Relapse (Breakers Book 7)

by Edward W. Robertson

  Still at the helm, Sprite set them in motion, heading toward Wollongong. After Ness had a quick chat with Sam, she went to keep an eye on the strangers while Ness brought Tristan and Sebastian to the galley.

  "You want to help them," Tristan said. "Even though Lionel lied to us and, as far as I can see, their problems don't have one iota to do with ours. Why?"

  "Because," Ness said, and for a few awkward seconds, that was all he had. "You can be downright aggressive with people, you know that?"

  "Stay on target."

  "Putting it in terms I can understand?"

  "Did it help?"

  "Yeah, actually. But no fair cheating."

  She poured herself a glass of water. They had a filter, but when she drank it, she made a face Ness recognized from personal experience—the faint, brackish tang the sub put into everything it cranked out.

  "YOU SAID THERE IS 'PENICILLIN,'" Sebastian signed. "THIS HELPS HUMANS LIVE VERSUS THE SMALLER LIFE INSIDE THEM"

  "Bacteria." Ness gestured slowly to remind Sebastian of the word. "It's kind of a big deal."

  "ALTHOUGH THE WAY PONDERS WHICH LIFE IS WORTH MORE: ONE HUMAN, OR THE BILLION BACTERIA"

  "If I'm the human, I can answer that in a snap."

  "A SNAP?"

  "What are you two writhing about?" Tristan said.

  Ness rolled his eyes. "You really got to learn the language one of these days. We're debating the Way."

  "In that case, my ignorance is bliss."

  "Here's the deal," he said, signing simultaneously. "I don't like that he lied to us, but I get why he did—not from malice, but to keep himself safe. Meanwhile, he's got a lead on a guy who can produce penicillin. And that's pretty cool."

  "I see." Tristan sipped her water. "So what this comes down to is that you have a raging boner for anything technological."

  He willed himself not to blush. "We're young, right? Healthy. Back before modern medicine, healthy people had a bad habit of becoming not healthy overnight. Any one of us could come down with something at any time. Here's my proposal: we escort them to the doctor, then bring them home to New Zealand. In exchange, we get a cut of the doc's medicine—and, if they have the facilities, a safe harbor to plug up any holes in the sub."

  Tristan set down her glass and considered it. "That's not bad. It's a risk, but at least there's a tangible reward attached."

  "Sebastian? What say you?"

  "IF WE HAVE LEARNED ANYTHING, IT IS HOW SUDDEN DISEASE CAN PUT EVERYTHING TO RUIN. I SAY WE GO"

  Ness checked in with Sprite and Sam, but after explaining the plan, they had no issues. He and Tristan went to talk with Lionel. According to him, the last he'd heard, Dr. Gohel was holed up in the woods just south of Sydney.

  "And what do you think of the deal?" Ness said. "We could use some antibiotics just as bad as your people."

  "Without you, all three of us would be dead," Lionel said. "I'd give you the shirt off my back. Hell, mate, at this point, you can have the skin off my back."

  Sebastian took over the helm and set course for Sydney. Cruising on the surface would slow them down, but he estimated they'd make port in five hours. Ness spent all of it asleep.

  When he got up, his muscles alerted him he'd done way too much swimming over the past 24 hours. He did his best to walk it off. By the time the sub was perched off the coast, he felt marginally better.

  The shoreline was gorgeous. Sapphire water, low white cliffs, lush green forests. They'd hung on to the lifeboat and used it to paddle into the inlet. The roster of their little expedition had been a subject of heated contention, but in the end, not knowing what they might run into, they'd erred on the side of more manpower. Sprite and Sebastian would remain on the sub while everyone else went ashore.

  As they paddled in, Ness caught the scent of foliage rolling from the land. He kept his head on a swivel, watching for any trace of the pirates' allies.

  "Remind me," Sam said. "How long ago did you last speak to this man?"

  "I got his letter five days ago," Lionel said. "He'd written it nine before that."

  Ness glanced back at the vacant blue sea. "How'd he get a letter across that in nine days? Glue a propeller to a bottle?"

