Corruption (Part 2 of the Black & White Trilogy)

By Nick Wilford

Wellesbury Noon and Ezmerelda Dontible have found themselves in a position where they can make their native land somewhere that lives up to its name: Harmonia. However, they’re setting their sights further afield for their number one task: eradicating the disease that has plagued the neighbouring country of Loretania for generations and allowed the privileged Harmonians to live in a sterile environment.

After dispatching a team of scientists to Loretania, armed with cratefuls of an antidote and vaccine and headed up by their friend, Dr George Tindleson, Welles, Ez, and Welles’s brother Mal – who grew up in that benighted nation – start to worry when they hear nothing back, despite what they had agreed. Commandeering a fishing boat to follow the science team over the sea, they soon find that, while the disease may be on the way out, a new kind of infection has set in – the corruption they thought they had stamped out in Harmonia.

Can they get to the root of the problem and eliminate it before even more damage is done to an innocent people?

*** Warning – this book contains themes that some sensitive readers may find upsetting. ***

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nick Wilford
• Release date: Feb 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463205662

Nick Wilford

Nick Wilford is a writer and stay-at-home dad. Once a journalist, he now makes use of those early morning times when the house is quiet to explore the realms of fiction. When not writing he can usually be found spending time with his family or cleaning something. He has four short stories published in Writer’s Muse magazine. Nick is also co-running a campaign to get a dedicated specialist college built in Scotland. Visit him at http://nickwilford.blogspot.co.uk/.

Book preview

CORRUPTION

Part 2 of the Black & White Trilogy

Nick Wilford

Copyright © 2019 by Nick Wilford

Superstar Peanut Publishing

Cover Art © 2019 by germancreative

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or events, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

As ever, my eternal love and gratitude goes out to my family for their ongoing support as I continue my writing adventure.

It’s been a bumpy ride to get this second part of the Black & White trilogy into a shape that’s fit for publication and for that, I must thank my critique partners, Kyra Lennon, Annalisa Crawford and JE O’Neil for showing me where I was going wrong. I would not have been able to get this book out without your help.

To my readers, thanks for sticking with me – I hope you enjoy this second part of the journey!

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Connect with the Author

Other Works by Nick Wilford

About the Author

Chapter 1

Wellesbury took his lunch out of the food production unit and followed Ezmerelda through the newly installed double doors to the grass area outside the canteen.

Grass. A concept that had been alien to him until a few months ago. So many things were new, it was making his head spin. But in a good way. Everyone seemed more relaxed. He and Ez sat down on opposite sides at one of the tables that had been placed in the picnic area.

Taste good? he asked as his girlfriend took a bite of the steamed trout on her plate. He’d chosen a vegetable lasagne. Okay, so the food was still synthetic, but they were working on that and at least there was a choice of menu options now.

Mmm, she said. Yeah. I wonder what the real thing will be like.

Newly recruited teams were at that moment exploring coastal areas, to see if any fish still lived there. Early reports had been encouraging.

It’s weird to think there could be actual animals here, said Wellesbury, slicing into his lasagne. Like the ones we saw in Fusterbury, but a bit cleaner, hopefully.

She laughed. Yeah, we need just the right amount of dirt to be healthy. I really hope George gets his expedition together soon. People are still dying over there.

I hope so, too. I mean, we don’t even know how many family members Mal’s got left. They need to set up the communication system.

Ezmerelda skewered a potato with her fork. I suppose we’ve just got to trust he knows what he’s doing. I know there’s a lot of things to do here, but we’re not the ones in dire need.

He’s getting there. The immunity potion is a big thing. No point him and his team dying of the same disease they’re trying to save people from.

She sighed. I know, I know.

The sun peeked out from behind a cloud, and she closed her eyes, a smile lighting up her face with pleasure. Wellesbury wasn’t going to get tired of seeing that smile any time soon. And real weather was so much more interesting, now they’d got rid of that atmospheric cloud that only permitted a watered-down outline of the sun to peek through.

Well, let’s go and see what Mal’s up to before we go back. Wellesbury rose from his seat and put his empty plate in the outside vaporiser. That was one piece of technology that was certainly worth keeping. Not everything the Reformers had done was bad.

