by Susan Grant
“Our colonies provide the framework for a stable world.”
Kyber rolled his eyes. “Is that the excuse your father uses when he has to use force police in your colonies? Your military has become a guard dog trained to turn on its own master. And I wouldn’t be surprised if it does, Commander,” he added with disdain.
Armstrong appeared less sure now. Or maybe the hint of doubt seemed magnified in the face of Kyber’s absolute belief and unshakable confidence. “The UCE and no other brought the world lasting peace.” He gave the impression of being certain on that point at least. “And we owe it to the world to continue bearing the burden of keeping that peace.”
Kyber turned away, waving his hand in disgust. His jewel-clasped ponytail whipped over a broad shoulder. “This table is no place for your propaganda. Take him away,” he ordered his guards.
The sentries left their posts by the heavy double doors and came for the commander.
Unrepentant, Armstrong stood. The guards took hold of his arms and led him from the room. The polite nod of farewell he gave Bree held a hint of disdain.
Sleeping with the enemy. That’s what he thought, she’d bet. But she tried hard not to care. She owed him no allegiance—or Kyber. Gratitude, yes, but not loyalty. She didn’t belong in their world. The only thing that mattered was staying true to herself, and to Cam.
Bree turned her back to the open doors and walked to the window. She didn’t see the beauty of the simulated scene, only her monumental dilemma. Tyler Armstrong was the only other person besides Kyber who could help her. He knew how to find the cave—and, she suspected, much more than that. She needed him to find Cam, but how would she get him to help? The dinner had been a disaster. She’d have to come up with a different plan.
Kyber joined her. “Do not listen to anything he says. You are safe here. Safe with me. I will not let any harm come to you.”
“I trust you,” she said.
Somber and silent, he rubbed his knuckle down her sleeve. “Something more troubles you.”
“I’ll live.”
He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him, regarding her in a distressed and proprietary way, as if she were a treasured pet who’d suddenly stopped eating. “I’ll send another expedition to the cave. Will that make you feel better?”
“Yes!” Tears of gratitude should have filled her eyes then, but perpetual numbness precluded a display of emotion. Dr. Min Park would tell her that crying was therapeutic, but Bree hadn’t been able to work up a single tear since going down in her jet over North Korea. “Thank you. I owe you a lot, Kyber.”
“Bah! Anything for your happiness, my pet.”
His pet? Hmm. Her instincts had been right on; that was how he viewed her. But was it so horrible? He’d given her the best medical care, treated her with kindness and respect. And he’d offered her a life here, if she wanted it—a good life. A fabulous life, actually. No, it didn’t come with the heady rush of protecting the skies in an F-16; there was no country to offer allegiance to, no sense that she was contributing anything vital. No challenges.
But she’d have safety here. Protection. Few people received a future so nicely prepared and gift wrapped. She should be happy. But restlessness and a sense of unfinished business, an uncompleted mission, wouldn’t allow it. She had to consider her time here as temporary—for now.
This time, she changed the subject. “I learned more about my ancestors today,” she said in a lighter tone. “I found names and locations for the ones that live in the UCE.” Brittany’s great-many-times-over grandkids, which made Bree their great-many-times-over aunt. “There’s a branch of the family living in Canada.”
“Tri-Canada’s borders are sealed. There is nothing any of us can do about locating someone who lives within them. Not even me. As for your relations in the UCE, I will arrange for you to meet them when you are feeling stronger. But on neutral ground.”
“Like where?”
“Not there.”
“Why not, Kyber? I was born there.” She stopped before more of her frustration over the failed dinner with Armstrong leaked through.
“It is the safest course of action, Banzai. Go to the UCE and you may never leave.”
“Are you so sure of that?”
He was growing angry again. “They want you, Banzai Maguire, and not for good reasons. I cannot allow you to go. You’re too valuable. I won’t give you permission.”
“So, you’re not saying I can’t go, only that I if I do, I don’t have your consent.”
