He stopped by the Champagne.
“Where did you get this?” I asked on a breath of air. It was a good surprise. We still traded with Merrika. And now Mahiah. But our Champagne had come from Urip.
“I bribed someone. Paid a fortune for their last stash.” He shrugged his shoulders, hands now deep in pockets, a look of uncertainty on his face.
“A bribe, huh?” I mused. “What kind of bribe?”
“The sort that costs a lot.”
“Hmm-mmm.”
“Are we gonna celebrate, or are we gonna argue, Elite?”
I scoffed. “There’s no such thing as Elite anymore.”
“No,” he said softly. “But to me, you are perfect. You are above all the rest.”
I held his steady gaze. There’d be no changing him. Trent Masters would always treat me as if I was a princess. He’d always look up, and never, ever look down.
It wasn’t a stigma on his own standing, on who he was. It just was. He loved me. He adored me. Just the way I was.
And no one could come close in his eyes.
“OK,” I said, lowering myself to the cushions. “What are we celebrating?”
“Us.”
“To us!” I offered, as he handed me my flute, the golden liquid bubbling. It tickled my nose when I sipped it, the fruity bouquet a sad reminder of what we’d lost.
But we’d gained so much more, hadn’t we?
We’d gained our freedom.
We’d always known that freedom would cost. And it had. Significantly. So many dead. So many we couldn’t save. And still we had a long way to go before the world was whole again.
Trent leaned back on his cushions, staring up into the night sky, completely content.
“You know, it’s not so bad,” he said.
“What’s not so bad?”
“This no Net thing. No vid-screens to look at. No cellphones to talk on. I actually had a conversation with a man at the market today. Face to face. Can you imagine?”
I snorted. Champagne bubbled up my nose.
“Very attractive, Lena,” Trent teased.
“Thanks. I do try,” I managed before I laughed.
Trent smiled, taking another sip of wine, watching me.
“What now?” he said.
“Well,” I started, placing my glass on the deck at my side. I shifted closer. “I’ve got an idea.” I started running my finger up his bare arm, grazing his skin lightly. Goosebumps followed my nail. Trent shivered.
“Cold?” I teased.
“Hardly,” he rasped.
“Then kiss me.”
He groaned as his glass toppled over sideways and his hand fisted in my hair, tilting my head back, exposing my lips for his plundering. He ravished me. I basked in it. The clouds moved in to cover us, as the stars winked out of sight. And thunder boomed across the night sky.
“I love you,” he murmured into my neck. “Fuck, I love you so much.”
Heavy drops of rain landed one by one across the deck, moving closer.
My shirt came off.
“Trent.”
Slick skin against slick skin, he licked his way across my stomach. My hands finding his hair, holding on tight. In a quick, subtle move, his fingers wrapped around my wrist, a soft touch of his lips as he kissed my barcode.
“Mine,” he said. He never failed to remind me. He never avoided the tattoo or shied from pointing it out.
I wasn’t over it. But little by little, bit by tender bit, Trent was making it something else.
The pride in his voice when he rasped “Mine” said it all.
You bore this. You wear it every single day. And you are still mine.
My hair had been a rebellion. The black and wipe stripes a way to fight back.
The barcode was my badge of honour.
“Wear it with pride, baby,” he whispered. “Never forget who you are.”
The air grew heavy as the clouds opened up and rain poured down. Sweet sweat coated our skins as our bodies melded. Fitting together as though made for each other. I gasped when he entered me. He growled when I bit into his shoulder. Our movements so fluid and more magical than time. Our breaths and heartbeats as one.
I came in a flash of lightning. Trent groaned out my name to the sound of thunder.
“Storm sex,” he panted. “My favourite.”
“I thought… morning sex… was,” I panted back.
“Mmm, I’m not sure. Might have to test that theory tomorrow.”
I started laughing as he drew a blanket over us, the rain moving on as if it had achieved what it set out to do.
“I love you,” I whispered into the night. Trent grunted in return, snuggled in closer, holding me tightly, and then started to gently snore.
I was suppressing a chortle when I heard it, the soft tap of knuckles on wood at the door.