Wellesbury’s long-lost twin brother, Mallinger, who had come to their country looking for help but instead had only narrowly avoided an agonising and lonely death in a jail cell, had enrolled in Magnificence High School. Ability groups had been organised for the first time, and while he was obviously at the opposite end from Welles and Ez due to his lack of any previous learning, he’d picked up reading and writing remarkably quickly. His practice sheets were bordering on legible.

Mal was sitting at a table at the opposite end of the grass area, chatting and laughing with his classmates. He’d settled in well, picking up his own set of friends. A far cry from his arrival, when he’d been callously labelled a demon by a closed-minded mob. Welles was glad people had become more accepting since the curtain had fallen on the government’s activities.

Hey Mal, what’s up? said Welles, playfully punching him on the shoulder.

Oh, hey bro, said Mal. Just chilling with the guys. About ten of them were squeezed round the small table, and the rest continued with their boisterous conversations. Welles saw a lot of himself in Mal; what he might have been like if he had been raised in a less constrictive environment, and had more love from his parents. They were twins, after all, but separated from the moment they were born.

What you doing after school?

Got a big football practice with my team here.

Football was the game that Mal had brought over from Fusterbury, and it had proved wildly popular. It was simpler and less elitist than gravball, the version that had been invented by the Reformers. Welles used to be the star of the school gravball team, but had lost interest since his friendships with his former teammates had gone awry. He’d washed his hands of them. Somehow, they seemed to prefer the old, regimented way of life. He enjoyed a kickabout with Mal now and then, but these days that was as far as his sporting activities went.

I’ll see you at home after, then.

Not got a hot date? asked Mal, grinning at Ez, who rolled her eyes and tutted affectionately.

Oh, you know. Don’t want to get sick of each other, said Welles, looking at Ez and winking.

She shook her head and said, Right, that’s enough of you silly boys’ antics. Time to get back to class.

Yes, ma’am! said Mal, raising his hand to his temple in a mock salute.

See you later, said Welles, waving at Mal and going after Ez.

At first, his parents had resisted having Mallinger live with them, even after the truth of Fusterbury had been exposed. It was just such a culture shock having more than one child in the house, they said. But as Dr Tindleson had explained, Mal was their child too, and if it hadn’t been for Wellesbury, they would never have known he even existed, let alone have had the chance of a relationship with him. And, thought Welles, Mal had softened them a little bit. There was still something about him that seemed so innocent, and he was so trusting and eager to please, in spite of everything he’d been through. Amazing, really.

The three of them hung out in Welles’s room often, and this might also be a beneficial factor for his parents; with the scientists slowly working on people’s biological make-up to effect a return to a previous, primitive state, Mal could act as a sort of chaperone.

*

That evening, Dr George Tindleson was hard at work in his lab, alongside his assistant, Harold Frambling. He was working on the antidote again – his number one priority at the moment. He poured a green liquid from a beaker into a large chemical jar containing a clear solution, and watched as it turned a much more violent shade of green.

That’s still too strong a dose, said Frambling.

George nodded, too distracted to talk. They’d been at this for hours, having dedicated the day to finding the perfect formula. A lot of work had been done to make changes in Whitopolis, and he was pleased with the progress, but this was the thing that was bugging him. And the thought of yet more people twisted in agony from the clawing disease – as he’d seen on Ezmerelda’s video which had been broadcast to the citizens on that glorious day when the government fell – was what spurred him on.

He’d used the stasis tank treatment to cure Wellesbury, Ezmerelda and Mallinger, as well as the members of government he’d infected by trickery so that he and his young friends could stage their coup. Those men – and they were all men – were now languishing in prison awaiting a trial. There hadn’t been a trial in centuries, due to the lack of crime, so that was something else that needed to be set up. They could wait for now.

But the tanks were not an option for using in bulk. There were simply too many people in Loretania in need of help. The tanks were too heavy to transport by boat, and besides, the procedure took too long. He liked the new boats that had been built – he’d been to see them – but travelling light would definitely be the key.

What he wanted was a simple fluid, containing just the right proportion of nanobots to consume the disease, that could be administered by injection. Then the patients could just form a line. There also needed to be a vaccine version to give to those who had been lucky enough to escape the disease so far.