  Emma laughed. She'd cleaned herself up and when she ran her green-eyed gaze over Ness he could feel it on his skin.

  "There's a few boys who like to run a circle between Fiji, New Zealand, and Australia," she said. "They do some trading, ferry people around and the like. Letters, too."

  "Let's cut the chatter." Tristan eyed the white cliffs. "We don't know that we've beaten the pirates' radio buddies here."

  They fell silent, guiding the boat toward the pale yellow sands within the inlet. On shore, Sam checked her compass. Lionel had sheltered in the Royal National Park after the plague—that's where he'd first met Dr. Gohel—and though he'd returned to New Zealand several years ago, it didn't take him long to regain his bearings.

  He led them along a steep switchback up the cliffs. The top was fringed with dense, ground-hugging shrubs. A few hundred feet inland, a jungle awaited.

  "Anything we should know about?" Ness said. "Spiders? Snakes? Spidersnakes?"

  "Not much of that in the Royal." Lionel strode forward through the shrubs. "Dr. Gohel's not far."

  Whatever the man might attest to, Ness knew that the jungle's main strategy was to fill itself with such hideous, venomous denizens that no sane person would ever live there. As they entered the woods, he spent more time looking out for snakes and neon, poison-spitting frogs than he did for questing pirates. He figured Tristan and Sam would be better at spotting human enemies anyway.

  The morning got hot in a hurry. The dense fronds tossed down all the shade a man could wish for, but the humidity was enough to drink. As he sweated through his clothes, Ness yearned dearly for the simple time when it had been him, Sebastian, and a boat full of bug-eyed space horrors. Back then, he hadn't had to wear anything more than underwear. Every day had been casual post-apocalyptic Friday.

  Late that morning, Lionel lifted his hand. The group stopped.

  "That's his place right up there." He pointed to a grove of tall deciduous trees fronted by an irregular line of low-growing palms. "How about you lot cover me while I go in for a peek? Don't want to frighten him by showing up with a horde."

  He let the others get into firing position, then tramped through the patchy grass and sludgy leaves. He was gone long enough that Emma began to make noises about going after him. Before she could convince Tristan that was wise, Lionel emerged from the palms.

  "What's the matter?" Emma moved toward him. "You look like you just swallowed a roach."

  "It's the doctor," Lionel said. "He's… gone."

  8

  "The king will be here in one week?" Raina said. "Says who?"

  Tina tipped back her head a fraction of an inch. "Says the council. We met with his diplomat and arranged a more formal event."

  "Why wasn't I part of this process?"

  "Because you were engaged in a raid."

  "I was gone for a single day."

  "I couldn't have known your absence would be so brief. Most of these little engagements have gone on for days, if not an entire week."

  "She's a diplomat," Raina said. "It is their job to sit around doing nothing."

  "How do you expect me to keep her sitting around for days on end?"

  "Because it is also her job to do whatever it takes to gain the favor of the leaders she wishes to deal with."

  Tina pursed her lips and gazed down at the floor. "Be that as it may, when you are not here to make decisions, the council must be able to step in. That is the very problem we were created to address. If you think we've erred, there's nothing stopping you from canceling the visit. But it's only a meeting, Raina—a chance to engage with a potential ally. What can it hurt?"

  "You're right." Raina moved to the window to gaze at the distant mainland. "I will meet with their king. And before I do so, the council will tell me all there
is to know about his realm."

  She held their first council outside in the grass, where they would have nothing to hide and the world would see they did not fear. She sat on a large rock; the others used chairs. Mauser was there, as was Tina and Wilson Gates. The remainder of the council included Raul, who was as thin and trim as his black goatee; Nolan, a portly but capable farmer who liked to dress in suits whenever he wasn't behind the plow; and Ophelia, one of the island's few truly old people, with a way of smiling like she knew your question before you had asked it.

  Nolan held perfectly still, gazing past Raina's face. "Is this really necessary?"

  Raina drew back and examined the charcoal line she had drawn across his left eyelid. "The fruit of war is ash. Much as you wear suits when it is appropriate to wear suits, so we now wear ash."

