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Devoted - Merritt's Story 2 - Chapter 23
🕑 Added 2020-05-21 05:05:01 +0000 UTCNew chapter is here! I expect the next chapter to come around this same time next month. Since May is a Sketch Tier month, I won't have too much time to dive into the chapter until June. We only have a few chapters left of book 2!
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Chapter 23
“I should have known Archer would defy orders and put her special friend through poison immunizations. Mercury won’t be happy when he finds out.” Wilson tsk’ed as he pulled off his second glove. “Finally, a solid reason to have her fired.”
Merritt tried with every ounce of his power to throw himself forward. He only managed a weak jolt; then he slid out of his slick chair and crumpled to the floor, staring glassy-eyed up at his attacker.
Wilson shook his head in disapproval. “Don’t bother fighting. It only makes you look more pathetic.” He shrugged off his lab coat, folded it neatly, and set it aside on the nearby counter. “What are the chances that the one person in the North Sphere who’d actually care about a few missing orphans would witness an acquisition? Clearly my delivery men are getting too cocky, thinking they can do pickups in the evening instead of after midnight.” He began rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. “Once I’m done with you, they’re going to get an earful.”
With a groan, Merritt tried to push himself up. He couldn’t move; the previous attempt had sapped the last of his strength.
Wilson set down his goggles, then pulled up a stool and sat beside Merritt’s prone body. He used his foot to roll Merritt onto his side, then he allowed the shiny toe of his designer shoe to graze Merritt’s face. “Belmont’s had his share of boy toys,” he said, giving Merritt’s mouth a demeaning nudge with his foot. “But I’ve never seen anyone wrap him around their finger the way you have.”
The fancy shoe slid under Merritt’s cheek, tilting his head up. Merritt barely managed to focus his confused gaze upon Wilson, who stared down at him with a mocking smile.
“Would you believe that he tried to blackmail me over the phone?” Wilson asked, rolling his eyes. “He called me from sub-Norwood to give me a heads up that you were onto us. He was convinced that you could blow my entire operation, and he said he’d let you do it if I didn’t do whatever he wanted. Then he started in on the most ridiculous list of demands I’ve ever heard. He may have half the board in his pocket, but he can’t get me.” Wilson let out a self-satisfied chuckle. “I told Belmont, no deal; I’d just send someone out to kill you so you wouldn’t get in our way. Belmont panicked. He begged me not to send anyone after you. He promised he’d throw you off my trail.”
Merritt was stunned. That’s why Belmont had insisted on getting in his way? Merritt was torn between anger with himself for not just asking Belmont what was up and frustration with Belmont for not just telling him. He wondered how many unanswered texts awaited him now, while Wilson stood poised to put him out of his misery.
“Belmont is no model blue-tie. He has absolutely no ability to rein in his emotions. And yet, until that moment, I’d never seen his fear.” Wilson pushed his foot down on top of Merritt’s head and ground down with his heel. “Watching you two in board meetings, I was fairly convinced that you were sleeping with him. Now, I have no doubt.”
If Merritt hadn’t been immobilized, he surely would have lost his hold on his poker face.
“It’s a shame I have to end this,” Wilson said as he smoothed a hand over his salt-and-pepper hair. “You’re a bright kid. You could have done great things. But I’d be a fool if I didn’t properly dispose of you.” Wilson disappeared from sight, and Merritt heard the rolling casters of an opening drawer, then the creak and slide of a closet door. Rustling, shuffling, a falling cardboard box, and more rustling. Wilson stepped back into view, holding up a gleaming knife. He flashed it in front of Merritt’s unmoving eyes, momentarily blinding him with its sheen. Then he set it aside and retrieved another item outside of Merritt’s view.
Wilson grabbed him around the middle and hoisted him up; his head and shoulders flopped lifelessly. Something crinkled in his ear, and he realized with dread that Wilson was sliding a plastic drop cloth underneath him.
Wilson stepped away and gazed down upon him, then sighed. “Oh, messy kills are so uncultured. Death by poison will always be more refined. But Archer’s immunized you. I don’t have much choice, do I?”
Again he stepped out of view, but Merritt heard the singing of metal. Then Wilson swooped down on him, holding his hair from behind while pressing the knife against his throat.
In his peripheral vision, Merritt saw a subtle flash of motion. It took him a moment to realize the door to the lab had opened a crack. Then something small rolled into the room.
A split-second later, the knife clattered from Wilson’s hand. Then the hand gripping Merritt’s hair loosened. Merritt fell to the ground, his chest landing atop the flat of the knife, with Wilson splayed unconscious on top of him.