It was a balance, though. Too many nanobots, and they would start attacking the healthy, vital tissue in the patient’s body. Too few and the job wouldn’t be done properly. And George didn’t have any subjects to work on. He wasn’t about to infect anyone with the disease in order to subject them to his experiments, which could go badly wrong.

He and his team would also have to vaccinate themselves before making the trip, to be on the safe side. All in all, he had his work cut out.

I’ll try making another batch, said Frambling, hurrying off with the beaker.

George sighed. His young friends were constantly on at him to get it sorted out, but he knew it had to be exactly right or there was no point. And yet, he couldn’t get rid of the gnawing feeling of guilt that had been swilling around inside him ever since the suffering in Fusterbury had been exposed three months ago.

They needed him, and he was feeling the pressure.

Chapter 2

The next morning, Wellesbury and Mallinger were sitting having breakfast together, their parents already having left for work, when their pads pinged at the same time to notify that a message had come in. They looked at each other, then both scrabbled to get the message.

It’s from George, said Welles. He says he wants to meet us at the lab after school because he’s got something to show us.

Ditto, said Mal, looking up from his pad. I didn’t manage to read the whole message, but yeah, that’s what he was saying.

A spark of hope flared in Welles, and he tried to contain it. D’you think this means he’s found just the right antidote?

I really, really hope so, said Mal, a big grin breaking out across his face. He’s not been messaging us constantly, he’s been too busy, so calling us in must mean he’s got really good news.

It might not mean what we think it does. We shouldn’t get our hopes up, said Welles, then instantly regretted he’d said it upon seeing a cloud of dismay seeming to descend on his brother. This meant much more to Mal, of course. He had got to know his biological family, but the family who’d raised him had members who were ill, some had died before he arrived here, and he had no idea who else might have been taken in the three months he’d been away. It was an awful position to be in.

Let’s just go to school and try not to think about it. Welles cleared his bowl and got up to take it to the vaporiser.

Mal followed suit. D’you think Ez will be there tonight?

Bound to be, I’d say. Ezmerelda had really taken Mal under her wing, and she was very much a calming influence for him in times of stress. Whatever’s happening, George’ll keep all of us in the loop.

They left for what seemed – to Mal in particular – an excruciatingly long day at school.

*

After the last class, Welles and Ez waited for Mal at the main doors. When he arrived, he was visibly shaking; he gave them a quick wave, apparently too excited to speak.

Hey there, calm down! said Ez, laying a hand on his arm. Let’s just wait and see what George has to tell us. It might just be a general update because he hasn’t told us anything recently. Like Welles, she didn’t want to give him false hope, although she really wished that George had perfected his antidote, too.

Y-yeah, said Mal, sweeping a hand through his hair. It’s just... when you live one moment to the next not knowing which of your loved ones are alive or dead, it’s hard not to get worked up about things like this.

Welles and Ez looked at each other. Neither knew quite what to say when this subject came up. Welles felt a deep wave of sympathy at his brother’s plight rolling through his gut; he let it settle, then clapped Mal on the shoulder. Come on, let’s just get going.

Twenty minutes later, they were walking into the entrance vestibule that covered the steps leading down into government headquarters. This was new; formerly, no regular citizens knew how to get to the complex, which sprawled underground. Employees got there via secret tunnels, or there was a gate in the city wall if arriving from outside Whitopolis. Both Welles and Ez were familiar with that. But now, anyone could walk in and out whenever they pleased. In fact, there were various entrance points at different locations throughout the city.

In the absence of the former members of government – currently in jail awaiting trial – positions of responsibility had been filled by members of the public, on no other basis than that it was felt they would be a good person for the job. Their offices were open access, meaning anyone could wander in and out and see what was going on. Welles liked the system. The idea had been to get rid of the elitist power structure that had been in place and put everyone on the same level, and it appeared to be working. Not everything always ran smoothly, but at least it made for a much more relaxed and friendly atmosphere.

They walked in silence through the twisting corridors. Occasionally a government worker they recognised would pass, and amicable greetings were exchanged.

