Queens of Tristaine

by Cate Culpepper

  “Over here, guys.” Dana had finished tying off a gag around the guard’s mouth, and she went to the double utility bay doors and tried the locked handle. She looked over at Jess, and her eyes widened. “You all right, Jesstin?”

  “Aye, I’ll live.” Jess steered Brenna to the doors, palming blood off the side of her forehead. “Try them, Bren.”

  Brenna grasped a long silver key in both hands, and its tip jittered against the circular lock of the utility door as she tried to insert it. It didn’t fit. She selected another, and Jess laid a calming touch on her wrist. This time the key slid home smoothly, and after some effort Brenna was able to turn it. They heard tumblers click.

  “Thank Cybele,” Kyla whispered and slid past Dana after she pushed the door open and braced it with one arm.

  The Clinic’s utility room was cavernous and dim, lit only by pairs of jacklights mounted on narrow poles that ran floor to ceiling. Their shadows cast jagged phantoms over the wide expanse of concrete floor.

  “Are you sure you’re not hurt, Brenna?” Kyla brushed grass off Brenna’s shirt, and then stepped back with a look of surprise.

  “Brenna’s fine, Ky.” Jess tried to speak gently. “She did well, she got us in. Now set our path, Bren.”

  “Okay.” Brenna closed her eyes for a moment, visibly centering herself. Then she looked around, her breathing almost under control. “I think it’s this way.”

  “Not over there?” Dana jerked her head toward a set of double doors in the far wall.

  “Absolutely not,” Brenna said at once. “That exit opens under the Military Unit. The Civilian ward is through here.”

  “Lead us, adonai.” Jess followed Brenna through a maze of steel banks that stored the terminus of the circuitry and wiring of the buildings overhead. Spools of thick cable were stacked to the high ceiling, and they moved soundlessly around them toward the distant reaches of the echoing space.

  “Our timing is lucky in one way.” Brenna paused, then took Jess’s hand and went on. “It’s Friday night, the weekend. The Clinic’s on minimum staff after curfew, even security just has a skeleton crew.”

  “That still leaves armed orderlies patrolling the halls.” Dana turned in a cautious circle as she walked.

  “Yes, but the cells are in lockdown now. When I left work this late, the orderlies were always swilling coffee at their stations.” Brenna stopped them by a single featureless steel door, and Jess heard her blow out a sigh. “This is it, Jesstin.”

  “Good, querida.” Jess waited until they met her gaze. “We meet by those back utility doors if we’re separated. You all know your purpose?”

  “Ky and Brenna hit the drugs, I find a computer.” Dana tucked the back of her shirt into her pants briskly. “Jess will stake out the pharmacy and bazooka anything that moves.”

  “Clear enough.” Jess nodded at Brenna, who pushed open the steel door. Jess tensed, half expecting an alarm to shatter the silence, but the peace held as they moved quietly up a short stairway and into the Clinic’s Civilian Unit.

  *

  All Brenna’s senses, physical and psychic, were keyed to screaming tightness. The small amount of whiskey that hadn’t been forcefully propelled from her stomach left a light buzzing in her ears, but she thanked whatever goddesses were listening that her step was steady.

  She registered the white corridors extending out from the pharmacy and the main security desk like sterile spokes on half a wheel. She inhaled cleansers and disinfectants that stung her sinuses. She didn’t think about Matthew or nearly getting her sisters captured. She didn’t think about Jess being injured because of her, or of Shann being ill, or Samantha. She focused on the single guard, reading a newspaper, sitting at the desk, his feet up on its curved surface.

  They stood against a wall near the outer atrium of the Unit, hidden from the small camera mounted on a ceiling bracket. As Brenna watched, a uniformed orderly appeared by the desk, and she willed them all to be invisible shadows in the dark hall.

  “You see what’s left of that poet guy in the east wing?” The orderly was talking to the guard as he dropped paperwork on the desk.

  “That kid they did the surgery on?” The guard lowered his newspaper, his wheeled chair creaking beneath his weight. “They cut out the part of his brain that made him what, subversive?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Guy’s no better than a drooling stool. He can still write poems, though. Not very good ones.”

  “Hell, bad poems aren’t illegal, just seditious poems.” The guard snapped out his paper again and crossed his booted feet on top of the desk.

