“What’s that?”
Cinder stared at Iko’s outstretched prong. “What’s what?”
“That chip.”
Cinder dropped her feet to the floor and leaned forward. She squinted into the far back of the model, where a row of tiny chips stood like soldiers along the bottom of the control panel. There were twenty plugs in all, but only thirteen of them were full; manufacturers always left plenty of room for add-ons and updates.
Iko had spotted the thirteenth chip, and she was right. Something was different about it. It was tucked far enough behind the other chips that it was easy to miss with a cursory glance, but when Cinder targeted it with the flashlight, it gleamed like polished silver.
Cinder shut the panel in the back of her head and called up the digital blueprint of the android’s model on her retina. According to the manufacturer’s original plans, this model only came with twelve chips. But surely, after twenty years, the android would have received at least one add-on. Surely, the palace had access to the newest, finest programs available. Still, Cinder had never seen a chip quite like that.
She pressed a fingernail into the release switch and gripped the edge of the silver chip with the pliers. It slid like grease from its plug.
Cinder held it up for closer inspection. With the exception of the pearlescent, shimmering finish, it looked like every other program chip she’d ever seen. Flipping it over, she saw the letters D-COMM engraved on the other side.
“Is that so?” She lowered her arm.
“What is it?” asked Iko.
“A direct communication chip.”
Cinder furrowed her brow. Almost all communication was done through the net—direct communication that bypassed the net entirely was practically obsolete, as it was slow and had a tendency to lose connection in the middle of a link. She supposed paranoid types who required absolute privacy would find direct comms appealing, but even then, they would use a port or netscreen—a device that was set up for it. Using an android as one side of the link didn’t make any sense.
Iko’s light dimmed. “My database informs me that androids have not come equipped with direct communication abilities since 89 T.E.”
“Which would explain why it didn’t work with her programming.” Cinder held the chip toward Iko. “Can you run a material scan, see what it’s made out of?”
Iko backed away. “Absolutely not. Having a mental breakdown is not on my list of things to do today.”
“It doesn’t seem like it would have caused her to malfunction, though. Wouldn’t the system have just rejected it?” Cinder angled the chip back and forth, mesmerized by how its reflective surface caught Iko’s light. “Unless she tried to send information over the direct link. It could have jammed up the bandwidth.”
Standing, Cinder strolled across the storage space toward the netscreen. Though its frame had been shattered, the screen and controls seemed undamaged. She slid the chip in and pressed the power button, having to jab it harder than usual before a pale green light came to life beside the drive and the screen flared bright blue. A spiral in the corner announced that it was reading the new chip. Cinder released her breath and folded her legs beneath her.
A second later the spiral disappeared, replaced with text.
INITIATING DIRECT LINK WITH UNKNOWN USER.
PLEASE WAIT…
INITIATING DIRECT LINK WITH UNKNOWN USER.
PLEASE WAIT…
INITIATING DIRECT LINK WITH UNKNOWN USER.
PLEASE WAIT…
Cinder waited. And wiggled her foot. And waited. And drummed her fingers against her knee. And began to wonder if she were wasting her time. She’d never heard of a direct communication chip hurting anything, even if the technology was archaic. This wasn’t helping her solve the problem.
“I guess no one’s home,” said Iko, rolling up behind her. Her fan turned on, blowing warm air on Cinder’s neck. “Oh, drat, Adri is comming me. She must be out of the bath.”
Cinder tilted her head back. “Thanks for your help. Don’t forget to take those pearls off before you see her.”
Tilting forward, Iko pressed her flat, cool face to Cinder’s brow, no doubt leaving a smudge of lipstick. Cinder laughed.
“You’ll find out what’s wrong with His Highness’s android. I don’t doubt it.”
“Thanks.”
Cinder rubbed her clammy palm on her pants, listening as Iko’s treads got farther away. The text continued to repeat across the screen. It seemed whoever was on the other side of the link had no intention of answering.
