Lunar Chronicles #3 Cress - Page 50

“Then you also believe she can make a difference.”

Her teeth clenched, but she forced herself to relax as she secured the bandages. “She will make a difference. The people of Luna are going to rally around her. She’s going to reclaim her throne.” Retracting the knife blade, she met the adviser’s glare again. “But if this wedding goes through, it won’t matter. No revolution on Luna is going to nullify a marriage and a coronation. If you give her this power, there’s nothing I or anyone can do to take it from her. And I know that you’re smart enough to see the repercussions of that.” With a sigh, Cinder rolled down her pant leg again and stood up. “I understand that you have no reason to trust me, but I’m going to ask you to anyway. I promise, no harm will come to Kai while he’s with us.”

She was met with silence and a simmering glare.

She nodded. “Fair enough. Iko?”

Iko stooped and grabbed Kai’s elbow. Together, they hauled him up, an arm over each of their shoulders.

They dragged him four, five steps toward the door.

“He has another chip.”

They paused.

The adviser, still seated on the couch, still glaring, sneered as if irritated with himself.

“What do you mean?”

“There is a second tracking device embedded behind his right ear. In case anyone ever tried to kidnap him.”

Allowing Iko to take the brunt of Kai’s weight, Cinder tentatively reached for his drooping head. She brushed his hair out of the way and pressed her fingers into the indent between his spine and skull. Something small and hard rested against the bone.

She nodded at the adviser. “Thank you,” she said, ejecting the knife again.

He grunted. “If anything happens to him, Linh-mèi, I will hunt you down and kill you myself.”

A drop of sweat snaked its way down Cress’s spine, but her hands were too busy to swipe at it. Her fingers flashed over the screens, skimming along lists and coding, triple-checking her work.

The closed-circuit security system was down, including all cameras, scanners, ident.i.ty-encoded software, and alarms.

Both backup systems were disabled, and she could find no evidence of a third backup waiting to rise up and ruin all her hard work as soon as she turned away.

The connection to the Lunar spyware had been severed.

She’d ensured that all digital locks in the north tower were disabled, along with any doors in between this security control center and the research facility wing. She’d been extra diligent about disrupting the radar technology embedded in the rooftop’s decorative qilin sculptures, so they wouldn’t detect the Rampion’s approach.

All of the elevators were at a standstill except the single elevator in the north tower that was still stationed on the fourteenth floor, waiting for Cinder and Iko to make their escape.

Which was taking forever.

She inched her fingers away from the master screen and looked up. The dozens of screens surrounding her had gone black, but for the repeating gray text: SYSTEM ERROR.

“That’s it.” She sat back. “I think that’s it.”

No one was around to hear her. The gla.s.s wall separating her from Wolf and the rest of Sublevel D was soundproof, bulletproof, and probably many other types of proof that she didn’t even know about. She pushed herself away from the desk.

Wolf was out in the small lobby, leaning against the wall by the stairwell door. At some point he’d removed his tuxedo jacket and bow tie, unb.u.t.toned his collar, and rolled up his sleeves. His hair was no longer neat and tidy, but sticking up at odd angles. He looked bored.

At his feet, scattered across the lobby floor, were at least thirty palace guards.

He met Cress’s gaze just as the door to the stairwell burst open and a guard charged through, gun raised.

Cress screamed, but Wolf just grabbed the guard’s arm, bent it behind his back, and targeted a precise hit to the side of his neck.

The guard crumpled and Wolf slid him neatly onto the pile of his peers.

Then he held his palms toward Cress, as if to ask what was taking so long.

“Right,” she murmured to herself, heart thumping. She inspected the screen with the elevator status reports one more time, and saw that only one elevator was moving. Descending from the fourteenth floor in the north tower.

A smile tickled her lips, but was restrained behind the avalanche of anxiety. Leaning over the control panel, she attached her portscreen to the main input console and set the timer.

