More immediate problems.
“I don’t disagree with you, Torin. But there’s a draft subject in this very research wing, at this very moment. I’m sure this seems like an immediate problem to him … or her.”
“Your Majesty, you cannot solve every problem in a week. You need to give yourself time—”
“You agree that it’s a problem then?”
Torin frowned. “Thousands of citizens are dying from this disease. Would you discontinue the draft and the research opportunities it provides on the basis that the Lunars are going to solve this for us?”
“No, of course not. But using cyborgs, and only cyborgs … it seems wrong. Doesn’t it?”
“Because of Linh Cinder?”
“No! Because of everyone. Because whatever science has made them, they were once human too. And I don’t believe—I can’t believe that they’re all monsters. Whose idea was the draft anyway? Where did it come from?”
Torin glanced toward the netscreen, looking strangely conflicted. “If I recall, it was Dmitri Erland’s idea. We had many meetings about it. Your father wasn’t sure at first, but Dr. Erland convinced us that it was for the best of the Commonwealth. Cyborgs are easy to register, easy to track, and with their legal restrictions—”
“Easy to take advantage of.”
“No, Your Majesty. Easy to convince both them and the people that they are the best candidates for the testing.”
“Because they aren’t human?”
He could see that Torin was growing frustrated. “Because their bodies have already been aided by science. Because now it’s their turn to give back—for the good of everyone.”
“They should have a choice.”
“They had a choice when they accepted the surgical alterations. Everyone is well aware what the laws are regarding cyborg rights.”
Kai thrust his finger toward the blackened netscreen. “Cinder became a cyborg when she was eleven, after a freak hover accident. You think an eleven-year-old had a choice about anything?”
“Her parents—” Torin paused.
According to the file, Cinder’s parents had died in that same hover accident. They didn’t know who had approved her cyborg surgery.
Torin set his mouth into a straight, displeased line. “She is an unusual circumstance.”
“Maybe so, but it still doesn’t feel right.” Kai paced to the quarantine window, rubbing a knot in his neck. “I’m putting an end to it. Today.”
“Are you sure this is the message you want to send to the people? That we’re giving up on an antidote?”
“We’re not giving up. I’m not giving up. But we can’t force people into this. We’ll raise the grant money for volunteers. We’ll increase our awareness programs, encourage people to volunteer themselves if they choose to. But as of now, the draft is over.”
Thirty-Five
Cinder stumbled up the ship’s ramp, pulling her shirt away from her h*ps 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.
It took her about four seconds to grasp the order’s purpose.
“They’re going to use them as staff during the wedding,” she said, “because Lunars can’t manipulate them. Smart.”
“That’s what I thought too,” said Iko. “The agreement states that they’ll be delivered to the florist and catering companies the morning of the wedding and that they’ll be smuggled into the palace along with the human staff. Well, it doesn’t use the word smuggle.”
It didn’t exactly make Cinder feel better about the wedding, but she was glad that the palace was taking some precautions against their Lunar guests.
Then, as she read through the order form and the delivery instructions, she gasped.
“What is it?” said Iko.
“I just had an idea.” She took a step back, running it through in her head. The idea was too raw and messy for her to be certain, but on the surface … “Iko, that’s it. That’s how we’re going to get onto Luna.”
The lights flickered. “I don’t compute.”
“What if we hid on a ship that was already going to Luna? We could be smuggled in, just like these androids are being sneaked into the palace.”
“Except all the ships that go to Luna are Lunar ships. How will you get aboard one of them?”
“Right now they’re all Lunar ships. But I might know how we can change that.”
The feeds on the netscreen shifted, bringing the ticking clock front and center. “Does it still involve stopping the wedding?”
“Yes. Sort of.” Cinder held up a finger. “If we can delay the wedding, and persuade Queen Levana to host the ceremony on Luna instead of Earth, then all the Earthen guests will have to go there, just like all those Lunar aristocrats are coming here.”
“And then you’ll be on one of their ships?”
“If we can make it work.” She started to pace back and forth through the cargo bay, her thoughts burning with the start of a new plan. “But I have to get Kai to trust me first. If he can persuade Levana to change the location…” Chewing the inside of her cheek, Cinder glanced at the video of the press conference, the headline confirming that he really had ended the draft. “We still need to get into the palace, but no more big distractions or hijacking the media. We need to be subtle. Sneaky.”
“Oh! Oh! You should pose as a guest! Then you would have an excuse to buy a fancy dress too.”
Cinder tried to protest, but hesitated. The idea had potential, if she could keep her glamour up long enough so that no one would recognize her. “I would have to be wary of those escorts. Plus, we would need invitations.”
“I’m on it.” The order form disappeared, replaced with a streaming list of names. “A gossip newsfeed posted a list of all the guests a few days ago. Did you know they’re sending actual paper invitations? Very classy.”