Relapse (Breakers Book 7)

by Edward W. Robertson

  Where had they come from? It was like bad magic; they'd appeared virtually overnight, multiplying by the score. All he could do was throw out all the flour, along with the farina and the white and powdered sugars, which they'd also colonized, if less enthusiastically than the flour.

  You couldn't throw out the contents of your head, though. You couldn't choose the type of person you were, either. Otherwise, everyone would be a Swedish vampire with a thirteen-inch penis and no sense of fear. As for himself, even after years of this, he was still afraid.

  He'd found a hack, though. He might never be like Tristan—but if he summoned his will, he could be her for short bursts of time.

  And right then, his friends needed him.

  Laser in hand, he moved down the tunnel. Tristan came after him, Sam covering. They were going to have to do it room by room. Ness swung into the first, a small storage space for jaunts outside: scuba gear, first aid supplies, towels. He moved onto the next room. It was clear, too. Tristan took point on the next two closets/rooms. They moved toward the galley.

  A blinding white light glared down the hallway. Certain it was an explosion, Ness flung himself to the floor. A rifle boomed. Behind the half wall separating the two seating booths, a man rose, barely visible behind the overwhelming light, and fired as fast as he could. Tristan and Sam had retreated to the two rooms behind them and Ness crawled backward toward them, pulsing his laser toward the defenders. A bullet thrummed past his head. He made it to the room housing Tristan and rolled inside.

  "This isn't good," she said.

  "The part where we're getting shot at? You think?"

  "There's no way to bypass the galley, is there? Come at it from behind?"

  "Not without sledge hammers and half a stick of dynamite."

  Across the hall, Sam swung out the doorway and squeezed off a shot. Rifles roared from the galley, forcing her back into cover.

  "We have to solve this," Tristan said. "We can't flank them, and if we stick here, sooner or later their friends will get that hatch open."

  Ness had his cheek pressed to the door frame. "We don't have to do anything."

  "Now's not the time to freeze up! In a few minutes, we'll be outnumbered and out-maneuvered. If they toss one grenade in here, we'll look like jellyfish shit."

  Ness pushed the buttons on his laser, but he made sure the beam sailed into a wall a few feet from one of the snipers. Obscured by the glare of the light, a massive, spider-like bundle swung from the ceiling and landed on the back edge of the rear booth. The alien lifted a tentacle and smashed a hammer into the skull of an oblivious defender.

  Ness slashed another beam down the hall, drawing return fire from one of the other men. Sebastian stalked up behind him, raised the hammer, and struck him to the floor. A man screamed; Sebastian lurched forward and drove a kitchen knife into his heart.

  "ALL IS DONE," he signed broadly.

  "Clear!" Ness said.

  Sam edged around the frame of her door. "Tell me that's Sebastian."

  "And he just went all Maxwell's Silver Hammer on the assholes who stole the sub."

  Ness ran down the hall toward Sebastian, who had picked up one of the bodies and was now whacking its head against the bolted-down table like a baker cracking eggs for a cake. Sebastian gestured something to him, but the light was too bright for Ness to make out. It shined from a wireless stand near the front of the galley. Ness clicked it off, blinking against the dazzle left on his eyes.

  "We need to get out of here," Ness signed. "Where's Sprite?"

  "TAKEN," Sebastian gestured back.

  "God damn it," he muttered, then signed, "Do you know where he is? One of the warehouses?"

  "ALIENS"

  "What? What aliens?"

  "THE ONES THAT ARE HERE," Sebastian said, tentacles waggling. "THE ONES FOR WHY THE MEN STOLE THE SHIP"

  "What's wrong?" Tristan said from beside Ness. "You look like he just goosed you with a claw."

  "It's the Swimmers," he said. "They're here—and they've got Sprite."

  16

  Mauser's brows flickered. "You want to go to San Diego?"

  "Correct," Raina said.

  "Whose king you just butchered. Along with a host of his friends and officials."

