by Susan Grant
Kyber’s mouth twisted into a near smile. “You drew attention. They wanted a share of it. The missiles they used were more for show than damage.”
She sank deeper into the chair. The adrenaline was fading now, and in its place came bone-deep exhaustion. Or was her wiped-out condition more a factor of information overload? “They would have done some damage if they’d landed in our laps.”
“But they didn’t.”
A member of the staff appeared behind Kyber and cleared his throat. Dressed in black except for a small, oval, gray hat, he was tall and lean and all business. “Your Highness.”
“Yes, Kabul?”
“Security is tracking the mischief makers.”
“Ah. Very good. Message me when they are in custody.”
The staffer bowed and then departed. “That was my chief of palace security,” Kyber told Bree. “He will take care of everything. Now, do you feel strong enough for a tour of the palace underground? You expressed worry about my safety. I want you to see some of the measures I have in place in the event of a security breach, should they ever need to be used, which I doubt highly. But a tyrant must never underestimate the cleverness of his detractors, yes?”
“I guess so. You’re the first tyrant I’ve met.”
“Ah, a virgin. I promise to handle you gently.” He took her by the arm and tugged her across the room.
Bree wasn’t used to feeling speechless around men. But Kyber’s audacity and arrogance were so unapologetic and so part of his personality that she couldn’t get angry with him. She couldn’t even work up a decent blush in response. Unless she was still in shock from the episode on the balcony. Not that it was a bad thing, she thought dazedly. She was beginning to think there was a definite advantage to her state of shock. It took her mind off the grief. And if she ever were to admit she was scared, the shock would numb the fear, too.
She stumbled. Kyber swept her off her feet and into his arms. She protested. “My coordination needs a little work, but I can walk.”
“In a moment. First you must fall.” He spoke to the air. “Open access!” A trapdoor opened in the wood floor, and Kyber dropped her into it.
Bree landed on a thick mat. A heavy thud told her that Kyber had fallen behind her.
“If I ever had to evacuate my quarters, I would come here,” he said. He helped her to her feet, then added, “And then I would run.” Then they were off and jogging through the cool and dim bowels of the palace. “How are you doing?” he asked.
She spoke between gasps. “Good.” Excellent, for a 198-year-old.
“Here, I would stop and board my magcycle.”
Kyber’s “magcycle” looked like a cross between a jet ski and a Harley. It sat on a road, or track, gouged into the stone floor. Gleaming coils lined both sides of the track.
“Halbach arrays,” he explained as he pulled two helmets off the wall, one for him, one for her. “Permanent magnets. They create inductive current in the coils.”
She shook her head. “Refresh me on the physics.”
“It means all we need to do is move to achieve levitation. It’s the same method used by magcars all over my kingdom. And in my space program, we use a similar track to accelerate the space planes to takeoff velocity.” Kyber jumped onto the magcycle. Twisting in his seat, one arm outstretched to help her board. “Sit behind me, and strap in. Yes, the thigh straps—there. And one more around your waist.”
She did as she was told. It would be the height of irony to survive what she had, only to die her first week here because she didn’t buckle her seat belt. She didn’t see any handles to hold on to and rested her hands on Kyber’s hips, motorcycle style.
Kyber squeezed something on the handlebars. Blue-white streams of energy slithered around the coils below. Whoa. Bree tucked her feet up on the footrests.
The vehicle rolled forward over the coils on small wheels until it reached about the speed of a fast walk. “Hold on,” Kyber warned and the magcycle surged forward.
Bree heard the wheels retract. Kyber must have felt her arms tighten around him. “Levitation transition velocity,” he yelled over his shoulder to be heard with the wind noise.
It was true. They weren’t riding on the track, but were flying inches above it. The wind rushed at her face. Her hair whipped around her jaw and shoulders, where the helmet didn’t cover.
They reached what felt like their peak speed, and held it for some time, before the vehicle started to slow. Up an incline, around a curve to the left, and the darkness gave way to light, as if they’d come to a station. The magcycle continued to slow. The wheels came down and it dropped down and hit the track.