He took her chin between his thumb and index finger and tipped her chin up as he bent his head toward her. His mouth hovered a fraction of an inch from her lips. She felt his warm breath, smelled the wine he’d drunk. Attraction kindled curiosity, and she let him kiss her—a soft, lingering taste of her lips.
He pulled back and murmured, “I require consent in all things, Banzai.”
She flattened her hands against his chest. Kyber held her close, waiting to see what she would do. Or say.
Regrettably, it wasn’t a “yes” to a night of great sex with one of the most powerful men in the world. Maybe, if she were lucky, it would have erased the distracting effect Tyler The-Unhelpful-One Armstrong had on her, but one night with Kyber might lead to more, and she’d become even more entrenched in a life she wasn’t sure she wanted yet. She wouldn’t lead him on; she owed him that much.
She dropped her hands and stepped out of his embrace. “I have some thinking to do.”
Kyber let out a slow breath. “Damn the human animal’s propensity to think.”
She rubbed her hands together nervously. Her palms were damp. “I want to see Commander Armstrong again.”
Kyber’s mouth thinned. “So, that’s what this is about.”
She reared back. “What what is about?
“Why you wouldn’t kiss me.”
“I did kiss you!”
He circled his hand. “You know what I mean.”
She rubbed a hand over her face. “Will you please stop thinking of everything in terms of sex? It’s hard—you’re a man—but try.”
Kyber gave her his gloomy acquiescence.
She folded her arms over her chest. One sleeve dropped lower. She hitched it back up to her shoulder and folded her arms again. “‘When questioned, should I become a prisoner of war, I am bound to give only name, rank, service number, and the date of birth. I will evade answering further questions to the utmost of my ability.’ That’s Article Five of the American Fighting Man’s Code of Conduct. Armstrong’s not an American, but that’s what he was following. It means he sees me as the enemy. Or, more accurately, he sees you as the enemy, Kyber. I think I stand a real chance at getting something useful out of him, and right now I’ll take anything, but I don’t think he’ll talk if you’re around.”
“You want to see him alone?” Kyber appeared horrified at the idea. “I said I will send another expedition to the cave. Isn’t that enough?”
“If he knows where Cam’s pod is, it’ll help the searchers find her, right? Otherwise, they’re digging blind. Let me see what I can learn from him.”
“But alone? I will not allow it.”
In desperation, she tried to come up with a solution that would ease Kyber’s worries and allow her to speak to Armstrong without his presence. “I’ll bring guards with me.”
“The dungeon is no place for you.”
“Then let me meet him somewhere else. Please.”
Kyber turned away to gaze out at the torchlit courtyard, his brow furrowed in concentration. Just as the silence began to feel uncomfortable, he said, “I’ll arrange the meeting elsewhere. But Kabul will accompany you.”
Kabul, the chief of palace security? To Armstrong, the man’s high rank might prove as intimidating as Kyber’s. But what choice did she have? Running out of options and time, she had to find out what he knew about Cam. “Tomorrow?” she asked, her chin coming up.
Kyber sighed deeply. “I will see what I ca
n do.”
That meant he’d think about it. He was the boss here. He didn’t have to ask for anyone’s approval on any matter.
His wrist gauntlet bleeped. “Yes, Kabul?”
“Your Highness. We appear to have a terrorist interruption of the Interweb.”
“Another worm?”
“It doesn’t appear to be, no. There’s been no breach of palace security. But I want to research it further before I say for certain.”
Kyber walked away from Bree. “You said interruption. Of what nature?”
There was silence for a few seconds. Then Kabul said, “I don’t quite know. Is your display on?”
“No, but I will put it on.” Kyber spoke to the room. “Horace, show display!”
The courtyard faded as the molecular barrier closed. The huge windows turned white, bright white. It was strange to see the screens without an image. There was sound, though: a booming voice that was weirdly without gender. It was either a woman with a deep voice, or a man with a high one, and it seemed to have been caught in mid-speech.
