It’s strange, he told himself now.If Quito had lived longer, Zia’s life might have been a lotdifferent. For one thing, her mom might have gotten married and hadmore kids. Then she wouldn’t’ve seemed like such a mess. She couldhave been the goofy one—pretty and selfish and as apolitical as shewanted to be.
Still, Rem was offended by thegranddaughter’s attitude toward her legacy. She had been givengreat wealth, great stature—and great responsibility. But shetreated everything like a joke, or at least that was how it seemedto the public, not that they seemed to mind it.
Unlike Rem.
But Quito isn’t a joke to her, at least. Shereally loves the old guy.
Rem shrugged, dismissing the kindly thoughts.He revered Quito as much as anyone. Why else did he sneak in hereevery chance he had to learn the controls for the skirmisher whenhe was already an accomplished pilot on conventional vehicles andaircraft?
But his feelings for Daniel Quito did notextend to the great man’s descendants. Not to his daughterElena—Zia’s mother—who had driven Rem’s family out of power,dishonoring their name; not to Zia’s “uncle,” the currentpresident, who was unfit but still electable, thanks to hisbloodline; and not to Zia—the real heiress apparent, who had chosento party rather than follow in her grandfather’s noblefootsteps.
Just remember the plan, Rem toldhimself as he exited the skirmisher and headed back toward hishotel. Be glad Zia’s such a lightweight. If she wanted torule, the people would support her without question. But lucky foryou, she abdicated everything to her uncle, and the people aregetting sick of him. No way will they grant him a life term likethey did Quito and Elena. You’ll overthrow him and recaptureleadership one day, and you’ll have pretty little Zia to thank forit.
Glancing up at the giant commemorative robot,Rem gave a playful salute. “Happy birthday, sir.” Then he addedsincerely, “When the time comes to oust the tyrant and restoremy family to the presidency, I’ll make sure yourgranddaughter doesn’t get hurt. We’ll banish her to a shopping mallor country club, and she’ll live happily ever after, safe andoblivious. You have my word on that.”
Chapter1
Despite her fondness for her grandfather’sbirthday, it had serious downsides for Zia. For one thing, itsignaled the end of summer. Worse, it warned that a brand-newschool year was looming, and school had always meant leaving home,thanks to Elena Quito’s insistence on sending her only daughter toboarding academies, even in her elementary years.
Elena had insisted that Zia would receive abetter education at such prestigious institutions, but the strategyhad backfired. By the time the daughter was twelve years old,homesickness had morphed into resentment, and finally, full-blownrebellion. Skipping classes, running off, hanging out with otherrebels—those tactics had made life more than palatable. They hadgiven Zia years of fun and friendships that she treasured even nowthat she was preparing to enter the university, where she plannedto continue her pattern of taking lightweight classes and earningmediocre grades.
She knew those grades didn’t matter, any morethan her reputation as a foghead did. Thanks to her grandfather,she could fail miserably at every task put before her, and thepeople would still clamor for her to lead them, vainly hoping torecapture the glory of the old days, when the brilliant scholarFinn Stone had been their president and when Quito the Great hadbeen their military leader.
What a combination.
She stared through a window overlooking theorange groves that dotted the landscape at the Hacienda. Thisbeautiful ranch had been given to her grandfather as a tribute tohis heroism and had become known as the West Coast White Houseafter Quito became president. It was the only home Zia had everknown—other than school and an occasional stay at the originalWhite House—and she loved everything about it, from its balmyclimate to the three-mile stretch of beach along its westernedge.
In particular she loved this room—a sumptuousmedia center with state-of-the-art audio and vid equipment, cozyfurnishings, and a well-stocked refreshment island. It was herrefuge from the outside world—a world that seemed intent onfollowing her, vidding her, and worst of all, judging her.
“Zia?”
She jumped up to face her uncle, Jared Quito,the current president of the United States. Not quite a statesmanlike President Finn Stone. Nor was he reminiscent of his war-heroancestor, Daniel Quito. Yet Jared, despite his stiff manner andcontrolling nature, was all the country had.
Zia felt guilty for even daring to make suchcomparisons, especially knowing that he was single-handedlyresponsible for protecting her from having to grow up too quickly.By taking the reins of power when Zia’s mother died, he hadpostponed the day when Zia would have to announce, once and forall, that she had no political aspirations. And while she didn’tknow or care much about politics, she was acutely aware that thecountry would be devastated, perhaps even panicked, when thathappened.
Jared Quito knew it too. Wasn’t that the onlyreason he bothered with her? To him she was a nuisance, but heneeded her support, at least until the next election. If hereceived two-thirds of the vote at that time, the so-called FinnStone Amendment to the Constitution would grant him a life term aspresident.
But he couldn’t get two-thirds without Zia athis side. She was the only direct descendant of DanielQuito, or as Jared’s press secretary liked to call her, “Earth’smost valuable natural resource”—a resource Jared loved to exploitby trotting her out for every public event, while desperatelytrying to muzzle and control her the rest of the time.
Moving from the window seat to an overstuffedarmchair, she prepared herself for one of his inevitablelectures.
“Is something wrong, Uncle J?”
“Not at all.” He cleared his throat, then satin the matching chair across from her. He was a big man—tall andbulky, with dark eyes and straight black hair. Women thought he washandsome, but Zia knew he’d give his left arm to look a little morelike his grand-uncle Daniel, who had been medium in height and leanin build, with golden eyes and copper-brown hair.
Just like Zia’s natural coloring, althoughshe