A series of clicks startled her, followed by telltale humming. She turned around, propping her knuckles on the gritty floor.
The android’s control panel was glowing as the system ran through its routine diagnostics. It was turning back on.
Cinder stood and dusted her hands just as a calm female voice began to emanate from the android’s speakers, as if it were continuing a speech that had been rudely interrupted.
“—pected that a man by the name of Logan Tanner, a Lunar doctor who worked under the reign of Queen Channary, first brought Princess Selene to Earth approximately four months after her alleged death.”
Cinder froze. Princess Selene?
“Unfortunately, Tanner was admitted into Xu Ming Psychiatric Hospital on 8 May 125 T.E., and committed bioelectric-induced suicide on 17 January 126 T.E. Though sources indicate that Princess Selene had been given to another keeper years before Tanner’s death, I have thus far not been able to confirm the identity of that keeper. One suspect is an ex-military pilot from the European Federation, Wing Commander Michelle Benoit, who—”
“Stop,” said Cinder. “Stop talking.”
The voice silenced. The android’s head rotated 180 degrees. Its sensor flashed bright blue as it scanned Cinder. Her internal control panel dimmed. The fan in her torso began to spin.
“Who are you?” said the android. “My global positioning system indicates that we are in the 76th Sector of New Beijing. I have no memory of leaving the palace.”
Cinder straddled her seat, draping her arms over the back. “Welcome to New Beijing’s mechanic suite. Prince Kai hired me to fix you.”
The loud humming in the android’s torso died down until it was barely discernible, even in the quiet room.
The bulbous head rotated back and forth, scanning its unfamiliar surroundings, then refocused on Cinder.
“My calendar tells me that I have not been conscious for over twelve days, fifteen hours. Did I experience a system crash?”
“Not exactly,” said Cinder, glancing over her shoulder at the netscreen. It continued to repeat the same line of text, unable to establish the direct link. “It seems someone installed a comm chip that didn’t meld well with your programming.”
“I come preinstalled with vid- and text-comm capabilities. A new comm chip would be unnecessary.”
“This was for a direct link.” Cinder settled her chin on her wrist. “Do you know if it was Prince Kai? If maybe he wanted to be able to get in touch with you without going through the net?”
“I was unaware of any direct communication chip in my programming.”
Cinder chewed her lip. Clearly the comm chip had been responsible for the android’s sudden malfunction, but why? And if Kai hadn’t installed it, then who had?
“When you woke up just now,” she said, “you were talking about…you have information on the Lunar heir.”
“That information was classified. You should not have heard it.”
“I know. But I think you were probably communicating it to someone when you were disabled.” Cinder prayed that it had been Kai, or someone loyal to him. She doubted that Queen Levana would be too happy to know that the soon-to-be emperor was searching for the rightful heir to her throne.
“Hold still,” she said, reaching for her screwdriver. “I’ll put your panel back on, and then take you back to the palace. In the meantime, you should download the news broadcasts from the last few days.
A lot’s happened since you’ve been out.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
CINDER COULD HEAR DR. ERLAND’S WARNINGS IN HER HEAD, echoing like a damaged audio file, the entire six miles to the palace.
Queen Levana will stop at nothing to ensure her control, to terminate any resistance. That means killing those who could resist her—people like you.
If she were to see you, she would kill you.
And yet if something were to happen between the apartment and the palace to this android who had real information on the missing Lunar princess, Cinder would never forgive herself. It was her responsibility to get the android back to Kai, safe and sound.
Besides, the palace was a huge place. What were the chances she would run into the Lunar queen, who probably didn’t intend to spend much time socializing with the citizenry anyway?