A familiar odor reached his nose. He willed his surroundings to stop swimming, to no effect. The hazy translucent object rolled slowly across the ground before his eyes. Gradually, its edges sharpened into the silhouette of a small bottle. It was a SYK-21 knockout vial.
White fabric billowed over his head—a lab coat. The weight of Wilson’s body was heaved off him, then slender hands flipped him onto his back. “I tried to warn you.” Archer’s voice. “Why can’t you ever just listen when someone tells you to stay away?”
She tried to lift him, but he couldn’t control his neck, and she gave a quiet, frustrated sigh. Like the overburdened mother of a useless baby, she had to catch his heavy, lolling head.
“What did he give you?” she asked.
Merritt tried to answer, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. Archer’s red lips pressed into a split-second frown. She set him back down and headed across the room toward the counter where an open notebook sat beside various vials and beakers. After donning a pair of disposable gloves, she picked up the pad and read it over. “Huh. So that’s what he did.” Quickly, she opened the nearest cabinets and shuffled through their contents. She pulled out three small tubs of powder and a large bottle of liquid and began measuring out ingredients. “We just put this poison into biosimulator trials last month. It’s an aerosolized skeletal muscle relaxant. It immobilizes your body without knocking you unconscious.” She chuckled dryly. “I hope no one else got on that elevator after you.” Then, with a glance so pointed Merritt felt its sting, she added, “I took the back stairs.”
Merritt still failed to respond. After a few minutes listening to the sounds of poured liquids and clinking glasses, he heard Archer approach. She set something down out of Merritt’s sight, then lifted his upper body and worked his jacket off his shoulders. After she cast the clothing aside, she held up a syringe. “This is the antidote. It should start working within a minute or two, but it can take up to fifteen minutes to be fully effective.”
Archer leaned down, and Merritt felt the tickle of her long hair across his upper arm, followed by the familiar sharp prick of a needle in his inner elbow. By the time Archer disposed of the syringe and returned to his side, he was already able to coax his fingers and toes into a weak wiggle.
“Can you talk?” she asked.
Merritt swallowed. “I… Uh….”
“It might take some time.” She headed back to the counter and set to work cleaning up the powders and bottles she’d used. After a few minutes, she’d cleared away all evidence of her work. She returned to Merritt’s side and, after staring momentarily at Wilson’s prone body, grabbed the empty vial of SYK-21 off the ground. “He didn’t see me throw this,” she said, stowing the bottle in the pocket of her lab coat. “I could see him through the crack in the door. He was looking at you, not at me. And he doesn’t know that I can open the door to his lab. When he wakes up, he’ll have no idea what happened. He’ll probably assume you did something to him. I’m sorry, but I want to keep it that way.” She held out a hand. “Can you stand?”
Merritt accepted her help and wobbled to his feet. “Where to?” he managed to mumble as Archer guided him toward the door.
“My suite. It’s one of the few places with a security system Wilson doesn’t have the clearance to override.”
Merritt couldn’t have argued if he wanted to. Silently, he followed her out the back exit he should have taken in the first place. During their climb down the stairs, the antidote finally set in for real, and he no longer had to lean against the wall for balance. By the time they stepped outside, he felt steady enough to ride his motorcycle, but Archer urged him to give it another ten minutes to be safe. As he waited, he spotted a soldier from Balbo’s squad and flashed a subtle hand gesture to signal that he was okay. The soldier gave a nearly imperceptible nod as she continued to ride by on her motorcycle.
After the awkward, mostly silent wait, Merritt got on his bike and followed Archer back to her suite. He realized he’d never visited her there before. She lived in a condo complex near the center of sub-Ravenswood, the elite district just southwest of the military district. It was an intimidating neighborhood for a lower-ranking guy like him. He’d only ever been to elite households in the headquarters building, where his military status gave him a reason to feel like he wasn’t entirely out of place.
She led him into the private parking garage, where they left their vehicles and approached the elevator together. Everything was so clean and bright it made his poison-addled head hurt. The thumbprint sensors were integrated so smoothly into the slick, reflective tile walls that he wouldn’t have recognized them if he hadn’t seen Archer subtly swipe her way past. The outer wall of the elevator was made of glass, offering a stunning view of the rock gardens and pond in the courtyard below. Archer lived on the top floor.
Merritt barely managed to contain an awed gasp when he stepped into Archer’s home. Her minimalist suite was so white and sterile it almost reminded Merritt of the lab where she worked—yet it was beautiful in a way only blue-ties would appreciate. Abstract art hung on the wall, crafted in clear glass, brushed metal, and flashes of iridescent paint. At the center of her coffee table, an array of test tubes in a metal wire stand acted as bud vases for what looked like real flowers. The pops of blue-green leaves and pastel petals, soft as they were, stood in stark contrast against their gleaming white surroundings.
