Underground_A Merfolk Secret

by M. N. Arzu

  At least you’re not meeting with Drake, he told himself as Julian’s senior secretary guided him to Julian’s office. In the months since he’d been working with Christopher, Julian had had few words with him, and never in private—much less at his office.

  “He’s finishing up a meeting, but he’ll be right with you,” the older woman said, opening the door to an office that was twice as big as his apartment. For someone who had lived at least a century, Julian’s sense of style was quite modern. A tinted glass wall gave way to an impressive sight of New York City, and black sofas invited him to sit and admire it.

  The air conditioner was set at its max here, as it was in their home, because merfolk needed cold environments to thrive. By now, Andrew’s wardrobe had a healthy amount of sweaters to deal with that.

  “Mr. Summers,” Julian said a moment later, as he finished signing something his secretary was holding.

  “Mr. Brooks,” Andrew said, extending a hand. Julian shook it with a ghost of a smile.

  “It does make us sound too formal,” he said, as the doors were closed behind him. “Can I offer you something to drink, Andrew?”

  With the way Andrew’s heart was racing, he wanted to say yes, but it would hardly look professional. “Just water, thank you.”

  “I’m sure this meeting came as a strange request,” Julian said a moment later, handing Andrew a cool glass of water. Sitting down, it somehow felt as if he was about to be given an employee evaluation, and he had no idea how it was going to go.

  “I can’t say I’m not intrigued.”

  “I’ve been meaning to talk with you for a while, but things seemed to keep happening,” Julian started, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been watching Chris, and he’s still struggling. He keeps saying everything’s going fine, but I can see he’s in pain. I know I’m putting you in a difficult position between disclosing your patient’s information and helping him out, but if there’s anything I can do to help you, I’ll gladly give it to you. And it might not even be something tangible, but rather ideas, any questions you might have that only a merman can answer…?”

  The question lingered in the air, expectant. Andrew had heard similar questions from parents of children, and he had to remind himself that, in merfolk society, Christopher was still considered a minor. Julian was gracious enough to understand that Andrew might very well refuse to share any details that Christopher might not want him to disclose, but he also had a point: Chris was a unique patient, and Andrew had no resources to use and no colleagues to compare notes with.

  “Chris is a wonderful patient,” Andrew said with all confidence. “He does his exercises, and he keeps with the routine. He’s invested in his recovery like no one I’ve ever worked with before.”

  “But…” Julian said, having no problem reading where Andrew was going.

  “But like you suspect, he’s stuck in his progress.”

  Chris hadn’t made any significant improvement in the past couple of months, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. “To be honest, Mr. Brooks—”

  “Julian, please.”

  “—to be honest, Julian, I’m running out of ideas. I know how the human body works, but all I have are educated guesses of how your bodies work. We’ve been working with his tail instead of his legs in the past weeks, and it does feel promising, it’s just that I don’t know how to guide him there. Your tails are not sea lion tails, or dolphin tails. I just don’t have a point of reference.”

  “You need to study how a merfolk body naturally works, without injuries.”

  “That would be ideal, yes, but I—I understand,” he added, not wanting to sound like a greedy mad scientist. “You don’t want your secrets exposed, and with the government knowing about you—”

  “Let me worry about them,” Julian said, slightly amused. “Before we go into detail about what you need to help my son, there’s something else I was hoping we could discuss. Have you noticed a change in his mood recently?”

  “With his therapy?”

  “In general. I know you didn’t know Chris from before ORCAS, but that might mean that you’re better qualified to notice it.”

  “Chris is one of the most positive people I’ve ever known,” Andrew said, frowning.

  “It drives his brothers insane, that’s for sure,” Julian said with affection. “He hasn’t been sleeping much lately,” he confided a moment later. “He’s trying to be subtle about it. He’s been trying to catch up with napping after you go in the afternoons.”

  “He’s been worn out, you’re right,” Andrew said, thinking back on the last couple of weeks.

  “Distracted,” Julian added. “He’s been…quiet. Not enough that his brothers have picked up on it, but…”

  “But he’s your son, so you’ve noticed.”

  Julian nodded once, exhaling as if admitting this was a heavy burden. “Maybe I’m imagining it, and this is not something I want Chris to worry about. I just thought that if someone would notice it at all, it would be you.”

  “I’ll pay closer attention.”

  “Thank you. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for him. We don’t take lightly the fact that you’ve kept our secret.”

  “It’s not been a problem at all.”

  “And I’m not taking lightly Chris’s full recovery, either. You said you needed to study a healthy body. What, exactly, do you need?”

  A long list of what he needed flashed in his mind, and he was sure that at least half of it was not going to be met with such eager eyes. “I think…I think we need to call Gwen.”

  * * *

  Around Gwen Gaston, six of her new colleagues listened to her every word with rapt attention. Gwen had been part of the Medox Hospital staff for ten days, and as much as she’d tried to avoid talking about Ray, the merfolk, or life as a semi-celebrity, she’d caved in to the pressure of awkward stares and silent questions.

  “So, he was still moving?” a young nurse asked, half horrified, half excited.

