by Kate Donovan
Jared seemed intrigued. “You’re saying the best way to neutralize him is to let him be part of our effort? Interesting.”
“Neutralize him? Why would we want to do that?”
“Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.” Jared’s eyes began to dance. “It’s brilliant, Zia. With any luck, he’ll go to Malara and never come back.”
She pulled back, surprised by his bluntness. Rivalry was one thing, but these two males were taking things too far. They were obsessed with the past in a way Zia couldn’t be bothered to be. She loved the legacy, of course, but to her, the Quito-Stone alliance was the best part of that history.
But not to Rem. Nor to Jared. And perhaps the rest of the world felt this way too.
Yeeesh, am I the only person who’s sick, sick, sick of politics? She gave her uncle a warning glare. “If Rem dies on Malara, he’ll really be a hero in the eyes of our citizens.”
“Who cares? He’s the last of the Stones. Any chance they have for regaining the presidency dies with him.”
“Wow, that’s so heartless.”
“Is it? I care about our family. And I care enough about this country to want to protect it from the son of a traitor.” Jared gave her an unexpected grin. “And you did your part today too.”
“How?”
“You boxed him in. Remember? Humber wasn’t going to take him to Malara, but you insisted on it. Now he can’t change his mind without looking like a coward. It’s perfect.”
“As long as you fail the DNA test,” she reminded him. “Otherwise, you might end up going—and dying—too.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll fail the test,” Jared assured her. “It’s just like Humber said. I’m enough of a Quito to carry the legacy, but not to carry his DNA. You’ve got a better chance of matching than I do, and let’s face it—” He started chuckling, but managed to explain. “You couldn’t be less like Daniel Quito if you tried.”
“That’s true,” she murmured.
“Thank God for that,” her uncle added warmly.
“Right.” She gave him a confused sigh, then turned to stare out at the orange groves beyond the Atrium. “Thank God for that.”
* * * *
As Rem strode back toward the parking area, hoping that the last transport vehicle hadn’t left for the hotel where the cadets had been lodged, he replayed the scene from the Atrium again and again in his mind. Jared Quito—his sworn nemesis—had been offered a chance for glory the likes of which Rem could only dream. To pilot a colossus! It was unprecedented for an Earthling. Not even Daniel Quito had done it—at least, not in battle. A skirmisher, sure. But a colossus? Never.
“And that effing coward turned it down. The opportunity of a lifetime,” Rem muttered. “Even Zia showed more guts than he did. Which proves she really does have more of Quito’s DNA than her uncle does.”
The idea made Rem wince despite the surge of angry emotions that were battling within him. If she matched—
“She won’t. Look at her. She’s an effing foghead. And for once, that’s a good thing,” he assured himself. “The only Earthling going to Malara is you. A Stone, not a Quito.”
The prospect was intoxicating, although he was beginning to see the downside. This wasn’t part of his plan for regaining the presidency. It would be much better, strategically, if Jared went and Rem stayed behind to woo the masses.
The perfect paradox, he decided with a frustrated laugh. Whoever goes to Malara becomes a hero, but probably gets killed doing it. Not exactly the best way to regain the presidency, is it, genius?
“Cadet Stone! May I have a word?”
Rem spun toward the loud voice and was surprised to see the Malaran ambassador close on his heels. “Of course, sir. I’m at your service.”
“Yes, I know.” Humber seemed completely amused. “Can I offer you a ride to your hotel? The embassy is on the same block.”
“Great. Thanks.”
They continued down the sloped road toward the parking lot, Rem struggling to match the stride of the powerful Malaran. Until today, he had never been this close to one of these hairy allies, and it occurred to him that he was embarking on a course where everyone in sight would be Malaran. Or Alluvan—another technologically brilliant species with even taller, more massive frames than the Malarans.
Maybe they’d even issue him one of their impressive leather uniforms. Although without a dense layer of fur to act as a buffer, it might not be the most comfortable choice for a human soldier.