Each piece of décor was placed precisely, in a way that felt like a museum exhibit. He didn’t want to touch anything for fear of leaving behind a smudged fingerprint. This was a far cry from his shabby quarters a few miles away.
Archer put a kettle on the stove as Merritt stood unsure of where to go. Even the chairs had the air of display furniture—not a stretch or crinkle in the seats.
Once the tea was steeped, Archer joined Merritt in the lounge. She motioned for him to sit in a chair facing a sleek coffee table, poured two cups, and took the chair across from Merritt. Leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, she said, “Oh, Merritt. You’ve managed to stick your head somewhere it shouldn’t be, and I’m trying my best to keep you from losing it altogether.”
Merritt glanced down at his drink. The herb leaves were a typical greenish brown, but the liquid was blue. He knew it was no coincidence that Archer was serving him Calm-infused tea. Brows furrowed, Merritt left the tea untouched and waited for her to continue.
“Merritt…. Those poisons you take into battle to protect yourself and your comrades? They need to be tested on someone.”
Merritt’s eyes widened. “What are you saying?”
Archer looked unusually reluctant to speak, as if she knew that whatever she said next was bound to upset him. “Decades ago, there was a huge scandal over military poisons. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. Children in elite districts were falling ill due to military training and battles in the areas nearby. As you know, military poisons are designed to have a small and stable active radius, but the traces of these poisons in the air led to organ damage and cognitive impairment in elite children, and birth defects in infants. Elite parents would be damned if they’d let their offspring get sick over something that was only supposed to harm soldiers or enemies, and violent protests broke out. It was one of the worst moments of King Ozark’s reign, and he vowed to the elites that the military’s poisons would never harm their kids again. But in order to know whether the poisons would affect kids….”
Merritt didn’t need to be told. “The Department of Science and Medicine is kidnapping orphan children to test poisons on them?” His voice came out hot, but he felt defeated.
Archer maintained her usual cool composure. “Historically, poisons and poison blockers have been tested on orphans provided to us willingly by overcrowded orphanages, in exchange for funding. They would match us with whatever we needed—age, sex, pre-existing health conditions, and so on. But once the North managed to improve both quality and supply of birth control, the orphanages stopped being quite so overcrowded, and the price of test subjects rose. It’s funny how birth control prices ‘mysteriously’ spike whenever the orphanage or military population is projected to dip.” She gave a humorless chuckle. “Anyway, Wilson is stingy, and he didn’t like the price hikes on the test subjects, so he decided to take what he wanted, whether or not he had the orphanage’s approval. The orphanages hardly had the standing to object.”
Merritt clutched his teacup with white-knuckled fists. He had yet to take a sip. He knew where Archer was going, but he sat paralyzed with horror as she continued to explain.
“Only one division within poisons QC is involved, but that division answers to Wilson as Director of Science and Medicine. There’s no evidence that anyone above him has any knowledge of the child testing. If word got out, it would be a bigger scandal than the West’s underage dogs—but as long as there’s no evidence of the sphere leaders’ involvement, the damage can be contained to Wilson.”
“But they do know,” Merritt said. “Mercury and Belmont.”
“I’m sure they do,” Archer replied. “But I can’t prove it.”
How long had Belmont known about this and let it go on? Had he even encouraged it? Merritt didn’t want to believe Belmont could be so heartless, but he was starting to think anything was possible. Wilson had claimed that Belmont called attempting to blackmail him, possibly for personal gain. He was the master of the three B’s, with drawers and cabinets full of incriminating data about his enemies. Had he tried to blackmail Wilson because he truly wanted to stop the orphan kidnappings, or was it just another opportunity for him to get the upper hand on a rival? “Wilson had to be taking orders from someone,” Merritt replied at last, his fists clenched.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Archer replied. “Wilson doesn’t like to be told what to do. Do I believe Mercury knows? Yes. But Mercury would never let the evidence stick to him.”
“What about Belmont?” Merritt pressed.
“If anyone in the underground is doing something they shouldn’t be doing, Belmont is the first to know. That’s just his game. And he’s dropped too many snarky comments about poisons testing in board meetings for me to think he’s blissfully ignorant. But I don’t know if he’s involved or if he discovered it the same way I did.” Archer took a composed sip of her tea, then added, “I’m not supposed to know either.”
“Then how did you find out?”