  “No, he was already in a coma. He never recovered.”

  The official story was that Ray had died without ever gaining consciousness. After seven months of repeating it, there was no question she hadn’t answered, and no conspiracy theory she hadn’t dodged.

  “He wasn’t put in a tank?” a resident asked, frowning. “I mean, that’s like the obvious answer. He was a merman.”

  “He breathed air. Putting him in water was just going to be one more complication in treating him.”

  “For all the good that did,” the guy said with disdain. “I bet if you’d submerged him in water—”

  “Was he cold and slimy?” the nurse from before interrupted, sensing Gwen was about to strangle the resident.

  “No. He wasn’t an eel,” Gwen said, now just praying for patience as the stupid questions started. She’d once told Chris the most outlandish beliefs people had about merfolk… She’d never seen him laugh so hard before. He was always eager to hear what people say to her, eager to complete a picture of what his existence meant to the world, she guessed.

  “What about his teeth?” the woman pressed. “Were they razor sharp? You know, like a shark’s, or a piranha’s?”

  Chris’s perfect human-like smile flashed in her mind. A lot had been discussed about the shape of Ray’s teeth by the “experts,” because they revealed what his diet was most likely to be. Sharp teeth for eating fish, was the standard answer, but it always made her pause.

  “They were—” Her phone interrupted the conversation. “Later,” she told the group as she answered the call while exiting the room. “Andrew, you’re a lifesaver.”

  “Happy to help,” he said. “Now, I hope you’re sitting down, because I’ve got one bombshell to tell you.”

  * * *

  “Hey, Alex!” Gill McKenzie called him as he was exiting History. “Wait up!”

  Alex slung his backpack on one shoulder, and waited as she put her laptop on its case, the SWIMMER sticker starting to peel off
at the edges. After their presentation on merfolk and legal personhood a couple of months ago, half of his class and his teacher had all signed up to the Sea Watchers International for Men-Merfolk Equality Relations organization, which meant he got to see the SWIMMER sticker a lot around class. If I ever find out who came up with that idiotic name…

  “What’s up?” he asked. She looked more energetic than usual.

  “Dad’s taking a case about merfolk,” she whispered, suddenly blushing as she intently looked at him. “You know, trying to prove they deserve rights?”

  “I thought your dad didn’t want to take cases where he knew he was going to lose?” The main reason they had been able to write such a convincing paper was because Gill’s dad was a lawyer with a deep interest in merfolk and their theoretical rights.

  “I know! It means he thinks he has a real chance with it. He wants to clear up all these conspiracy theories and alleged murders, and maybe—maybe even file charges against Roy Wallace.”

  Oh the irony, Alex fleetingly thought. Sure, Gill, give us rights so one of us can be charged with murdering another one of us.

  “No one knows where Roy Wallace is,” Alex said, feigning ignorance.

  “That’s not the point. He wants to launch an inquiry into what happened to Ray. No one ever asked for it, but a lot of people—including some scientists from ORCAS—are coming forward with information that contradicts the White House and UN’s declaration. Don’t you see it? Ray might be alive!”

  Alex stopped in the middle of the hallway, feeling as if every student around was watching him. He opened the door to the closest empty room, with Gill in tow.

  “You can’t do that,” he admonished.

  “I can’t do what?”

  “Your dad can’t do that. Ask about Ray and what happened to him. He died, Gill. Leave it like that.”

  She frowned, confused. “What are you talking about? Don’t you want to know what happened—”

  “I know what happened. Look, the world knows what happened, and we’d like them to keep believing it happened that way. If your dad or anyone else goes asking questions, you’ll just put innocent people in danger—including Ray.”

  Her eyes opened up. “Ray’s alive?” she whispered in wonder. Which was the opposite of what his inner voice was whispering in his ear: Shut up, you idiot!

  A rash started to spread across the back of his hands and up his arms. Cursing silently, he hid his hands in his pockets. “I’m not—I can’t tell you anything else. Just don’t encourage your dad. Don’t encourage others to join the SWIMMERs. Don’t—”

  “Talk to you?” she asked, her eyes dreadfully watery.

  He felt like the worst merman on the planet. “That’s not—that’s not what I meant. You’re the one who told me you didn’t want to know so you wouldn’t say anything to the wrong people. And that’s the bravest, most considerate thing anyone in your position has ever said. And as much as it pains me to say this, there is no men-merfolk relations. There’s only ‘you and me’ relations—”

  Whatever else he was planning to say died as Gill lunged at him and was suddenly kissing him. The electrifying contact sent a bolt through his body, scales shifting from the back of his neck to his lower back, following his shoulder blades at the soaring speed of his heartbeat. His rash was obliterated as the back of his hands also shifted. He lost his balance, colliding with the whiteboard, Gill’s lips still locked with his—or maybe his with hers? Stupidly, he realized that he was now the same height as Gill, who had her eyes closed while her reddish curls framed their faces.

  The bell rang, snapping them both out of it. “I’ll stop him, you can count on it,” she said breathlessly. Two seconds later, she collected her things and fled the classroom, leaving Alex frozen in place.

