"You think he's trouble?" Ness said.
"I don't know what to think." Tristan crouched for a better look at a tub bobbing along in the waves. "But that's reason enough for me to be careful."
"You're not scared, are you?"
"Scared?" She laughed and stood, knees popping. "What's he going to do, squirm us to death? He tries anything, and he'll find himself at the bottom of the Tasman Sea."
After a half an hour of ocean-gazing, Ness moved into the shadow of the tower to escape the pulse of the sun. An hour after that, Sprite's voice fritzed over the walkies.
"He's awake," Sprite said. "And he's lucid."
Ness and Tristan ran down the orange ramp to the interior. In medical, the man was sitting up on the table. His hands were still bound. Sprite helped him drink water from a dented metal sippy cup. Sebastian was nowhere to be seen.
"All right then," the stranger said, his voice ragged and froggy. "Would someone like to tell me what this is about?"
"We're wondering the same about you," Tristan said. "What happened to your ship?"
"I'm not sure. Is this a fuckin' submarine?"
"Here's the thing." Ness stepped beside the table. "I pulled you out of the water. I guess because when you see a person who can't save their own life, then you got to save it for them. But we don't know you. Except that someone hated you so much they decided to send your boat down to Davy Jones' Locker. If you ever want to get those tubes off your wrists, quit being a dick and answer some questions."
The man licked his cracking lips. His eyes were sunken, blazing blue from the hollows of his sockets. His tan skin had regained some color.
"My name is Lionel Fairview," he said. "And we were on a voyage to save my wife."
"Your wife?" Tristan kept her eyes on his. "She was on board?"
He laughed hollowly. "No way. She wasn't about to add sea sickness to the morning sickness. That's what this was about. She's in a bad way. I was going to get the doctor."
"The doctor?" Sam said. "This is someone you know?"
"Dr. Gohel. Spoke to him just two months ago. I've made this journey before."
"What happened this time?" Ness said.
The man shrugged his mole-mottled shoulders. "Ran into some assholes, didn't we? Pirates, I reckon. They fired on us. With cannons. Not some destroyer's artillery battery—I mean cannons firing cannonballs. We surrendered, but when they came aboard, that didn't count for much. They started shooting people. I dived over the rails. That's the last thing I remember."
Tristan folded her arms. "Did these pirates have any reason to know you'd be coming through here?"
"Don't see how. Unless they were lurking under my bed when I came up with the idea." He glanced between them. "You pulled me out of the water, yeah? Did you find anyone else?"
"Sort of," Ness said.
"No one alive," Tristan said. "I'm sorry."
Lionel grimaced, lips pulling back from his teeth. He lowered his face to his hand. His freckled shoulders shook. Ness frowned at the floor. Under other circumstances, he'd hope one of the women would step in to say the right thing, but given that the only women in the room were Tristan and Sam, he wasn't about to hold his breath.
"This sucks," Sprite said. "I'm sorry, dude."
The man sniffed, looked up, and nodded. "Do you know where the other ship went?"
"Not a trace," Ness said.
"They kidnapped my friends. I got to get them free."
"We're on our way to the east coast," Tristan said. "If you still want to find your doctor, we'd be happy to drop you off anywhere between Eden and Sydney."
"We're in a submarine. You could sneak up on them and they'd never notice, yeah?"
"And then what? With your friends still on board it, we torpedo it with torpedoes we don't have?" Tristan moved for the door. "You should rest. Let us know where you'd like to go."
The man looked like he might say more, then nodded. "Thanks for pulling me out of the drink. Didn't think I'd ever see a friendly face again."
They filed out of the room. Tristan closed the door.
"So," Sprite murmured. "Yeah."
Tristan sighed. "Sprite, I don't have the energy to beat it out of you. Say what you're going to say."
"We're just going to drop him off? After his ship was attacked by pirates? Who alternately killed and kidnapped his friends?"
"I'm waiting to hear the part that's any of our business."
Sprite pressed a palm to his forehead. "You're colder than a penguin's butt. If we're still doing this when we're eighty, can I get someone else to promise to take care of me?"