“Wilson’s assistant accidentally blind-copied me on an email a few years ago. That’s when I started keeping a closer eye on Wilson’s projects. The night you saw me outside the orphanage, I’d followed his men out there. Then you showed up and saw me, so I couldn’t stick around to see what happened. But I went back a week later and saw everything I needed to see.”
Merritt stared down at his untouched tea.
“To be fair to Wilson, this wasn’t all his doing. The project had begun long before he was director, and he inherited it. But Wilson was the one who chose to continue the program and to double the rate of testing. He’s the one who went from purchasing test subjects to stealing them outright. He’s never been able to deal with being told he can’t have something. He’s greedy.”
“These kids who were ‘provided willingly,’” Merritt began, his voice shaking. “Is that supposed to make it okay, that they were taken with permission?”
“It was a business arrangement,” Archer replied simply.
Merritt shook his head incredulously. “They’re kids.”
“They’re kids we don’t have the resources to feed and house. They’re blue-ties who consume resources but can’t give anything in return. They’re blue-ties whose loss won’t be a detriment because they have no responsibilities, no dependents, and no personal attachments. They have no living family to advocate for them. And, unlike prisoners or the soldiers in the Shield Squad, they’re small, weak, and easy to control. Even if they escape, they don’t have the clout or know-how to get anyone’s attention on the program.”
“That’s repulsive,” Merritt said. “They’re kids. They had no choice in the matter. They haven’t even had a chance to enjoy life yet.”
“I’m not giving you my personal opinion,” Archer said sharply, as if he was testing her patience. “I’m telling you why things are the way they are, from the standpoint of sphere leadership. Those poisons and blockers protect our people, soldiers and civilians alike. Who would you propose we test on instead?”
“Adult volunteers.”
“Okay,” Archer said. “And once we’re done testing on those two people, who comes next?”
Merritt glared at her.
“We’re not talking about pharmaceuticals testing, Merritt. This is poisons testing. No one would volunteer.”
“So if that’s the opinion of sphere leadership, what is your personal opinion?” Merritt challenged.
“My personal opinion has never been relevant,” Archer replied coldly. She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“Because you keep justifying it, as if you don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.”
“I’m not justifying it. I’m explaining it. This is what happens in the underground. I’m not the one who made it so.”
Merritt gritted his teeth. He would have felt better if Archer would show at least a little regret for the actions of her department. But at the same time, she had a point. Who would be served by that useless remorse? Archer was the consummate blue-tie, trained to believe that showing emotion was as dangerous as baring one’s throat to an opponent with a knife. Was it fair for him to demand that from her, solely for his own emotional comfort?
Maybe not, but he couldn’t give her a pass. Not while he was still plagued by the memory of Torrence, alone and dying on a filthy mattress. He’d spent years believing Torrence was just delicate and prone to illness. Now he knew that this wasn’t illness—it was an act of violence committed against his best friend. He couldn’t excuse anyone who’d knowingly had a hand in it. “When I told you Torrence was sick, you knew why. You probably even knew what kind of treatment could have helped him.”
“You’re right. I know exactly what treatment could help him—because I’m the one who formulated it. After you told me he was sick.”
Merritt’s voice fizzled out before he could attempt a reply.
“I looked into his medical history after we talked that night. He was a test subject for ISM-91, a poison that’s since been shelved due to its unstable results. ISM-91 was designed to manipulate the target’s immune system. It triggers an extreme inflammatory response by injecting a toxin into the bloodstream. If the target survives the initial shock to the system, the toxin continues to replicate in the bloodstream over time and continues to trigger an immune system response. Both the blood and the immune response cause damage to the target’s internal organs.”
Merritt’s lips tightened into a strained frown. Torrence knew what had caused his illness; he knew he was past the point of no return, and he knew which black market medications would treat it. He must have known for years. Why hadn’t he ever told Merritt?
“There’s a cure for your friend’s condition, but it has to be administered before the target’s blood reaches a certain level of toxicity. Once the target starts to show symptoms of organ damage, it’s already too late. Based on Torrence’s medical records, I knew the cure was no longer an option. He was likely taking black market drugs to get by—knockoff drugs formulated for other conditions. Those pills are not a true treatment, and they come with considerable side effects. So I began developing a long-term treatment to manage the condition. It would suppress his immune response and treat some of his organ damage. The drugs are still in clinical trials, but the results look promising so far. A person could theoretically live a full life—and be almost as healthy as anyone on the street—as long as they stay on top of their treatment.”
“You could have told me you were working on that,” Merritt said.