  "I have brought two powerful enemies against our people. That is how I lost them. Whether or not this was my fault, I can't reclaim them by murdering the council. That would only serve to fracture things further. To drive more of the citizens to fear and hate."

  "Whereas committing suicide will cause them to adore you forever."

  "This is the only way to save them," Raina said. "We turn one enemy into an ally, uniting to destroy the second enemy. If I can do this, then I will have earned back everything I have lost."

  The others were quiet for a few seconds. Mauser said, "What exactly did you see out there?"

  "My path." Raina went to her pack and yanked it open, rifling it for food. "The question you must ask yourself is this: Do you want to walk it with me?"

  "Absolutely," Henna said.

  Bryson scowled. "How do you expect to get within ten miles of San Diego without being drawn and quartered by Dashing's knights?"

  Raina ripped open a bag of hard, crusty bread. "We will do as we did to the Osseys. Turn San Diego against Anson."

  "That was completely different," Mauser said. "All we had to do was trick Karslaw into thinking the Osseys were gunning for him. It's much easier to get two peoples to hate each other than it is to unite one with us. Particularly when that side currently hates our stinking guts."

  "We will exploit the Law of First Dogs: when the first falls, all who see themselves as seconds will turn on each other."

  "Okay, preying on human ambition is always a wise strategy. But that still doesn't answer Bryson's very good question about the drawing and quartering."

  "There is a way," Raina said, spewing crumbs. "But you won't like it."

  Mauser cocked his head, then thrust out his jaw. "You want to send Mia."

  "I don't want to. But it's unlikely that San Diego has the full story of what happened on the Night of Almonds. We can send an envoy to deliver them that story. To present a narrative that is favorable to us even as we inoculate their minds against the version that Anson would tell them."

  "Who's to say he hasn't beaten us to the punch?"

  "I'll go," Mia said.

  Mauser stood, slapping leaves from his pants. "This is insane. You can be damn sure they know this much: that their king came to see us, and never came home. Whoever we send to San Diego is going to wind up in the iron maiden."

  "Those were never used. They were invented by circuses."

  "Do you think they know that?"

  "I won't come to them as Raina's envoy. I'll arrive as Thom, the wandering storyteller. And while I'm there, I'll find out who our second dog is."

  "And you're willing to risk your life to do that?"

  "You've been risking your life for years." Mia stood to look him in the eyes. "I don't want to do anything halfway, Mauser. Either we believe in this place, or we don't. If we don't, then let's walk away. Right now. And start a new place together."

  "You don't know how tempted I am to leave and let these three herds of pricks battle it out in Prick Thunderdome. Catalina's proof that every society, no matter how well it begins, is doomed to corruption and collapse." He tipped back his head and sighed. "But I don't think our time is over yet. Let's send you into the lion's den and see where it takes us."

  "Bear's den," Raina said.

  The first matter was to attire Mia in the manner of a tom. Toms were disreputable, and had no standardized dress, but they did tend to wear and carry things that announced their profession—primarily stringed instruments, but also foolish hats and garish jackets. They had some fifty miles between them and San Diego, and as they ambled south, they picked their way through the houses, dressing Mia in a denim jacket and a black cowboy hat.

  "Before we attempt this ludicrous ven
ture," Mauser said, "we need to get on the same page. If I were them, and a tom wandered in with the sad story of how my leader died—oh, and by the way, the person who killed my leader would like a word with me—I would lock that tom up in the dungeon below my dungeon."

  "We've been over this," Mia said. "It's one of the risks."

  "I'm cognizant of that. What I'm saying is that they're not going to let you back here to see Raina. So she had better walk into their palace with the same story you brought them."

  "Oh, that's what you're worried about? I had that all figured out yesterday."

  Mauser wrinkled his brow. "What, you thought you'd just drop it on us when you wave goodbye tomorrow?"

  "I was putting the finishing touches on it." Mia gave him a sidelong look. "Besides, I know you'll hate this, too. Thought I'd spare you the anguish."