Kyber drove the vehicle to the end of the track, where he and Bree dismounted. Bree’s legs were shaking with fatigue and excitement. “That was a great ride.” She took off her helmet and shook out her hair. “Thank you.”
“I would not want you to think that all I could give you was a slide show and a history lesson.”
Bree tucked her tangled hair behind her ears. “Well, you came through. It felt...good to fly again.” But that thought brought an uncomfortable sadness. She shoved it aside and poked her thumb at a staircase leading to the ceiling. “Where are we?”
“Below the medical wing. Your room. But the magtrack leads to many other stops under the palace, including my safe room, where I would join with my security team, if necessary, and maintain communication with every area of the palace and my kingdom in emergency conditions.” He reached for a control panel inset in the wall and pressed an icon that looked like a corkscrew. The magcycle rotated on its wheels until it had turned 180 degrees. On its own, it rolled down the track. It hit levitation velocity and shot off into the darkness.
“It returns to the starting point on command. The magcycles—there are three—can also be summoned from any station in the palace.” His gauntlet device chimed. “Yes, Kabul?”
“The troublemakers are in custody. Shall I have them brought to the dungeon after questioning, or question and release them?”
Kyber thought on that for all of two seconds. “See what information they’re hiding, then, yes—a stay in the dungeon will prove rehabilitating. The message must be clear that I won’t tolerate any mischief with the potential to harm Banzai Maguire.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Kabul out.”
“You have a dungeon?”
Kyber spread his hands. “What despot worth his weight in suffering would dare be caught without one?”
Then he chuckled at her surprise and shook his head. “Banzai, Banzai. I am teasing. My dungeon is rarely used, and when it is, it is to teach a lesson. In fact,” he said, his self-satisfaction obvious, “the thief who tried to kidnap you is learning his lesson as we speak.”
* * *
Since there were no windows, Ty judged the passage of time by the rise and fall of the temperature. The heat and humidity in the cell increased as the day wore on, and with it the stink. Since he was sweating like a pig and the place stank to holy hell, he assumed it was afternoon.
Ty dozed with his back propped against one of the walls, and as far from the hole in the floor that served as his toilet as he could. Shouting jolted him awake. He sat up, wiping one hand over his whiskered face. Guards pushed two dirty, frightened men past his cell. One man’s eye was swollen shut. The other prisoner was bleeding from his mouth. Well, well. He had company. And fresh from interrogation, it looked like.
Ty pushed off the floor and went to the bars. “So, what did you two do?”
One of the guards smashed a baton against the bars, missing Ty’s fingers. “Back off!”
The man with the swollen eye shrugged. “Lobbed a rocket at the Banzai Maguire celebration.”
“The Banzai Maguire celebration?”
“Haven’t you heard, man? Banzai Maguire.” The guard shoved him along. “She slept for two centuries and the prince revived her,” the man shouted over his shoulder. “A miracle.”
Blood rushed to Ty’s head, and his heat-in
duced languor evaporated. Banzai. He gripped the bars. “She’s here? She’s safe?” He swallowed, squeezed his eyes shut in thanks. Then it hit him what the man had said. “You shot a rocket? Was she nearby?”
“Shut up, UCE scum!” The guard whacked the bars with the baton, knocking Ty back. Then, as if looking for an easy end to the conversation, he brought his baton down on his prisoner’s head. Without a sound, the man pitched forward. It wasn’t a fatal blow—the guards knew how to stop short of killing you, Ty had found out the hard way—but the rebel was going to feel it in the morning.
Ty’s blood boiled as he watched the guard drag the unconscious rioter to a cell. He shouted at the one who remained on his feet. “The rocket! Where did it hit?” His voice echoed through the dungeon. “If you hurt her, I’ll rip out your throat!” He shook his cell door, wishing he could tear it apart.
