Chapter Fifteen

 

Bree glared at Ty. He was as determined as she, she realized. Unfortunately, their goals were vastly different. “American Fighting Man’s Code of Conduct, Article Three: ‘If I am captured I will continue to resist by all means available. I will make every effort to escape and will aid others to escape.’ Aid others, Ty. I’m bound by duty to look for her. Even if she weren’t my friend.”

A muscle in his jaw tightened. “It’s too dangerous for you here.”

“Kyber said it’s too dangerous for me there.”

“Bah! He sees the UCE only from his own perspective. You know this.”

“I also know that you see it only from yours. I’m reserving judgment until I see more of the world, especially after hearing you two argue politics and get nowhere. And see this world, I will.”

He gave a clipped laugh. “Now that I finally have you, Banzai, I won’t let you walk away without a fight.”

The wind whipped both Bree’s hair and the torn, billowing fabric of Ty’s shirt, giving her a peek at his grime-streaked chest and hard abs. Sitting in the truck with his week-old beard and tattered clothes, he looked like a vagrant on a field trip. Not that she was much better off. She couldn’t smell the manure anymore, which didn’t say much for the odor coming off her body and his.

Then she noticed that he was watching her. It hit her that he’d seen her entire observation of his body. To her horror, she blushed, a reaction that he greeted with a slight, almost imperceptible curve of his lips.

She tried to grab back the fraying thread of their conversation. “Now that you have me? That sounds awfully possessive.”

“We treasure hunters are like that about our booty,” he drawled.

Great. So, he was a treasure hunter. A mercenary. She’d never fully believed Kyber, thinking he had exaggerated, as he was prone to do, to disparage the son of his enemy. Now Bree didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She’d been shot down, put in stasis, healed in a prince’s palace, and now she was riding in a cattle car with Indiana Jones! A man who thought he’d salvaged her when in fact she had salvaged him.

Approaching headlights filled the cattle compartment with a white glare. Bree and Ty ducked down. When the truck was past, Bree snatched the old clothes she’d taken out of the sack. She wadded up Ty’s outfit and boots and threw them at him. “I suggest we change clothes before anything else happens. I doubt Kyber will think to look for us in a truck full of cows, but you never know.”

She crawled away, carrying an armful of clothing. Wobbling like a drunk in the moving truck, she used a couple of dozing cows as a privacy screen, turned her back to Ty, and pulled her shirt off over her head. Cool air hit her bare stomach. “So, you hunt treasure...”

“As a pastime,” he said.

“What does a treasure hunter in this time do, exactly?”

“You could say I specialize in reclaiming what others allege are impossible finds. You and your wingman were the ultimate in impossible finds, considered lost for good. That was too much of a challenge to pass up.”

She was eternally grateful he hadn’t. “So, you do it for the sport, not the money.”

“Oh, no. Not the money. Never that. I appreciate a good challenge. Treasure seeking gives me that.” His battered prison pants landed hard in the corner of the truck.

Bree peeked over her shoulder as she buttoned a tunic shirt over a pair of baggy trousers. Ty, his back to her, thrust one arm into the sleeve of a faded blue long-sleeved shirt. He was broad-shouldered, but with an athlete’s lean, efficient body. If he’d had any body fat before, it had evaporated in the past few weeks. Every sinew, every muscle on his naked back stood out. “How about being a playboy?” she asked. “Is that challenging, also?” There was something about him that made her want to keep flirting with him, even though she knew she shouldn’t. It was like sneaking four more Oreos out of the box when you knew you should have stopped at two.

He sounded intentionally bored. “Ah, my status as a playboy. At times, the job can be high-maintenance—the social drinking, the dining out, the endless luxury hotel rooms. But mostly it’s easy work.”

She snorted. She knew he was teasing her, but he had self-confidence—lots of it. Well, he’d need it to get through what she expected of him. “I’ve never met a real-life playboy. Now I’m traveling with one. Should I be worried?”

His gaze slid over her simple outfit as he shoved his shirt into the waistband of his pants. Shadows hugged the hollows of his face. “Do you want to be?”

She knew better than to answer that question. But she persisted in her impromptu interview as she folded up her old outfit and draped her travel pack over the new one.

This outlaw son of the world’s most famous army officer half scared and half fascinated her. And now she’d broken him out of jail. Had she opened Pandora’s box? “You said you don’t hunt treasure for the money, yet you came all the way around the world to find out if Cam and I were still alive.”

“Actually, it was mummies I thought I’d find. I was going to bring you back and put you in the Smithsonian Museum. But then”—his eyes glinted—“I found you alive.”

His features were as rawboned as the elder Armstrong’s were: defined cheekbones, an angular jaw, square chin,

and those vivid blue eyes contrasted with thick, dark brown hair. But while General Armstrong looked mean and hard, Ty lacked his father’s stark severity and purpose, although Bree knew better than to fall for that. Ty Armstrong was a hardened combat veteran, and he’d come halfway around the world, risking death, to find her. “So, you’re rich and bored. That’s what I see.”

“I’m a military man. I don’t have time to be bored.”

“But you’re rich.”

“My family is. I live by my own means.”

“Except for having access to an army’s worth of equipment for your treasure-hunting trips.”

Ty’s body went rigid, and his expression sharpened. “The underwater vehicle. You know about it?”

“Kyber mentioned it.”

“Did he say where it is? The UV?”

She winced. “He said he destroyed it.”

“It destroyed itself. It’s set to explode if anyone attempts unauthorized use.”