  “Night, Vargas.”

  Relieved, Brenna heard the orderly retreat across the lobby. At least there was only one man to deal with. If they stood up, they would be in his direct line of sight, so there was no sneaking up on him. All four of them thundering down the hallway would alert the guard before they could possibly reach him, so one of them had to take him alone.

  Brenna realized a silent communication was passing between Dana and Jess. Dana tapped her brow, and then patted her own chest, frowning. She was telling Jess she couldn’t sprint down that hallway with an addled head. Jess grimaced, but then nodded agreement that Dana had to take the run.

  It was risky. Dana was almost as fast as Jess, but the tile hallway was long, and Brenna could see the pistol holstered on the guard’s belt from here. Inspiration struck her, and she touched Jess’s wrist. She pointed to herself, remembered the signal for “distraction,” and managed to relay it with reasonable accuracy.

  Jess’s brows lowered in consternation, but Brenna shook her head firmly. This was a better plan. She could see that Jess was clearly reluctant, but she signaled assent. Kyla patted Brenna’s back, a nervous wish for good luck.

  Brenna clawed her sticky bangs down in her face, and stepped out into the corridor. She strolled toward the security desk, weaving slightly, her hands clasped harmlessly behind her. She hummed tunelessly, relieved to see she didn’t know the man.

  “Get—” The burly guard looked old enough to retire, but his boots snapped down off the desk with alacrity, and he jumped to his feet. “Who the hell are you?”

  “My name’s Rebecca, Mr. Karney. Aren’t you the charming Mr. Karney I’ve heard so much about?” Brenna added a light seductive sway to her hips. She had almost reached the desk. She hoped this jerk could smell the whiskey still coming off her.

  “Karney’s not on Civilian, he’s over in Mili—you stop right there!”

  “You’re not Mr. Karney?” Brenna continued past the desk, looking blearily around as if impressed by her surroundings. At least he hadn’t drawn his gun, but she still might feel a Taser bolt rip into her back. “Too bad. I was supposed to meet him here.” She turned and smiled as the guard stepped around his station and came toward her. Over his shoulder, she saw Dana take off on a fast and silent run.

  “I don’t suppose you might be willing to fill in for Mr. Karney tonight?” Brenna pretended to peer at the nametag on the guard’s chest. “Mr. Vargas. There’s supposed to be a great party at—”

  “Look, lady, this is a secure facility.” The guard clenched Brenna’s upper arm with unnecessary force. “Unless you show me a pass, right now, you won’t—”

  Brenna never learned what she wouldn’t do because Dana’s braced elbow plowed into the back of the guard’s skull, and she had all she could manage to help slow his fall to the floor.

  “Ouch,” Dana muttered, clutching her elbow.

  Brenna’s pulse was still pounding. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, but that hurt.”

  They rose as Jess and Kyla reached them. Kyla latched quickly onto Dana’s arm to see if she was all right. Jess knelt and snatched the guard’s heavy set of keys from his belt, then tossed them to Dana.

  “Right, we’ll store this little lad behind the desk.” Jess spoke low and fast. “Dana, check the security monitors and be sure the Unit is quiet, then find the computer. Brenna, Kyla, see to the pharmacy.�
��

  Brenna flipped through Nell’s keys with fingers that trembled only slightly, following Kyla to the large glass door that was reinforced with wire mesh. There were two locks, and Brenna needed several tries to open them both.

  The overhead light went on automatically when the door swung open, startling Brenna more than it should have.

  “Easy, honey.”

  Brenna returned Kyla’s smile gratefully. “Okay, first things first. Grab a few bags of disposable hypodermics, from that drawer over there.”

  She spun the ring of keys, this time easily selecting one of the small silver ones and unlocking the first cabinet on the left. She took out a small ampule filled with an amber liquid, and when Kyla brought her the syringes, she uncapped the needle and filled one carefully. “Here. Go jam this in that tacky Mr. Vargas’s thigh. Make sure he gets all of it. It’s a strong sedative. It’ll keep him snoring for several hours.”

  “Happily!” Kyla plucked the syringe from Brenna’s hand and spun on her heel.

