to head back to base.”

  Finally. This top was slowly suffocating her.

  They moved back through the exuberant crowds and Romy found herself smiling when the people edged closer to her than they had all day. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a bad thing. It seemed to have done something to soften the strain between their factions. She said just as much to Tina, who replied, “I’m not worried about changing how the city dwellers perceive the Amach.”

  “You’re not?”

  “The Amach are the ones who have wholeheartedly hated these civilians for one and a half centuries.” Tina sighed. “Getting them to change is the bigger task here, and that’s where we are most likely to fail in ensuring long-term peace.”

  “When will the first city dwellers come to the Amach?” Thrym asked.

  Tina glanced at her watch. “For dinner. In about . . . two hours.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It was painful. The dinner reminded Romy of all the staring when Knot 27 first arrived at Jimboomba.

  A group of one hundred city dwellers exchanged looks of disgust over the meal in front of them. Miscellaneous green slop, one of the worst dinners the kitchen had ever served. Romy knew it was on purpose, which angered her because she had to eat it, too.

  Until this moment, their Dublin guests had been blissfully and, she suspected, purposefully unaware of the world outside their city walls. They were ignorant of how hard those in the rural settlements had to work to provide the cities with food. They’d been supposedly unaware of the enslavement of the space soldiers for 150 years. Some ignorance could be forgiven, but when ignorance hurt others it was hard to pardon, and harder still to believe the ignorance wasn’t wilful on some level. If the Mandate had taken control for so long, so absolutely, it was because these people let them.

  Yet, Tina’s comment had taken root in her mind, and Romy knew the woman was right. How the Amach treated these people while they were here would prove incredibly important.

  “Come on,” Romy said to her knot. “We’re going over there.”

  “Really?” Phobos complained. “I spent all day with them.”

  “Which is why we should go over there,” she pressed.

  With loud groans, even from Thrym, Knot 27 picked up their trays and distributed themselves throughout the long table of city dwellers.

  Romy settled onto the bench seat between an overweight greying man and a slim brunette who looked like she went to the yoga thing each day.

  “You’re the one that killed all those soldiers.” A city dweller’s trembling voice reached her from across the table.

  Why did I come here again? “Yes, I did. Mandate Tony was about to push a button that would’ve killed three and half thousand space soldiers.” Romy dug a fork into her miscellaneous meal and shoved it in her mouth. Not too bad.

  “He never told us that,” the same person answered.

  A man watched Romy eat another mouthful before loading his fork with some of the green slop. “There’s a lot they haven’t told us. Sometimes I think they only show us what they want to.”

  This was met with some uneasy fidgeting from the others.

  “Do you know what you’ll be doing while you’re in the Amach?” Romy asked.

  “Just living life like you guys,” the man answered.

  She held out her hand. “I’m Romy.”

  He cracked a smile. “I know who you are. I’m Dan.”

  “Well, Dan, just hope you don’t get Tina for an instructor in combat classes.”

  A middle-aged woman spoke. “We’ll be learning to fight?” Her eyes rounded. “I’ve always wanted to punch someone. Right in the throat.”

  Chewing and swallowing another bite, Romy then answered, “Well, you probably won’t be able to go for the throat, but you’ll certainly be punching. Probably not each other at first.”

  “Will the food be like this every night?” another asked.

  Romy shrugged. “We don’t have the same luxuries you have in the cities. We can’t afford them. But you’ll get used to the food. This is one of the worst meals I’ve had here.”

  “Is there any heating?” another asked.

  Her brows rose and she forced them down with difficulty. “No, I’m afraid not. We’re in a cave system and all the energy goes toward lighting and dealing with the waste.”

  “You know,” the man said, “you don’t seem nearly as. . . .”

  “Crazy?” Romy supplied.

  The city dwellers nearest gave guilty laughs. The man gave her a sheepish look.

  “I assure you, I’m normal . . . most of the time.”

  Someone tapped a microphone up front and everyone glanced over as Atlas came into view standing at the podium.

  “Welcome to our guests,” he started. “I am sure each and every person in the Amach will ensure you have a comfortable stay while here.” The words were loaded.

  “That’s nice of him,” a city female said, nodding to her friend.

  They were kind of like the clueless space soldiers in a way.

