The Scarlet Empress

by Susan Grant

  He remained sullen, solemn, and all alone in front of his French doors. It didn’t look like he was listening to her, but she knew he was.

  “You have the throne. Now become the incredible leader you were born to be. History is giving you the chance to take part, Kyber, a chance at real glory. All you have to do is grab hold of it.”

  And all she had to do was make sure he realized it, and helped save Bree in the process.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  It was a standoff on the roof of Fort Powell. Bree said nothing as she stared down the barrel of the guard’s gun. Sweat formed on her forehead, trickling down her temples. She felt Ty’s anguish. They’d been so close . . . so close.

  Yet there was something about this guard that stopped them, something familiar. “It’s the guard who spoke to me last night,” she whispered out the corner of her mouth. “He . . . he asked me if I was afraid of dying.”

  She’d said no, of course, but that was big talk when you weren’t looking down the barrel of a shotgun.

  “No one leaves with her.” The blond guard waved his weapon at Bree. “Move away from him.”

  Bree hadn’t breathed since the standoff began, it seemed. “You asked me last night if I was afraid to die,” she said.

  The guard’s eyes shot back to her.

  “Now I have a chance to live, and you won’t give it to me?”

  He appeared genuinely confused. “This guard’s not taking you to die?”

  “He’s not a guard.”

  “I’m rescuing her,” Ty said. “Or at least, I’m trying to.”

  “Is it true?” the guard asked Bree.

  She nodded.

  “He’s not making you say that?”

  “No.”

  The man lowered his gun. His uniform was soaked with sweat. “I knew Nessie had gone after you, to bring you to Armstrong. I found her handcuffed in your cell.”

  The commandant’s name was Nessie? Bree swallowed and didn’t say anything.

  “So I figured you’d escaped. I wanted . . . I wanted to make sure you did.”

  Clearly distraught and still struggling, he threw his weapon to Bree. Shocked, she caught it. “You’ll probably need it,” he said.

  Without another word to explain his unexpected actions, he walked away.

  She exchanged a let’s-get-the-hell-out-of-here glance with Ty. They ran to the heli-jet. “You’re flying it, right?” The last time they’d escaped like this was when they’d fled Kyber’s palace. Then, she’d driven and he’d done the shooting. Same with the cattle truck they’d hijacked afterward.

  “Yeah. I’m driving this time. Now strap that cute ass of yours to the seat and let’s get going.”

  “Sit down, strap in, and shut up. Works for me.” She jumped in.

  He jumped into the pilot’s seat, and Bree sat at his right. His hands revealed little hesitation as he started up the aircraft. With a rush of vertical acceleration, they lifted off the roof.

  Below were thousands of people. Every square inch of cement was filled. “We should let them know,” she said. “Let them know I got out.”

  Ty’s face was rigid. Cold. She wasn’t exactly immune to the fear either. “Bree, it’s a mob.”

  “I know,” she said quietly. “And I’m the reason they’re here. They don’t want me to die.”

  “If it were up to me, I’d whisk you far and away as fast as I could to safety.” Ty turned to look at her, searching her face with sad eyes. “But you’re not really mine,” he almost whispered. “I think I always knew that.”

  She shook her head. “What do you mean?”

  “You belong to them, not me. You always have. All I want to do is to hide you, but that’s not my right. Like the Voice of Freedom said, you belong to the people.”

  “You’re the man I love. No matter what I have to do for the revolution, that won’t change. I’m going to be your wife one of these days. We’re going to get married. That is, if we ever get a minute when no one’s trying to kill us.”

  Ty didn’t smile, but his mouth softened. He lifted a hand to softly drag his fingertips down her cheek. She turned her head and pressed her lips to his palm, covered in a black leather glove.

  Then, with obvious reservations, Ty pushed forward on the stick. The heli-jet plunged. Something hard glanced off the windshield as they swooped over the crowd. “They’re throwing rocks!” Ty swore and jerked the craft out of the way. “The engines are vulnerable to foreign-object damage. We can’t stay down here.”

  “Put it down then.”

