"And we're sure it's not a warship?"
"If it was, they would have used it a long time ago, don't you think?"
Lowell got the new pack of gum from his pocket and tapped it in his palm. "So why not use this life raft years ago? As soon as the mothership was brought down?"
Anson spread his hands. "They still thought they were going to win. Do you have any idea how stubborn they are? About a year ago, something changed. Don't ask me what—all I know is they had some scheme, and it was foiled. They've only just come to accept that it's time to hail the life raft and get out of Dodge. There's just one problem." He picked up the illustration of the object and slapped it on his knee. "They're missing the rod."
"Which we're sure isn't a death ray?"
Anson gazed down at the illustration. "I think it's how they communicate with the life raft. Thus no rod, no raft. From what I've pieced together, a couple years back, the former ruler of Catalina—a mysterious raider known as Karslaw—took his people to the mothership. They were after two things: to quash the surviving aliens, and to get their hands on as many alien weapons as they could find. It is believed the rod was stolen then. And taken back to Catalina."
Lowell tore the red tab on the pack of gum, opening it. "You want me to get it back. And once it's in hand, they'll leave."
"See why they're so jumpy? They've been trapped on this ball of death for seven years. Now, their only chance to get away from it might be in the hands of a superstitious knife-fighting teenager. That's why you got jumped in the woods. Couldn't risk anyone finding out about their search."
"They should make this public. Invite everyone to join the scavenger hunt. I imagine everyone on Earth would be happy to help them get the hell out of here."
"Yeah, I don't think they're willing to bank their last hope of survival on our goodwill. So there it is, okay? You know everything I do. Will you help me help them to leave?"
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay."
"Well, okay." Anson touched one of the scrapes on his hand. "While you're on that, I think I'll check in with our friends in the Kingdom of Better San Diego. Make sure everything's hunky dory."
"You'll want to be very careful with that," Lowell said. "She's down there. And Dashing's people hardly know what's going on."
"I will take all necessary precautions, mother."
"That's all I ask." Lowell popped the gum in his mouth and let the crumpled wrapper drop to the floor. "Let's get to work."
* * *
As before, he was loaded onto a sloop and dispatched to Catalina. Same deal: speak to the Council, woo them vaguely, no firm promises. This time, though, his visit would last much longer. Until he found the rod.
A wagon took him from Avalon to the palace. Hammers rapped on wood. They were building the outer walls higher. They were intending to stay for the long haul, then. Didn't place much trust in Anson, either. He didn't blame them.
They were waiting inside. Same four as before. They were anxious about reprisals from San Diego. Lowell spent the first hour doing nothing but handholding. Promising that Anson was working to ensure that San Diego knew there had been a leadership change on Catalina. That things would be different going forward. Mistakes had been made and so on and so forth. He assured them that San Diego was too busy dealing with an epidemic to go on a crusade.
Eventually, he steered the talks to the relationship between the People of the Stars and Catalina. He wasn't too concerned about finessing his approach to the rod. As soon as he mentioned the lasers, they were going to home right in on that and stay stuck until he changed the subject.
"It's been told," Lowell said, "that the island of Catalina is in possession of a stash of alien lasers. Is this true?"
Gates crinkled his brow. "If it was, don't you think we might have used them by now? Bit of a strange question, pardner."
"That's what I'm here to do—ask the questions that would make my boss look foolish. But I don't think it's as dumb as it sounds."
"This 'stash' existed once," Tina said. "But it was lost before Raina gained control of Catalina. We're still not sure where the weapons went. It's likely that, if Karslaw had been able to hang on to them, Raina would never have been able to defeat him."
"And no one's seen them since?"
She leaned back, regarding him through her glasses. "What is your interest in this subject?"
Lowell shrugged. "If there's to be peace, we need to be sure you're not harboring potential WMDs."
Raul rolled his eyes. "Because the only safe place for them is in your hands."
"I'd say we're doing just fine without them, wouldn't you?"