"Not it," Ness said. "And if we helped everyone we ran into who's in a shitty situation, we'd never have time for anything else. Plus, we'd be covered in shit."
"You're concerned we might lose valuable time we could use chasing Swimmers? When's the last time we even saw an alien?"
"Four months ago. That one on the Gold Coast."
"That's right. That one. And it was gimpier than I am. Looked like it had lost a fight with a blender." Sprite arched his dark eyebrows. "I'm starting to wonder if there are any Swimmers left to fight."
"Of course there are," Tristan said. "If we can't find any, that doesn't mean they're gone. All that means is we need to hunt harder."
"If we can't find any, maybe that means they're no longer a threat. Kicking their asses was about helping humanity get back on its feet, right? If that's what we're about, maybe it's time to quit worrying about stomping on the Swimmers and start giving a hand to the humans."
"You want to redefine our mission," Sam said.
"It sure sounds like we should talk about it."
Ness leaned against the corridor wall. "If we're gonna do this, can we at least go sit down? I'll remind you I spent all morning jumping in and out of the Tasman."
They relocated to the galley and took up seats around the long wooden table they'd brought in to replace the bizarrely proportioned Swimmer one that had come with the sub.
"Here's my position," Tristan said. "I don't give a shit."
"Let me add that to the minutes." Ness glanced around the cramped, dark space. "Where's my pen?"
"I signed up for this to kill the bastards who nearly killed us. Half the time, I'm not sure people deserve to be saved. Want proof? Look no further than the pirates who attacked Lionel's ship."
"He's trying to save his wife," Sam said.
Tristan turned, head cocked. "By running off on some harebrained thousand-mile round-trip boat voyage. Do you even believe his story?"
"Can't say. If it's true, we're uniquely positioned to help him."
"Look." Ness leaned back, perching a mug of lukewarm tea on his stomach. "I'm not saying we abandon our bug-stomping prime directive. But I kind of like the idea of using our team and this ship to dole out karmic justice where it's needed."
"You do?" Tristan said. "I thought you looked at people the way most people look at mosquitos."
"I wouldn't argue with that. But it feels like helping this guy would be the Way."
"The Way."
"I know. Crab-monster hoodoo about life's struggle to survive. But damn me if it doesn't make more sense than any of the human religions I've ever heard about."
"Sounds like it's time for a vote," Sprite said. "In the event of a tie, deciding vote goes to Sebastian. So, do we help this guy? Yea or nay?"
"Yea," Sam said.
Tristan set down her mug with a clink. "Nay."
"And a yea from me." Sprite turned to Ness. "Well?"
Ness sucked his front teeth. "This time, I'm going yea."
"There you have it. Three to one."
"You want to help this guy?" Tristan said. "Fine. But first, I need to make sure he's telling the truth." She stood and turned to go.
Ness stood too. "What are you gonna do to him?"
Sam grabbed his upper arm. "Let her go."
"Like I could stop her? I just want to know if I need to close my eyes and cover my ears.
"
Tristan gave him a look. "Trust me, okay?"
She exited the galley, footsteps fading down the hallway.
"This isn't that big a deal, is it?" Sprite said. "Worst case, we waste a few days helping somebody deliver a baby."
Sam retook her seat. "Or the pirates get us, too. And make us take a long walk off a short plank."
While Tristan was out, Ness lapsed into immediate doubt and self-recrimination. He'd already saved Lionel's life. Wasn't that enough? Why put the sub at risk to help one person? They had much bigger responsibilities than that. They didn't know the Swimmers were wiped out. Those sneaky SOBs had a troubling habit of making themselves look scarce just before they were about to drop a new bomb on the world.
Of late, there'd hardly been any Swimmers to be seen, though. Whether the aliens were vanquished or in hiding, he knew this much: he and his merry gang of sailors hadn't done anything to stop them for a long time.
So why not follow the path of the only thing he believed in?
Tristan walked in five minutes later. Ness eyed her hands. No blood.
"I think," she said, "he's telling the truth."
"Oh yeah?" Ness said. "How'd you figure that out?"