Dr. Erland watched the small screen on the machine’s panel as it spit out a stream of data, doc.u.menting the stability of Thorne’s stem cells, each step of the automated procedure, and the details of the chemical reaction that was happening on a cellular level inside the tiny plastic vial fitted into place. It was taking ages, but they weren’t in any rush. Not yet. Behind him, Thorne was sitting on the lab table, kicking his heels against the side.

The data stream lit up.

SOLUTION COMPLETE. REVIEW PARAMETERS BELOW.

He made a quick scan of said parameters before allowing himself to feel pleased.

Ejecting the vial, he reached for an eyedropper on the counter. “Finished.”

Thorne pulled the blindfold down around his neck. “Just like that?”

“Your immune system will have to do the rest. We’ll need to saturate your eyes four times a day for a week or so. Your vision should start returning after, oh, six or seven days, but it will be gradual. Your body is practically engineering a new optical nerve, which doesn’t happen overnight. Now—can you be a big boy and do the drops yourself?”

Thorne frowned. “Really? You want us to come all this way just so I can stab myself in the eye?”

Sighing, the doctor dipped the dropper into the vial. “Fine. Tilt your head back and keep your eyes open wide. Three drops in each side.”

He reached forward, the clear solution bubbling up at the tip of the dropper and hovering over Thorne’s wide-open eyes.

But then Dr. Erland’s attention caught on a bruise on the inside of his wrist. He froze and twisted his hand around to examine it.

The bruise had formed around a dark red splotch, like blood puddled beneath the surface of his papery skin.

His stomach dropped.

Suddenly shaking, he inched away from Thorne and set the vial and the dropper on the counter.

Thorne lowered his chin. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Dr. Erland murmured as he reached for a drawer and pulled out a face mask, snapping it on over his mouth and nose. “Just … double-checking something.”

He grabbed a sterilizer wash and wiped down the vial and the eyedropper, then wrapped them up in a cloth. He was feeling weak already, but that was no doubt all in his head.

Even with the mutated disease, victims still survived anywhere from twenty-four to forty-eight hours after showing symptoms. At least.

But he was an old man. And he’d been overexerting himself all day, with the walk through the escape tunnels and rushing through the palace. His immune system may already be strained.

He glanced at Thorne, who had begun to whistle to himself.

“I need to take a blood sample.”

Thorne groaned. “Please don’t tell me something got messed up.”

“No. Just taking precautions. Your arm, please.”

Thorne didn’t look happy about it, but he rolled up his sleeve nevertheless. It was a quick test, one Dr. Erland had done a thousand times—drawing the blood and running it through the diagnostic module to check for letumosis-carrying pathogens—yet he found himself distracted by the warmth of his breaths as they caught inside the face mask.

Thorne. And—if he returned with the others—Cinder.

And his Crescent Moon.

He gripped the side of the counter to keep his hands from shaking. Why hadn’t he told her the truth before? He’d a.s.sumed they would have time. He’d believed there would be years, after Selene was crowned and Levana was gone. Years to tell her the truth. To embrace her. To tell her how much he loved her. To apologize again and again for ever letting her go.

He stared down at the bruise-like rash. Only a single bruise so far. It wasn’t spreading, at least not on his arms. But his a.n.a.lytical brain, having seen this same rash on the wrists of so many victims, had already set a timer ticking.

He was going to die.

The module dinged, making him jump.

LETUMOSIS RESULTS: NEGATIVE

He shut his eyes in relief.

“How’s everything going over there, Doctor?”

He cleared his throat. “I’ve … I’ve determined it would be best to let the stem cell solution sit for a few hours. You can apply the drops when you’re back on the ship.” He picked up a stylus and began to type a message into the portscreen. “I’ll put the instructions on this portscreen. Just in case.”

“Instructions for who?”

His gut twisted as he wrote. “I won’t be returning with you.”

There was silence, punctuated by the tapping of the stylus and his own breaths, suddenly labored.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m too old. I’ll just slow you down. When the others arrive, I want you to go on without me.”