  "Well, I'm a Christian. I don't know about these… rituals."

  "This is not about religion. Here in this field, where it's sunny and calm, it is easy to forget what it is like on the field of battle. With this, we remind ourselves why we are here."

  After a pause, he nodded. "You're the expert."

  Raina finished drawing the markings. Ophelia got out a pad of paper and a pen, the dark lines of her war paint standing starkly from her pale, wrinkled skin.

  Raina seated herself on her stone. "In one week, we speak with the Kingdom of Better San Diego. Tell me what I must know of them."

  "Their state is perhaps the oldest in the area," Tina said. "They claim to have founded it within days of the collapse. Before the aliens arrived."

  "With respect to Ophelia, age is no sign of authority."

  Ophelia cackled and glanced up from her notes. "You would say that."

  Raina smiled. "Though it does indicate a strong will to persist."

  "I wasn't making any claims of their authority," Tina said. "I'm simply presenting all that you 'must know.'"

  "For which I am grateful. Continue, please."

  "In their case, the 'kingdom' moniker isn't delusions of grandeur. They are organized along medieval lines: a serf class of farmers and laborers; a knight class of soldiers; an aristocrat class of administrators; and of course King Dashing, who rules without check to his power."

  "That must be nice," Raina said, drawing a chuckle from Mauser. "What kind of numbers do they command?"

  "Hard to say for sure," Gates said. "It's a safe bet it's not in the thousands, or else you'd be asking King Dashing these questions from beneath the heel of his boot. But he is the biggest power between here and the old border. Somewhere between three and five hundred citizens, if I had to guess. He supports about sixty standing 'knights'—trained, able soldiers—but can easily draw three times as many from the civilians."

  "As we were before the war, then," Raina said. "Or Anson."

  "Very roughly speaking. They got a walled compound down there. Ain't easy to do a head count."

  "They run a lot of patrols, too," Raul put in. "That's how they've kept out the competition—anyone tries to put together a new group within twenty miles of home base, and they either stamp them out, drive them away, or absorb them."

  Tina checked a yellow legal pad resting on her knee. "Their organization goes beyond that. They have electricity."

  Raina shrugged one shoulder. "People make wild claims about all foreign lands. If the rumors were true, then in Oakland they've restored the plumbing, and in Seattle they fly to work on winged bicycles."

  "But in this case, the rumor matches the facts. People have seen the lights at night. Perhaps that's the extent of it—lights for their palace—but it could be a symptom of something more."

  "So they are organized. Powerful. Advanced. If this is so, then what do they want with us?"

  "Best guess?" Mauser said. "To maintain a buffer state between them and the People of the Stars. If they think Anson's winning, the logical move is to give us a hand to maintain a favorable balance of power."

  "Like we did with Karslaw and the Osseys."

  "Righto."

  "Kelly seemed genuine to me," Tina said. "But I'll confess I lack the experience with statecraft that you two possess."

  "Why do you trust her?" Raina said.

  "Because this is about more than political maneuvering. Their people have been growing ill. I think they may be on the verge of pandemic."

  Gates wiped his nose. "We'll want to be careful of that. Could be they see themselves faltering. Want to head off threats by roping in a new ally."

  "Well, of course they're acting in their own self-interest," Mauser said. "So are we. The question is, is it in our interest to ally with them?"

  Ophelia glanced up from her pad. "How the hell can we know that before we've had the chance to talk to them?"

  Raina smirked. "Let us get back to who they are. Each place acts with the essence of its people. What is the essence of Better San Diego?"

  "Vigilant," Raul said.

  "Organized," Gates said.

  "Prosperous." Nolan folded his arms on his belly. "I've seen their digs. They fenced in an entire golf course, first with wood, then with stone. Farmed it, too. I tell you, those people know how to work."

  Tina scooted forward in her chair. "I think they are trustworthy. Furthermore, I believe that no group could have lasted this long without foresight, along with some measure of justice in their leader. In this day and age, if someone fails to do what's best for their people, it won't be long before he finds himself tossed outside the walls."

