by Kate Donovan
“Really?” She leaned forward, intrigued. “Why?”
He rubbed his eyes with his palms. “We don’t know for sure who the recipients are. The military academy doesn’t release the names, not even to us, until the actual ceremony. But there’s a very good chance Jeremiah Stone—Aengus’s son—will be one of them. He’s graduating this year, and we’ve heard he’s a talented pilot. I’m sure the vid press has heard about it too. I’m guessing they can’t wait to get a shot of you pinning a medal on a Stone.”
Zia bit her lip, honestly surprised by the information. “That’s kind of amazing, don’t you think? I mean, I get the problem. His father was a traitor and all that. But his grandfather was Finn Stone. Stone and Quito—that was a powerful combination once.”
Yes, it was. Once. Now it’s just an embarrassment for all concerned, including Rem Stone. I’m sure he’s not looking forward to being honored by the daughter of the woman who ruined his father. Don’t you see what a mess it is?”
“I guess.” Zia stood and walked back to the window, trying to visualize Jeremiah Stone in the sexy blue uniform of a military cadet. She had seen vid coverage of him more than once, and knew he was a tall, lean, muscled guy—wonderfully photogenic. But the real reason the reporters liked to catch sight of him was his bizarre legacy: grandson of a beloved president, son of an ex-vice-president-turned-traitor named Aengus Stone.
“You think the reporter will ask me how it felt to give him an award? And whether it was embarrassing for either of us?”
“Absolutely. Your mother was the one who brought Aengus Stone to justice. Not only was she our president at the time, she was the eyewitness at Aengus’s trial.”
And then he hung himself in his jail cell.
Zia wrapped her arms around her bare shoulders. “How old was Cadet Stone when it happened?”
“It was ten years ago, so he would have been eleven or twelve.”
“Wow. It’s kind of amazing that he’s managed to lead such a clean life, don’t you think? To make something of himself after that. Poor guy.”
“I wouldn’t pity him too much. Yes, he has led an impeccable life, but I’m willing to bet he hates us. All of us. And you in particular.”
Zia drew back, surprised by the thought of anyone actually hating her. Mock her? Sure. Feel sorry for her for being such a failure? Absolutely. She had even experienced a whopping amount of jealousy from girls who watched her run wild with zero consequences, all because she was Quito the Great’s granddaughter.
But this was something new. Something she wasn’t quite prepared to accept. Especially from someone like Rem Stone, whom she had never even met.
Turning to her uncle, she murmured, “Maybe Commander Logan should do the honors this year. I don’t want to spoil Rem’s big day.”
“That’s out of the question. It would be a slap in the face of the other two recipients. And it would draw too much attention to Stone’s medal. What we need from you is for you to behave yourself. Scrupulously.”
“I guess that depends on how yummy-looking the guys are,” she quipped, but when her uncle’s eyes darkened, she added quickly, “I’m kidding! I’ll be good. I promise.”
“You’ll be good,” he agreed with a growl. “Dr. Fuller will see to that.”
“Huh? Oh no! Not again.” Zia shook her head in warning. “Don’t even bother suggesting that. It was a disaster last time, remember? My stomach hurt for days.”
“But it worked. You handled that interview beautifully. No wisecracks. No embarrassing gaffes. You were a credit to your heritage and to my administration. That’s exactly the kind of performance your country needs from you today.” He gave a halfhearted smile. “The doctor assures me he has adjusted the dosage. You’ll be a little sleepy, but not nauseous this time. We have his word on it.”
Zia sank back into her chair, sobered by the thought of ingesting a calmative—at any dosage level—again.