Gates laced his fingers together and planted his elbows on the table. "If you want to make a systemic search of the entire island a condition of the peace deal, then make your proposal. But until we've got a paper to guarantee peace, I'm not comfortable giving your people free rein here."
Lowell glanced between the other members of the Council. Across the table, Nolan slowly closed one eye, then opened it.
"Fair enough," Lowell said. "Then let's talk what you want from a deal."
He listened, but only because he was there. When talks wrapped up, he headed out to the courtyard for some fresh air. Nolan came out a minute later.
"Good session," the big farmer said. "I think we're all pleased to hear it's not all about what we can do for you."
"When a people are ready for peace, the last thing you want to do is squeeze them for blood. That's how you wind up in World War II."
"Indeed, indeed, indeed. Are you a man who enjoys nature, Mr. Lowell?"
"It's the best way to get away from other people."
Nolan chuckled. "Well, if you don't mind the company, I'd like to continue our conversation. Care to go for a ride?"
Lowell answered in the affirmative. While Nolan went to arrange matters, Lowell enjoyed the sunlight. Winter was right around the corner. In Southern California, that didn't exactly mean six months of ice, but good warm sunny days got a lot more rare. These days, you never knew if you'd live to see another.
Nolan returned with three horses and a young boy—thirteen, fourteen. He'd made the kid dress in a suit like himself.
Nolan nodded to the boy. "This is my son, Randy."
Like his father, the boy was overweight. But where it gave Nolan a sense of solidity, like a bear or a boulder, it made Randy look cherubic. Vulnerable. His smile was a little too eager to please. If there had still been schools, the boy would be teased, bullied. No doubt his father filled the gap.
"Mind if he comes with us?" Nolan said. "I won't be around forever. It's about time he start learning a man's business."
Lowell hooked his thumb into his belt loop. "Does he know how to keep quiet?"
Randy blushed. "Yes, sir."
"Then let's get moving."
The boy smiled and mounted up. Nolan rode in the middle, Lowell to his right, Randy to his left. They headed outside the gates and down a dirt trail leading west, further into the interior. On one rise, Lowell could see the ocean to the north and the south. They passed a few farms, but it soon became nothing but wide, empty land. Somehow, the simple act of witnessing it was enough. Lowell could see himself riding day after day, being there for the sunrises and sunsets, for the rivers and the creeks. It wouldn't be so bad.
Nolan began to jabber about his farm. Lowell nodded along. During a break, Lowell glanced at the boy and said, "Do you like it here?"
"What?" Randy said. "On Catalina?"
"Sure."
"Yeah. It's okay. I mean, I like it. But it's kinda quiet."
"Quiet's not such a bad thing," Lowell said. "It means no one has anything to be angry about."
"Dad says you work for Mr. Anson." Randy risked a glance over. "Is that true?"
"You calling your dad a liar?"
The boy flushed. "A lot of people are scared of Anson. But you're here and you seem like a normal person."
"What are the
y afraid of? That Anson is going to sweep in here and kill them all?"
"They don't say it. They hint around it. But if you listen, you can tell that's what they're thinking."
"I'm going to let you in on a secret, okay?" Lowell winked. "Anson loves being loved too much to pile you in a mass grave. He wants Catalina to become the newest subject of his empire. When Raina was running the show, that wasn't possible. Now that the Council's stepped in, it's only a matter of time before our two peoples become one."
The boy stared down the trail. He blurted, "Why did our people have to fight at all? So many people have died, and for what?"
Nolan swung his heavy jaw toward his son. "Randy, what are you thinking? What the hell kind of question is that?"
Randy cringed. Nolan hadn't so much as made a fist, but the boy already had tears in his eyes.
"It's a fair one," Lowell said. "Most wars don't need to happen. Maybe none of them do. I don't think this one did."
"How so?" Nolan said.
"I think the threat posed by Raina was overestimated. Certain interests were at play. They weren't always aligned with Anson's."
"Or you?"