“Too bad. We could have used the transportation.”

“Yes. And I wouldn’t have had to pay the bill when I arrive home.”

“That would be millions, Ty.”

“Two hundred and seventeen million UCE dollars, to be exact.”

This time she had the feeling he wasn’t joking. “Where would you get the money?”

“I can’t, of course. And that’s my dilemma. I’ll have to repay my father in a different way.” As he contemplated her, something intense and speculative sparked in his eyes.

“Uh-uh. No way, Ty.” She raised her hands. “I’m not the answer.”

“But you are. Don’t you see? Your connection to the past will revitalize what’s at risk of becoming stale at home. It will inspire.”

“And you called my plan to rescue Cam impossible? Listen to you! Revitalize the UCE? How would I do that?”

“You are a shining symbol of all that makes the UCE great. You’d make appearances, motivate the population.”

“Nothing I say or do could help. I saw the tax revolts, the boycotts. Excuse my saying so, but the UCE needs a better government. Not an artifact.”

“The UCE needs you.”

“Are you listening to yourself? Starvation has eaten away at your brain, Tyler Armstrong! I’m not the answer to your debt. Or your country’s problems. I’m afraid you’ll have to think of another way to pay back your dad. You should have bought submarine insurance.”

She sat on a bale of hay and pulled on her boots. “Just don’t forget how you lost your UV, Ty. It exploded, from unauthorized use. I can blow up just as easily.”

His brows lifted. “Shall I consider that a warning?”

“Consider it a reminder. I’m not a prize. I’m not your little challenge. I’m an air force pilot on a mission.”

“To find your wingman.”

“Yes.”

“In an underwater cave in the middle of the Kingdom of Asia on one of the most rugged stretches of coastline I’ve seen.”

“Yep.”

“That’s not a challenge?”

“Well...”

“Yet, I’m required to assist you because you released me from prison. How did you put it? A deal’s a deal.”

She grinned with wry amazement. “Wow, Ty. You catch on fast.”

She made her way to the rear of the raised bed of hay and fell onto her back. “I’ve slept on better, but this will do.” She draped one forearm over her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this exhausted in my life.”

Ty lay down next to her. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungry.”

She reached over and gave his hand a quick squeeze. His callused fingers were warm and strong. Surprise at the contact flickered in his eyes. It was a spontaneous move, a gesture of friendship, but it was with unexpected reluctance that she pulled her hand away. “You need to eat, Ty. We’ll tell the driver when he stops.”

“What we need is water. I can live without the food.” He chuckled. “I’m not happy about it, but I can. But I’m going to make up for lost time—and lost meals—when we get to New Seoul.”

“And then we’re supposed to find the Cheju Precinct and the Celadon. Whatever that is.”

“It’s likely an inn. Or I hope it is. When Kyber mobilizes his security forces, we won’t want to be caught out in the open.”

She frowned at the stars overhead. “New Seoul is so far from the cave. Too far south. But the shadow people...they might have information about Cam. Otherwise, I’d have suggested we get off halfway, not even go all the way to Seoul, and hide where no one would think to look for us.”

“Suggested? To put it mildly. Likely it would have been more like you dragging me out of this truck.”

“Hey. The sooner we would have stopped, the sooner you’d have eaten.”

“Eat? With what money?”

“In that sack I was given, I found digital credits, but not a lot. When those run out I have some jeweled trinkets I took from my room. They’re small but look expensive. Though I’m worried we’ll be caught if we try to sell them.”

“If it comes to that, we can find someone to buy them who’ll send the pieces on to the black market in Macao. They can launder anything there, trinkets to humans.”

“I thought Macao was part of Kyber’s kingdom.”

“Technically, it is. But controlling the lawlessness and chaos would cost too much in time and money, and lives, so Kyber leaves it mostly alone. The only thing he insists on is Macao’s loyalty to the crown, which they give happily to keep him off their backs. Sometimes I think the UCE could take a lesson or two from the man about some of our colonies.”

Bree came up on her elbow. “Did you just give Kyber a compliment?” she teased.

Ty’s mouth gave a wry twist, and he laced his hands behind his head. “For a domineering, autocratic despot, he’s doing something right. For over a century, they’ve surpassed us in all areas, including technology.”

The world had changed, she thought. “There was a time, my time, when the U.S.A. was the innovator.”

“Innovation.” Ty looked grim. “A lost art.”

“Find it,” she said. “Get it back.”

“Our national focus is on stability. Keeping the peace.”

“You mean keeping the colonies in line.”

A parade of emotions crossed Ty’s face, doubt, anger, and despair among them. She remembered the doubts she’d seen in him at the dinner with Kyber, and wondered again what opinions he kept hidden. “The UCE brought stability to the world. Look at history. There hasn’t been a major war since the late twenty-first century.” His voice dropped lower, as if he were worried about others listening in on their conversation. She’d bet Ty had been walking on political eggshells all his life, never able to trust anyone fully with his private, political thoughts. “Of course...some wonder if we created peace at the expense of something more precious.”

Some? Bree wondered whom he meant. Probably himself. Maybe others he knew. Other officers? Could be. Discontent in the ranks of its officers could bring a government down. Bree had seen examples of that in her own time. Grandfather Vitale had told her that the military was like an intelligent, intensely loyal guard dog. If mistreated, it turned vicious. And like a highly valued watchdog, the military worked best as a supporting player. Its role was to support a government, to protect a government, not to be the government. General George Washington himself had recognized that when he shocked the entire world by resigning his commission in the Continental Army before taking over the presidency of his newborn nation.