Dubbed the most important breakthrough in quality of life in the last fifty years, calmatives were a relatively new class of pharmaceuticals that were already part of every well-stocked medicine cabinet. Originally developed as an aid for white-knuckled public speakers, they had proven to have almost limitless uses for the general population. Non-habit-forming and rarely abused, mostly due to their lack of hallucinogenic or euphoric properties, they offered freedom from all sorts of situational anxiety. For those who were afflicted with stage fright, they allowed a calm, focused, stress-free performance. To those with other phobias, most particularly fear of strangers or crowds, they offered nothing less than a normal life. Even outgoing, phobia-free people had found occasional benefits from the drug’s ability to allow rational thought to prevail over irrational anxiety. The most important job interview of one’s life? Take a calmative. A once-in-a-lifetime appearance on OmniVid? Take a calmative. Accepting an award? Why allow runaway emotion to sabotage your carefully crafted speech?
It had all seemed academic to Zia until her fifteenth birthday, which had coincided with her uncle’s inauguration as president. He and his private doctor, a man named Fuller who had also been Zia’s physician from time to time, had approached her with a carefully crafted proposition to prevent her from embarrassing her uncle on this, the most important day of his life.
Since she had never tried calmatives before that day, she had welcomed the chance to do so without getting into trouble. And the drug had worked wonders of a sort, transforming her from a wise-ass to a perfect little interviewee. Later, reporters had remarked that Zia seemed more focused. Classier. More contemplative.
More like Elena Quito.
That had been a first. In fact, it had been the only time anyone had ever compared her to her mother, all the more poignant given Elena’s death in a horrific shuttle crash just months before the interview. As much as Zia had pretended not to care about the comparison, it had made a permanent impact on her.
Not that it mattered. The interview did in fact go well, but within hours, the vomiting had started, teaching Zia and her doctor a valuable lesson—that she was among the five percent of the population who literally couldn’t stomach calmatives. Luckily, she had returned home before the reaction started.
Still . . .
“It’s just a half dose, Zee. Fuller is convinced you won’t have any side effects.”
“That’s easy for him to say.” Zia shook her head. “Sorry, Uncle J. No calmatives for me. But I promise I’ll be extra careful not to say or do anything stupid this afternoon.”
“You know how you are,” her uncle said, his tone grim. “You’ll upstage them without even trying. It will become your day, not theirs. And if Rem Stone is anything like his father, he’ll try to outdo you. Then we’ll have a real circus on our hands. Is that what you want?”
Zia winced. She didn’t want to embarrass her family, nor could she bear to ruin the medal ceremony. The cadets always looked so proud—not to mention adorable—as they waited for the announcement of the three top-award winners. They deserved to be honored by someone like Elena Quito instead of her fogheaded daughter. Would it really be so awful to try one more time to be more like her, even if it took drugs to accomplish it?
“If you don’t agree,” her uncle told her suddenly, “maybe you shouldn’t do it at all this year. We’ll just cancel the interview, and I can present the medals myself—”
“Don’t threaten me, Uncle J. We both know you’d never dare do that.” She gave him a disgusted glare. Then she continued. “If Dr. Fuller can look me in the eye and promise I won’t puke my guts out again, I’ll take the stupid pill. But only because I don’t want to upstage the cadets. It’s their day, Rem Stone included, and I want to honor them the way—well—” She took a deep breath, then admitted, mostly to herself, “The way Mom would have done it.”
* * * *
Sitting in the front row of the open-air assembly with the other high-honor students, Rem was actually able to relax and enjoy the proceedings, thanks to having seen Zia Q
uito in the hangar that morning. Had he not witnessed her heart-to-heart with Quito the Great, Rem would have been filled with resentment at the prospect of meeting her. Instead, he could dismiss her as harmless and ultimately irrelevant, focusing his attention on the ringing words of the speakers. These illustrious generals and scholars had come to praise the cadets for having endured the rigorous intellectual and physical regimen of the academy—a feat that had prepared them to enter military service as officers and leaders.
When Zia was finally introduced, Rem was able to see what the other cadets saw—a pretty girl with waist-length, gold-streaked hair and a dynamite shape. Of course, she looked spoiled rotten, as usual, with her skimpy dress and confident smile, but he no longer judged her harshly. He even admitted to himself that maybe her life hadn’t been as privileged as it looked from the outside. Her father had been assassinated before she was even born; she had never had a chance to meet her famous grandfather—the yardstick against whom she would be forever measured; and her mother had been so busy running the country, Rem suspected there hadn’t been a lot of time for mother-daughter bonding.
