“What do you think he meant by his motives being based on self-preservation?”
“He probably doesn’t want to be mauled by all the young ladies at the ball this year. You know there was nearly a stampede a couple years back.”
She bit her lip. Of all the girls in the whole city, she was…
The most convenient.
She forced these words to resonate, to stick. She was here and she seemed to be sane and she was a safe bet for him to ask to the ball. That was all it could be.
Besides, he was in mourning. He wasn’t thinking straight.
“Emperor Rikan is dead,” she said, snatching for anything else to think about.
“Indeed. Prince Kai was close to his father, you know.”
She lowered her gaze to the screen Dr. Erland was hunched over. She could see only a small diagram of a human torso, surrounded by boxes of dense text. It did not appear to be hers.
“I would be lying,” Dr. Erland continued, “if I said that I had not harbored secret hopes of finding an antidote in time to save His Majesty, though I knew from the moment the diagnosis was made that it was unlikely. Nevertheless, we must proceed with our work.”
She nodded in agreement, thinking of Peony’s little hand gripping hers. “Doctor, why haven’t you told the prince about me? Don’t you want him to know that you’ve found someone who’s immune? Isn’t that important?”
He pressed his lips, but he didn’t look up at her. “Perhaps I should. But it would be his responsibility to share the news with the country, and I don’t think we’re ready to draw attention to this. When we have solid evidence that you are…as valuable as I hope, then we will share our news with the prince. And the world.”
She picked up a portscreen stylus that was lying abandoned on the desk and examined it like a scientific mystery. Twirling it like a pinwheel over her fingers, she murmured, “You also didn’t tell him I’m cyborg.”
The doctor made eye contact now, his crow’s-feet crinkling. “Ah. And that is what you’re most concerned about?”
Before she could confirm or deny, Dr. Erland waved his hand as if to dismiss her defensiveness. “Do you think I should tell him you’re a cyborg? I will if you want me to. But I frankly didn’t see that it was any of his business.”
Cinder dropped the stylus into her lap. “No, that isn’t—I just—”
Dr. Erland snorted. He was laughing at her.
Cinder huffed in irritation and glared out the window. The city was almost blindingly bright in the morning sun. “Not like it matters. He’ll find out eventually.”
“Yes, I suppose he will. Especially if he continues to show, erm, interest in you.” Dr. Erland pushed his chair back from the desk. “There. Your DNA sequencing has been completed. Shall we make our way to the lab room?”
She followed him into the sterile hallway. It was a short walk to the labs, and they entered lab room 11D this time, which looked exactly like lab room 4D: netscreen, built-in cabinets, a single exam table. No mirror.
Cinder sat down on the exam table without being told. “I went to the quarantines today…to visit my sister.”
The doctor paused, his hand on the netscreen’s power button. “That was something of a risk. You understand that people aren’t supposed to leave once they arrive, don’t you?”
“I know. But I had to see her.” She swung her legs, beating her feet against the table’s legs. “One of the med-droids ran a blood test on me before I left, and I was clear.”
The doctor fiddled with the netscreen’s controls. “Indeed.”
“I just thought you should know, in case that might affect something.”
“It doesn’t.” He stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth. A second later, the screen blazed to life. His hands skimmed across the screen, pulling up Cinder’s file. It was more complex today, filled with information even she didn’t know about herself.
“And I saw something,” she said.
The doctor grunted, more focused on the screen than her.
“One of the med-droids took an ID chip from a victim. After she died. The med-droid said it was programmed to take it. It had dozens of them.”
Dr. Erland turned back to her with a mildly interested expression. He seemed to ponder this a moment, then his face slowly relaxed. “Well.”
“Well what? Why would it do that?”
The doctor scratched his cheek, where a fine beard had started to grow across his leathery face. “It’s a common practice in rural parts of the world—where letumosis has been claiming lives for much longer than it has in the cities. The chips are extracted from the deceased and sold off. Illegally, of course, but I understand they can fetch a high price.”
“Why would anyone want to buy someone else’s ID chip?”
“Because it is difficult making a living without one—money accounts, benefits, licenses, they all require an identity.” He stitched his eyebrows. “Although, that brings up an interesting point. With all the letumosis fatalities the past few years, one would think the market is saturated with unneeded ID chips. It’s curious that they would still be in demand.”