“...we have spoken of good and evil today, and what it means to us and our future,” it said. “But, be warned, democracy is not inherently good, for democracy is similar to freedom, and freedom itself is not inherently good. Why? Freedom is an avenue for both good and bad, because whenever there is free will, it creates an opportunity to choose evil. The same is true of democracy. A person can vote for a good leader, or a person can vote for a bad leader. True democracy makes no distinction, for democracy is only as good as its creators.”
What is this? Bree mouthed to Kyber.
His frown was dark, and he shook his head.
“‘A democracy devoid of morals is chaos. Remember this! We have it in our power to begin the world anew.” The voice rose in volume. “‘Many may cry peace, but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!’”
Goose bumps tickled Bree’s arms. Give me liberty or give me death! That was a direct quote of Patrick Henry’s famous battle cry. She’d been guilty of not knowing as much American history as she should, guilty of taking for granted the sacrifices made by the founding fathers of the United States, guilty of seeing the Fourth of July as little more than a patriotic celebration with picnics and fireworks, but those words she remembered. Even after two—no, almost five centuries—Henry’s words had the ability to inspire.
It took a few moments of silence for Bree to realize the voice had stopped. And yet it had been so hypnotic, so compelling, she remained standing there, stock-still, hungry for more.
Kyber, however, had a completely different reaction. “This is an act of war! They have invaded my palace, brazenly, used my communication system to spread their poison. Ax Armstrong dares to provoke me when I have his son in my hands? He will learn the consequences of his arrogance. Expansionist, imperialistic pigs!”
“Are you sure it was the UCE? That was Patrick Henry.”
Kyber shook his head. “Do you know this man?”
She almost smiled. “Not personally. He died about five hundred years ago. He was a great statesman during the American Revolution. An advocate of democracy. But the UCE seems to be an autocracy, and so is your government. Someone’s urging revolution, Kyber. And using the words of American patriots to communicate it. Knowing what little I do of your world, I don’t think it’s the UCE that’s behind this.”
“Bah! You do not know them as I do.” Kyber started to walk away, stopped, and turned back to squeeze her arm. “My apologies for ending our evening so abruptly, but I must meet with my security adviser on this matter.”
Exhaling, he escorted her to the door. “But do not worry, Banzai. All is well in my kingdom. This episode, like all others, will pass.”
It probably would, she thought with regret. But silently, she cheered for whoever had the guts to transmit his or her beliefs on independence. And she wished the person luck. She didn’t predict anyone taking chances like that anywhere in this world would enjoy a very long life.
* * *
Ty gripped the bars and listened to the speech blaring from the security screens imbedded in the ceiling of his cell. No image accompanied the sound. Only white. White light. “‘Many may cry peace—but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!’”
Was this a new way for Kyber to feed propaganda to the prisoners? Hmm. The message of self-government didn’t quite mesh with the Han prince’s firm and absolute grip on his kingdom.
Ty waited for more, after the voice stopped broadcasting, but it seemed the show was over. Rocket-man, as Ty had come to call the rebel who’d been struck on the head, who’d shot the rocket at Kyber and Banzai, rushed to the front of his cell. He shouted down the corridor to Ty. “Did you hear it? That voice?”
Ty folded his hands over his chest and glared at the man. He’d since learned the agitator was harmless. An idiot, actually. A small-time crook. But even the most brainless of troublemakers could cook up stunts that could maim or kill.
Ty was glad there were bars between them. After having to go through seeing the pain in Banzai’s eyes, knowing that he’d refused to help her, he was in a foul mood; he didn’t trust his temper. “Yes. I heard it.”
“‘We have it in our power to begin the world anew.’” The man threw his head back and laughed. “What do you think of that, UCE?”
“Do you really want to know?”
Rocket-man’s head bobbed.