Lowell shrugged. "They don't ask me."
Randy frowned at him. "How can you fight us when you don't believe in what you're fighting for?"
"Because I believe in the man who decided to fight. There's one thing to learn in life: that what people say and who they are can be two different things. If you understand that, you'll be okay."
"You mean some people lie."
"That's the slippery part," Lowell said. "They don't think they're lying. They carry this image of themselves in their head. They try to make that image real by telling you what this specter believes. What it stands for. If you took these words for the truth, you'd think we live in a world of saints."
Randy pursed his thick lips. "But instead, we have fighting. And stealing. And killing."
"We do, don't we? Because people aren't their words. They're what they do. Lots of people will tell you they understand this, but they don't really believe it, not deep down. That would mean they're not the person they say they are."
They had crested another hill. As they descended, Lowell took in the sight of the sun on the grass. The air smelled faintly bovine, with the crispness of coming cold weather.
"Anson talks a lot," he said. "Loves the sound of his own voice. It's easy to buy into the dreams he spins about rebuilding this city. About handing our children a future that isn't so hard and cold. Me, I'm skeptical. I figure the more a person talks, the more he's trying to convince me he's the person he sees in his head rather than the one I see with my eyes.
"Here's something from way back in the early days, when L.A. was nothing but gangs fighting for scraps. Preying on people. Anson, he decides to make a stand. That in itself? Big deal. Fools make stands every day. Most times, they make their stand and wind up lying in a coffin.
"But I'm getting sick of the lawlessness, too, so I figure what the hell. I sign up. About six months in, we're doing good work. We've carved out a place for ourselves. We're growing and the gangs are shrinking. We haven't tipped yet, but you can see the water rising against the dam.
"The gangs saw the same thing. They make their move, burn our storehouse. Wipe out most of our dry food. At the same time, a second group raids our crops, burning what they can't take. Coordinated strikes. Good stuff. Much tougher than anything we've dealt with to date. Within a few hours, our stored and future food is wiped out."
They came to a long, winding strip of trees surrounding a creek. Lowell got down to water his horse. The shade felt good.
"Now, you've still got fruit trees out there, fish in the sea. We're not full-on Donner Party. But we do have more mouths than things to feed them. We pull everyone we can and assign them to forage. Anyone who's not physically able to forage is hidden in the hills. Meantime, our fighters are split between patrols to prevent the gangs from committing more mayhem, and in providing security for the foragers.
"Over the next few days, we run ourselves ragged. You might skirmish at dawn, spend the next ten hours protecting the foragers, then finish the day delivering food to the hideaways. That's what Anson liked best—bringing the kids avocados, or one of the whitefish you can catch right from the shore. Those kids look at us like we're Santa.
"Anyway, we're now seven days into this, and we're exhausted. So I'm not surprised when, after delivering some limes and fish to three kids and their grandma, Anson steps outside and collapses on the porch. Just a dead faint. No, what surprises me is this: when we wake him up, he admits he hasn't eaten a bite of food in seven days. Everything he'd been given, he saved it for the kids."
"Wow," Randy said. "That's… heroic."
"Are you kidding me?" Lowell laughed. "It was idiotic. He was the linchpin of the entire operation. His number one priority needed to be his own health. Endangering himself put everyone else at risk." He raised his eyebrows at the boy. "But that was the moment I knew. He isn't just a talker. He believes. Right down to his guts."
After a pause, Nolan chuckled. "For a man who thinks so little of talk, you seem perfectly willing to do a lot of it."
Lowell smiled. "Talk isn't the problem. The problem is when you let your image of the person up here," he said, tapping the side of his head, "part ways with the one out here." He pointed to the ground.
Randy pursed his lips, cheeks swollen like a puffer's. "Because then it doesn't matter how bad you are out here? Because the vision in your head will always stay a good guy."
"That's right." Lowell nodded to Nolan. "Smart kid."