“I meant what I said earlier,” Humber told him as they hurried along. “It is an honor to meet you. I wish your father could see you today. He would be very proud.”
“Don’t you mean my grandfather?” Rem asked, almost instinctively.
“I never met Finn Stone. But I did attend meetings with Aengus when he was Daniel Quito’s vice president.”
Rem came to a halt, then looked carefully into the ambassador’s gigantic green eyes. It had been a very long time since anyone had mentioned Rem’s father in a context other than as a traitor, and he wondered if this was an innocent reference or some attempt at mind grubbing.
“I was very young, just out of school,” Humber explained. “An apprentice to our ambassador in those days. Your grandfather Finn had died ten years earlier, and Daniel Quito had been elected to a life term as president. But Quito’s health was poor, so arrangements were being made for an orderly transfer of power.”
Rem nodded. “Yeah, Quito wanted my father to be the next president. But . . .” He stopped himself from saying the obvious—that his mother had been dying by then too, a victim of the same pan-plague that had infected Quito. Rem’s father had wanted to spend as much time with his wife as possible and so, when Quito died, Aengus convinced Elena Quito to become the next president instead.
Elena and Aengus made an agreement to alternate terms thereafter. Supposedly, each believed that life terms were a bad idea for the country and should be done away with.
Convenient for her, right? Dad gives her the presidency, she frames him, and when he’s out of the way, she accepts a life term anyway.
“My father would have made a great president,” Rem murmured. Then he asked Humber the obvious question. “Do you think my father sabotaged the GARD system for profit? And killed that guard? Then lied about it in court?”
Humber scratched his chin. “We will never know for certain. But the Aengus Stone I knew was honorable and patriotic. I cannot imagine he changed so drastically, even with the tension that grew between him and Elena over the wisdom of the GARD project.”
“Thanks, sir. Sorry for putting you on the spot.”
If we are to serve together, we should not have secrets from one another, should we?”
Rem’s pulse began to race. “You’re really going to let me pilot Quito’s skirmisher? Man, that’s great! I won’t let you down, I promise.”
“It is a big decision,” Humber told him. “For me. And also, for you. There will be another presidential election in less than two years. I assume you wish to survive to see it. Perhaps even to take part in it.”
“Like I would stand a chance?” Rem drawled. “It’ll be another Quito landslide. I just hope they don’t give Jared a lifetime term like they did Elena. Barring that, when another four-year term has passed, and the voters realize Zia really isn’t ever going to want the position—well, that will be the moment of truth. Either they vote Jared in permanently or I make my move. Assuming I’m still alive,” he added with a sheepish grin.
“And assuming Jared survives,” Humber reminded him. “He might go to Malara too, remember. Come along. My limousine is right over there.”
As they began walking again, Rem forced himself to strategize logically, rather than emotionally. If by some miracle Jared’s DNA matched Quito’s and he went to Malara, shouldn’t Rem stay behind? Seize the opportunity to woo the voters while simultaneously earning so much credit with the military, they’d back him if force was eventually needed to achieve h
is true dream—regaining the presidency for the Stones.
Or had that dream changed? Just because Malara was at war?
“What if Jared doesn’t match, but Zia does?” Rem demanded suddenly. “You wouldn’t really ask her to fight, would you? I don’t think we’d allow that, to tell you the truth.”
Humber laughed. “Have you ever tried to tell Zia Quito what to do? If she wants to go, she’ll go.” Sobering, he insisted, “We would never ask her to fight. But to join forces with us? Absolutely. That is the point I was trying to make in the Atrium. Zia may seem harmless to you, but on Malara and Alluva, her mystique is strong. She is a direct descendant of the only pilot to ever crush a giant with a skirmisher. It would give us a powerful psychological advantage—one we desperately need at this juncture.”
“If that happens, then I won’t have a choice,” Rem told the ambassador. “I promised her grandfather I’d protect her. So if she goes, I go too.”
“You promised him? When could that have been?”