At last, he swore and pushed away from the bars. Kyber had put Banzai Maguire on display. Wasn’t he taking any precautions to keep her safe?
Jamming his hands through his hair, Ty paced. Losing your treasure was one thing, but seeing it neglected by the thief was another entirely. She, he corrected himself. His treasure was a woman, a living, breathing woman, and a beautiful one at that.
She’s here.
That realization brought Ty to a halt. Suddenly, the local terrorists didn’t seem as big of a threat to Banzai Maguire as the reputedly lusty ruler who had brought her to his lair.
* * *
Kyber invited Bree to dinner. He greeted her dressed in a softer, more casual version of his usual all-black leather outfit. Someone had lowered the lights and put on soft music.
“Dr. Park tells me you napped this afternoon,” he said as he escorted her into the living-room area of his private apartment. “For seven hours. I feared I would have to come wake you and take you on another forced march.”
Bree laughed. “I thought I was just closing my eyes for a few minutes. It didn’t feel like I slept that long.” But, then, neither had the 170 years she’d spent comatose. “I guess adulation and fireworks wear me out.”
Kyber made a sound that sounded like a snort.
“You wouldn’t by chance have coffee, would you? And don’t tell me no one drinks it anymore. I’ll die.” She thought of bringing up the subject of Milky Way bars, but chose to take it one step at a time. Kyber looked delighted and proud, as if she’d asked for the moon and stars and he could provide them. “Yes, of course. I grow the best coffee on Earth in my plantations.”
“Everything you offer is ‘the best’. As if you have anything that isn’t.”
“I will take that as a compliment.” A hint of pleasure added an extra sparkle to Kyber’s magnetic smile. “And, Banzai, it seems I anticipated your request.”
He gestured to a plush, multicolored rug spread with pillows by a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the forest that surrounded the palace. On a tray sat a squat engraved silver pot with a spout that held the promise—and the scent—of rich coffee.
“Coffee,” Bree said, bringing her hands together.
“Join me.” Kyber settled his muscular body next to one of the pillows. His black boots scraped over the rug as he crisscrossed his long legs in front of him. Then he offered her a hand as she dropped down to sit next to one of the large, soft cushions.
Bree thanked her lucky stars that she’d somehow fallen into the hands of a rich and powerful man whose favorite pastime seemed to be making her happy. In fact, it was the only thing that had gone right in the past 170 years. She hoped her family watched over her from beyond the great divide, and saw the generosity and kindness of her rescuer.
If only her luck had extended to her research into Cam’s whereabouts. “I didn’t only sleep today,” she admitted.
“Ah. What else did you do?” He made his inquiry in an indulgent way that told her he knew the answer but would rather hear it from her.
“Dr. Park taught me how to use the computer.” Which took some doing; the keyboard as Bree knew it was absent. “You gave me free access. I could go anywhere, see anything.”
“Why not? I do not censor what my people read and learn, and I especially don’t limit their access to the Web. What better way to prove that the best life is here?”
Maybe it was, she thought. “I watched a lot of news.” In her first hour, she’d seen civilians clashing with UCE military—big goon-like dudes with black-and-silver-encrusted uniforms and automatic weapons. It seemed the UCE wanted to tax the use of the Interweb. One “colony”—strangely enough, the one that overlay the area of the old contiguous fifty states—had threatened a boycott of UCE goods if the tax went into effect. It was almost an exact repeat of what the British tried to do in pre-Revolutionary America. The Stamp Act was going to tax anything printed: newspapers, even decks of cards. It had led to violent protests, and eventually to the revolution itself.
She asked, “Have you ever heard the expression ‘history repeats itself’?”
Kyber poured coffee. His expression didn’t change. “Do you think it might?”
The people she’d seen on-screen might as well have been redcoats and colonists. “I think it already is. But I’m not a fortune-teller. I can’t predict what will happen.”
“But you have a unique perspective on our times, Banzai. Because you are from another.”