  Brenna had a few nasty moments when she couldn’t locate the anti-virals. Kestadine provided no high and was not in demand by addicts, so it wasn’t triple-locked within the recesses of the pharmacy. But the stock had been moved to another storage case, and Brenna felt a surge of relief when she found it.

  Kyla was beside her again. “Ready, Bren.”

  “All right. We need both the serum and the vaccine. One cures, the other prevents new illness.” Brenna indicated the small vials. “Each vial contains six doses. We need a hundred vials.” She crouched and pulled padded canvas bags out of one of several bins below the counter. “Put them in here, one in each dent in the foam. I know these vials look delicate, but they’re hard to break. Try not to drop one anyway.”

  “Don’t drop one,” Kyla repeated obediently, and went to work.

  “Brenna? You have a minute?” Dana was squinting into the ghostly glow of the computer monitor that stood on the counter by the door. Brenna went to her and looked over her shoulder. “Can you tell me again what I’m looking for? Cause I sure ain’t seeing it.”

  “You’re in the right place.” Brenna covered Dana’s hand, which was on the computer’s mouse, and nudged it slightly. Screens of columned text flipped by. “These are the Unit’s archives—records of all births and deaths are recorded here. We’re looking for mid-October, three years ago. A female birth.” She set the cursor over the last heading. “Look under this column, ‘Disposition.’”

  “That’ll tell us what happened to Sammy’s kid?” Dana sounded painfully hopeful.

  “That’ll tell us if it was a live birth.” Brenna tried not to sound grim. “If the baby survived, Jenny’s sister might be able to learn which Youth Home she was sent to.”

  Her lips moved in unconscious prayer as she went back to help Kyla. It might be all she could bring home to Shann and Sammy this time, the bare truth about the baby’s life or death.

  But if Samantha’s daughter still lived, they would find her someday. Brenna remembered Matthew’s scarred, doomed face, and the pledge settled deep in her marrow.

  Their packing was nearly done. Brenna worked beside Kyla as smoothly as she and Shann had worked together in Tristaine’s healing lodge. She let Kyla finish the final fastening of the cases and went to find Jess.

  She was a tall, motionless shadow outlined by the dead glow of the security monitors, her still profile proof that Jess relied on her own senses more than electronic surveillance. She turned and signaled Brenna that all was still quiet.

  “Uh, Bren?” Dana sounded strangled, and Brenna went to her quickly. “Ah, man. I’m so sorry, Brenna, I fucked up.”

  Brenna stared at the computer screen.

  “I don’t know what I did,” Dana continued. “I was almost there, I’d just started checking October, then everything crashed and this static came up—”

  “Shhh.” The sound left her lips softly. Dana might be seeing a screen full of static, but Brenna was looking into a beautiful marble basin, filled to the brim with crystal water—but she was seeing it through an odd, erratic shimmering. “Elise?” she whispered.

  Dana turned and looked at her, then stepped carefully aside so she could move closer to the monitor. Brenna heard her call softly for Jess, but she didn’t look away from the screen. Not until Elise appeared in front of her, seemingly materializing in the pharmacy’s solid wall, surrounded by a nimbus of light.

  They stared at each other, Brenna struggling to keep Elise’s lovely features in focus through that distorting shimmer.

  “Whatever potion you’ve taken has made our connection more tenuous.” There was no judgment in Elise’s tone, only concern, as a tear wended its way down her face. “Can you hear me, Brenna?”

  “I hear, Elise.” Brenna could feel her adanin behind her, warming her back.

  “You must follow me.”

  Still facing Brenna, Elise’s glowing form began to glide backward through the pharmacy wall and into the hub of the Unit.

  “Is it the young maid who weeps, Bren?” Jess’s breath stirred Brenna’s hair.

  Brenna nodded, her gaze riveted on Elise’s retreating figure. She floated toward the arched entry of the most distant corridor. “Jess, I have to go with her.”

  “Say again?”

  “Just trust me, I have to go with Elise.”

  “But...” Then Jess seemed to remember that Brenna led them as surely on the spiritual plane as their sisters followed her onto a field of battle. “Aye, Brenna, but I’m coming with you. Dana, keep watch while Kyla finishes our work. Use the guard’s keys to get back to the utility bay.”