Eventually, they stood before the airlock that led to the labs. This part of the former setup was still in place, at least; it was important not to let germs in to contaminate the machines. They could let themselves in, though, by entering a code into the keypad, instead of having to wait to be allowed access as before.

Welles punched in the five-digit code and the outer door swooshed to the side. They all stepped forward; the door shut behind them and they shivered as a wave of cold air swept down them from head to toe. This would eliminate any toxins and other unwanted elements. Then the door in front of them opened and they walked out into the science suite.

This was a place that Welles had liked from the first moment he’d set eyes on it, even though at the time, he’d been wracked with a wasting disease which was in the final stages of its terrible plan to ravage his system and snuff out his life. After the citizens’ takeover, he’d been able to come in and wander round at his leisure, chatting to the scientists and seeing what they were up to. They’d had a lot of work to do, as many of the formulas that regulated aspects of life in the country were being undone or altered. He still didn’t fully understand it all, but it was fun trying.

Where’s George? said Ez, looking around. Scientists were scurrying from one machine to another; a couple noticed them and offered quick smiles and waves.

I guess he’s in his office. Must be really busy with something, said Welles. Mal looked at him and he saw that light of hope enter his round eyes again. He groaned inwardly. Whatever it is, he finished.

Let’s go, then, said Ez. They made their way through the cavernous space, listening to the symphony of sounds emitted by the various processes; gurgles, hisses, and occasional muffled booms.

A few moments later they stood outside George’s office, which was behind a door set in the far wall of the lab. Welles knocked once. Come in! came the almost instant reply.

Welles pushed the door open and entered, followed by the others. Dr George Tindleson sat behind his desk, a toothy smile crinkling the skin around his eyes as he motioned them in. Welles’ spirits lifted. George looked like he was in a good mood – even more so than usual – which Welles hoped meant he had good news.

Unlike a lot of places, his office hadn’t changed much in the time since the takeover. It had been unusual before that in that it was a riot of colour, not just uniform white. George clearly liked his space how it was, and had been too busy to think about redecoration.

Ah, my three fine young friends, he said, pushing away his pad, which he had been tapping at, and leaning back in his chair to appraise them. Or the three musketeers, as I like to think of you. They looked mystified, so he went on, That’s another classic book I’m lucky enough to have in my possession. We must get round to making these more widely available. But first things first; I know there are more pressing issues at hand. Sit down, do. George kept three spare seats in his office, as the group had made several visits before. As they sat down, his eyes rested on Mal. Welles glanced at him too; his face was blank, so he was clearly trying not to get overexcited despite George’s enthusiastic demeanour.

Well, I’ll get straight to the point, George carried on. Harold and I were up most of the night, pushing on through to get the right formula for our antidote. I wanted to nail it once and for all, and I’d vowed to myself not to crash out until it was perfect. The problem had always been the lack of subjects to test on. Yes, we could have infected one of our number with the disease and then tried out the vaccine, but the difficulty was whether there would be any unforeseen side effects if the mixture was wrong. Then we could have used the tank, but the vaccine might have affected its efficiency. But, but, but. So many buts... He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. "But, ahaha, last night we had a breakthrough. What we did was..."

Mal’s eyes widened and he fidgeted in his seat, looking like he was ready to jump up. The scientific jargon was difficult to take in, and Welles knew what he was really thinking. So now you can go and cure my people?

Welles smiled and laid a calming hand on his shoulder. Nothing was ever straightforward; doubtless there would be other procedures to go through before the expedition could set off. As if to confirm his thoughts, George said, I would be packing a bag right now if I could. But alas, it will have to be another week. We have to prepare an inoculation version of the antidote. I see from your faces you fail to understand this; it means a dose not to treat the disease, but to prevent us picking it up in the first place. It will prevent complications and allow us to get on with our task more quickly without worrying about being susceptible. Then, there is the matter of preparing mass quantities of the formula. My best brains are hard at work at it as I speak.

This was all very exciting, but Welles had a question. He took advantage of George’s pause for breath to interject. He was a great guy, but he did have a tendency to get carried away, go on and on, and not allow anyone else to get a word in edgeways.

So... he clasped his hands in front of him, twiddling his thumbs together. "Who