I squeezed out from beneath Trent’s heavy arm, made sure he was covered, and then quickly dressed. By the time I was downstairs in our apartment, I looked relatively decent. If you didn’t notice the smeared makeup, crooked buttons, and small love bite on the side of my neck.
I smiled to myself as I opened the door.
Cardinal Beck stood in the hallway, dressed in his formal Cardinal uniform; red cloak, cream suit, polished brass buttons.
“Cardinal,” I said in way of greeting, and ushered him through the door.
“Good evening, Lena,” the Cardinal replied. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
He knew he was, if the small smirk that graced his lips could be trusted. I was unused to his more relaxed manner, sometimes I forgot he was actually a man.
“I have news…” he started.
“For Trent?” I asked, holding out my hand.
The Cardinal hesitated, as if I wasn’t part of the rebel army. I had earned my spot.
“I think I can take it to him, Beck,” I offered. “I promise I won’t let any secrets slip, whatever they are.”
“It’s on official letterhead, Lena. You haven’t been sworn in.”
“Sworn in?”
Cardinal Beck suddenly looked uneasy, and then he thrust the paper into my hands as if it was too hot.
I watched him closely for a long moment, and then broke the seal on the letter and unfolded it.
The first thing I noticed was it was addressed to the president.
The second was what it was about.
“A signal?” I said. “What signal?”
“It seems Calvin sent a signal out via shortwave radio. Set to repeat from one to the other, until it covered the entire world. He managed it, just before the Shiloh unit shut everything down. An invitation. To peace. To unity.” Beck shifted on his feet. “Basically, he invited any survivors out there to come to Wánměi. Even gave directions. By the stars, of course.” Beck chuckled, as if this was funny. I wasn’t sure what to make of it yet. “It was the last piece of your father’s puzzle,” he went on. “The last part of the programme that was designed to bring about a form of solidarity.”
“His dream,” I murmured, shifting to sit on the couch. I wasn’t sure my legs could hold me.
“His promise to you,” Cardinal Beck advised. “His last gift to a broken world.”
I smiled. Looked down at the letter again, the words before me momentarily blurring.
“So they’ll come,” I whispered.
“And we’ll be ready. Mahiah has already agreed to accommodate any we cannot take. And the Merrikan representative has advised he’ll make contact with their leaders and gain a similar agreement from them.”
Beck moved forward to stand before me; he would never sit down unless asked. I should have offered, but my mind was reeling. My father had done it.
He’d corrected his mistakes. He’d redeemed himself.
“We are but a small island,” Beck said. “But we are a great people. Now led by a great…”
“Beck!” Trent suddenly said from the mezzanine floor. “I didn’t hear you arrive.”
“Trent
,” I said enthusiastically, standing up, about to tell him about the letter. The good news. The start of a united world.
We were free. We were mending.
Thank God.
But the Cardinal spoke over me, drowning out what I might have said, as Trent started scowling, and then his eyes darted to mine and he cringed instead.
“President Masters,” Beck greeted, standing to attention, clicking his heels together like so many Cardinals sometimes still did.
“President Masters?” I said slowly, the letter getting forgotten in my fist.
“Now, baby. I can explain.”
“President Masters?”
“Ah,” Beck said. “Maybe I should leave?”
“It’s his fault!” Trent all but yelled, pointing an accusing finger at the Cardinal.
Beck looked like he’d just been sent to the gallows. He swallowed painfully, his eyes slowly rising to meet mine.
“I thought it a fair trade,” he murmured.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
Beck shrugged. So did Trent. They kind of did it together. As one.
My hands met my hips.
“What trade?” I demanded.
“Champagne is hard to get, you know,” Beck argued sullenly. “It was my last bottle!”
My eyes met Trent’s. He offered a small, crooked smile.
Typical.
He’d been the leader of a rebel army. He’d freed not only Wánměi but the world.
He’d almost died trying to protect me.
Not once. But many times now.
And he’d traded his anonymity and what would no doubt be a large part of himself for a bottle of sparkling wine.
“It was a celebration,” Trent groused.
“For us,” I whispered. He smiled.
How could I be mad when I was so very proud?
“For us,” Trent whispered back, taking the last few steps to reach me.
I didn’t hear Beck leaving. I didn’t hear anything else.
Just Trent and how much he loved me, and my own fervent words of requited love.
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