“Not in person. But—well, in spirit,” Rem explained, kicking himself for the reference to his experience in the hangar with Zia and the robots.
“Interesting.” Humber arched a hairy eyebrow. “You would protect her despite your resentment toward her family?”
“Because of it, actually.” Rem grinned. “It’s complicated.”
“She’s very attractive by human standards.”
“It’s not that,” Rem said quickly. “I just have a lot of respect for her grandfather.”
“Of course.”
They had reached the limousine, and Humber motioned for his guest to get in first. “We should deliver you to those parties Zia mentioned, so that you can celebrate your three medals. I imagine the females will be anxious to commune with you after such a triumphant award.”
Rem flushed. “I guess I’ll find out.”
“None will be as attractive as Zia. But they will be safer.”
“Yeah. Much safer.” Rem laughed. “You’ve got a knack for mind grubbing, Ambassador. I’m glad we’re on the same side.”
“As am I.”
Rem noted that Humber’s tone had gone flat, and he reminded himself that Malara’s future hung in the balance. “Don’t worry, sir. We taught the Alluvans a lesson once, and we’ll do it again. And this time, we really will crush them. Right?”
Humber straightened and nodded. “Yes, we will crush them. The alternative is too terrible to consider.”
They rode in silence until the limo reached the hotel’s circular driveway. Then the ambassador’s mood lightened again. “What will your rank be now?”
“As of midnight, I’ll be a lieutenant. My grandfather started that tradition when he was dean of the academy.”
“Well then, Lieutenant, go and celebrate your triumph. Enjoy it without reservation. Tomorrow, our new alliance begins in earnest.”
Chapter 4
DNA testing of Jared Quito was scheduled for ten the following morning, and Zia was secretly relieved when he didn’t want her to accompany him to the infirmary. She needed to get her mind off her troubles—the politics, the testing, the war on Malara, the blue-eyed pilot who would probably be killed there—so she called an emergency meeting of the “gang of five,” as her uncle had dubbed her closest girlfriends. She had collected them over the years, and at times like this couldn’t imagine life without them.
They assembled that morning on the beach, but were careful to stay in sight of the Hacienda, knowing that if they moved out of range, the guards would follow them. It was more fun this way in any case, pretending to be normal and unchaperoned, as though the watchtowers didn’t really exist, and the Coast Guard wasn’t positioned one hundred yards offshore, following their every move through high-powered binoculars.
Everyone had brought their sky paddle equipment, per Zia’s instruction, but Jenni Messina, the smartest—and sweetest—member of the group, was quick to suggest that they just visit and gossip instead of playing the rigorous game.
“We want to hear about the ceremony,” Jenni wheedled. “Please?”
Jenni was Zia’s favorite friend, and the only member of the group who was completely trustworthy. Zia could tell her anything, and usually did. Jenni’s father was a diplomat, her mother a physician, and they had a beautiful beach house about twenty miles south of the Hacienda. The Messinas hadn’t sent their daughter away when she was little, but the girls had spent vacations together for as long as they could remember.
Friends forever—but that didn’t stop Zia from making demands. “Strap those boots on, wimp. I’ve had a rough week and I need the stress release.”
“Rough? Swooning in the arms of a hot-bodied soldier?” Bea, a friend from boarding school, rolled her eyes. “I don’t care if he is the son of a traitor, he’s still gorgeous. We want to hear every obscene detail.”
“I took a calmative right before the ceremony, so I don’t remember a thing. That’s a secret, by the way, so don’t blab it around.”
“That’s why you fainted?” Jenni asked, nodding. “You seemed different in the vids. I guess that’s why.”
“Are you saying it wasn’t romantic?” Bea demanded. “It sure looked like it was. Like he was about to sack you right there on the stage!”
Charlotte, another boarding school refugee, told Bea, “Well, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? Cadets are your specialty, right?”