“And you?” she ventured carefully. “Do you think something precious was lost to have peace in the world?”

His answer was totally unexpected. “I don’t know that we can say anymore that the world is at ‘peace’. It’s not just the UCE that’s experiencing unrest. The Euro-African Consortium has seen a number of attempts at revolt. Everywhere but in this kingdom. But then what of the ‘shadows’ who are helping us? What role do they play? Are they revolutionaries? Or only troublemakers? They certainly aren’t loyalists. I think we’re seeing a world at the threshold of change.”

She watched his expression twist. It was as if he feared that change as much as he longed for it.

“And you’re not sure if the UCE will get through it,” she finished for him.

Ty rolled onto his back. His body language told her that he wanted the conversation to be over. “That was not what I said, Banzai. I merely stated the facts of the world political situation.”

Don’t take me farther down that road. She could hear the warning without him voicing it. Bree knew then that he agreed with her but didn’t want to admit it. How could he? His father was the most powerful military man in the Western world. On top of that, he himself was a military officer, which required him to appear loyal in public and use private avenues to convey his concerns no matter who his father was. As a fellow officer, Bree understood. She had represented her country, defended it with loyalty and honor, though there were times when certain policies she had been obligated to support seemed...well, not the courses of action she’d have chosen, though she would have upheld them all the same.

But for Ty, the UCE’s colony problems weren’t just a particular campaign but the entire national focus, and the virtual underpinning of the current government’s powerbase. It put Ty and any other like-minded officers in a real quandary. To refuse to defend the policy of mistreating the UCE colonies would be treason. And yet supporting a flawed directive, as he was under oath to do, was to go against his principles.

And he had them. Principles. Somewhere.

Or so she hoped.

She went back to thinking of her immediate situation and not the grander scope of world politics. A treasure hunter playboy would make her search interesting. An unprincipled treasure hunter playboy would make it a disaster.

She’d pray for his principles.

The truck drove on through the night. The cows drowsed, quietly chewing their cuds.

On their backs, Bree and Ty watched a black sky full of stars. Then, out of the blue, Ty spoke. He sounded more like himself. “I was thinking...you informed me a little while ago that you’re equipped with defense measures similar to my UV, and you’d explode with unauthorized use. Tell me, Banzai, what sort of use constitutes ‘unauthorized’?”

Holding back a smile, she rolled her head to look at him. “Forcing me to change my mind about finding Cam, for one.”

“There’s more?”

“Treating me like I’m booty.”

The little scar on his upper lip compressed, and she knew Ty was fighting a smile. “That’s two. More?”

“I guess you’ll have to learn the rest as you go.”

“So be it. Unlike you, Banzai, I don’t mind being taught.” Fatigue made his voice deep and raspy. He lowered it further and murmured, “Particularly when the lesson’s one I enjoy.”

She could hear his body shift positions on the hay. She remembered what he looked like without a shirt, and the heat of sexual attraction blossomed in her belly and spread to the four corners of her tired body. It made her feel languid and warm. Spontaneously, she slid her hand over the hay. When she felt the warmth of his wrist, she circled her fingers around it.

He said nothing. She said nothing. In the silence, they let their fingers twine together. The more she touched him, the more she wanted.

Her hand slid up his arm, pushing up his sleeve. His biceps was rounded and firm under her palm. She rolled onto her side, facing him. His body was so close...so warm. She ached for more. But then she remembered how badly she smelled. How dirty they both were.

She took back her hand and rolled onto her back. She could feel Ty’s frustration rolling off him. It joined hers and created a tidal wave of dissatisfaction.

Unlike with Kyber, she could easily imagine making love with Ty: him, lean and strong, and her, needy as she lost herself in the sensations he conjured.

She hadn’t stopped to ponder it, but now that she took the time to do so, she saw how ragged she was, emotionally. The past few hellish weeks had taken their toll. It would be nice to be able to lose herself in something—or someone—if only for a few hours. She’d tried with Kyber, but hadn’t been able to do it. But what about Ty? She sure thought of him enough, whether it was with anger, annoyance, or desire.

Bree stared at the stars overhead, her pulse racing. It had been a long time since she’d let a man get under her skin. Hell, it had been a long time since a man had gotten anywhere at all with her. Again, she thought of the conversation she’d had in Life Support with Cam as they’d dressed for their last mission, when Cam had accused her of being afraid to let a man get too close.

Fear wasn’t a factor when you hooked up with the right guy. Ty felt more “right” than anyone had in a long while. Or maybe ever. But as Cam always said, finding out for sure would require taking risks with her personal life—something Bree had been averse to before.

And that, she decided, was a long time ago. She was in a new world now, with new rules. It was time to let the old game plan go and see what happened next.

 

* * *

 

It was well after noon the next day of traveling when the truck pulled off the road. The change in motion startled Bree out of a deep sleep. She’d slept most of the day napping, curled up in a ball in the hay, her head pillowed by Ty’s shoulder.

But he’d rolled to his knees, his pistol drawn, before she could blink the sleep out of her eyes. She was a fighter pilot, not a special-ops type; she readied for action at a briefing with a paper cup of Java warming her hand, while soldiers like Ty were combat-ready twenty-four/seven.

“What is it?” she whispered, trying to clear her brain of fog.

Ty flattened his hand on her head and pushed her down. “Driver’s gone,” he said in a low voice. “He went into that farmhouse, there.”

Across the road, a small house sat in front of a few acres of unsown fields. It looked deserted. There was nothing else around but woods, thick trees broken only by the farm.

