Scarlet (15 page)

The third chip in Cinder’s stash made her heart cramp as she picked it up.

Peony’s ID chip.

Her younger stepsister had died almost two weeks ago. The plague had claimed her, because Cinder couldn’t get the antidote to her in time. Because Cinder had been too late.

What would Peony think now? That Cinder was Lunar. That Cinder was Princess Selene. That Cinder had danced with Kai, kissed Kai …

“
Eww,
is that an ID chip?”

She jumped, enclosing the chip in her fist as Thorne sank into the second chair. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Why do you have an ID chip?” he said, peering suspiciously at the other two chips on the arm of her chair. “It’d better not be yours, after you made me cut mine out.”

She shook her head. “It’s my sister’s.” Gulping, she unfurled her fingers. A bit of dried blood had crackled off in her palm.

“Don’t tell me she’s a runaway convict too. Doesn’t she need it?”

Cinder held her breath, waiting for the aching in her chest to fade, and glared at Thorne.

He met the look, and realization gradually expanded over his face. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

She fidgeted with the chip, passing it from one metal knuckle to the next.

“How long ago?”

“A couple of weeks.” She tucked the chip into her fist. “She was only fourteen.”

“The plague?”

Cinder nodded. “The androids who run the quarantines have been harvesting ID chips from the deceased. I think they’re giving them to convicts and escaped Lunars … people wanting a new identity.” She set the chip down beside the others. “I couldn’t let them take hers.”

Thorne settled back in his chair. He’d cleaned up well—his hair was neatly trimmed, he was clean shaven, and he smelled of very expensive soap. He was sporting a well-worn leather jacket with a single medallion pinned onto the collar, the rank of captain.

“Aren’t the androids that work at the quarantines government property?” he said, staring at Earth through the window.

“Yeah, I think so.” Cinder frowned. She’d never given it any thought before, but saying it aloud brought on a flurry of suspicion.

Thorne voiced the thought first. “Why would the government program androids to harvest ID chips?”

“Maybe it’s not to sell on the black market,” Cinder said, pressing Peony’s chip into the arm of the chair. “Maybe they just wipe them clean and recirculate them.”

But she didn’t believe that. ID chips were cheap to make and if the public ever found out their loved one’s identities were being erased, there would be an uproar.

She bit her lip. Was there another reason then? Something else the government was using the chips for? Or had someone managed to reprogram the quarantine androids without the government even knowing?

Her gut tightened. How she wished she could talk to Kai …

“What are those other two?”

She glanced down. “Direct communication chip, and a personality chip that used to belong to an android, a friend of mine.”

“Are you some sort of chip hoarder or something?”

She scowled. “I’m just keeping them safe until I figure out what to do with them. Eventually I’ll need to find a new body for Iko, something she can…” She trailed off, then gasped. “That’s it!”

She hurriedly stashed the other two chips in her calf again. Grabbing Iko’s personality chip, she sped off to the cargo bay. Thorne followed her—into the hall, down the hatch to the sublevel, into the engine room, lingering in the doorway while Cinder crawled beneath the ductwork and popped up beside the computer mainframe.

“We need a new auto-control system,” she said, opening a panel and running her finger along the labels. “Iko
is
an auto-control system. All androids are! Of course, she’s used to the functionality of a much smaller body, but … how different can it be?”

“I’m going to guess, really different?”

She shook her head and plugged the chip into the system’s mainframe. “No, no, this is going to work. It just needs an adapter.” She worked while she talked, twisting live wires out of their connections, rearranging, reconnecting.

“And we have an adapter?”

“We’re about to.”

Turning, she scanned the control panel behind her. “We’re never going to use the dust-vacuum module are we?”

“The dust what?”

She yanked a connector cord from the panel and snapped one end into the mainframe, the other into the inlet for the auto-control system—the same that had nearly fried her own circuitry.

“And that should do it,” she said, sitting back on her heels.

The system lit up, the sound of an internal diagnostics check familiar to Cinder’s ear. Her heart was palpitating—to think that she wouldn’t be alone anymore, that she could succeed in rescuing at least one person who mattered to her …

The mainframe fell quiet again.

Thorne stared up at the ship’s ceiling as if he expected it to cave in on him.

