Thirty-Five

Cinder stumbled up the ship’s ramp, pulling her shirt away from her hips in an effort to get some airflow against her skin. The desert heat was dry compared with the suffocating humidity of New Beijing, but it was also relentless. Then there was the sand, that annoying, hateful sand. She had spent what seemed like hours trying to clean it out from her cybernetic joints, discovering more nooks and crannies in her hand than she’d known existed.

“Iko, close ramp,” she said, sinking onto a crate. She was exhausted. All her time was spent worrying over Wolf and trying to be gracious to the townsfolk who had brought her so many gifts of sugar dates and sweet rolls and spiced curries that she wasn’t sure if they were trying to thank her, or fatten her up for a feast.

On top of that were the constant arguments with Dr. Erland. He wanted her to focus on finding a way to get onto Luna without being captured, and while she had conceded that that would have to happen eventually, she was still set on putting a stop to the royal wedding first. After all, what did it matter if she dethroned Levana on Luna after she was crowned empress of the Commonwealth? There had to be a way to do both.

But the royal wedding was only a week away, and Iko’s clock seemed to tick faster with every hour.

“How is he?” asked Iko. Poor Iko, who was stuck alone inside the spaceship’s system for hours at a time while Cinder was at the hotel.

“The doctor started weaning him off the sedatives this morning,” said Cinder. “He’s afraid that if Wolf wakes up again when no one is there, he’ll have a mental breakdown and reinjure himself, but I told him we can’t keep him unconscious forever.”

The ship sighed around her—oxygen hissing out of the life support system.

Reaching down, Cinder pulled off her boots and dumped the sand out onto the metal floor. “Has there been any news?”

“Yes, two interesting developments, actually.”

The netscreen on the wall brightened. On one side was a static order form with CONFIDENTIAL emblazoned across the top. Despite the spark of curiosity it caused, Cinder’s attention was drawn immediately to the other article, and a picture of Kai.

EMPEROR DEMANDS IMMEDIATE DISCONTINUATION OF CYBORG DRAFT

Heart skipping, Cinder hopped off the crate to get a better look. The very mention of the draft brought memories flooding back to her. Being taken by androids, waking up in a sterile quarantine room, strapped to a table, having a ratio detector forced into her head and a needle plunged into her vein.

The article opened with a video of Kai at a press conference, standing behind a podium.

“Play video.”

“This policy change in no way indicates a sense of hopelessness,” Kai was saying on the screen. “We are not giving up on finding a cure for letumosis. Please be aware that our team has made stunning progress in the past months and I am confident that we are on the verge of a breakthrough. I want all those who are suffering from this sickness or have loved ones who are battling it right now to know that this is not a sign of defeat. We will never give up until letumosis has been eradicated from our society.” He paused, his silence punctuated by flashes that bounced off the Commonwealth’s flag behind him.

“However, it recently came to my attention that the use of the cyborg draft to further our research was an antiquated practice that was neither necessary nor justifiable. We are a society that values human life—all human life. The purpose of our research facilities is to stanch the loss of that life as quickly and humanely as possible. The draft went against that value and, I believe, belittled all that we have accomplished in the one hundred and twenty-six years since our country was formed. Our country was built on a foundation of equality and togetherness, not prejudice and hatred.”

Cinder watched him with a weakness in her limbs. She yearned to reach into the screen and wrap her arms around him and say thank you—thank you. But, thousands of miles away, she found herself hugging herself instead.

“I anticipate the criticism and backlash that this decision will cause,” Kai continued. “I am fully aware that letumosis is a problem that affects every one of us, and that my decision to end the cyborg draft without first conferencing with my cabinet and your representatives is both unexpected and unconventional. But I could not stand by while our citizens were being forced to sacrifice their lives under a mistaken belief that their lives are less valuable than those of their peers. The letumosis research team will be developing new strategies for the continuation of their research, and we at the palace are optimistic that this change will not hinder our ongoing search for an antidote. We will continue accepting test subjects on a volunteer basis. There is a comm link below for anyone wanting more information on the volunteer process. Thank you. I will not be taking questions today.”

As Kai left the stage and was replaced with the press secretary, already trying to calm a boisterous crowd, Cinder sank to the floor.

She could hardly believe what she’d heard. Kai’s speech was not only about letumosis and research and medical procedures. His speech had been about equality. Rights. Moving past the hatred.

With one speech—not three minutes spent behind the podium—Kai had begun to unravel decades of cyborg prejudice.

Had he done it for her?

She grimaced, wondering whether it was absurdly self-absorbed for her to even think that. After all, this declaration would save countless cyborg lives. It would set a new standard for cyborg rights and treatment.

It wouldn’t solve everything, of course. There was still the Cyborg Protection Act that claimed cyborgs as property of their guardians and limited their freedoms. But it was something. It was a start.

And the question came back again and again. Had he done it for her?

“I know,” said Iko with a dreaminess in her tone, though Cinder hadn’t said anything. “He’s fantastic.”

When she could focus her thoughts enough to skim through the rest of the article, Cinder saw that Kai was right. The hostility had already begun. This particular journalist had written a scathing criticism piece, defending the cyborg draft and accusing Kai of unjust preferential treatment. Though he didn’t mention Cinder directly, it would only be a matter of time before someone did. Kai had invited a cyborg to the annual ball, and they would use it against him. He would be attacked for this decision. Viciously.

But he had done it anyway.

“Cinder?” said Iko. “Have you moved on to the escort-droids yet?”

She blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

The screen changed, pulling the first document to the forefront. Cinder shook her head to clear it. She’d forgotten all about the second item that Iko had wanted to tell her about—the order form labeled “Confidential.”

“Oh, right.” She pulled herself to her feet. She would think about Kai and his decision later. After she had found a way to keep him from marrying Levana. “What is this?”

“It’s an order placed by the palace two days ago. I stumbled on it by accident when I was trying to figure out their florist order. Turns out the queen is having her bouquet made of lilies and hosta leaves. Boring. I would have gone with orchids myself.”

“You found a confidential order form from the palace itself?”

“Yes, I did, thank you for noticing. I’m turning into quite the savvy hacker. Not that I have anything better to do.”

Cinder scanned the form. It was a rental agreement placed with the world’s largest escort-droid manufacturer, which was headquartered just outside New Beijing. The palace wanted sixty escorts for the day of the wedding, but only those from the “Reality” line, which included models with average eye colors and varying body types. The idea was that such imperfections (as the company called them) gave a more life-like experience with your escort.