All was silent except for the gentle mooing of the cows in the truck and the rustling hay. Ty crouched in the hay and waited for the driver’s return. They’d changed drivers once already in Freedom City, stopping only long enough to say farewell to Rocket-man and get a quick-charge of the fuel cell, which, unfortunately, hadn’t given them time to find food. They were hungry and dehydrated.

A light breeze moved the air. “Lord, we stink,” she whispered, wrinkling her nose.

“It’s not us. It’s them.”

“The cows? I don’t know, Ty. I can’t smell them anymore.” They exchanged wry glances.

Two gunshots rang out from the direction of the farmhouse. Startled birds squawked into the sky. The cows bellowed. Ty grabbed Bree by the hand. She’d barely gotten her hand around her travel sack before he dragged her out of the truck.

She knew why. In the truck, they were too exposed—and trapped. Taking cover behind the vehicle, he pushed her down into a crouch and peered around the cab, his pistol ready to fire.

Bree’s heart thundered in her ears, and she tried to work moisture into her mouth, which proved impossible. She wished they had two guns. She felt naked without one.

Then she heard the crunching of gravel on the shoulder across the road. The gait was irregular, and then it slowed to a shuffle.

Ty disappeared around the front of the cab. A moment later he skipped backward, dragging a man with him. Bright red blood made a gruesome trail as Ty pulled the driver to safety behind the truck. He attended the injured man with a paramedic’s expertise. Tearing open the shirt, Ty exposed an open chest wound, a horrific mess of broken ribs and torn flesh.

Bree fought her gag reflex. It was an exit wound, she realized. Someone had shot the driver in the back. There was more blood than she’d ever imagined, and it kept coming, a vast and expanding pool under the driver’s quivering body. Ty wore a good deal of it on his hands and clothes. But the smells were what struck her: sweat and a sharp, pungent metallic scent mixed with the faint odor of feces.

Until now, the escape from prison, while nerve-racking, had seemed more of a prank than a deadly venture. In a few seconds, everything had changed. Now she felt the pressing urgency of a life-or-death situation. Evil forces were at work here, “loyalists” who might or might not actually give loyalty to their ruler, rather using the label to sanction their violence. Yes, she wanted to find Cam. But at the risk of leading these people to her? She prayed she’d learn more at the rendezvous with the shadows. Now more than ever she knew she mustn’t be late.

The wounded man pushed at Ty. “Go,” he gurgled. Blood welled up in his mouth and spilled to each side. His eyes rolled back in his head, but with what looked to be a great effort, he spoke again. “Loy...loyalists. Drive—drive away. Take Banzai...” The man convulsed, and a fresh gush of bright blood spurted from his mouth. His struggles to breathe made a horrible sucking sound. Ty did what he could, but Bree knew nothing would help. He was drowning in his own gore.

Bree pressed a fist to her stomach. She was an air warrior. She’d trained to do her killing from the sky, too far removed to see actual casualties. But here was death up close and personal, the way Ty and his brethren faced it in every battle, in every war.

“He’s dead,” Ty said. She didn’t realize she’d been staring, morbidly transfixed, until he took her by the chin and turned her head. His eyes were the color of the sky. “Are you all right?”

She yanked herself out of her stupor. “Yes, yes. I’m good. I’m fine. You heard him—he said drive away. I say we do that right now.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Ty pulled open the passenger-side door, and she jumped in while he covered her with the pistol. “Keep your head down, Banzai!” He yanked hard on her sleeve, pushing downward.

She was face-to-face with the steering wheel. “Where are the keys?”

“They stopped using keys a hundred years ago.” He reached across the seat and used his thumb to punch an icon on a touch-activated computer that put anything she’d used in fighter aircraft to shame. The engine hummed to life.

“Gears?” she asked, fastening her seat belt harness.

“None. Just step on the accelerator. Go!”

She jammed her feet onto what looked comfortingly familiar to a gas pedal, which was next to something that was reassuring in its similarity to a brake. The truck squealed on the asphalt and lurched forward, which sent Ty scrambling to find his seat belt.

He turned in his seat. “They see us.”

Her stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”

“Drive faster!”

“Ty! What? Why?”

“A man and a woman came out of the house.”

And? She gritted her teeth. “Will you stop feeding me the juicy parts in tiny pieces? This is a getaway, not Mystery Theater!”

He glanced at her, his expression one of utter male bewilderment.

“Give me a clearer picture of what’s happening,” she pleaded. “Spoilers welcome. The couple. Where’d they go?”

“They took the body away from the road, dragged it back to the house.”

Was this the way SEALs communicated in battle? They fired bullets and they spoke in them, too?

She inched higher in the seat to see the road and pressed the accelerator to the floor. The digital speed readout crept higher as Bree sped up to pass a vehicle, another truck. Vibrations she hadn’t felt before made the steering wheel buzz. Instability made the tires dance. It appeared she’d reached max speed in the cattle truck.

Yet thoughts of the dead driver and the smell of death kept her foot pressed to the accelerator. Another thing she hadn’t considered—and hadn’t wanted to consider—was if the so-called loyalists had acted on Kyber’s orders, and not according to their own agenda. She may have made a vast miscalculation in estimating Kyber’s reaction to her defiance. As friendly as he was to her, he hadn’t survived as monarch all these years because of his congeniality. She’d damn well better look at the situation from all angles now, or she and Ty wouldn’t survive the day.

“There’s another road coming up,” she yelled.