  "Or with his head on the end of a pike," Mauser said.

  "Or, yes, a head-on-a-pike. In any event, let's look at our situation: we're trapped on an island and we may or may not be self-sufficient before conditions here get unpleasant. We face not one enemy, but two: Anson, and the aliens he's allied with. If we have the chance to build an alliance of our own, I believe it would be extremely unwise to turn it down."

  Raina glanced between them. "Is that the will of the council?"

  Gates spread a palm. "Anything to get Anson off our back."

  "Seems like a no-brainer to me," Ophelia said.

  "For the moment, it sounds good," Mauser said. "But let's not forget this isn't a gift. We can't be in such a hurry to tear off the wrapper that we ignore the price tag."

  "Wonderful." Nolan stood and gestured at his eyeliner. "Now can I wash this gunk off my face?"

  Raina adjourned the meeting. Ophelia offered to give her a copy of the minutes as soon as she'd finished duplicating them. Raina informed her that would not be necessary.

  She wanted to conduct another raid—a week would be more than enough time—but she knew that the potential alliance was far more valuable than any single strike on Anson's supplies. Instead, she met with Henna, who had proven most capable of leading incursions when Raina wasn't there. Together, they devised a second attempt on the stable at the airport.

  With nothing else to attend to, and no desire to become ensnared in the palace's frantic preparations for the upcoming visit, Raina returned to the new farms to help dig the canals for their irrigation. The work was necessary, and the simplicity of it helped her focus her thoughts on the campaign against Anson. She still believed the thousand cuts would kill him in time, but there must be a way to inflict those cuts faster, or make them cut deeper. Particularly if they were granted a new weapon in the form of aid from King Dashing.

  It was there in the fields, sweaty and grimy, that Mauser came to see her. Raina vaguely recognized the woman walking with him. At first glance, she looked forty years old: bags beneath her eyes, crinkles around her mouth, skin that looked like it had once belonged to someone else. As they drew closer, however, Raina saw she had been deceived. The woman was thirty at most. What made her look older wasn't her features, but the lack of spirit animating her body.

  "Afternoon," Mauser said, less cheerily than normal. "Raina, this is Heather. She once lived in Better San Diego."

  Raina raised her brows. "You did? For how long?"

  "Three years." The woman was look
ing at her, but her gaze seemed fixed miles away. "Then I came here."

  "I hope our land has treated you well."

  "Very well, milady."

  Mauser glanced behind him, where men toiled at the ditch twenty feet away. "Let's take a short break, shall we?"

  He led them to a stand of trees. The shade and the breeze felt good. Mauser grimaced. "Raina, she can tell you more about King Dashing's setup, if you like. But there's something you need to hear."

  "You're hemming," Raina said. "You don't often hem."

  "That's because the story isn't mine to tell." He touched Heather on the elbow. "I know how difficult this is. But perhaps you can find solace in helping Raina make a better decision for our people."

  "It's okay. I didn't come here to be silent." Heather's gaze lowered to the grass. "After the plague, I was on my own in San Diego. There were looters and marauders everywhere. I tried to hide—not just myself, but the fact anyone lived there at all—but I needed gardens, water, fire. A few months in, when the men came, I hid across the street. They took everything they could carry. And burned everything else.

  "I moved to a new home. Started over. But they came again. Different men, but the results were the same. I moved again and it happened again. After that, I didn't try to find a new home. I couldn't bring myself to try to start again. I just wandered. I didn't expect to last long. Not by myself.

  "On the road, I ran into a couple. They told me about Better San Diego. That it was safe. Guarded by dozens of men. If you were willing to work, they'd take you in. I liked the sound of that. I walked to the gates and was met by their knights—they were wearing these ostrich plumes; it was all I could do not to laugh. But they did it. They took me in. For the first time in over a year, I felt safe.

  "At first, I worked in the fields. Then, they brought me to the palace as a servant. I saw the other girls there, upstairs, but the ones I talked to wanted to be there. They said it was easier than living out there in the wild. Then Terrence—one of the knights—put me in a room upstairs. And I became one of the girls."