This Shattered World

Commander Towers relaxes a fraction, and I take a beat to consider my words before I add, “But you know I trust Merendsen, right?”

“He’s not the one I’m worried about,” she replies. With a jerk, she retrieves the e-filer from her desk and flicks it on again before shoving it my way. It’s the front page of one of the entertainment magazines—and it’s got a loop of Merendsen and Lilac LaRoux posing for the cameras. As I watch, Merendsen ducks his head to press his lips to Lilac LaRoux’s temple.

I swallow hard, ignoring the impulse to blurt out the truth to Commander Towers. She’s got to be holding more pieces than I am. If she knows about LRI’s presence here, and the facility, then she could know how it’s connected to the massacres involving Mori and Davin Quinn—and me.

I need to find out what Merendsen can tell me first. He clearly knows some secret about his fiancée’s family business, and if it helps me find answers, I may not need to involve Commander Towers at all. Because right now, I don’t know whose side she’s on.

Shaken, I slip out of her office to find Merendsen some ten paces away, arms folded behind his back. Commander Towers is so sure I can’t trust him—what makes me so sure I can? People change, after all. There’s every possibility he could be in this as deep as anyone.

When the door closes behind me, he turns and regards me with that same half smile he always used to give when he was waiting for me to figure out I was in trouble. Only this time, he’s waiting to help me get out of it.

No, I decide. I have to trust someone, and I trust him.

“It’s good to see you, sir.”

“It’s just Tarver, now.”

“If you say so, sir.”

He grins at me. “It’s good to see you too, Lee.” His smile twitches as he looks over my dress whites, and he adds, “Nice hat.”

His smile eases my tension for a few breaths, and I’m able to grin back at him as I lead the way. The base is busy, as it always is in the evenings. The patrols are changing, one watch giving way to another.

I turn to face Merendsen, wanting nothing more than to let the events of the past two weeks come pouring out of me. But instead I say quietly, “Are you hungry, sir? I thought I’d bring you to Molly’s for something to eat.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “I was thinking we ought to take a look around the base, see what’s going on. Things got a little hairy on the descent, it looks like you’ve got a bit of a stalemate happening outside the perimeter.”

There’s nowhere else quiet enough, unexpected enough, to have the conversation we need to have. For all I know, if I’ve aroused anyone’s suspicions, my room could be bugged. So instead I say, “Molly’s got some good stuff hidden away in his back room, sir. Sure you’re not hungry?”

Merendsen lifts a hand to rub it over the back of his head. I recognize the gesture from when he used to keep his hair cropped close. Now his hair is longer—not quite standard, but he’s not subject to regulations these days. He’s watching me closely. “On second thought, I am feeling a bit peckish. Lead the way, Captain.”

I pick my way through the crowds, avoiding the worst of the mud puddles and quagmires along the way. One of many reasons we rarely ever get up in our dress whites on the base. They never stay white for longer than five minutes, unless you stand perfectly still, indoors, and don’t think too hard about the swamp. We have to take the muddier, more crowded route through the middle of the base, making sure to keep rows of buildings between us and the swamps beyond the fences. I didn’t bring Merendsen all the way here only to have him picked off by an errant bullet from a trigger-happy rebel. As we walk it starts to rain, first only a few drops that patter off the prefab roofs, and then more. I quicken my steps.

The back door to Molly’s storeroom is locked, but I know where he keeps the key. I reach in under the bottom step, feeling for the indentation in the wood and then prying the key out with my fingernails. I fumble awkwardly with the lock, aware of Merendsen’s eyes on me. It’d be so much easier if the buildings here were fitted with standard thumbprint scanners, but with the constant power surges from storms and the length of time it takes for replacement electronic parts to get here when something breaks down, low-tech is better. And at least this way, Molly doesn’t have to explain to anyone why he added me to the list of stockers and deliverymen who’d have reason to have access to the bar.

Finally the lock gives way. I stow the key again and lead Merendsen up the wooden steps, shutting the door firmly behind him. The light’s on, but the room’s empty, no sign of Molly or any stock workers. Good.

I turn to face Merendsen again, but my explanations die on my lips. He doesn’t look at me the way Flynn did—he doesn’t see me covered in blood. He doesn’t look at me and see a murderer. He’s grinning at me, in that same way he used to when I screwed up in the field, when he was my captain a year ago—and suddenly it’s like no time has passed and nothing has changed. My mouth goes dry.

“All right, Lee.” His voice is soft, but firm. He has a way about him I’ve never managed to emulate, an ability to be confident, even stern, while still being pleasant and encouraging. “I’ve only got two days here—the military kicked up a fuss over a private auditor coming in with no warning, so that’s the limit. We have to work fast. Start at the beginning.”

I want to answer, but my throat is too tight, my mouth refusing to open. How can I begin to tell him how lost I am?