“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.”