Nainsi was much faster on her treads than Iko, and Cinder had to hurry to keep up with her. But their pace slowed as they discovered that they were not the only citizens on their way to the palace that afternoon. At the base of the cliff, the main road had been blocked off as it left the city behind and became the private drive of the palace, shaded by twisted pines and drooping willows. The winding street was filled with pedestrians making their slow way up the hill. Some walked alone, others in large cliques. Their conversations reached Cinder, irate and determined, arms flying in mad gestures. We don’t want her here. What could His Highness be thinking? The growing roar of the mob echoed down the road. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of angry voices chanting in unison.
“No moon queen! No moon queen! No moon queen!”
Turning the last corner, Cinder’s gaze fell on the crowd up ahead, filling up the courtyard before the palace’s maroon gates and spilling down the street. It was barely contained by a flustered row of security guards.
Signs bobbed over their heads. WAR IS BETTER THAN SLAVERY! WE NEED AN EMPRESS, NOT A DICTATOR! NO ALLIANCE WITH EVIL! Many included the queen’s veiled image slashed through with red Xs.
Half a dozen news hovers circled the sky, capturing footage of the protests for global broadcasting.
Cinder skirted the edge of the crowd, shoving her way to the main gate while trying to shield Nainsi’s compact body with her own. But upon reaching the gate, she found it closed and guarded by both humans and androids, standing shoulder to shoulder.
“Pardon me,” she said to the closest guard. “I need to get into the palace.”
The man stretched his arm toward her, pushing her back a step. “No entrance to the public today.”
“But I’m not with them.” She placed her hands on Nainsi’s head. “This android belongs to His Imperial Highness. I was hired to fix her, and now I’m returning her. It’s very important that she be returned to him as soon as possible.”
The guard peered down his nose at the android. “Did His Imperial Highness give you a pass?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Does the android have its ID?”
“I do.” Rotating her torso, Nainsi flashed her ID code at the guard.
He nodded. “You may enter.” The gates were opened, just barely, and it wasn’t a breath before the crowd surged forward. Cinder cried out at the rumble of angry voices in her ears and the sudden crush of bodies, shoving her into the security guard. Nainsi rolled through the gate without hesitation, but when Cinder moved to slip through behind her, the guard blocked her with his arm, straining against the crowd. “Just the android.”
“But we’re together!” she yelled over the chanting.
“No pass, no entrance.”
“But I fixed her! I need to deliver her. I need to…to collect payment.” Even she was put off by the whining in her voice.
“Send your invoice to the treasury like everyone else,” the man said. “No one is to be admitted without an issued pass.”
“Linh-mèi,” said Nainsi from the other side of the iron gate. “I will inform Prince Kai that you would like to see him. I’m sure he can comm you an official pass.”
Instantly, Cinder felt the weight of her silliness. Of course she didn’t need to see the prince. She had delivered the android; her job was done. And she wasn’t really going to bill him for her work, anyway. But Nainsi had turned away and rolled off toward the palace’s main entrance before Cinder could protest, leaving Cinder trying to come up with a reasonable excuse as to why it was so important to see Kai, something better than the very stupid, very childish reason that first entered her head. She simply wanted to.
The chanting stopped suddenly, making Cinder jump.
The crowd’s silence created a vacuum on the street, yearning to fill with breath, with sound, with anything. Cinder looked around, at the dazzled faces turned upward to the palace, at the lowered signs held in limp fingers. A ripple of fear stroked her spine.
She followed the gazes of the crowd up to a balcony that jutted from one of the palace’s highest stories.
The Lunar queen stood with one hand on her hip, the other on the balcony’s railing. Her expression was stern—bitter—but the look did nothing to dispel her uncanny beauty. Even from afar, Cinder could make out the pale luminescence of her skin, the ruby tinge of her lips. Her dark eyes were scanning the silenced crowd, and Cinder shrank back away from the gate, wanting to disappear behind the empty faces.
But the shock and terror was short-lived. This woman was not frightening, not dangerous.
She was warm. Welcoming. Generous. She should be their queen. She should rule them, guide them, protect them….
Cinder’s retina display flashed a warning at her. She tried in vain to wink it away, annoyed by the distraction. She wanted to look upon the queen forever. She wanted the queen to speak. To promise peace and security, wealth and comfort.