“I didn’t want to get your hopes up before I knew I had something viable.”
Merritt swallowed back his sorrow. “Sometimes people need a little bit of hope.”
Archer blinked, and Merritt could tell that his words had caught her off guard. She lived in a world of facts and data. She worked a job where she had control over her actions and their outcomes. She might have never been in a position where her life was in someone else’s hands—where the only thing she could cling to was baseless, unproven hope.
After a long pause, she brushed a strand of auburn hair out of her face. “Regardless, we’re only a couple weeks away from finishing trials. Once I have positive results, you’ll be the first to know.”
Merritt recognized her words as an attempt at reconciliation. “I appreciate that,” he replied. Finally, he took his first sip of tea.
Archer settled just a bit in her seat, as if she believed he’d finally calmed down. But behind the rim of his teacup, he was anything but calm. He thought about the portrait of Mercury that hung on the wall above his bed. He’d dutifully repeated his pledge to it every morning, even in the past months when each passing hour seemed to leave a new crack in the foundation of his faith.
“You were only ever gonna get what Mercury decided to give you,” Samsid had said to him. “And now he can point to you as proof that all aces can rise, if only they worked harder and served better.”
And Samsid was right. To this day, Mercury insisted that anyone could rise in the North. But what chance did Torrence have, after being kidnapped and poisoned under Mercury’s watch? What chance did any of those kids have? Merritt had pledged his life to his sphere, but Torrence hadn’t. No, Torrence’s life had been taken from him—taken and desecrated—so that the elites could use his broken body as a footstool to rise even higher.
If he’d been in his bedroom, he might have surrendered to the urge to pull that portrait off the wall. If he’d been at headquarters, he might have risked insubordination to ask Mercury that question, to challenge Mercury to answer him with a straight face. But for now, he could do nothing but hide his rage within his tight fists while choking down tea designed to make him complacent. After a few sips, he realized he didn’t want to be calmed. He felt insulted by the idea that he should be calmed.
He set his drink aside. Rude or not, he wouldn’t swallow another drop.
Archer finished her cup. She glanced at his barely touched tea but made no remark about it. Instead, she cleared her throat and said, “There’s something else I discovered while I was looking into Wilson.”
Merritt looked up. He could tell by her tone that whatever she knew was significant.
“You know that Wilson is greedy. Well, when he was stealing kids, he got too greedy. He took some kids from the sub-Albany orphanage who turned out to be higher ranking than he’d realized. They had estranged elite parents, which made them elites even though they didn’t have the resources to get into an elite group home. Those kids didn’t survive their tests. When Wilson realized his error, he tried to bury the evidence. But I saved copies of the test data and all his correspondence about those kids.”
“I don’t see how that’s different from all the other kids he poisoned,” Merritt said, though he knew why it would seem different to Archer.
“I know you don’t want to be told that no one in the North cares about orphan aces,” Archer said patiently. “If word got out about them, every other sphere would tear into us—not because they care about blue-tie orphan aces, but because they’re always looking for a weapon to use against us. But deaths of elite children, even those with estranged parents, would be enough to enrage blue-ties too. If that information gets out, the North’s elite will want Wilson’s head. We might even be able to coax the direction of their revolt and get them to demand an end to the entire child testing program, by making them believe no elite child will ever truly be safe.”
Merritt laced his fingers together in his lap as he contemplated Archer’s words. That was the difference between him and her. Merritt couldn’t make his peace with the underground’s injustices. Archer, on the other hand, was willing to lean into them and use them as a weapon. Merritt didn’t know if he’d ever be willing to think like that. Weapon or not, it was still promoting the underground’s ideals of inequality.
“I’ve been sitting on this knowledge for two years,” Archer said. “If word got out to the North’s elites, it would ruin Wilson’s reputation among them. But I know the people in D&P, and a lot of those guys would have Wilson’s back. If I outed him, I’d earn myself a lot of enemies, all among my colleagues. And if the program does have Mercury’s blessing—which I suspect it does—then sabotaging it is as good as treason. No one who publicizes this information will come out better than they went in.” She sighed. “So I’ve kept my mouth shut. I was hoping to find some way to get the word out to just enough elite blue-ties—without it being traced back to me. Nothing’s come to mind so far.” She met Merritt’s gaze. “But now that you’ve managed to muck things up, I have no choice but to publish those documents.”
Merritt’s eyes widened. “What do you mean? You don’t have to do that because of me.”
“Wilson knows you’re onto him. He won’t trust you to let this go. He’s going to come after you until he shuts you up for good. So if I want to keep Wilson from killing you, I have to out him myself. I believe I have the connections to do it in a subtle-but-effective manner.”