  "How sweet," Raina said.

  Mia explained what she'd come up with. She was right: Mauser hated it. A part of Raina did, too—but that was why she thought it would work.

  * * *

  On the premise that toms were best received near sundown, when people were ready to put away their labor and be entertained around the light and warmth of a fire, they waited until mid-afternoon before sending Mia the rest of the way to La Jolla, the seat of the Kingdom of Better San Diego. On the side of the road, she and Mauser hugged. Mia jogged to the asphalt, gave a wave, and strode south. Toward the bear's den.

  "Tell me I'll see her again," Mauser said.

  "You will," Raina said. "She'll be fine."

  "What are you basing that prognosis on? Mercury's emergence from retrograde?"

  "From the fact that she survived being bombed by aliens, then spent six years on the road by herself. She is better able to keep out of trouble than you or I would be."

  He chuckled. "You're probably right. And if she's wrong about this big plan, at least she'll have to watch me die first."

  "That will show her."

  They withdrew from the highway to a patch of woods near the coastline. Unsure when Mia might be back—it was possible that, after hearing the story, they would imprison her—they intended to camp out for three days. If they hadn't seen her by then, they would travel to Better San Diego themselves.

  Early that evening, with the sun extinguishing itself in the sea, leaves crackled from the direction of the highway. Raina jumped to her feet and reached for her swords. Henna dashed into camp, face flushed, bow in hand.

  "They're coming," she said. "They'll be here any minute."

  "The knights of San Diego?" Raina peered into the trees. "How could they find us so quickly?"

  Henna snugged herself behind a trunk and nocked an arrow. "That's not my job to answer."

  Bryson got out his rifle and found cover behind another tree. Carl got down in the brush, pistol in hand.

  "Remember," Raina said. "We want to speak to them. Don't open fire unless they're here to kill us."

  "So long as they haven't harmed Mia," Mauser said, "I'll be a perfect gentlemen."

  Leaves thrashed from the way Henna had come in. Two hundred yards away, horses and men moved through the trees, indistinct in the twilight. Raina drifted toward them, separating herself from her warriors, but not so much that they would be unable to cover her.

  One of the riders spotted her and called out. They had four men on horseback and another eight on foot, all of whom wore metal caps (though only three bore feathers) and carried rifles. The knights approached, training their guns on Raina.

  A rider in an army jacket raised his left hand and his party came to a halt. He nodded at Raina. "Are you the one from Catalina?"

  "Why have you come for me?" she said.

  "I think you know." He reached into a pouch on his side, withdrew a pair of handcuffs, and tossed them at her feet. They landed with a steel clink. "Put those on."

  "I'm not alone," Raina said. "And I'll know why you're here."

  "They heard the tom's story. They want to hear it from you."

  "Did they hurt the tom?"

  The man frowned. "You don't hurt a tom. It's bad luck."

  "I'll go with you." Raina unbuckled her belt and began to remove her swords. "You may have my weapons—if you promise to keep them safe. But I won't wear your chains."

  The knight spat through his teeth and wiped his chin. "You talk like you have a choice."

  "I came to deliver the truth. Do your leaders wish to hear what I have to say?"

  He gazed past her into the darkening woods. Trying, she knew, to eyeball how many people she had there.

  He sniffed. "Turn over all your weapons. Submit to a search. And you will be allowed to accompany us to the castle without wearing restraints."

  She held out her swords. As the man took them, Raina's inner voice screamed against her, but she ignored it. She called the others out from hiding. They handed over their weapons and allowed themselves to be searched. No one looked happy, but they made no protests.

  They were instructed to walk at the front of the column. They got on the road and headed south, the horses' hooves clopping through the breezy night. The men did very little talking.

  After perhaps an hour, the man in the army jacket dismounted and walked up beside Raina. "What happened on the island?"

  "I can't tell you that," she said.

  "I thought that's what you came here to do."

  "When the moment is right. When your leaders are there, and the people they choose to bring to hear it."