It was true, but Zia arched an eyebrow in silent warning so that things between the two girls wouldn’t get out of hand. She liked Charlotte, but knew she could be mean. But not too mean around Zia for fear of being kicked out of the coveted Quito entourage.
Meanwhile, all of Zia’s friends were staring at her, waiting for an answer about her experience with Rem. In particular, Merry and Jaycey, whose family lived right next door to the Hacienda, and who were the youngest and most sheltered members of the group, seemed intrigued. They loved living vicariously through their free-spirited neighbor.
Zia would have gladly shared details, but couldn’t actually remember much about the medal ceremony except what she had seen in the vid. Still, she had to agree—it did seem romantic. Although Rem had felt the need to apologize for adding to her stress, which was a little confusing.
Maybe he meant the stress of feeling attracted to each other in spite of the family feud . . .
“We’re oil and water,” she explained finally. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore. Let’s play ball.”
Bea and Charlotte were fully outfitted, and now adjusted the jets on their air boots. Then Bea glanced at Jenni and asked sarcastically, “Military rules? Civilian rules? Or wimp rules?”
“Drop dead,” Jenni muttered.
Zia arched an eyebrow. “She has a right to be afraid of the water. She almost drowned once, remember? So back off. We’ll play civilian rules, but modified so no one hits the ball over the water. If you do, your team loses a point.”
“Why bother playing on the beach if you can’t go in the water?” Charlotte demanded. Then she added more diplomatically, “You can be on my team, Jenn. If it goes over the water, I’ll field it. Okay?”
Jenni nodded and said, “Thanks.” Then she shot Zia a look that told her that she wanted Zia to be on their team too.
So Zia announced, “Me, Jenn and Charlotte versus the rest of you. Fifteen-foot height limit for shots. And no more than fifteen feet offshore either. If it goes higher or farther, you can use your magnetic retriever without penalty. Otherwise, it’ll cost you one point to use it.”
“What about boot stalls?”
“The first is free. But if it happens more than once, you’re out of the game. And if one team has three stalls, they forfeit. So”—she gave Charlotte a pretend glare—“I hope you got yours tuned up.”
“Don’t worry. I’m ready for some serious action.”
“Great.” Zia peeled off her beach robe so that she was dressed like her friends—bikini, air boots, controller gloves, and a lightweigh
t harness-chute that would self-release if both boots stalled at an altitude over fifteen feet.
Activating her jets, she slowly elevated to a height of five feet above the sand. Her friends did likewise, three facing three, then Charlotte served the first ball—straight up. Merry grinned and zoomed upward for it, and predictably hit it out over the water.
“I hate them,” Jenni complained under her breath to Zia.
“Stay here! I’ll hit it back your way, I promise!”
Zia raced for the ball and hit it back toward shore just as it was about to land on the surf. But Bea was right there, hitting it even farther out, almost to the limit. Zia knew Jenni was probably panicking, certain that one or more of the girls would have a stall and end up in the water. And so she hit it back toward shore again, then raced up to Bea and confronted her in midair, glaring. “That’s enough!”
“Yell at your own teammate,” Bea suggested, and Zia turned in time to see that Charlotte had hit the ball back over the water.
Zia felt a surge of anger, and would have zoomed toward the ball and batted it with all her might, but Jenni surprised her by heading for it herself—right over the water. Zia didn’t dare interfere, for fear of a collision, so she held her breath and prayed that her friend would stay strong.
As though reading her mind, Jenni sent her a proud smile, and Zia laughed out loud with relief, then raced toward the beach to keep Charlotte from doing anything obnoxious. She was almost there when the sputtering sound of a stalled air boot made her whirl around, instantly alert and praying it wasn’t Jenni’s.
But of course it was. This was that kind of week, apparently.
She didn’t have to see Jenni’s eyes widen to know that her friend was terrified, so she swooped over to her, grabbing her arm just as she started to fall toward the water. “Gotcha! Just hold my hand and let your good boot do all the work. Once we’re on the beach, we’ll kick their asses. Okay?”