“It’s a nice thought, but improbable. Starting the world over means unrest. Instability breeds more poverty, more pain. I’ve visited most of the world’s cesspools of humanity. I see what it’s like for those people. They haven’t the power to begin anything anew, let alone being able to find a clean toilet to take a piss. Stability is the only fix. Stability produced by the UCE, the Euro-African Consortium, and, yes, even your Kingdom of Asia. But,” he finished with a shrug, “that’s only one man’s opinion.”
The outlook of a soldier paid to preserve that stability in key spots around the globe. The son of a man who had dedicated his life to keeping the peace.
Noises in the corridor grabbed Ty’s attention. A couple of guards marched down the corridor. They rarely came around between the prisoners’ meager meals, and now here they were, late at night. A guard unlocked Rocket-man’s cell. “Come on,” he said, and pulled the prisoner out of his cell.
“I...I have nothing more to tell you,” Rocket-man yelled.
“Shut up. You’re going home.”
Rocket-man let out a whoop and pumped his fist at Ty. “I’m getting out!”
“I wish I were in your shoes, man,” Ty admitted. Oddly, his full belly made imprisonment harder, not easier, to bear.
“I’ll get you out.”
Sure you will. “Thanks for the good thoughts.”
“Look for the shadows!” Rocket-man called over his shoulder. “When they come, run!”
“Shut up.” The guard shoved him on ahead. On his way past Ty’s cell, he crashed his studded baton against the bars. “UCE scum! The prince isn’t going to like your Shadow Voice disrupting the Interweb. I hope he lets me do the punishing.”
Ty flipped him off, then walked to the back of his cell, his gaze fixed on the security panels above and outside. The guard thought that the UCE was somehow behind the broadcast. What the guard didn’t know was that at home a message like that would get you arrested faster than you could say treason.
He returned to the back of his cell and sat down. Leaning his back against the far wall, he shut his eyes. Shadows. “When they come, run!” What did the man mean?
Ty wondered if it had any connection with the graffiti on the cell wall. Obviously, Shadow Runners were protesters. But the guard had called the entity making the speech a “shadow voice” and attributed it to the UCE. Something didn’t make sense.
Ty knew one thing, though. When you turned on the lights, shadows disappeared.
Chapter Twelve
In the chill hours after dawn two days later, the guards c
ame once again for Ty. The nights had become progressively colder. Soon, autumn would arrive and Kyber would move to his wintertime digs in the state of central China, separating Ty from Banzai—maybe for good. The thought of it made Ty feel sick. Empty. He knew he could make her see the light, if only he could get her alone. Impossible, he was certain, but he longed for it all the same. Once, he’d considered his dream of finding her just as unattainable. And look—he had found her.
Only to have her stolen away.
The door of his cell rolled open. Ty squeezed blood into his numb fingers, but he remained on the floor. He wasn’t getting up unless he had to. “Is it dinnertime already?” he asked with sarcasm. It had been almost a day since they last brought him a watery bowl of rice. And another whole day since the one before that.
“No dinner for you, UCE,” the more squat of the two men growled. He was built like a badger, and his black eyes were as mean.
“Pity.” There was nothing like a little food to remind you of what you were missing. Ever since the dinner in Kyber’s quarters, he’d been starving for a meal. But Ty kept his misery to himself. No use letting the goons know that their tactics were beginning to wear on him.
With disdain, Ty climbed to his feet. The badger-like guard swiped for his sleeve to hurry him upright, but Ty jerked out of his grasp. He recognized the man as the guard who’d cracked Rocket-man over the head, knocking the rebel out for almost a day. Ty had no doubt the man would take pleasure in doing the same to him.
With fire in his dark eyes, the guard raised his rifle butt to smash Ty’s skull with it.
The other guard grabbed the weapon and shook his head.
Badger hissed. “Another time, UCE scum,” he promised. “You’ll try to escape, but I won’t stop you. Not right away. I’ll give you a head start; then I’ll kill you. At least then I’ll have an excuse.”
Ty turned to the other guard. “What the hell did he eat for breakfast?”
His answer was a sharp shove with a rifle butt between his shoulder blades, forcing him into the dank corridor.