“But you said you’d lose favor with all your colleagues. Your career would be ruined.”
“Well, I can’t let him kill you.” Archer looked down at her empty cup and rose to her feet. “I’m going to make another pot.” She headed for the kitchen. Merritt watched her calmly pour fresh water into her kettle as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on him.
When she returned to Merritt’s side, she glanced at his balled fists and briefly raised her eyebrows, but she said nothing as she took her seat.
“I can’t let you do it,” Merritt said after they’d sat in silence for nearly half a minute. “I know how important your work is to you. I would never ask you to sacrifice it for me.” He stared down at the gently spinning herb leaves in his nearly full cup. After a moment’s consideration, he looked up at Archer. “Let me do it. Let me out him.”
Archer didn’t look surprised by Merritt’s offer. “You shouldn’t, Merritt.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t have an in with the North’s elite the way I do. And for someone who’s only a five, you have enough enemies already. Why add Wilson to the list?”
“I think Wilson is already on the list, considering he poisoned me twice and tried to slit my throat. You’re the one with something to lose by outing him.”
“If I out him, he’ll feel so betrayed he’ll forget about you. But if you out him, he’ll want revenge.”
“If you out him, he’ll want revenge on you.”
Archer shrugged. “I’ve outmaneuvered cleverer guys than Wilson. If I can’t manage him, I’m not much of a blue-tie.”
“Wilson is pretty powerful.”
“But I know his weaknesses.” Archer leaned back in her seat, crossing her legs. She cracked a sinister smile. “Because I gave them to him.”
Merritt tripped on his words. Archer suddenly looked more dangerous than he’d ever given her credit for.
“Wilson was on Mercury’s list to be immunized. And I immunized him.” Her eyes narrowed. “Mostly.” She noticed Merritt’s stunned expression and chuckled. “It turns out he’s not immune to SYK-21 or DLL-8. I guess those antitoxins weren’t completely effective.”
“I didn’t know you’d do something like that.”
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering if I left holes in your treatment too. You already know I can’t immunize you against CJ-486 because of your blood type, and you’ll have issues with IPJ-8 because you reacted badly to the antitoxin. Other than that, I’ve covered all the bases. I understand you have no reason to believe me, but I give you my word.”
“If you left any holes, GUS-42 wasn’t one of them. Wilson attacked me with it yesterday. If not for your treatment, I’d already be dead.”
“Then let me handle him, Merritt. He’s tried to kill you twice now. I’ll take things from here.”
Merritt wasn’t convinced. “Listen. Give me those documents you found, and then give me twenty-four hours. I’ll run the documents through my software and strip out all the metadata. I’ll make sure they can’t be traced back to you.”
“But what would you do with them after that?” Archer asked skeptically.
“I have a plan. I need to talk to some people. But first… I need to clear my head. Just give me twenty-four hours.”
It looked like Archer wanted to ask questions, but she refrained. “Twenty-four hours? Fine. I’ll wait. But do me a favor—if you’re going to be running around the underground, text me here and there, just so I know you’re still alive.”
Merritt offered a smile. “Deal.”
* * *
I know you were at the chem lab today. Where are you now? Answer me!
Merritt ignored the text from Belmont. Sooner or later, he’d have to face the man, but now wasn’t the time. He had something more urgent on his mind.
Sucking in a deep breath, he knocked on the weathered cave door for a second time. He glanced up at the dim, warm lanterns hanging from the stalactites at the center of the commune clearing, then at his phone. It was past midnight. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to show up in the middle of a night at a residence where he knew he wouldn’t be welcome, but he was just determined enough to risk a surprise attack from a few wary homeowners.
He was about to raise his hand to knock a third time when he heard the turn of a heavy deadbolt on the other side of the door. Hinges squealed, and the door inched open. A familiar black-brown eye peered out through the crack.
“Torrence,” Merritt whispered. His voice broke.
Torrence stared at him, looking cautious despite his poker face. After a pause, he opened the door the rest of the way.
Merritt couldn’t hold back. He stepped forward and pulled Torrence into a tight, desperate hug. Torrence stood frozen within Merritt’s arms, too stunned to move.
Merritt clutched tighter at his bony frame and buried his face in his hair. Barely holding back tears, he whispered, “I know why you’re sick. I’m so sorry.”
Torrence took in an unsteady, catching breath. Slowly, his shoulders went from rigid to soft. Then he raised his frail arms and wrapped them around Merritt.