  “Brenna!” Elise’s silent tone rang with command. “You and Jesstin will come with me now.”

  Brenna knew her sisters couldn’t hear that voice, but she wouldn’t think of resisting it. It was too like Shann’s at full power. “You two be careful,” she whispered to Dana and Kyla. She snatched Jess’s hand and pulled her out of the pharmacy.

  Elise was visibly walking now, and the lines of her body were clearing in Brenna’s sight. She and Jess followed her down the far corridor with the simple faith of children, trusting their Mothers to keep them safe.

  Chapter Eleven

  The tile beneath their feet was suddenly cushioned by plush carpeting.

  Jess whispered behind her. “Where are we, Bren?”

  “This is the visitor’s wing. It’s almost always empty.” Brenna kept her gaze on Elise, who walked several yards ahead of them. She gestured at one of the ornate, widely-spaced doors they passed. “These are all guest suites. They keep them ready for Clinic’s funders when they tour the Units.”

  She could sense Jess’s tension like a prickling force field. They were taking a drastic risk by prolonging their time in this odious place, and Brenna was fervently grateful for Jess’s trust. She didn’t understand yet what Elise needed them to see, but she felt the spectral woman’s urgency clearly.

  “Oh boy,” she whispered suddenly.

  “Oh boy?” Jess repeated.

  “That corner up ahead. If we turn it, we’ll be visible from the other security sta—hold on.”

  Elise was stopping, waiting before one of the large suite doors. Her dark head turned and she looked toward Jess and Brenna, and then she melted silently through the wood of the closed door.

  “Oh, peachy.” Brenna pulled Jess quickly down the hall to the suite Elise had disappeared into.

  “She went in here?” Jess asked.

  “She sure did.” Brenna flipped swiftly through Nell’s ring of keys. “Damn, Jess, we medics never had keys to these private suites. If Elise can’t materialize solidly enough in there to turn a lock—”

  Apparently someone solid inside could. The round doorknob turned even as they gaped at it, and the door creaked open a few dark inches.

  Brenna felt Jess’s arm slide in front of her, shielding her so she could go first. Jess looked sharply up and down the hall, then pushed the heavy door further open, and they s
lipped inside.

  The large, simply appointed living room was dimly lit by a single, low-watt lamp in one corner. It was plainly furnished. The sparseness of these quarters was nothing like the lavish comfort of the other suites Brenna remembered seeing in this wing.

  Elise was nowhere to be found, and the room was nearly empty, except for the small child who sat cross-legged on the floor against the far wall, her simple white shift pulled down over her knees. She was awake at this late hour, drawing. Scattered sheets of paper littered the floor around her. She contemplated Brenna and Jess with large, solemn eyes under a short cap of auburn hair, frowning. She looked to be about three years old.

  Brenna recognized her on sight, as surely as she knew her own face. Her cold fingers covered her lips, stilling the gasp that threatened to escape. Jess turned to her, startled, and then let her move past her toward the little girl. She stopped yards from her, trembling, and knelt on the frayed carpet. Suddenly she had no idea what to say. The child stared at her silently, beneath lowered brows.

  “Hello, honey,” Brenna whispered finally. “Thanks for opening the door for us.”

  “You’re welcome.” The little girl’s piping voice was neutral, and she spoke with no childish slurring. She looked up at Jess doubtfully.

  “We’re not going to hurt you.” Brenna tried to sound reassuring. “Are you...is your name Brenna?”

  “No.” The girl looked puzzled, and she pointed a sticky crayon at her. “Your name is Brenna.”

  “Who’s out there?” A harsh cry sounded from the back of the suite, from one of the bedrooms. “Is that you, Mr. Vargas?”

  Jess pulled Brenna quickly to her feet as they heard a low, electrical hum emerge from the dark entrance. Cascades of shock showered through Brenna. She knew Jess had recognized the voice too. Cracked and distorted it might be, but there was no mistaking its familiar menace.

  A lavender sleeping gown draped Caster’s painfully thin body, which was braced awkwardly in the electric wheelchair that rolled slowly into the meager light. A long shawl was draped over her lap. Her left arm was withered and useless, held in a clenched angle across her bony chest. Ridged scar tissue covered the left side of her face, but her black eyes glittered with the same brilliant, malevolent light.