  Ty appeared aghast. “Put it down?”

  “This heli-jet’s small. It’ll fit in the street. Land it. They’ll move out of the way.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “That’s why they call me Banzai.”

  It was obvious Ty didn’t share her cheer.

  A clear circle opened in the center of the mob, the protesters moving out of the way, if only to keep from getting crushed. After the heli-jet touched down, Bree slid her window back, letting in a hurricane roar of screaming mouths and waving hands. It was a mob gone mad.

  A rock bounced off the front glass as Bree tore open her black uniform to reveal the orange jumpsuit underneath. “Is there a way I can talk to them? A speaker?”

  Ty pressed an icon on the control screen. “Do it.”

  She pumped her fist outside the window. “We have the power to begin the world anew!” she shouted, using the same words as at the sentencing. They had watched; they’d remember. “The time has come, the time for deliverance. We will make a stand for freedom, not for us alone, but for the world!”

  The mob’s cries lowered in volume. “It’s her,” she heard someone close to the heli-jet say. “It’s Banzai Maguire!”

  The shouts spread. “Maguire, it’s Maguire.” A ripple of voices spread outward from the epicenter.

  “What do we do?” someone shouted at her. “The UCE military’s cracking down. We’ll be overpowered.”

  “They’re scared, Ty,” she said under her breath to him. “Overwhelmed. They’re at a crossroads. The UCE is cracking down and they’re losing hope.”

  “Then give it back to them. Inspire them.”

  She spread her hands. “How?”

  “Just tell them what’s in your heart. Tell them what’s in their hearts, but that they don’t know how to say.”

  Shaking with nerves, she turned back to the rapt crowd. From their signs, so many of them were there to protest her imprisonment. “An army,” she said softly at first, then loud enough to register on the speakers and carry far and wide. “An army! Look at you—you’re an army for freedom, thousands strong. Millions more of us are banding together all over Central to defy tyranny and win freedom. I know you’ve heard of my talents at escaping every trap set—including this one—”

  The crowd laughed and cheered.

  “But it’s because of people like you. I’ve been helped by people who love freedom as much as I. By people like you!

  “Know this: some of the stories of me are legendary, I hear, but I’m scared, too. I know many of you fear for your lives and your families, but remember—the UCE fears us! As the Continental Army of so many centuries ago prevailed against overwhelming odds, so will we!”

  The cheering had become deafening, but the heli-jet’s speaker cast Bree’s voice far and wide. “Today we face what may be the most important choice in our lives. Do we declare ourselves free, fight and win this war—possibly dying for that victory—or do we go home? Everyone would be safe, then. No one would get hurt.”

  By now, she was half hanging out the heli-jet window. Only Ty’s grip on her waistband kept her from tumbling out.

  “Do you know what I say to that? ‘Don’t be afraid of death; be afraid of the unlived life!’ I’d rather die fighting for freedom now than die decades from now, warm in my bed but embarrassed to tell my grandchildren that I chose safety over their futures. This is what the Founding Fathers fought for so many years ag
o. They were victorious, but what they won has again been taken away. Benjamin Franklin said, ‘Those who give up essential liberty to preserve a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety!’ It’s our turn to fight. Who’s ready to tell the UCE where they can put their Interweb taxes?”

  The crowd roared. She couldn’t believe it was happening, that she was able to inspire them. Ty had told her to say what was in her heart; she’d done just that and it had worked.

  People surged all around the heli-jet. She knew Ty worried that they’d accidentally damage the craft and kill any chance of escape. She needed to tell him to launch, but she heard shouted questions: “How? When? Where?”

  “Find your leaders,” she told them. “They’re out there. You know who they are. Organize and prepare. And then march on Washington, DC, the real capital, and show the UCE our determination to fight!”

  “March on old Washington?” Ty asked, incredulous. “Bree . . .”

  It’s under control, she mouthed. “I’ll meet you there,” she yelled. “ ‘Some may cry peace—but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!’ ”

  The crowd went wild. Ty pulled her back into the helijet. “Strap in. We’re out of here—now, or we’re not going to get out of here at all.”