His speculation was interrupted when the dean of the academy stepped up to the microphone next to Zia and addressed the crowd. “As you know, the academic awards were given out at the commencement last Sunday. We want to congratulate those winners again. And now, without further delay, we’ll move to the moment you’ve all been waiting for. The medal ceremony.”
A smattering of applause emanated from the bleachers filled with spectators, but the ten rows of cadets didn’t make a sound or move a muscle. In a week filled with graduation activities, this was the moment. They had competed for five long years, and now it had come down to this. Three of them would be called up to that stage to be honored with the coveted Medal Exemplar, an award created by Quito the Great almost fifty years earlier.
Rem wanted that more than anything in the world. He had spent his whole life preparing for this day, and he intended to savor it. There would be other days too—the day he vindicated his father by proving that Elena Quito had lied in her testimony against Aengus Stone. The day he would regain the presidency for the Stone family. Those would be amazing—
But for now, this was the day that mattered.
“We’ll begin with the award for superior piloting skills,” the dean said, his voice resonating with pride. Then he opened a sealed envelope and gave a knowing grin. “The Medal Exemplar goes to Jeremiah Stone. Rem? Come on up here.”
A thundering cheer erupted from the cadets, and Rem flushed as he stood and turned to face them, bowing slightly to honor them first before he strode toward the steps that would lead him to the stage. He was dimly aware of the sounds from the bleachers—some hearty shouts of congratulations, a few boos, but mostly, polite, somewhat bewildered applause, signaling confusion at the sound of the Stone name being honored after all this time.
Forget about that, he warned himself as he made his way onto the platform. They only know what they’ve been told—that Dad betrayed them. Someday they’ll know the truth—that it was Zia’s mother who dishonored this country and the presidency. For now, it doesn’t matter. This is the first public step in rehabilitating the family name, so just handle it with dignity.
He walked up to the dean and shook his hand, accepting his congratulations proudly. Then he turned to Zia, reminding himself that she wasn’t really an enemy, just a nuisance. And a pretty one at that.
Then he looked into her golden eyes and felt a stab of anger and humiliation so sharp, he had to struggle not to back away. Sure, her smile was warm, but her gaze was vacant and slightly out of focus—the look of a girl who had partied too hard, too recently.
She’s loaded, he fumed to himself. Today of all days! This is just a big joke to her.
“Congratulations, Lieutenant Stone,” Zia said in a soft voice. “Your grandfather would be proud of you today.”
“Would yours be proud of you?” he demanded under his breath.
She drew back, visibly offended. Then she shrugged and held up the red-and-blue ribbon from which hung the gold medal. “Ready?”
Rem inclined his head toward her and she looped the ribbon over it. Then he turned away from her and faced his classmates, who were applauding wildly again. It reminded him what this moment was about—all the work, all the pain, all for this slice of glory. Why let a spoiled, semi-stoned brat ruin it?
Grinning, he gave the cadets a wave of his hand, then started back toward the steps, but the dean stopped him by announcing into the microphone, “Cadet Stone? I think you’d better wait a moment.”
Rem turned, immediately apprehensive. Had the dean heard the insult he’d muttered to Zia? Had someone objected to the award going to the son of a traitor?
But the dean was smiling as he explained. “It’s unprecedented in the history of the academy for the same cadet to win two Exemplars, but as you can see . . .” He waved an opened envelope. “The medal for outstanding accomplishment as a marksman goes to Jeremiah Stone. Congratulations, Rem. Looks like you’ve set a new standard for us today.”
There was a moment of dead silence, then the throng of cadets jumped to their feet, stomping their feet and crowing in thunderous appreciation of their friend and colleague.