The smaller path they traveled was about to merge with a larger, wider one. To the right, a magcar highway paralleled their track. Levitated cars whipped past a variety of old-fashioned fuel-cell-propelled vehicles not capable of traveling on the magroads, everything from motorcycle-looking modes of transport to ramshackle trucks that looked as if their sole use was to serve the local farms.

A display on the dashboard showed the upcoming merge. The roads appeared as arteries: the one they were on in white, the upcoming highway in pulsing red. “We need South, right? To New Seoul!”

Ty was already scanning a glowing map-screen he’d unrolled on his thigh. His finger remained pressed over their pistol’s trigger. Dried blood covered the back of his hand. “Yes. We’ll be there by nightfall.”

Their grave situation made New Seoul an even better destination, despite its distance from the cave. It was in the same spot as the original city, but now, thanks to higher sea levels, it was a busy port, and a big enough city to allow them to disappear into oblivion once they ditched the truck. There, they could hole up and wait for the storm to pass. If the storm passed.

Thunder exploded from behind. “Incoming!” Ty shouted.

Bree jerked her attention to the rearview mirror. Ho, baby! He wasn’t kidding! A low-flying aircraft hurtled toward the truck.

Ice dumped into her veins as her combat instincts kicked in. She half expected the truck’s radar to warn her of the threat. But the truck had no anti-aircraft radar.

The jet roared overhead so low that it kicked up a storm of pebbles and leaves. Dust hissed against the windshield, and rocks bounced off the hood. She heard the cows, but didn’t dare look back there, in case the stampede was already under way. Then a splat of something liquid hit the windshield, bubbling where it had dribbled. “They sprayed something at us!”

Ty flashed a look at the front of the vehicle. “Nanoenhanced acid. It’ll melt right through metal.”

Humans, too, she thought. But he didn’t need to spell it out. She got the picture.

“If you see it coming, steer around it.”

“Sure.” The truck burst through the cloud of debris. Ahead, she faced a picture she didn’t want to see. “It’s coming back for more!”

The acid-shooting jet banked sharply as it reversed course. It looked similar to the one she’d seen taking off vertically when she was on the balcony with Kyber. A civilian craft if she had to guess, not military. The driver had called them loyalists. But were they? The further she got into this, the more certain she was that the people who had killed the driver hadn’t acted under Kyber’s orders. Likely, they might be rogues with their own issues with the shadow people, and these might not have anything to do with her escape or Ty’s. After all Kyber had said and done, she couldn’t imagine him wanting to kill her to save himself from the embarrassment of the world knowing Ty had escaped. Or so she hoped. Either way, having rogues on their butts was much more potentially dangerous.

The dark silver craft whooshed over the truck again. More acid hit its mark. The hood was sizzling and so was the far left corner of the windshield. A section had melted and was buckling under the pressure of the wind. A hissing glob fell through the roof and boiled its way through the cushion on the seat. The acrid stench of melted plastic burned her nose as the substance bored straight through the chassis. Through the new hole in the seat, she could see the road racing by underneath the vehicle.

The dust kicked up was thicker this time. Bree couldn’t see the road ahead, and eased off the accelerator. The tires bounced over the shoulder, and she pulled back toward center. Then she was in the clear again.

Ty tried to lower the passenger window but it was stuck. He smashed out the glass with the butt of his pistol, making room for his shoulder and arm. Shattered glass snagged the fabric.

“Careful,” she yelled over the noise. “The glass!”

He glanced down, seemed to deem it okay, and aimed his weapon out the window.

Bree couldn’t stand the sight of him hanging out of the truck. Please, please, don’t get killed, Ty. “What are you doing? You can’t shoot a plane down with that!”

“I would if I could. But maybe a few pings on the fuselage will send them home.”

Not only was he a treasure hunter and playboy, he was a cocky treasure hunter and playboy. “I’m going where there are more cars,” she said with determination. Traffic would make the truck a harder target to hit, if that’s what the pilot decided to do. An F-16, radar, and some guns sure would go a long way in helping her feel less inadequate. But she had a pistol-toting SEAL hanging out the car door. That had to count for something.

Bree turned hard, racing up the ramp to the bigger highway. The truck skidded on its right-hand-side tires before settling back on all four.

The cows protested loudly. She could feel the shifting of their weight, and it was playing havoc with her driving. She chanced a peek. Some had froth spilling out of their noses. Others stomped around with the whites of their eyes showing. She didn’t know what the cows liked less, the noisy airplane or her driving.

Bree checked the rearview mirror. “Here she comes again!” The aircraft roared toward them, even lower this time. Instinctively, Bree ducked down, felt the vibration of the jet’s engines in her stomach.

Ty took aim. As the craft passed overhead, he fired once, twice.

Bree’s ears rang from the bangs.

The jet’s wings rocked. Hydraulic fluid, or similar stuff, streamed out the belly of the craft. “You got a hit!” Bree yelled. “Woo-hoo!”

As the craft banked away from the road, gaining altitude, Ty pulled his body back in the cab.

“You’re a wild man,” Bree praised.

“I’ve been called worse.” His smile was anything but humble.

She almost expected him to blow smoke off the tip of his gun, like the victorious cowboy after an old-fashioned shoot-out. “You do this type of thing much?”

“Not from a cattle truck,” he admitted.

“That makes two of us.”

“Ah, hell.” Bree followed his disbelieving gaze to the wounded craft. It was descending, coming down fast, its wings rocking, as if the plane had become difficult to control.