“Iko?” Cinder said, facing the computer. Were the speakers on? The sound and data input settings correct? She’d been able to communicate with Thorne just fine when they were in the warehouse, but …

“Cinder?”

Her relieved gasp nearly knocked her backward. “Iko! Yes, it’s me, it’s Cinder!” She grabbed hold of a cooling tube that hung overhead—a part of the engine, a part of the ship.

And Iko was all of it.

“Cinder. Something’s wrong with my vision sensor. I can’t see you, and I feel funny.”

Tongue jutting from her mouth, Cinder bent over to analyze the slot where Iko’s personality chip had found a new home. It seemed to fit perfectly, protected and functional. There was no hint of any compatibility issues. Her smile split from ear to ear.

“I know, Iko. Things are going to be a little different for a while. I’ve had to install you as the auto-control system of a spaceship. A 214 Rampion, Class 11.3. Do you have net connectivity? You should be able to download the specs.”

“A Rampion? A
spaceship
?”

Cinder ducked. Though there was only one speaker in the engine room, Iko’s voice echoed from every corner.

“What are we doing on a spaceship?”

“It’s a long, long story, but it’s all I could think to do with your—”

“Oh, Cinder!
Cinder!
” Iko’s voice came out as a wail, sending a chill down Cinder’s spine. “Where were you all day? Adri is furious, and Peony …
Peony.
”

Cinder’s words dried up.

“She’s dead, Cinder. Adri received a comm from the quarantines.”

Cinder stared dumbly at the wall. “I know, Iko. That was two weeks ago. It’s been two weeks since Adri disabled you. This is the first … body … I’ve been able to find.”

Iko fell silent. Cinder glanced around, sensing Iko all around her. The engine rotated faster for a moment, then reduced to normal speed. The temperature barely dropped. A light flickered in the hallway behind Thorne, who was stiff and uncomfortable in the doorway, looking like a poltergeist had just taken over his beloved Rampion.

“Cinder,” Iko said after a few silent minutes of explorations. “I’m
enormous.
” There was a distinct whine in her metallic tone.

“You’re a ship, Iko.”

“But I’m … how can I … no hands, no visual sensor, humongous landing gear—are those supposed to be my feet?”

“Well, no. It’s supposed to be landing gear.”

“Oh, what’s to become of me? I’m hideous!”

“Iko, it’s only tempor—”

“Now, hold on just one minute there, little miss disembodied voice.” Thorne strode into the engine room and crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you mean, ‘hideous’?”

This time, the temperature spiked. “Who’s that? Who’s speaking?”

“I am Captain Carswell Thorne, the owner of this fine ship, and I will not stand to have her insulted in my presence!”

Cinder rolled her eyes.

“Captain Carswell Thorne?”

“That’s right.”

A brief silence. “My net search is finding only a Cadet Carswell Thorne, of the American Republic, imprisoned in New Beijing prison on—”

“That’s him,” said Cinder, ignoring Thorne’s glare.

Another silence as the heat in the engine room hovered just upside of comfortable. Then, “You’re … rather handsome, Captain Thorne.”

Cinder groaned.

“And you, my fine lady, are the most gorgeous ship in these skies, and don’t let anyone ever tell you different.”

The temperature drifted upward, until Cinder dropped her arms with a sigh. “Iko, are you
intentionally
blushing?”

The temperature dropped back down to pleasant. “No,” Iko said. Then, “But am I really pretty? Even as a ship?”

“The prettiest,” said Thorne.

“You do have a naked lady painted on your port side,” added Cinder.

“Painted her myself.”

A series of inset ceiling lights flickered and released a dim glow.

“And really, Iko, this is only temporary. We’ll get a new auto-control system, and we’ll get you a new body. Eventually. But I need you to watch over the ship, check the reports, maybe run a diagnostics—”

“The power cell is almost dead.”

Cinder nodded. “Right. I knew that part already. Anything else?”

The engine hummed all around her. “I guess I could run a full system check…”

Beaming, Cinder crawled toward the door, meeting a pleased-looking Thorne when she stood back up. “Thank you, Iko.”

The lights flickered out again as Iko diverted her energy. “But why are we on this spaceship again? And with a convicted felon? No offense, Captain Thorne.”