After the creek, they turned around and ambled back in the direction of the palace. Lowell was getting impatient with Nolan, but he figured the farmer hadn't invited him out to be sociable.
"As to your question at the council," Nolan said a minute later. "You might not be aware that the palace has an expansive basement. It's used for the storage of all kinds of sundries."
"That so?"
"Oh, sure. Enough food and supplies to outlast a siege. Can't say as I've seen any of the items in question there. But then again, I've never looked."
On a hilltop, they stopped to gaze at the ocean separating them from the other land. Randy got down to make use of a shrub. While the boy's back was turned, Nolan passed a small bit of tarnished metal. A key.
After, they rode back to the palace to wash up. At dinner, the spread was so generous Lowell felt vaguely uncomfortable. He wondered what the townsfolk were eating back in Avalon. He didn't ask his question out loud.
The feast lasted until midnight. In the days after the plague, when he needed to be able to wake and move at a moment's notice, Lowell had trained himself to sleep for a preset time and wake without an alarm. He told himself he would wake up at 2 AM. When he did so, and checked his watch in the moonlight, it was 2:06.
The palace was silent. They'd given him a room on the second floor. Before going to sleep, he had discovered that the door hinges didn't squeak. He got his penlight and a large knife and exited into the hall.
This was empty. So was the landing above the stairs. He descended to the ground floor and moved to the large pillar housing the stairwell to the basement. This was locked. He used Nolan's key to open it. The latch clicked, echoing through the space; the hinges creaked. He closed the door behind him and climbed down the stone steps to the bottom.
The basement was one long hall flanked by storage rooms. Tubs and barrels and sacks and bins. Most of it was food, but there were many consumables, too. Checking all of the tubs for the rod would take hours.
Which meant he'd better get to work. He moved quickly but methodically through the first room. Nothing but grain and seeds. The second was more promising: batteries (most of them rotten), soaps, razors, disposables of all kinds.
While he was rummaging through a bin of extension cords and AV equipment, he looked up. Had he heard a squeak? He clicked off the penlight, rose, and got out his knife. He moved t
o the doorway. A light swept down the hall, exposing the host of bad choices Lowell had in front of him. He had no reasonable excuse to be here; if he was caught snooping, he wouldn't be allowed back in. His only chance was to hide. If he couldn't, he'd have to eliminate the witness.
The room was open in the middle, but boxes were stacked thigh-high near the back. Beyond the door, the light dimmed. Lowell crossed to the boxes. Before he reached them, the light glared through the room.
Knife in hand, he sprinted toward the figure in the door and tackled them to the ground, smothering their mouth with his palm. He stared down into the terrified, watery eyes of Randy.
18
Raina closed her eyes to the soldiers' guns. "I've given you the truth about Dashing. Blame me if you will. But promise me you'll leave my people in peace."
"We will continue to pursue justice," Lady Winslowe said. "Many more than Dashing died on that night. You didn't kill them all yourself. Prepare arms!"
Rifles clicked.
"Hang on," Cinder said. Raina opened her eyes. The woman stepped out from the spectators and their chairs, not quite putting herself between Raina and the soldiers. "Winslowe, did you know about the plan to poison her?"
Winslowe tipped back her head so that everyone before her had a clear look up her nostrils. "Our lord made it known to me he that it was a risky undertaking. One done in order to save our people."
Cinder arched her brow so high it looked like it might snap. "By assassinating Raina?"
"Apparently so."
"Don't play coy with me. Raina came here with the truth knowing we'd probably shoot her for it. You don't have the guts to enlighten your own people about what happened?"
Winslowe drew herself erect. "You forget yourself, girl."
Cinder closed on the older woman. "And you forget there are far more important things than privilege and decorum. Like the future of our kingdom. If King Dashing made a deal with Anson, we need to know what we've committed to!"
All of the others were standing now. Even the soldiers had turned from Raina to watch the two women. Several of the onlookers murmured to each other, faces gone dark.
Relapse (Breakers Book 7) Page 22