Rem took a deep breath, surprised and a little giddy at the news. He had done well in weapons class, but hadn’t consciously competed, choosing instead to focus completely on piloting—the area where Quito the Great had excelled.
Again, the dean shook his hand. “We’re proud of you, son.”
“Thanks, sir. I’m honored. Surprised, but honored.”
Turning to Zia, Rem noted that her smile now looked a little strained, as though the prospect of awarding him again was a bit disorienting. For some reason, that pleased him, and he actually managed to grin at her.
“Congratulations,” she murmured, motioning for him to lean down again. Then she slipped the ribbon over his head without further fanfare.
“Thanks, ZeeZee,” he whispered, using the name the vid press had invented for her. He suspected it would annoy her, but she barely reacted. Instead, she stared out over the sea of faces in the audience and smiled vacantly at them.
I think you’ve been dismissed, Rem told himself, still cheerful over the unexpected award. Time for someone else to have the honor of her fogheadedness.
He was chuckling as he headed again for the edge of the stage, but froze in shock when the dean’s voice stopped him again. “Cadet Stone? You’d better stick around for another minute or two.”
Rem turned to stare into the dean’s laughing eyes, and the entire audience began to buzz. Then the cadets were on their feet again, shrieking and clapping, then jumping on their chairs and throwing their caps onto the stage while waving their arms and cheering with all their might.
And this time, it wasn’t just the cadets. The spectators in the bleachers were erupting with a frenzy of excitement too, applauding and stomping their feet as they shouted Rem’s name.
He stood there, stunned and disbelieving, as the chant rose up, powerful, rhythmic, almost hypnotic: Stone, Stone, Stone, Stone . . .
He couldn’t have prepared himself for this moment. Would never have believed it possible. Not yet, at least. The name Stone, once so revered, but more recently so despised, was being honored again.
And all because of him.
“We’re all proud of Cadet Stone,” the dean announced into the microphone, motioning for the crowd to settle down. “Let’s give him his medal, shall we?”
The cadets and onlookers laughed and applauded again, but only for a few moments, then their silence indicated they were anxious to witness history being made. Again.
“Rem?” The dean stepped up to him and shook his hand a third time. “For your outstanding navigational skills, you’ve earned yourself a permanent place in history as the only cadet to ever win all three Medals Exemplar. Congratulations, son. Your country is proud of you, and so am I. I only wish you
r grandfather could have been here to see this.”
Rem nodded, trying to think of something intelligent to say, when all he could think was that it was true—if Finn Stone could only have lived to see this. Or if Rem’s father could have been here, instead of being framed by Elena Quito and driven to an early grave . . .
Almost instinctively he turned toward Elena’s daughter, anxious to see her reaction. If she had been unhappy at the prospect of giving him a second medal, this third one would probably ruin her day!
She was standing perfectly still and looking straight at him, or rather, straight through him, or so it seemed. Beyond vacant, her golden stare was now almost catatonic. Then before he could figure out whether to be elated or insulted, he saw her eyes roll back into her forehead and she crumpled toward the floor.
Chapter 2
Zia was dimly aware of voices as she struggled to wake up. At first she was sure she was wearing restraints on her arms and legs, but realized finally that fatigue was the only thing weighing her down. Luckily, she also recognized the feel of her favorite satin-covered comforter, a sign that she was in her own bedroom, so she gathered the covers closer, then opened her eyes and forced them to focus on the two men seated by her bedside.
“Hey, Uncle J.”
“Zee!” He jumped out of the rocking chair and gave her a brisk hug. “I was beginning to worry.”
“I told you she was fine, Mr. President. Just a temporary side effect.” Dr. Aaron Fuller, the physician who had taken care of her for as long as she could remember, patted Zia’s cheek and smiled. “You don’t feel nauseous, do you, honey?”
“No.” She grimaced and tried to sit up. “Let me guess. The calmative made me sick again? Please don’t tell me I puked in front of the whole assembly.”
Her uncle gave a halfhearted chuckle. “Don’t you remember? You passed out.”