Cinder grimaced, too exhausted to tell the story, but knowing she couldn’t keep it from her companions forever. “All right,” she said, sidling past Thorne and into the hallway. “Let’s go back to the cockpit. We might as well be comfortable.”

Sixteen

Scarlet called a hover to take them into Toulouse, nearly draining her account of Gilles’s latest deposit. She sat opposite Wolf during the ride, her pistol digging into her back as she watched him. In such close quarters, she knew the pistol was all but useless to her. After all, she’d witnessed Wolf’s speed more than once. He could have her pinned and half choked before she’d loosened the gun from her waistband.

But it was impossible to feel threatened by the semi-stranger across from her. Wolf was entranced by the rolling farmlands passing by, gaping at tractors and cattle and decrepit, crumbling barns. His legs jogged ceaselessly the whole time, though she doubted he realized it.

The almost child-like fascination was at odds with him in every way. The fading black eye, the pale scars, the broad shoulders, the calm composure he’d had as he nearly strangled Roland, the fierce brutality in his gaze as he’d nearly killed his opponent in the fight.

Scarlet chewed the inside of her cheek, wondering which side of him was an act, and which was real.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

Wolf swung his gaze around to meet hers, the curiosity vanishing. Like he’d forgotten she was there. “Here. France.”

Her lips twitched. “Interesting. You look like you’ve never seen a cow before.”

“Oh—no, not here. Not Rieux. I’m from the city.”

“Paris?”

He nodded and his ticking legs switched to a new rhythm, alternating in time with each other. Unable to take it, Scarlet reached over and firmly pressed her palm onto one knee, forcing his bouncing leg to still. Wolf skittered at the touch.

“You’re driving me crazy,” she said, pulling back. His legs stayed still—for the time, at least—but his surprise lingered on her. “So how did you end up in Rieux of all places?”

His attention swept back to the window. “At first I just wanted to get away. I took a maglev to Lyon, and started following the fights from there. Rieux is small, but it draws a good crowd.”

“I noticed.” Scarlet leaned her head back against the seat. “I lived in Paris for a while, when I was a kid. Before I came down here to live with Grand-mère.” She shrugged. “I’ve never really missed it.”

They’d passed through the farms and olive groves, the vineyards and suburbs, and were swooping into the heart of Toulouse when she heard Wolf respond.

“I haven’t missed it either.”

* * *

The sublevel of the maglev station was obnoxiously bright as they descended on the escalator, the fluorescents overcompensating for the lack of sun. Two androids and a weapons detector were waiting at the bottom, and one beeped the second Scarlet’s feet touched the platform.

“Leo 1272 TCP 380 personal handgun detected. Please extend your ID chip and stand by for clearance.”

“I have a permit,” Scarlet said, holding out her wrist.

A flash of red. “Weapon cleared. Thank you for riding the European Federation Maglev Train,” said the android, rolling back to its post.

Scarlet brushed past the androids, and found an empty bench just off the rails. Despite half a dozen small, spherical cameras orbiting near the ceiling, the walls were scribbled with years of elaborate graffiti and the ghost images of torn concert posters.

Wolf claimed the seat beside her, and within moments his frenetic energy had started up again. Though he’d left space in between them, Scarlet found herself attuned to the fidgeting fingers, jogging knees, shoulders rolling out their kinks. His energy was almost tangible.

Scarlet was exhausted just from watching him.

Trying to ignore him, she dug her portscreen from her pocket and checked her comms, though nothing but junk and ads had come in.

Three trains came and went. Lisbon. Rome. West Munich.

Scarlet grew anxious, and didn’t realize that her own foot had started tapping to the same beat until Wolf placed the pad of a finger against her knee.

She froze, and Wolf instantly pulled away. “Sorry,” he whispered, gripping his hands together in his lap.

Scarlet had no response, unsure what he was apologizing for. Unable to tell if his ears had just gone pink or if it was the flickering lights from a nearby ad.

She saw him let out a measured breath before, without warning, Wolf stiffened and whipped his head toward the escalators.

Instantly on edge, Scarlet craned her neck to see what had startled him. A man in a business suit was passing through the detectors at the base of the escalator. He was followed by another man in torn jeans and a sweater. Then a mother guiding a hovering carriage with one hand while checking her port with the other.