  He started up the jet engine. The crowd moved back far enough to allow the craft lift off. As they rose into the air, American flags waved all around them, an enormous field of Stars and Stripes.

  The heli-jet’s nose dipped as it accelerated. Then, with a burst of speed, Ty and Bree left the chaos of Fort Powell behind.

  Bree shuddered and relaxed against the seat. “Holy Christmas. Is it time for your medication or mine?” she joked.

  “It’s not over,” Ty warned her, pushing the heli-jet to its max speed.

  She rolled her head to look at him. “It never is.”

  After a few moments had clicked by, she frowned. “By the way, who the hell is Lee-lee? Lee-lee Sweet?”

  “How do you know about her?”

  “They played the Interweb in my cell twenty-fourseven. There was a show on celebrity couples. You and Lee-lee starred.”

  Ty groaned. “She’s an old girlfriend.”

  “How old?”

  “Real old. Three or four years ago, I went through a period of doing the party scene after I lost those men in the Raft Cities. I returned to the navy when my leave was up, but never returned to the parties.”

  The slow burn of jealousy faded. She’d only half believed those images anyway. “Good. I was worried that while I was rotting in jail, you were whooping it up with hot babes.”

  Ty snorted. He reached across the cockpit and squeezed her hand. “I’m done with the Lee-lees of the world. I love you, Bree. I love you as I’ve never loved before; you know that.”

  “Banzai Maguire!”

  Bree sat ramrod straight in her seat. A voice boomed out of her collar. To Ty’s expression of disbelief, she said, “It’s the Voice of Freedom.”

  “Who are you with?” it demanded. “Who are you speaking to?”

  Ty brought a finger to his lips and shook his head.

  She nodded. “Thank you for shutting down the prison. How the heck did you do that?”

  “As much as I’d like the credit, I didn’t do it. Someone hacked into the system. Impossible, and yet it happened.”

  “Someone else is helping us?”

  “The Trojan Horse, too, was thought to be a gift.”

  “Good point,” Ty muttered, his eyes on the sky ahead.

  “Now tell me where you are, Banzai.” The Voice of Freedom sounded almost panicky.

  “We’re—”

  Ty’s hand landed on hers and squeezed. He shook his head.

  Why? She mouthed the word.

  He typed on the cockpit keyboard: If we trust the wrong person now, it’s all over.

  But it’s the Voice of Freedom, she typed back.

  We think it is.

  Bree stared straight ahead. Ty was right. They couldn’t risk trusting an unknown. And even if it was the real Voice of Freedom, she/he/it had gotten her into one mess after another. The Voice’s intentions were good—the best—but its execution left a lot to be desired. “I left a motivated crowd behind in New Washington,” she replied. “They’re gathering now, organizing. Without an Interweb for communication, the process will be slower, but it’ll happen. You can handle that, okay? Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll contact you when I get there.”

  “Get where? You left before my plans for your protection were fully realized.”

  You snooze, you lose.“Listen, I can’t trust too many people right now. I’m sure you understand.”

  The tense silence told her that the Voice did indeed understand, but was royally pissed off.

  “I’ll call, okay?” Bree promised.

  But the Voice of Freedom, it seemed, had already hung up.

  Less than four hours later they touched down on the helijet pad at Ty’s family ranch in Montana. The trip had been inexplicably easy, uneventful. No other aircraft had come up on their wing; no radar had tracked them. They’d heard nothing on the radios directed at them. Ty was certain it meant that forces loyal to his father would be waiting for them, but when they arrived at the ranch it was deserted.

  “Don’t question good fortune,” he told Bree, ushering her inside. The house smelled familiar, a little like cinnamon, a little like pine. There was no time to waste on a tour. That would come later . . . if it ever did.

  He led Bree downstairs to the basement. “This is the command center. It’s dedicated to security.”

  “There’s enough gear and gadgets in here to supply a small country’s military.”