“It’s making an emergency landing,” she shouted. “And it’s going to use the road as a runway!”

She scanned the highway, and the display in the truck, looking for exits. But there were none. The plane was coming down. Other drivers saw it, too. All began pulling off the road. Bree jerked the wheel to the right. The truck bounced over the shoulder. She smelled dirt, hot tires, and cow manure.

The jet hit the road, hard. The wheels ejected smoke and flames. Sliding sideways, it careened toward the truck.

“Get out!” Ty grabbed Bree by the hand and pulled her from the cab.

Screeching over the asphalt, the jet slid past. A sharp burning odor filled Bree’s nostrils and made her eyes water. She ran with Ty through clouds of powder. In a tornado of dirt and noise, the feel of his hand was welcome.

“Go, go, go!” He propelled her in front of him where he could keep her in sight, though it slowed his pace. His legs were longer; he could outrun her. Yet Ty Armstrong would die saving her. That, she knew in her gut. He remained staunchly at her side, pushing her ahead of him as they veered into the woods. They broke through trees into farmland. Cabbages grew in neat rows. Puffy clouds dotted the sky above. The scene was bucolic and peaceful, an illusion destroyed by the sound of an explosion.

“Oh, my God. You did it. It blew up,” Bree said between gasping breaths.

“It was a lucky shot.”

“I’ll say.”

“It’ll draw attention away from us—for a while, anyway.”

“And I think it’d be a stretch to relate us to the accident in the first place.”

Ty made a sound of agreement. He sounded more winded than she was. But exertion was a bitch when your stomach was empty. “Eighth radius, Bai-Yee Square. All we have to do is make that rendezvous. Focus on that, Banzai. Getting there in time.”

At nine straight up. She squeezed her eyes shut. They had to make it, no matter what.

They reached a farmyard. Another large truck sat behind a barn, its engine idling, its covered bed full of cabbages and cool shadows. It was market-bound.

Ty’s big hands curved around Bree’s waist. He threw her into the back of the truck and jumped in after her. The cabbage smelled wretched, but it was head-and-shoulders above the cow manure. They buried themselves in hay and cabbages and hunkered down.

Sweat dribbled down Bree’s temples. She swiped it from her eyes and yanked the pieces of hay poking her out of her pants. She felt heat and exhaustion radiating off Ty. His eyes were bright blue in his grimy, bearded face.

Footsteps approached. Ty pressed his finger to his lips. Bree nodded, her heart thumping so loudly she was sure the farmer outside could hear it.

But the truck only jerked and began to roll forward. For a long time it bumped along what felt like narrow side roads. Then the ride smoothed out and the truck accelerated. Apparently, the farmer had used back roads to circumvent the airplane accident.

Once they were under way, Ty took the map from Bree’s travel sack. Direct signals from satellites provided a simple map with instantly updated positions. Who had said she’d had her fill of tech? Now Bree was singing its praises. “Where do you think we’re headed?”

To the south.” Ty’s relief was visible. “Let’s hope it’s the non-manufactured food market in New Seoul.”

He exchanged the map for a head of cabbage. No...he wasn’t. He couldn’t. But he did. With the kind of eagerness a man like him might devote to a steak dinner, he thrust his thumbs into the cabbage and tore it apart. Ravenously, he bit into one half. Then he glanced up. “Don’t look so shocked,” he mumbled between mouthfuls. “It’s good.” He offered her a bite.

She swallowed. “No, thanks.”

The more Ty ate, the more color left his face. With a great effort, at last he swallowed what he’d chewed and threw the rest of the cabbage into the pile, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Good intentions,” he said. “Bad idea.”

Bree grabbed a fistful of hay and offered it to him.

He laughed. “Thanks, but I’ll wait for dinner.”

Exhausted, Bree turned away to stare out the back of the truck until the adrenaline drained from her system. Scarlet, I’m coming for you. It might take a little longer than I thought. Don’t give up on me, Cam.

But instead of bringing her closer to her friend, every mile Bree traveled took her farther away.

 

* * *

 

 

When the cabbage truck finally stopped, it was dark. Bree smelled the sea and tasted salt in the air. Shivering from the cold, hunger, and exhaustion, she crouched next to Ty and peered outside through a gap in the tarp. They’d pulled into a port. Shouts and activity from all sides told her that it was a dock where farmers unloaded their produce. Their driver left the cab of the truck. Without checking the back, he walked away and disappeared into the crowd.

“Do you remember what we briefed?” Ty asked.

“We drop and run like hell.”

“We walk like hell. It won’t draw as much notice.” He squeezed her shoulder. “And you don’t let go of my hand.” He checked the pistol and its futuristic version of an ammo clip before giving her one curt nod.

Ty shimmied on his butt to the rear opening, as if he were preparing for a low-altitude parachute drop out the back of a C-130. She heard his borrowed boots hit the asphalt. And she jumped out after him, her heart dancing like crazy.

She’d barely gotten her balance when he snatched her hand and lugged her forward. A wall of crates led to the front gate where the truck had entered the dock area a short time ago.

Bree tried to look normal. She shivered, but sweat still formed on her forehead. She wiped it off, but the evidence of her tension kept coming back. Ty put his arm over her shoulders and drew her close, as if she were a fragile, ailing wife. She wished she could feel his body heat, but what little he had seemed to roll off her. He felt her shivering, drew her even closer, but it didn’t help. She recognized her symptoms as the beginnings of hypothermia. But there was nothing more she could do than what she was already: walking at a pace just under a run.

