The incessant beep of the electrocardiogram agitated the anxious thoughts that mired Meryll.
“You really gotta stop doing this, Meryll.”
Meryll’s gloomy rumination was broken by the voice of Septus, who sat by the cot expertly repairing the burnt servo-motor in her leg. The socket the prosthesis attached to tingled unpleasantly since the replacement of a few burnt connectors; a phantom pain in a limb she never had.
“You’re already dying, you don’t need to accelerate it. Or at least don’t keep burning through our supplies if you’re going to waste our efforts.”
Meryll glowered, flexing a joint to pinch at one of his fingers as he tinkered with the prosthesis, eliciting a yelp and a glower of his own. Meryll held their silence, lacking a response to the stinging accusation.
“It’s been- what, twenty one years?- since we abandoned the Grace of the Myriad, and thirty five or so since we’ve been working together? Gene-therapy did wonders to extend what time you had left. Frankly, I’m baffled you’re still alive. I’m inclined to believe you’re blessed at this point, or at least endowed with some grander purpose you’ve yet to fulfill.”
Meryll rolled her eyes. “Save it for church.”
“Then what keeps you going then, Meryll? What purpose?”
“Spite.”
“That’s a pile of Mordred shit and you know it.”
“Why not? I exist in spite of everything and everyone that made an effort to crush and whittle me down.”
“Perhaps before being acquired.” Septus placed their tools down, calmly turning to fully face Meryll. “When I first met you, you were a despondent mess. You had the aura of someone who had given up, just going through the motions of expectation. Any spite you had fomenting in your heart, it was gone.” A short silence punctuated his remark as Meryll pondered her response.
“I wanted to live. I wanted to live, without struggling every moment for it.”
“We could have left when the Myriad abandoned Blessed Harbor. Instead, you somehow convinced me to stick around in this mess. Why give up what comfort the Myriad offered?”
“I… don’t know. It felt right. The Coalition has been struggling with the Sovereigns…” Meryll struggled for a response.
Septus rested a palm on Meryll’s, firmly squeezing it. “I think you found a purpose. One of your own making, not imposed upon you by others and free of external influence. One that puts you in a position to fight back knowing that your efforts, no matter how small, meant something.”
Meryll locked onto his gaze. It irritated them how he did a better job of putting words to their thoughts than they did.
Septus dropped his head, continuing. “Sorry about my remark. It wasn’t warranted. I hate seeing you burn yourself out, pushing yourself to the brink in every little encounter… as if doing so in the process of fighting back will somehow make your efforts more impactful.”
“It might.”
“And it might not! You’re not alone, Meryll, act like it! We want you to live, Meryll. I want you to live.”