“Maybe an election?” I offered.
“Elections work in stable societies,” Dr. Hans said. “History has shown that emerging societies function better if there is a consistent ruling hierarchy. That’s why kings and queens played such prominent roles historically. Only very recently have some countries been able to elect leaders, and even so it hasn’t always been successful.”
“So what are you saying?” I demanded. “I’m going to be queen?” I tried hard not to picture myself wearing a tiara. It just wouldn’t work with the shabby jeans and hoodie look.
“Yes,” the doctor said. “In a manner of speaking. And we intend for you to found a dynasty. And that dynasty will rule society until it has progressed enough to—”
“Overthrow the dynasty in a revolutionary, blood-filled coup!” Iggy said eagerly.
We all looked at him.
“Just saying.” He sheepishly took a bite of cookie.
“Okay, you lost me,” my mom said. “What exactly are you getting at?”
“It’s very simple, Dr. Martinez,” said Hansey. “We want Max to… breed. To produce heirs. Who will govern the world after she dies.”
Dead silence for quite some time. We all stared at Dr. Hans, our jaws dropped to various levels. Our lives had reached a new low of inhumanity.
My face flushed. Part of me had assumed, hoped, that if Fang and I lived long enough, we would get married. Maybe have a little flock of our own. But I really hadn’t planned it all out. And he was gone now, anyway. How could I possibly ever find someone…
My eyes scanned Dylan’s face. I saw his discomfort.
“Oh, no,” I said in horror.
“Yes,” Angel confirmed. “Freaking unbelievable.”
“It makes sense, Max,” Dr. Hans continued as my mind spun. “You two were literally made for each other. You’re a perfect match. I’d like you and Dylan to come with me to Germany, where I have a nice home waiting for you. You can marry or not, as you wish, and in time produce children, heirs to your dynasty. To carry on your legacy, your leadership.”
“You have got to be kidding.” My mom’s voice was loud. “Over my dead body, Hans.”
“Oh, thank you,” I said, relieved. “So it’s not just me.”
“That’s a crazy plan!” my mom said. She came over to me and put her arm around my shoulders. “Max is barely fifteen years old! It’s bad enough that you’ve saddled her with saving the world. Now you want her to do it with a baby on her hip? Are you insane?”
I love my mom.
“I’m not saying today or tomorrow,” Dr. Gunther-Hagen insisted. “But soon. We’re convinced it’s the only chance for the world’s continued survival.”
“Out of the question!” my mom said. “Jeb, this is crazy! How could you?! You’re going to drop this right now, or you’ll have to leave! I don’t want to hear another word about Max breeding with anyone!”
Dr. Hans looked like he wanted to say something else, but he stopped himself.
The worst part? When I cast a surreptitious glance at Dylan and saw the discomfort in his beautiful turquoise eyes morph into a flicker of hope.
9
HE WAS COMING. Fang’s first target.
Fang pressed his back against the brick wall, sinking deep into the shadows. For hours he’d been waiting for the gang to disperse, for his guy to head off alone. The group had been shooting hoops, playing dice, smoking and drinking. Fang had heard bottles break and angry disputes dissolve into laughter.
It was late, a bit past midnight. The air was cold. Fang crouched against the wall of the abandoned building, its windows broken and burned out. The deserted lot was full of stuff people probably didn’t know how to get rid of: a stripped car, its side still blotched with red Bondo; an old mattress; naked box springs; half a baby’s crib, smashed and spray painted.
Fang had been waiting here, still and silent, for most of the night. This was what he’d left the flock to do. This is what Max would not have understood.
He could hear footsteps approaching him. It was his guy, no doubt. An empty glass bottle struck the wall and shattered with a force that seemed unnaturally loud.
Three, two, one…
With precise timing, Fang sprang out from the darkness.
But there was no one there. What the?
Before Fang knew what was happening, the guy had shoved him against the wall, a knife at his throat.
“No one sneaks up on me, friend,” the hooded figure whispered into Fang’s ear. “Been looking for you”—his eyes flashed as he leaned in closer—“and from what I hear, you’ve been looking for me too.”
Fang always kept cool, but he couldn’t help letting a smile come to his lips. This guy was good. He was quick and strong and scary. Fang was going to need someone with those qualities on his team. But he wouldn’t let himself be subdued so easily, and certainly not by a mere candidate. And his first one at that. Fang would be the leader, and he needed to let this guy know who was boss.
With an almost imperceptible flick of his arm, Fang grabbed the hand holding the knife and twisted it behind the guy’s back, pinning him. In the same instant Fang’s, other hand clapped over the guy’s mouth.
“Don’t say a word, Ratchet. Your friends can’t know I’m here.”
Ratchet squinted at Fang in the dark, as if to confirm that this was the same person he’d seen on the blog. Ratchet nodded tentatively, indicating that he was going to cooperate. For now, anyway.
“You make one misstep when I let you speak, man,” Fang said, “and you lose your teeth.” It felt weird to Fang to be threatening another kid, but he couldn’t risk being the underdog right now. Fang waited. He had his mission, one he knew he’d been destined for.
Ratchet made a muffled response behind Fang’s powerful hand, then Fang released his grip.
“What’s the word?” Fang quizzed.
“Maximum,” Ratchet said, uttering the password they’d agreed on.
Fang let him go, and Ratchet put on his sunglasses, trying to recoup his swagger. “A’ight, dude. S’long as there’re no capes and tights anywhere in your game.”
And so it began. This guy made it into Fang’s new flock—of one.
10
“NO,” I SAID AGAIN.
Just to catch you up, during that brief intermission, all certifiably crazy talk of my producing a feathered dynasty had been dropped, as my mom had insisted. We started eating lunch. But Jeb and Dr. Gunther-Hagen had something else up their dirty sleeves.
“Max, please,” Jeb said.
“We’re asking you to do this for your own good,” said Dr. Über-Goober.
“The stuff you’re asking me to do for my own good would stun a yak,” I said pointedly. “No.”
“My plane is right outside.” Jeb tried again. “Or you can fly yourself. I just want you to see the possibilities.”
“Nope.” I took another bite of PB&J. Even my mom’s peanut-butter sandwiches tasted better than any other peanut-butter sandwiches. I highly recommend having a mom.
“It isn’t far—a twenty-minute flight.” Jeb tried to sound stern.
“Tough,” I said through a mouthful of sandwich.
“Max, this really isn’t optional,” Dr. Hans said firmly. “The Rocco Laurie School for the Gifted houses many of the children you will be leading when the time comes. They need to be able to recognize you and vice versa.”
I gestured at him with my sandwich. “Don’t even talk to me.” Then I turned to our resident blond cherub. “Angel, what do you think of all of this?” I admit it. I was waiting for Angel to step up and volunteer to be Queen of the World. It was what she’d been wanting. She wanted to run the flock. She wanted to take over my job. She wanted to have power. “Are you interested in meeting this little gaggle of Gen 77 kids?”