"I had Sebastian put his balls in a claw."
"You what?"
Tristan laughed, glancing at Sam. "I asked him questions about his wife. What's her birthday. What color are her eyes. Which chore does she hate most. He answered without missing a beat."
"So either he's telling the truth, or he's a sociopathic liar."
"Guess so. I've made my opinions clear. If you three still want to help this guy, I won't fight it."
"We're not married to the dude," Ness said. "If it looks like we're headed into a storm, we can always change course."
He got up and wandered back to medical. Lionel appeared to be asleep, but as Ness made to leave, the man's eyes fluttered open.
"Hey," Ness said. "We've decided we don't like the idea of pirates cruising around smashing whatever they feel like. You want to go after them? Or would you rather find your doctor?"
Lionel rolled on his side and propped himself up with his elbow. "My wife's in a bad way. She'll need a doctor before the birth. Right now, though, my friends could be killed at any minute. I've got to try to get them back."
"Can you remember what direction the pirates headed?"
He closed his eyes, crinkling his brow. "It was morning. I could see the shadows on the backs of their sails. They were heading west, away from the sun."
Ness closed the door and jogged down the dim, brackish-smelling hall to the control room. Inside, Sebastian disentangled his tentacles from the keyboards and motion-detecting pads and stood.
"DO WE HAVE DIRECTION"
"I talked with the others," Ness signed. "If you're cool with it, we'd like to see if we can catch up to the jerks who attacked Lionel." He explained the discussion he'd had with the rest of the crew. "What do you think?"
"WHAT WE DO DOESN'T MATTER"
"You mean you think they're long gone? Or did you forget to take your medication?"
Sebastian spun his claws in frustration. "IF EVERYTHING ENDS, THEN ALL ACTS GO NOWHERE. ALL THAT MATTERS IS THE WAY. THUS WE MUST FOLLOW"
"Sweet," Ness gestured. "Lionel said they headed west. Sailboat of some kind. Think we can catch them?"
"THE OCEAN IS TOO BIG TO EVER KNOW" Sebastian settled back at the controls. "WE WILL SEE IF THIS PART WILL SHOW US WHAT WE WANT TO SEE"
The engines rumbled back to life. A ship as big as theirs took a minute to get up to speed and Ness didn't need to seat himself against the momentum. They submerged, running shallow enough for the periscope to scan the surface.
Above, the winds were steady but moderate, meaning the sub could easily outpace anything sail-powered. The other vessel had an hours-long head start, though, and as the afternoon trickled past, Ness found it harder and harder to stay focused on watching the gold-lined waves.
Once sundown neared, it became impossible to make out any details at all, what with all the light bouncing around. Sebastian slowed and surfaced and Ness headed up top with a pair of binoculars. He kept his eyes locked on the horizon, but the only thing to see was water and sky.
Night came. Half of a moon shined from above, but all that did was trick him into thinking every shadow on the waves was that of a ship running dark. His stomach filled with the small feeling of sour hope. If they hadn't spotted the rogue vessel by sunup, he was sure they never would. He wasn't sure why he cared. He'd just met Lionel that day. For all he knew, the man was secretly a child molester. But they hadn't had a case to run with in so long that it felt crummy for it to peter out so fast.
In the darkness, he did as much listening as watching. The sub rumbled steadily, water foaming in its wake. He found himself imagining he could hear the creak of timbers and the snap of sails.
A quarter mile ahead and to starboard, a light snapped on. White sails bloomed from the darkness. Ness swung the binoculars. He'd been expecting a sailing yacht like the one they'd stashed on Hawaii, but what he saw froze him in place: a fully rigged twin-masted frigate.
The lantern winked off. Now that he knew where to look, he could just make out the boat's shape against the black waters.
"Guys," he said into his walkie talkie. "I've got the ship!"
"The ship?" Tristan said. "How do you know?"
"Because it's pretty much the Black Pearl? It's about thirty degrees starboard. We're coming up fast."