Was part of her value to Kyber as political adviser? She hoped not. Her view of the world consisted only of what she’d seen, read, or downloaded. It wasn’t enough. She wanted to know what else was out there. What it was really like.
Muted light, filtered by the woods outside the window, accentuated Kyber’s exotic appearance as he prepared the coffee. To their cups he added honey, cream, and a cinnamon stick, without asking what she preferred. She didn’t comment. She had the feeling this prince wasn’t used to serving others. That he was preparing her coffee at all, with such devotion to detail, was enough to keep her in appreciative silence.
“Thank you,” she said and took the offered cup. In silence, they sipped and gazed outside at the woods. A river ran through the trees. Half hidden in the pines was an ancient pagoda-like tower.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s beautiful.”
“I think you will like the mountain, as well.” The scene changed instantly to the white-topped volcano she’d seen earlier.
She almost choked on the coffee she sipped. “I thought the view was real…”
“Horace, remove holo,” he said.
The volcano vanished, and a courtyard took its place. “This is the ‘real’ view.” An enormous triangular black-bottom pool sparkled in a sunset. Nearby were tables and chairs set in a garden. Rainbows flickered in the mist of a marble fountain. “Would you like the barrier removed?”
“The barrier?”
“Horace, fresh air.”
At Kyber’s command, outdoor smells of flowers and grass flooded the room. A warm, moist breeze rustled Bree’s hair.
“The window is a membrane made of microscopic computers,” Kyber said, as if he were describing something as everyday as a glass of water. “The computers respond to commands to let in the outside air, or not. Or they can function as a display screen to show anything I like. Horace,” he said, “Show the Great Wall.”
The image transformed into a view of the Great Wall of China, making it appear as if they sat in the center of it. In the distance, the path snaked away into the mountains until it was lost on the hazy horizon.
“I like the garden,” she said hoarsely. At least she knew it was real. “Who’s Horace, by the way?”
“My computer. He maintains my private quarters to my liking, and interacts with the palace computer to provide service and security, as necessary.”
Bree looked around the bedroom. “The walls were a different color this morning. Orange. But now they’re white. Nanocomputers, too?”
He nodded. “Would you prefer the pumpkin?”
“Pumpkin? You know pumpkin
?”
He lifted an elegant black brow. “The hue,” he explained.
“Yes. I know.” She sighed. “My sister would have loved you.”
His other brow lifted.
“She was a designer.” He had no idea what she meant—she could tell. “Never mind. White’s fine.” Now she’d thoroughly confused him. She gulped down more coffee, half praying it wouldn’t suddenly transform into apple juice. All her life, she’d worshipped technology. Now she felt as if she were overdosing on it. It was everywhere; you couldn’t escape computers, because most of them were microscopic and integrated into almost every part of the palace. She’d read that in the future, nanotechnology would change the world. Computers would no longer sit on a desk, or slip into a briefcase. They would be the desk or the briefcase, integrated into every area of life, even inside the body, repairing cells, administering medicine. She knew that there were microscopic medical computers coursing through her veins at that very moment. It was why, after so long asleep, she could function almost normally.
Kyber called out, “Horace, open the door,” and a small army of servers entered the room on silent, slippered feet.
Transfixed, Bree watched the preparations take place. Plate by plate, the servers arranged a feast of food before them, presenting the food in what resembled the traditional Korean way. Bowls of every size held delicacies, more than a few containing the bioengineered substances she’d eaten in the hospital. Covers protected some bowls, steam wafting from beneath the lids; others were open and contained morsels that either were chilled, salted, and dried, or preserved with some sort of liqueur, judging by the scents.
A woman wearing a snug, curve-conscious gown that was Thai in appearance, lit candles. Incense gently sweetened the air. Tiny silver-tasseled rings dangled from her long, pierced fingernails. Her nail polish changed from one color to the next as she worked. Then, she remained crouched on one knee until Kyber met her gaze. He shook his head at her, an almost undetectable movement, and the woman rose.