  Atlas gestured and the screens came on, replaying what happened in Dublin earlier that day. Romy watched her screen-self walk across the
stage dressed in black. She almost looked graceful as she did it. Screen Romy extended her hand to Mandate Tony, and the crowd went wild when she smiled at them. You couldn’t even tell that she and Tony had been exchanging death threats afterward. It looked as though they were discussing the weather.

  . . . Tina had been right about wearing the black outfit. Romy’s clothing was the exact liquid onyx opposite of Tony’s pristine white.

  “What’s Mandate Tony like?” a male sighed dreamily.

  Didn’t you just hear me tell you he nearly killed over three thousand people? Romy hesitated. “What do you think of him?” she asked, trying to keep her expression neutral.

  The person straightened. “What?”

  “What do you think about what he does?” she said.

  A warm hand landed on her shoulder. “Rosemary.”

  She glanced up into grey eyes and her stomach erupted in butterflies. “Atlas.”

  “Got a moment?” He dipped his head at the city dwellers in greeting.

  She wiped her mouth with a napkin and loaded up her empty tray. He reached over and took it from the table, walking off to put it in the cleaning area.

  “You’re with him?” a woman asked.

  “I am.” Weird question.

  “He is so into you.”

  “Sandra never does the dishes,” another complained.

  “Don’t start with me, Robert. That’s always how we’ve worked.”

  Robert sniffed. “Maybe it’s time that changed.”

  With a hasty goodbye, Romy made her retreat, meeting Atlas at the door. “You just started a domestic dispute. Robert is angry at Sandra for never doing the dishes,” she added in response to his inquiring look.

  “How are the city dwellers tonight?” He led the way out of the Mess past a team coming in from mission.

  “Unimpressed with the food. Clueless, but surprisingly open-minded otherwise.”

  He took her hand. “Good.”

  “What do you need me for?” she asked, intertwining her fingers through his.

  “Because I haven’t seen you all day, and I missed you.” He pulled her behind a corner and kissed her until she forgot they were in a damp, dimly lit, pipe-lined concrete passage.

  “And I want to show you something. Come on,” he whispered.

  She grinned and let him tug her down the hall. He was clearly excited about something. He very rarely acted in such a playful way.

  They went through the commanding offices, to a room she hadn’t been inside before. She watched as Atlas entered a code, and scanned his fingerprint, then his eye.

  “. . .What are you showing me?” Romy didn’t know the Amach had such intense security.

  They walked into a dark room and Atlas reached behind her to flick on the light switch.

  “Wow.” The word left her mouth as she was still registering the sight before her. A giant metallic sphere was suspended in the middle of a ring. The orb was enormous, filling the entire room and only allowing enough space for a single person to walk around it at a time. “What is it?” she asked in awe.

  “This is our solution,” he said. “This is how we ensure corruption no longer affects our world government. It is a computer.”

  “I didn’t know,” she said.

  He nodded. “It’s been top secret since the concept was first brainstormed.”

  “How does it work?” she asked, beginning to walk around it. An array of tiny lights flashed on it: blue, green, and red.

  “We enter all the figures into it—the number of people in an area, the resources from an area, the particular needs of an area—and this computer calculates how the collective resources need to be distributed, so everyone has what they need.”

  Equality. “That’s incredible. Is it foolproof?”

  “We will need public figures to address the people,” he said. “And we are currently discussing ideas for how data entry should be safeguarded. This computer won’t be utilised until we are sure it is entirely unable to be used for personal advantage.”

  “I love it,” Romy said, looking at the huge, flashing orb. “I absolutely love it. It’s ingenious. Think of what this could mean for Earth.”

  His arms wrapped around her from behind. “Imagine what I’ll be free to do once a computer takes over.”

  * * *

  “. . . That is why sometimes it seems like a person is saying something more than just their words,” Romy finished.

  A space soldier with a five o’clock shadow raised his hand. “Could you give us an example of sarcasm?”

  Romy glanced at the muesli bar in her hand. “This muesli bar is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

  A room of faces contemplated her like she was the greatest puzzle in the world.

  “What you’re saying is . . . it’s not the best thing you’ve ever eaten?” the soldier said, then brightened. “It’s bad.”

  Romy replied, “Correct.”

  The stares turned to beaming smiles and mutterings of excitement.

  Pounding footsteps echoed outside of the gym, followed by shouting.