Ty limped, but she could tell he tried to hide it. She remembered his bloodied feet, and now they were crushed into ill-fitting boots.

The dock was a makeshift produce market, where farmers sold food directly from the backs of their trucks—a little side profit before the produce had to be packaged and shipped elsewhere. The area was small, but crowded with nighttime shoppers. The bounty of the early fall was displayed with pride; the smell of freshly picked fruits, vegetables, and cooking food filled the air, making Bree’s stomach demand sustenance.

Having survived the past few weeks on bowls of rice with an occasional sliver of boiled meat, Ty was surely reeling with hunger, but his concentration centered on getting them to a safe haven for the night. “Not here,” he said under his breath. “We’ll eat after we find lodging.”

Except for the countless electronics accompanying the hundred or so shoppers and a few helper-robots like Pip, the scene was remarkably twenty-first century. Unlike Kyber’s palace, Bree didn’t feel as much of a stranger here. Both shoppers and sellers looked healthy and well fed. There was a noticeable absence of poverty—in any form.

That is, there was an absence of poverty in any form except for her and Ty, if anyone had tried to take a closer look at them. They were grubby and dressed like poor vegetable pickers. The shadows had chosen their clothing well. But nothing would have helped if Kyber had launched an all-out search. But if he had, wouldn’t there be police at every dock and every station, looking for them?

So far, Bree saw no signs a search was under way. Their only hope was that Kyber wouldn’t expect them to be in New Seoul, and so quickly. The gruesome scene at the farmhouse lingered in her mind. Bree could still hear the driver’s last gasps for air. It reminded her that the people in the violent group who’d killed him and attacked them with acid were the ones to fear—not Kyber’s police. The loyalists had appeared out of nowhere before. Just as likely, they could do it again.

Heads down, she and Ty made their way through the crowds. As they neared the front gate of the dock area, they drew a few curious glances but that was all.

The exit loomed. Beyond was freedom.

Ty’s grip on Bree’s hand tightened. Those last few feet were the worst.

She fought the urge to break into a run. As she and Ty passed by the bored-looking gate guard, she imagined everyone within five miles could hear her heart beating.

Then they were out of the dock and on the street proper. Her held-in breath rushed out. But the flight to safety was just beginning.

Ty took her hand again. She didn’t ask again how he knew where to go. She’d asked the question earlier, and he’d explained mysteriously that he knew the layout of many cities, although he’d never visited them. She understood. As a fighter pilot, she knew every airplane and helicopter in the world from memory without having flown most of them.

They walked through a warren of dark, narrow streets.

The air reeked of overcrowded humanity: smoke, garlic, sweat. Stores hawked items using digital price displays and flashy holographic ads. Ty searched the signs, looking for a promising place to stay.

Here, the buildings clustered so tightly together that they blocked the starry sky. Walls of brick or stone transformed to laser-bright ads or exploded into three-dimensional, holographic images before morphing into other, decorative textures. Ty didn’t seem to notice, but the barrage made Bree feel as if she’d stayed too long at a carnival midway. Her nerves were raw after a while. She felt jumpy, overstimulated. She supposed that’s how someone from the Civil War might have felt, if brought to the twentieth or twenty-first centuries and face-to-face with billboards and televised entertainment.

A few locals had set up temporary cookeries outside their shops, open late at night the way Bree remembered from the Korea she once knew. One woman dipped a ladle into a tub of batter and poured it onto the red-hot top of a metal drum. Working quickly, she swirled the batter around until it simmered. As it cooked, she threw in a handful of prepared meat and vegetables. With a spatula, she deftly folded it into a tube with closed ends, wrapped it in paper, and handed the bundle to a waiting customer. Then she started all over again.

Bree planted her boots, forcing Ty to stop. “Cover me. I’m buying us some of that.”

Ty glanced up one side of the street and down the other, and gave her a nod. She paid for three of the stuffed pancakes—one for her, two for Ty—and a couple of bottles of juice. They huddled close to the building and began to eat.

While Ty wasn’t as desperately hungry as he was the night he’d come to dinner in Kyber’s apartment, Bree could tell he wanted to shove the food into his mouth but held back for fear of offending her. “You’re starving, Ty,” she mumbled, her mouth full. “Eat as fast as you want. Who cares about manners!”

He glanced up. “Mmm?”

“No! Don’t stop. Eat.” She chuckled. “Listen to me now. I sound just like my grandmother Vitale.”

Ty wolfed down his food, but never fully lost his veneer of manners. The Ax and his wife had been taskmaster parents, apparently.

Bree couldn’t eat fast enough. Gravy dripped from the wrapper onto her wrists. Only the scalding center of the pancake slowed her down. But she’d eaten less than half of hers when Ty wiped his hands on his shirt and swallowed his last bite. “Good,” he grunted in true caveman fashion, and lifted the juice drink to his mouth.

Her attention was still on Ty’s face when she saw his expression change abruptly. He lowered the bottle, his gaze tracking upward. “It’s back...”

Bree spun around. The billboard across the street was white. Bright white. Then a voice erupted, rumbling like thunder: “‘These are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will in this crisis shrink from the service of his country; but he that stands now deserves the love and thanks of men and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered.”

“Holy Christmas,” Bree whispered.

“‘Yet, we have this consolation with us: The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly; it is dearness only that gives everything its value.’ That, my friends, is what Thomas Paine told his fellow revolutionaries more than five hundred years ago. And I bring his words to you now. Rise up! Rise up! Let this be the shot heard around the world!”