* * *
Torrence’s hands shook as he sipped from a cup of North Sphere nausea remedy, and Merritt couldn’t tell if he was too weak to hold his cup or if he was just overcome with emotion—or both. His legs had also shaken when he’d led Merritt into the tiny common room, where they’d sat by the light and heat of the low mud stove. Torrence had wrapped himself in a blanket, which Merritt suspected he was using as much to conceal the state of his withered body as to keep himself warm.
But he was awake and able to move on his own. That in itself was enough to give Merritt hope.
“Chase wakes up at six,” Torrence had told him when they’d first sat down. “You have to leave before that, or he’ll throw a fit.”
As much as Merritt wished he could stay by Torrence’s side for longer, he felt lucky enough to see his friend conscious for even a few minutes. He’d take whatever he could get.
For the first few minutes, they sat across from each other without speaking. In that silence, they soaked in the comfort of just being near each other. Merritt felt the energy of Torrence’s pain, and he allowed Torrence to see his regret and sorrow.
“How long have you known what was making you sick?” Merritt asked at last.
Torrence took another sip of his steaming drink as he collected his thoughts.
As Merritt waited, he wrapped his arms across his chest. The side of him facing away from the stove was freezing cold. He watched the fire consume the long, thin twigs in the stove, idly realizing that these secluded caves must have been near a wood source.
When Torrence finally spoke, he stared at the stove, and Merritt watched the firelight dance in his eyes like reflections of Torrence’s inner fire. “I always knew it had something to do with military poisons. I overheard people talking about it in the lab when they were running the tests. They didn’t think any of us would live to spread the word.
“But I didn’t know the details until a few months after I got the job at the medical office. My boss gave me a bunch of documents to shred, and one batch of papers caught my attention. They were medical records from a kid at the sub-Lincoln Square Orphanage, but they might as well have been my own. I went through the batch and found more and more records of aces with the exact same health problems I was having. I took photos of the documents, and I started tracking down the patients.” He gestured toward the stairs around the corner. “That’s how I met Briar and Chase. They hooked me up with black market pills.”
Merritt stared at him in silence. Torrence had known for years—and kept it all a secret. His words left a hollow pit in Merritt’s chest, but he wasn’t sure why.
“There’s a lot of us, you know,” Torrence said softly. “When I was at the orphanage, I thought I was the only one who’d escaped from the lab, but then I found out a few others had escaped over the years too. Then there was a mass escape a few months after I was there, and they increased security. We’re all out here, slowly wasting away, thanks to whatever diseases they left us with.”
“You know, they’re working on a new treatment,” Merritt said. “It might be too late to cure you completely, but once these new medications are approved—”
“I wouldn’t trust any medication coming out of the Department of Science and Medicine,” Torrence snarled.
“This one is different,” Merritt insisted. “The person working on it—they’re doing it for the right reasons.”
Torrence didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue. “Well… the black market pills are a pain in the ass to track down. You can never get as many as you need, when you need them. By the time that new medication comes out, maybe I’ll be desperate enough to try it.” He sniffed, and when he spoke again, his voice shook. “There’s so much I want to do, and I can’t do any of it anymore. I never thought I’d spend so much of my life being so useless.”
Merritt hated seeing Torrence in pain, but he knew nothing he said could erase it. Instead of replying, he sat with Torrence in silence, letting him speak the words he’d probably never felt safe enough to speak to any other blue-tie.
“I can barely hold my guitar,” he whispered, and his voice broke. “I can’t sing worth shit. I haven’t worked in months. Hell, I can barely even walk.”
“You’ll get better,” Merritt said. “Once this treatment comes out, you’ll do all of those things again.”
Torrence grimaced, and Merritt could tell he was holding back an argument. But he didn’t argue, and the sounds of the crackling fire took over once again. Only a few twigs remained in the stove, and the flames had begun to dwindle.
“There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” Merritt said after a minute of silence. It was the one question he didn’t want to ask, but the one he most desperately needed answered.
“What?”
Merritt stared at the twin reflections of firelight in Torrence’s downcast eyes. “You’ve known about this for years. Why… why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Torrence raised his head, and the fire flashed so bright in his eyes that Merritt felt its heat in his heart. “Because I knew who was behind it. I knew this was Mercury’s project. And I knew how you felt about him. And I was afraid… if I told you…” He blinked, and a tear fell down his cheek. “…that you’d take his side. That you’d defend him.” Another blink, and more tears fell. His voice shook so hard he could barely get the words out. “And if I’d heard you do that, I don’t think I could have willed myself to live another day.” His shoulders began to tremble, and he dropped his head, overcome with racking sobs.