As he'd spoken, he'd swung to the side, as if afraid the frigate might be eavesdropping. From the corner of his vision, light flared again. Not the calm light of a lantern, but a blinding aster, fading to a red-white glow. Smoke gushed behind the streaking rocket.
"Holy shit!" he yelled into the walkie. "They're firing on us!"
The rocket streaked toward the sub. He was way up near the fore. He'd never make it to the hatch in time. He ran to the side of the ship and leaped as far as he could into the dark waters.
4
Hidden behind the stand of brush looking down on the Dunemarket, Raina touched the hilt of her sword. "We must run."
Bryson removed his finger from the trigger of his rifle. "Are you crazy, Raina? That's Anson. Let me take the shot."
"That man is false. A double. Don't you see? They knew that by reopening the market and putting Anson on display, they might lure me from the island."
Far below, on the stage overlooking the market, the man who wasn't Anson withdrew into the shade of the tarp. He prowled the stage, throwing his hands wide just as Anson would do.
"To let you be free," said a voice that was Anson's, in sync with the mouth of the man on the stage, "we must let this place be free. Let the Dunemarket be reopened!"
Cheers rang from the crowd. Just weeks ago, some of those people had been Raina's. She caught herself trying to identify those who cheered him.
"But that's his voice," Henna said. "I remember it from the Battle of San Pedro. He talks like he loves you, but listen close, and you can hear the lie."
"What if he is here?" Drea's blond head bobbed as she worked for a better look. "He could be under the stage. Or that wall behind it. Talking into the mike while his double prances around."
"Sure," Carl said. "Or it's a taped spiel and he's 25 miles away in the Heart. One thing's sure: if this is a trap, it's only a matter of time before they start shooting."
Raina glanced across the brown ridges on the other side of the canyon. She saw no movement besides the toss of the palms. Below, the impostor spoke on, promising them that he knew the market's trade was their livelihood, and that he would give his all to see it restored.
"Drea's right," she said. "He's here somewhere. Does anyone see him?"
The others swept the street and hills with their binoculars and scopes.
"Nothing," Carl said. "But if you're right, he's not going to expose himself."
Bryson sighted back in on the stage. "How about I shoot that bastar
d just to be sure?"
"No," Raina said. "We'll withdraw. Circle around to the north road and—"
A shot rang out, echoing between the banks of the canyon. Dirt spumed to their left. Bryson and Carl flinched. Raina cast about for the shooter.
"They've seen us," she said. "Fall back to the forest!"
Another shot slammed into the dirt, two feet closer. A third bullet clipped through the brush, showering them with aromatic splinters of sage. They were below the top of the hill. Descending would only bring them closer to the enemy. But climbing or retreating the way they'd come in would mean scampering over open ground.
"I have a bead on the shooter," Drea said.
"Pin him down." Raina moved into a crouch. "Ready to run?" The other three nodded. "Fire when ready."
Drea pulled the trigger. The heavy rifle bucked against her shoulder, swaying her. On the far hills, the shot rapped into the trunk of a pine. Raina glimpsed the motion of a figure rolling behind it.
"Move!" Raina ran, dust whirling behind her. The others thudded along behind her. Drea fired again, the shot crackling through the morning sky. Faraway screams rose from the Dunemarket.
Raina sprinted to the next line of shrubs and slid behind it. Another dash would put the edge of the hill between them and the shooter. "Bryson, cover Drea!"
Wordless, the man installed himself in the bushes, bracing his rifle over a gnarled branch. He fired once, twice, thunderous. During the scramble, Raina had lost track of the shooter. Before she could relocate him, Drea stood from cover, rifle in hand, and sprinted downhill.
Bryson's rifle roared. A second shot boomed from across the canyon. Beside the pine he'd been sheltering behind, a man fell writhing in the yellow grass; in that same instant, Drea pitched forward into the dust. Her blond head lay open to the sky.
Men shouted back and forth from the street, calling out positions. Raina cursed and bolted from cover and back toward the strip mall. The others followed. No one suggested they go back for Drea, but Drea wouldn't curse them for it. She knew she had given her life for theirs.
Relapse (Breakers Book 7) Page 4