The orange light beamed in the corner of her vision. It took Cinder a moment to realize what it was, what it meant. She knew it was out of place. She knew it didn’t make sense.
Lies.
She squeezed her eyes shut. When she looked up again, the illusion of goodness had faded. The queen’s sweet smile had turned haughty and controlling. Cinder’s stomach curdled.
She was brainwashing them.
She had brainwashed her.
Cinder stumbled back a step, colliding with a senseless middle-aged man.
The queen’s gaze jerked toward them, focusing on Cinder. A wash of surprise flashed over her face. Then hatred. Disgust.
Cinder flinched, wanting to hide. Cold fingers clamped over her heart. She was compelled to run, yet her legs had melted beneath her. Her retina display was drawing confused lines over her vision as if it couldn’t stand to look upon the queen’s glamour a moment longer.
She felt naked and vulnerable, all alone in the brainwashed crowd. She was sure the earth beneath her feet would open up and swallow her whole. She was sure the queen’s gaze would turn her into a pile of ashes on the cobblestoned road.
The queen’s glower darkened until Cinder began to feel that, tear ducts or not, she would burst into tears.
But then the queen spun away, her shoulders back as she stormed into the palace.
With the queen gone, Cinder expected the crowd to take up their protests again, even angrier that she had dared show herself. But they didn’t. Slowly, as if sleepwalking, the crowd began to depart. Those with signs let them fall to the ground, to be trampled and forgotten. Cinder pulled back against the wall bordering the palace, out of the way as the citizens meandered past.
So this was the effect of the Lunar glamour, the spell to enchant, to deceive, to turn one’s heart toward you and against your enemies. And amid all these people who despised the Lunar queen, Cinder seemed to be the only one who had resisted her.
And yet, she hadn’t resisted her. Not at first. Gooseflesh covered her arms. Her skin ached where it melded with metal.
She had not been entirely immune to the glamour, the way shells were supposed to be.
Worse still, the Queen had seen her, and she had known.
Chapter Twenty-Three
KAI DUG HIS FINGERNAILS INTO HIS KNEES WHEN THE chanting of the protestors ceased. Torin turned toward him, their expressions mirrors of surprise, though Torin was quicker to disguise it. The queen’s success at calming the crowd had been far too easy; Kai had hoped for at least a hint of struggle from the citizens.
Gulping, Kai morphed his face back into collectedness.
“It is a most useful trick,” said Sybil, sitting on the edge of the chaise lounge by the holographic fire. “Particularly when dealing with unruly citizens, which are never tolerated on Luna.”
“I’ve heard that when citizens are unruly, there’s usually a good reason for it,” said Kai. Torin flashed him a warning frown, but he ignored it. “And brainwashing doesn’t exactly seem like the proper solution.”
Sybil folded her hands politely in her lap. “Proper is such a subjective word. This solution is effective, and that can hardly be argued with.”
Levana flew back into the parlor with clenched fists. Kai’s pulse ratcheted when the queen’s glare fell on him. Being in her presence was like sitting in a confined room that was quickly running out of oxygen.
“It would appear,” she said, carefully enunciating each word, “that you are in violation of the Interplanetary Agreement of 54 T.E., Article 17.”
Kai tried his best to remain neutral under her accusation, but he couldn’t keep a twitch from developing above his right eye. “I’m afraid I do not have the Interplanetary Agreement memorized in full. Perhaps you could enlighten me as to the article in question?”
She took a slow breath through flared nostrils. Even then—even with all the hatred and anger smeared across her face—she was stunning. “Article 17 states that no party of the agreement shall knowingly shelter or protect Lunar fugitives.”
“Lunar fugitives?” Kai glanced at Torin, but his adviser’s face was neutral. “Why would you think we’re sheltering Lunar fugitives?”
Cinder: Book One in the Lunar Chronicles Page 15