Merritt shot across the room and pulled Torrence into a hug. “No. I would never take sides against you, Torrence. Never.”
He held Torrence’s shaking body, using every ounce of his effort to hold back his tears so Torrence wouldn’t have to see them. He’d always worried that he’d failed Torrence, and Torrence had always insisted that he hadn’t. But how badly must Merritt have failed him, how badly must Merritt have violated his trust, for him to ever believe Merritt would side with someone who’d done such damage to him?
Had he really been that kind of person before? The thought was too painful for him to bear.
Whatever he’d done to make Torrence think that, he’d never do it again. He’d give up his job, even his pledge, before he’d continue commanding a military that poisoned orphans like Torrence. He’d change things—or else he’d burn it to the ground.
“They’re going to pay for everything they did to you,” he growled into Torrence’s ear. “I don’t care what I have to do. I don’t care how many enemies I make. I’ll tear that entire testing program down—and then I’ll get you that medication. I’m going to see you walking and running and laughing again. I’m going to see you onstage with your guitar. I don’t care what it costs me. I give you my word, I’m going to make it happen.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Torrence whispered.
“I will keep this promise,” Merritt whispered back, more determined than he’d ever been.
“You don’t know what you’re up against.”
“I’m not afraid. I’d fight to the death for you. You know that.”
Torrence pulled just far enough away to look up at Merritt’s face. “Why do you care so much? Look where you are now. You’re General of the North Sphere Army. We haven’t even spoken in a year.”
Merritt stared deep into Torrence’s eyes. “But you’re not a minute less important to me.”
He squeezed Torrence tight as the last of the twigs in the stove were consumed by flame.
* * *
Thought you might find this interesting….
That was the title of the email Merritt wrote on his laptop from his corner booth at Soft Sloth Coffee at seven o’clock Sunday morning. He included no other text in his email, just file attachments.
To supplement the documents Archer had supplied, he’d spent the early morning hacking Wilson’s correspondence logs. Wilson had deleted any references to his shady activities, but Merritt knew that deleted messages lingered on underground servers for weeks if not months before being purged.
After hacking into one such server, he found a treasure trove of incriminating evidence against not just Wilson but a good seventy percent of the North’s elite. If he’d had the time or inclination to ruin the lives of swaths of people all at once, he had the means to do it. He grabbed whatever data he could, but he didn’t read any of it. For now, his primary concern was Wilson.
When Merritt finally sent out the email, he retrieved his phone and called Archer. After she answered, he simply said, “It’s done.”
“What’s done?” Archer asked.
Merritt’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll let you know once I have positive results.” Then he hung up.
Barely five minutes passed before Merritt’s phone buzzed with an incoming call. Just who he was hoping for. He took the call and raised the phone to his ear.
“I’m eagerly awaiting your explanation,” Odell said, sounding intrigued and suspicious at the same time.
“So you got my email, then.”
“Of course,” Odell replied. “But why did you send it to me?”
“I thought news of a North Sphere scandal might be entertaining to you.”
“I’m assuming this is where your kidnapping investigation from yesterday led you?”
“In a way,” Merritt replied cryptically.
“I’m sure you realize that this is prime material for a news bomb.”
“I do.”
Odell paused, as if she felt obligated to warn Merritt that he was about to do something unwise. “What I don’t understand is why you’re giving me information that’ll embarrass your sphere and your military, knowing that I have the means to spread it across the entire underground.”
“My goal is to expose the truth. Once my sphere rectifies the situation, there won’t be any need for embarrassment.”
Odell let out an incredulous laugh. “Either you’re insane or you have a death wish.” After a pause, she said, “I still feel like you’re not telling me the whole story. But I’ll take your report to my team. We’ll do our own private investigation, and we’ll see where it goes.”
Merritt gritted his teeth. Wilson would be a danger until the moment he was outed, and Merritt couldn’t hide from him forever. But he couldn’t let Odell know he was in a hurry or she’d realize this was a favor he desperately needed from her rather than just a juicy bit of news that he’d decided to share. It only took him a moment to settle on his angle. “I should warn you, I’m not the only one who knows about this. If you wait even a day, someone else will spread the news and rob the South Sphere of the glory.”
“And by ‘someone else,’ you mean you.”
“Not necessarily.”
Odell sighed. “Fine. I’m going to get on this. In the meantime… just… just watch your back.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Fuck. You’re gonna get yourself killed one of these days. You know that?”
“Live to serve my sphere, die to serve my sphere.”
“And you think this is the best way to serve your sphere?”
Merritt gripped his phone so hard his hand hurt. “It’s the only way I know how.”
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