The Originators

CHAPTER 11: THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE UNDERGROUND (MERC)

I.

Sitting outside, dawn comes to Rome soundlessly, gently, subtly cool. The Sun doesn't burst open; instead it's a blind, gold-cast eye judging us. It is a mere flutter, masked by clouds and mist.

I shake my head. Dew flies from my hair, sparkling my face. I rub my chin; I need a shave.

Rubbing my fingertips against my beard, I'm aware of my odor. I can't recall smelling this bad my entire life. The perfume of lust, defeat, frustration, fatigue, anger, mead, cigarettes; finally, unwashed clothing rounds out the notes of my stench.

How dare that girl, that stupid, stupid girl rebuff me. I, who can have anyone I want, even now – down here on this miserable planet, am refused by some aging, meddling, narcissist, who is far too smart for her own good.

I jump up. Clutching the balcony's rail, I'm ready to scream to the heavens, scream to the Untouchables.

I give up, when I hear footsteps. For a moment, I trick myself into thinking it's her. She'll beg me to come back; to seduce her. I was so close to persuading her; then she throws all this complex morality at me. Never do that to a fellow. Males don't understand it when they have reached a certain point. It doesn't register, ever.

The footsteps hesitate. I am almost high with anticipation. Then I smell espresso.

"I know. I'm not Laura, Merc. Just plain old Poll with some espresso to cheer you up."

"Poll, nothing will cheer me up right now. I've been routed. By an amateur."

"I would offer a slight alternative viewpoint. You have feelings for the girl. It will continually blind you to what you believe your mission is." I'm grateful Poll doesn't say, "I told you so."

"How astute of you Poll." I rip my off my shirt; kick off my pants. I grab the espresso; downing it.

"Please shower. Please shave. I've never seen you this ungroomed."

"I know." My brother is actually concerned?

All I have left is Poll. I can't let him know that though.

As I shudder under the first blast of cold water, I know I need to morph back into me again. I'm tougher, smarter; cooler than Laura. I will destroy her. That's when I switch to the hot water. My eyes are burning; I am not crying. The water is merely stinging them. That's all.

I slowly sink to the bottom of the shower, legs splayed in front of me. The water keeps spraying down on me. I shift slightly to make it change the pattern of where the deluge falls. I can either punish myself with this downpour, or let it inflict minimal damage to my limbs.

Drawing my legs up, I wonder if I should just go back to the Moon Uni and beg forgiveness. The water keeps pouring; now I'm sinking my head into my elbows.

Laura has killed my heart. I was ready to... Well, we'll never know.

I leave Rome the next morning with Poll. Laura's already departed. I need to recalibrate my game. I want to go home. I want to go back Underground.

II.

When I think back, my years at MIT were frankly a disappointing joke. Everyone was glad I was "Merco", now re-baptized as "Merc", because I was exciting. I was the sexy, new graduate student. I knew more than everyone did. I took ideas, sketched out a brilliant new hypothesis, and proved them quite easily. It was unfair as I already knew the answers. It wasn't that I was a genius; it's merely we had struggled with, and solved these problems ages ago. It wasn't hard and it wasn't new.