  “Stay here,” Romy said to them with a frown. “I’m going to check that out.”

  “Do you need assistance, mother hen?”

  She waved the woman back. “No, it’s probably nothing.”

  Murmured whispering broke out behind her.

  “—so, is she saying it is something—?”

  “—I don’t think they do sarcasm all the time—”

  Pushing the doors open, Romy stuck out her head and reared away as a small unit of panicked soldiers sprinted past and almost collided into her. She caught sight of Atlas, not far behind them. He didn’t slow his steps.

  “What’s wrong?” she called after him.

  “Don’t worry, I’m handling it,” he shouted back.

  Her stomach sunk. “Is it Deimos and Phobos?”

  “Yup.”

  He disappeared down the next passage and Romy retreated back into the gym.

  . . . Perhaps it was better not to know. A part of her was disappointed Atlas hadn’t lasted long against the twins’ pranks. She didn’t know what they’d done to him specifically; all three of them had remained close-lipped. No one had ever beaten the twins, though. She returned to her seat, a workout bench, and faced the soldiers once more.

  “Uhm, Miss Rosemary?”

  Romy blew out a breath, glancing back at the gym door where the person had called from. A woman hovered there. “Just one moment. Practise being sarcastic to each other,” she said to the space soldiers.

  “—I like your hair—”

  “—You’re good at what you do—”

  “—No one talks behind your back about how annoying your laugh is—”

  “What is it, Bridget?” Romy asked, reaching the gym door again.

  The woman held up an envelope, a perplexed look on her face. “This was found for you. Taped to the trapdoor exit.”

  Outside the Amach? Romy took the black envelope. “Whoever left this wasn’t seen?”

  “It would take an atomic bomb to get through that door, ma’am. We have cameras on it, but it isn’t guarded. I went to take it to the commander-general, but I couldn’t find him.”

  Romy’s name was written in a silver scrawl on the front. “Yes,” she said, only partly paying attention to Bridget now. “Thank you. I will handle this from here. Could you ensure a guard is put on the trapdoor from now on?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.”

  The woman bobbed her head and left, the gym door swinging shut behind her. Romy stared at the letter in her hand, already certain the contents weren’t an invitation to a delightful evening abroad.

  Remembering her pupils, she returned to them for the second time. “I’m afraid I’ll need to cut class short today. Something has come up. Why don’t you play poker instead?”

  “I lost all my twigs yesterday,” one said forlornly. “But I have a good feeling I’m gonna win big to
day.” The soldier’s eyes gleamed with unhealthy fervour. “Really big.”

  Romy left them and headed off to one side. Slipping her finger under the wax seal, she pried the flap open and extracted the letter.

  My dearest Rosemary,

  I must apologise at how our last meeting ended.

  When one knows how something is to be done, but no one around them listens, it is easy to become frustrated. But I won’t get into that.

  I write to you today to appeal to your compassion and sense of duty because I know that, like myself, you want peace and prosperity for all.

  I have in my possession three hundred of your fellow space soldiers, and they are very sick. Phrased another way, I guesstimate they have around three days to live.

  Unless.

  I’m sure you know what I’m going to say next.

  Unless they get your blood.

  This is bigger than you or I. You now have the chance to save three hundred lives. I don’t claim friendship with you any longer. I know I have destroyed any semblance of the friendship I once had with Atlas, which I regret most deeply. However, now we must work together.

  I propose this, Romy. Ten of your people meet ten of my people at the location where we landed outside of Cairo not long ago. If you are able to help, I would gratefully and humbly accept half a litre of your blood. If Dr Charlee is able to spare it from her testing schedule.

  “How do you know about her tests?” Romy murmured to herself.

  I ask that Charlee extract it from you either once you’ve landed in Cairo, or on the journey there to make sure the blood will still be viable for use by the time my team gets it back to our base.

  I do not expect a return reply from you. If you wish to help your fellow comrades, my representatives will be in Cairo in twenty-four hours and I will be thankful you have seen past our enmity to grant my space soldiers aid.

  Yours sincerely,

  James Houston

  P.S. Reports tell me you are doing exceptionally well, Rosemary. My wonderment at the power of your mind will never cease.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Atlas stalked across the debriefing room, Houston’s letter clenched tightly in his grip. “When did security find this?” he said through clenched teeth.