“It’s like a telemarketer calling during dinner,” she said, her mouth full.

“Tele...marketer?” Ty asked. “What’s that?”

“Thank you,” she said to his puzzlement. “You have just made the future a better place.”

“Some will tell you to ignore my call to arms,” the voice declared, rising in volume. “If you do, remember this: Those who give up essential liberty to preserve a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety; those who expect to reap the blessings of freedom must undergo the fatigue of supporting it. Now that you have won your liberty, Banzai Maguire, you must win freedom for us all!”

What the hell?

Bree’s pancake fell to the sidewalk with a soggy thump.

“Let’s go,” Ty said, grabbing her. He strode away from the pancake stand at a near run, his arm tight over her shoulders.

“Did you hear that? It said my name.”

He tucked her face against his chest, shielding her, but that made it hard to walk without tripping over her feet.

“I don’t want to be involved with this,” she mumbled, her mouth crushed against his shirt.

The voice continued to echo all around them. Some of the vendors had shut off their billboards, but many were still on. She cast a furtive glance at the people milling around her. She would have thought any calls to rise up would cause alarm in a foreign state, but most of the pedestrians appeared to treat the voice exactly like that tele-marketer who called at dinnertime—an annoying entity they tried to ignore. Or, maybe they recognized it as she did: a message meant for UCE, and not them.

“Banzai Maguire!” She cringed at the sound of her name booming in the crowded streets. “I am well aware of the toil and blood it will cost you to come to me, but come to me you must. Hear my words; heed my call. I will be waiting for you, Banzai Maguire.”

Bree exchanged a panicked glance up at Ty. “All I did was sleep through two centuries. Now this person thinks I’m a hero.”

“I did my duty, that’s all,” she remembered telling Kyber at the palace. “I’m nothing special.”

“You are the stuff of legends, Banzai,” he’d said.

And Joo-Eun had insisted, “The shadows want you to succeed.”

Succeed in what? Shivering, Bree sweated at the same time, her stomach filled with butterflies.

“In what destiny has brought you here to do.”

She cringed at Joo-Eun’s conviction. This wasn’t Bree’s fight. She wasn’t from this world. She was Bree Ann Maguire, the daughter of an auto mechanic and a stay-at-home mom, a small-town tomboy with a keen sense of competition and a heart full of patriotism. Give her a mission plan and she’d fight courageously to the death, because that’s what she’d pledged the day she received the gold lieutenant’s bars on her shoulders. But lead a revolution? Was that what the owner of the voice wanted? She wasn’t qualified to lead a campaign of that magnitude, let alone to inspire anyone to fight a revolution—and she didn’t want to be.

Those who give up essential liberty to preserve a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety; those who expect to reap the blessings of freedom must undergo the fatigue of supporting it. Bree shrank from the voice’s accusation. The American flag waved behind her eyes...taunting her. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will in this crisis shrink from the service of his country; but he that stands now deserves the love and thanks of men and women.

The voice was silent now. The white screens returned to the flashy ads, and the few pedestrians who had been listening went back to their routine. Then several imperial guards rounded the corner.

“Police!” she whispered loudly.

Ty spun her around until they faced a storefront. Trying to breathe normally, Bree pretended to look at the window display of holographically enhanced clothing. Ty’s face was shadowed, but she knew a mask of indifference hid his fear of recapture. It would not go well for Ty, if that happened. And who knew what would happen to her?

But the guards strode past, talking and laughing.

“Come on.” Ty took her by the arm and urged her across the street. “We’ve got to get out of the open.”

“The Celadon,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

On a small television sitting on the ground next to a man stirring a boiling pot of noodles, the news showed a scene of jubilation. Ty slowed to watch the crowd cheering a screen of solid white.

Hanging from a tall flagpole over the crowd was a huge flag Bree recognized as the UCE banner—a white globe on a blue square in a field of solid red. “It’s coming from the UCE,” Ty confirmed. His shock melted into acute dismay and then reluctant acknowledgment. “The central colony, where the boycotts started. What you knew as the United States.”

A narrator said, “For a fourth consecutive day, a broadcast has interrupted communication across a broad area. President Beauchamp today called the speeches ‘a revolting example of Interweb terrorism.’”

So many people, Bree thought. The camera panned over streets and streets of them. Those close to the camera yelled; some shook their fists; others cheered; a few even cried. So many emotions. She could feel the passion rising off them like steam from boiling water. And in the midst of it all, she saw someone in the crowd of protestors lift a flag, an American flag, and wave it slowly back and forth.

The sight hit Bree like a fist in the stomach. It was something from the past—her past. It didn’t belong in this turbulent demonstration in a futuristic city. And yet, somehow, it did. “Old Glory” was a symbol all at once incongruous and poignantly familiar waving above the protestors. Did these people understand what those stars and stripes meant? Did they know how many had bled to keep that flag waving?

She did!

That’s why the voice wants you.

Averting her eyes, she winced and turned her head. That’s when it hit her that Ty stood at her side, her hands crushed in his. On opposite sides, she and Ty were in this together.

Something very close to real emotion pressed behind her eyes, but she caught herself before the ache could turn into tears. She’d spent the past few weeks entombed in blessed numbness. But that protective cocoon had just ripped wide open.

The narrator droned on in a tone that was an oddly subdued counterpoint to her boiling emotions and the crowd’s vehemence. “Listening to the speeches will only encourage its organizers, the president warned. All suspected agitators will be tried for treason.”

Treason? Bree turned to Ty and said, “He means me.”