“Don’t be stupid. We have a plan. We’re sticking to it.”

“No. You’ll be leaving me behind.”

“Why? So Levana can get her hands on you and torture you for information? Great idea.”

“She won’t have time to torture me. I’m already dying.”

The words pinched something inside him and suddenly his spectacles were steaming up. There wasn’t time. After all these years, there was never enough time.

“What are you talking about?”

He didn’t respond until he’d finished typing into the portscreen. Shoving the stylus behind his ear, he walked over to the door and peered through the small window into the laboratory corridor.

Outside, dozens of guards had crowded into the hallway, stretching out in each direction with their guns raised.

“All is indeed going according to plan,” he muttered.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he pulled away so fast he nearly collapsed into the counter. “Don’t touch me.”

“What is going on?” said Thorne, growing impatient.

Ducking around him, Dr. Erland paced to the other end of the room. “There is a quarantine room attached to this lab facility. I’ll be quarantining myself. Don’t worry—no one will dare come in to question me.” He removed his spectacles and rubbed the lenses on his shirt. “I’ve just diagnosed myself with letumosis.”

Thorne launched himself away as if he’d been burned, planting his back against the wall so that there couldn’t have been any more s.p.a.ce between them. Cursing, he wiped the palm that had touched the doctor on his pants.

“Don’t worry. Your results are negative. There is a very slim chance that you’ve caught it in the last two minutes.” He slid his spectacles back on. “Your stem cell solution is on the counter to your left, wrapped in a cloth. There is a portscreen beside it. Give them to Cress—she can help you.” His voice clogged and he felt for the keypad. The code hadn’t changed since he’d left.

As he pulled open the door, the lights in the quarantine flickered on. The window that divided the room was one-way, so that the patients couldn’t see the technicians while they were running tests.

He had never been on that side of the gla.s.s before.

“Carswell Thorne?”

Glancing back, he saw that Thorne was still plastered against the wall, but the fear had left his expression, replaced with determination, and sympathy. “Yes?”

“Thank you. For keeping her safe in the desert.” He knit his brows. “Although you still don’t deserve her.”

Before Thorne could respond, Dr. Erland stepped into the quarantine and shut himself in. His captivity was instant, airtight and suffocating and final.

Fifty-Three

She was glad that Wolf seemed to have memorized the palace blueprint better than she had, because with all this running up and down stairwells, around corners, and down countless corridors, Cress was completely lost. Wolf, however, hadn’t shown a moment’s hesitation as they ran down the abandoned halls.

“Perfect timing,” Wolf muttered under his breath as they swung around another corner. He grabbed Cress’s elbow and yanked her back before she could collide with Cinder and Iko and the unconscious man hanging between them.

“Well, h.e.l.lo there, strangers,” said Iko.

Wolf nodded, first at Cinder, then the unconscious emperor. “I thought that might be his cologne. Need help?”

Neither Cinder nor Iko objected when he stooped down and swung Kai over one shoulder.

If Cress hadn’t been panicked and fl.u.s.tered and running on eight quarts of throbbing adrenaline, she would have been much more impressed.

“Labs are this way,” Cinder said, taking the lead. Cress picked up her skirt and hurried after her. “Any surprises?”

“Not so far,” Cress answered. “You?”

Cinder shook her head as they darted across the sky bridge into the research wing. “Not really. Just a lot of … this.”

A palace guard appeared in front of them, gripping his gun. “Stop ri—!”

The word became a strangled gasp as his face went blank. His hands fell slack at his sides, the gun dropping to the floor.

Cress gasped, but Cinder pulled her around his dazed form without breaking pace.

“Wow,” said Cress between her panting. “Good thing you’ve been practicing, right?”

“I wish that were the reason it’s so easy,” she said, shaking her head as they rounded another corner. “With Wolf, at least there was some struggle. Some effort involved. But with Earthens … it’s too easy.” She gulped. “If she becomes empress, Earth doesn’t stand a chance.”