  He gazed down the road, reins held loosely in his hand. "You killed him, didn't you?"

  "If it was that simple, do you think I'd be here?"

  The man wrestled with his expression. He nodded, then remounted his horse. Raina kept one ear trained on him for the rest of the march, but he made no attempt to harm her.

  Around eight that night, they ascended a hill, the road winding back and forth. Walls rose ahead. The footmen jogged up to drag wooden pickets out of the road so the horses could get through. They unlatched a chain link fence, then called over a wooden gate. The men behind it swung it open.

  The procession entered. To either side of the road, shorn corn stalks stuck to knee height. Raina's group was brought to a sprawling white manor so splendid and large she thought it must have been built for King Dashing, yet the construction looked so sturdy it had to be pre-invasion. The man in the army jacket instructed them to wait outside. He jogged up the steps to the front door, leaving his soldiers behind to watch them. He came back down a minute later.

  "Come with me," he said. Raina and her people started for the door. He shook his head and pointed at Raina. "Just you."

  She followed him inside. The foyer smelled of warm, yeasty bread. The floors were marble and the furniture beyond was bright red with silver buttons. Without her swords, Raina felt as bare as she had been when she'd entered the bear's cave barefoot and in her underwear. She reminded herself that Mia was being held here somewhere, without even the mantle of leadership to protect her from whatever the new rulers of San Diego might do to her.

  She was taken upstairs to a candlelit library. Books lined the walls floor to ceiling. Near the back of the room, flanked by two soldiers with black assault rifles, a woman sat in a high-backed red chair. She was near the end of her child-bearing years, and given her figure—a long neck like a stork and the limbs to match—she might never have had any. Her hair was braided and the braids were looped and coiled on each other like compliant snakes. It was meant to be elegant and pretty, but to Raina, it looked foolish.

  "Lady Winslowe," the man in the army jacket said. "May I present Raina."

  The woman didn't stand. "Lady Raina of Catalina." She sounded as though she had an accent, but Raina couldn't decide what it was. "Decorum insists I greet you as an equal. Yet according to what the tom has said, it is a criminal who stands before me. Which is it?"

  "I believe," Raina said, "that it is neither. That is what I have come to explain. It is then for you to decide."

  Wins
lowe tightened her mouth. "So it is true. You are bold to come here."

  "I don't consider it bold. I consider it my duty."

  "Is that your purpose here? To so impress us with your honor that we throw open our arms in tearful mercy?"

  Raina let three seconds pass. "I believe we have both been deceived. Perhaps that will not matter to you. But the truth must be known."

  The woman leaned back on her chair, hands curled on its velvet arms. "And what is the truth?"

  "How do you decide law in your kingdom? Do you have courts?"

  "For lesser offenses. For higher crimes, the king would hear arguments personally, and pass his judgment."

  "Are you now queen?"

  "The succession is in flux. Are you asking for a trial?"

  "I wish to present my story before those you consider your wisest minds."

  "Who says you deserve such treatment?"

  "I may not," Raina said. "But your king does."

  Winslowe laughed with the driest amusement. "I shall ask again: precisely what are you proposing? To be given a stage to act out your drama, handing down the truth from on high to our 'wisest minds,' who will be so enraptured by your bravery that they will stand and applaud the girl who killed their king?"

  "Do you really think it will turn out that way?"

  "I don't. Not least because I don't see why you should be allowed to speak at all. We already have the story from the tom."

  "You have the version told in taverns. I will give you the story told in rooms such as these."

  "And what is this story?"

  Raina shook her head. "I will only tell it before your court."

  The woman turned down the corners of her mouth. "So you will be given exactly what you want, or you will keep this story to yourself. There is a word for that: blackmail." She glanced between the soldiers standing to either side of her. "I think I will extract this information from you right now."

  Raina stared into the soldiers' eyes. "You can cut me apart piece by piece, down to the marrow, and you still will not draw forth a single word."