  “My father wanted to be prepared in the event Beauchamp ousted him from office. No one can get into this place once I throw up the shields. Not even my father himself—unless he calls in an air strike, which he won’t. He loves the place too much.” Ty’s fingers danced over the huge rectangular monitor, typing in codes. “My father made me memorize the security commands when I was a boy, in case he was incapacitated and needed me to

  shut out the world—or, more accurately, the UCE.”

  He wiped his hands. “Done. Now I’ll show you around.”

  His tour ended some time later at the bedroom he’d occupied as a child. Bree stepped through the door, gazing with the softest of smiles at the model airplanes dangling from his ceiling. He’d told her so many stories about this room, and now she’d arrived; Banzai Maguire was here in his bedroom. A frisson of wonder went through him. “It seems surreal to me that you’re here,” he said quietly.

  “Me, too.” She thought for a moment. “Hey, do you still have that book—the one where you saw my biography?”

  He reached for a thick text and pulled it from his bookshelf. “This is how I first learned of you.” He flipped to a dog-eared, much-read page and handed her the military textbook.

  “That’s me. . . .” Bree’s eyes glittered with sudden moisture as she gazed at the small photo of her dressed in an air force flight suit and posed in front of an F-16. “This is the picture that led to everything.”

  “A revolution.”

  She brought her hand to his cheek. “And more.”

  “Believe it or not, my father gave me this book. See what came of it? We will never give our children books.”

  She laughed. “Not if they’re going to go through what we have.”

  Their smiles faded simultaneously. They’d been through a lot, and it wasn’t over yet.

  “Come here, Sleeping Beauty.” Ty pulled her close and pressed his lips to the side of her throat. “I want to make love to you so badly, Bree, I can taste it—can taste you. . . . ” He bit her earlobe, and she gave a tiny yelp.

  “Almost every single time we’ve gone to bed together, someone’s tried to kill us. Do you know that?”

  He lifted his head. “No one can get in here.”

  “Your father can’t override what we’ve done?”


  “Once the codes are input into the main computer, it locks out all overrides. My father designed it that way.”

  That seemed to appease her.

  For about a second.

  “I’m not getting into bed, or in the shower, or doing anything until I know that every window, every door, every air vent, every gopher hole is locked!”

  He couldn’t blame her. The two times they’d shared a real bed had ended in disaster—once with their near murders, the second with their capture. Affecting a gallant attitude in the finest tradition of knights in shining armor, he took her hand and proceeded to lead the symbolic leader of a world-class rebellion on an inspection of every window, every door, every air vent, and every gopher hole on the ranch.

  They ended their search in the kitchen, a large room with panoramic views of the mountains yet cozy in the tradition of ranch homes. “We haven’t checked the pantry yet,” Ty told Bree.

  She leaned back against a nearby counter and smoothed her hair away from her face. “Well, we looked in every other nook and cranny, let’s do it.”

  Ty lifted a finger and beckoned. “You do it.”

  Casting him a confused glance, she pushed away from the counter and walked through the door he’d opened.

  She took in the sight of the sealed compartments holding food and other perishables and shrugged. “Well, we won’t starve.”

  She started to walk out, but he stopped her. “I figured you’d smell it. But the containers are more airtight than I thought.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Smell what?”

  He grinned as he threw open the first of several bins holding a treasure trove of—

  “Junk food,” Bree breathed. “Be still my heart. Chocolate . . . and chips . . . and—look at all this stuff!”

  Ty tore open a candy bar and broke off a piece, handing it to Bree. “I don’t know what brands you know, but plan on digging through it all until you find some favorites.”

  “My hand’s shaking,” she joked, bringing the candy to her nose first to inhale the aroma and then tasting it as if she wanted to savor the experience. “Mmm . . .” She closed her eyes as she chewed.

  It aroused Ty, watching her delight in the candy the way he wanted to take his enjoyment with her body. Even with the world in chaos and the entire UCE military looking for them, here in this temporary refuge, he’d make sure their lovemaking progressed at the same leisurely pace as Bree’s snacking. He’d waited so long for her—for this. He’d be damned if he was going to rush the experience.