  He was in so much trouble.

  5

  Conspiracy Theories

  For the first time in seven months, Kate was not looking at a story featuring Julian Brooks, his kids, his company, or his genius way of getting off of the front page. She had new prey, and it felt strangely relieving to set her sights on another target.

  “Patrick O’Connor has been one busy bee,” Jeff said as he typed on his computer at light speed.

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” she said, highlighting a passage on a printed article. “This guy has been following stories for twenty years, and has four Pulitzers to prove it.”

  He’d started his career smoking out politicians, and then he’d moved on to bigger, global issues. From human trafficking to improper industrial waste disposal, the man had an eye for stories that pit human interest against corruption and power. He’d been dabbling in Wall Street stories five years ago, and then had taken a sharp turn into environmental issues, but that was the tip of the iceberg.

  “Whoa, he’s survived three assassination attempts, and has been taken hostage twice,” Jeff said, whistling.

  “You don’t get to uncover so much dirt without making a ton of enemies,” Kate said, reading one of the few interviews he’d given for the National Geographic magazine two years ago. “He says he wouldn’t love his job so much if it were easy,” she read out loud, chuckling. He sounded more adventurer and explorer than actual journalist, but she guessed that both skills worked well together if there was a clever pen behind them. “I wonder why he’s suddenly interested in merfolk.”

  “What’s not to like?” Jeff asked, raising both eyebrows. “A new intelligent species living in the ocean. Shady handling of Ray’s death. Government conspiracy to keep it quiet. Add to the mix rumors of bodies and hunters that go missing in the night, and there’s plenty to look into.”

  “Yes, but the whole thing has thousands of reporters looking into it. Patrick doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who goes for the story everybody’s after.”

  “Well, he’s not really going after merfolk, Kate. He’s going after you.”

  * * *

  Major White looked out the window at the street below. Melting snow banks and bare trees met his eyes as he searched for Drake’s tall figure walking among unsuspecting humans. It was still early for their meeting, but Drake always arrived before time.

  In the kitchen, Dr. Higgs finished preparing tea, a tradition he’d picked up at Cambridge thirty years ago. His apartment had become the neutral space between humans and merfolk, which worked perfectly fine for the Pentagon. It was in the middle of New York City, easy to contain, easy to patrol, easy to secure.

  “You look concerned,” Higgs commented as he brought a mug for White. He was a perceptive man, especially at the most inconvenient of times.

  “People are getting impatient in Washington,” White said, sitting down. “They want me to ask for more than Drake’s willing to give.”

  “You can always ask nicely,” Higgs said with a smile. “Besides, I’m sure Drake’s expecting you to ask for things you both know won’t happen. That’s how diplomacy works, isn’t it? You pull and push, offer and demand, and somewhere in between, you find common ground.”

  White sighed, thoughtful. “There’s so little we know about them.”

  “At least the little we do know seems normal enough. Except for the part where they turn into fish,” Higgs said with a shrug.

  The Brookses acted remarkably human, and White doubted they were putting on a show. But six months of surveillance had not yielded a complete picture, not even a blurry one, especially when it came to their “City,” and much less to the extent of their skills, both mental and physical.

  “They speak our language, eat our food, breathe our air,” Higgs added.

  “They hack our spy satellites, build mega-corporations, and breathe our water,” White pointed out. “They’re far from innocent creatures. They’re smarter than we are, and have the resources to cause some real damage.”

  “And so talking to them instead of shooting at them is the smart way to go.”

  White let out a rare smile. “The miracle here is that they want to talk to us.” He
sipped his tea, taking his time to enjoy the sweet flavor. “Christopher was an accident, I have no doubt about that. But why didn’t they disappear afterward? Why did they choose to stay?”

  “Perhaps you’re asking the wrong question, Major. ‘Why can’t they disappear?’ might have a far more interesting answer.”

  White frowned. He’d thought about this—obsessively so—and he’d always favored the idea that merfolk had chosen now so they could have some control over how to go about their first contact. It had never made sense that staying on the surface was their only choice.

  “Some in Washington think they’re not as dangerous as we think, that they can be easily overcome,” White said instead.

  “But then you remind them that they can hack into your spy satellites and build mega-corporations, and you’re not so sure,” Higgs finished with a knowing smile, raising his mug for a mock toast.

  “What do you think the answer is, doctor? Why do they stay?” White asked, curious.

  “Something about the surface has to be better than under the sea, to the point they’re not willing to let it all fall down and come back to it later,” Higgs said, pensive. “We know they live long lives, but building empires takes more than a few decades. I wouldn’t want to start over, either.”

  And that adds more questions, doesn’t it? How long do they live? And why would they want to build an empire? What’s their end game?

  That last question was particularly prominent in his mind after reviewing the two dozen accounts of unexplained incidents the Navy had given him. The ships targeted didn’t seem to fit a pattern, but it was plain to see that merfolk would have no problem provoking each and every one of those incidents. Was Brooks Inc. sabotaging the competitors? Or was there something more sinister going on?

  The doorbell rang, and both men turned to look. “Speaking of the devil,” Higgs said, standing up.