Marissa Meyer - Scarlet

Cinder’s words dried up.

“She’s dead, Cinder. Adri received a comm from the quarantines.”

Cinder stared dumbly at the wall. “I know, Iko. That was two weeks ago. It’s been two weeks since Adri disabled you. This is the first … body … I’ve been able to find.”

Iko fell silent. Cinder glanced around, sensing Iko all around her. The engine rotated faster for a moment, then reduced to normal speed. The temperature barely dropped. A light flickered in the hallway behind Thorne, who was stiff and uncomfortable in the doorway, looking like a poltergeist had just taken over his beloved Rampion.

“Cinder,” Iko said after a few silent minutes of explorations. “I’m enormous. ” There was a distinct whine in her metallic tone.

“You’re a ship, Iko.”

“But I’m … how can I … no hands, no visual sensor, humongous landing gear—are those supposed to be my feet?”

“Well, no. It’s supposed to be landing gear.”

“Oh, what’s to become of me? I’m hideous!”

“Iko, it’s only tempor—”

“Now, hold on just one minute there, little miss disembodied voice.” Thorne strode into the engine room and crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you mean, ‘hideous’?”

This time, the temperature spiked. “Who’s that? Who’s speaking?”

“I am Captain Carswell Thorne, the owner of this fine ship, and I will not stand to have her insulted in my presence!”

Cinder rolled her eyes.

“Captain Carswell Thorne?”

“That’s right.”

A brief silence. “My net search is finding only a Cadet Carswell Thorne, of the American Republic, imprisoned in New Beijing prison on—”

“That’s him,” said Cinder, ignoring Thorne’s glare.

Another silence as the heat in the engine room hovered just upside of comfortable. Then, “You’re … rather handsome, Captain Thorne.”

Cinder groaned.

“And you, my fine lady, are the most gorgeous ship in these skies, and don’t let anyone ever tell you different.”

The temperature drifted upward, until Cinder dropped her arms with a sigh. “Iko, are you intentionally blushing?”

The temperature dropped back down to pleasant. “No,” Iko said. Then, “But am I really pretty? Even as a ship?”

“The prettiest,” said Thorne.

“You do have a naked lady painted on your port side,” added Cinder.

“Painted her myself.”

A series of inset ceiling lights flickered and released a dim glow.

“And really, Iko, this is only temporary. We’ll get a new auto-control system, and we’ll get you a new body. Eventually. But I need you to watch over the ship, check the reports, maybe run a diagnostics—”

“The power cell is almost dead.”

Cinder nodded. “Right. I knew that part already. Anything else?”

The engine hummed all around her. “I guess I could run a full system check…”

Beaming, Cinder crawled toward the door, meeting a pleased-looking Thorne when she stood back up. “Thank you, Iko.”

The lights flickered out again as Iko diverted her energy. “But why are we on this spaceship again? And with a convicted felon? No offense, Captain Thorne.”

Cinder grimaced, too exhausted to tell the story, but knowing she couldn’t keep it from her companions forever. “All right,” she said, sidling past Thorne and into the hallway. “Let’s go back to the cockpit. We might as well be comfortable.”

Scarlet called a hover to take them into Toulouse, nearly draining her account of Gilles’s latest deposit. She sat opposite Wolf during the ride, her pistol digging into her back as she watched him. In such close quarters, she knew the pistol was all but useless to her. After all, she’d witnessed Wolf’s speed more than once. He could have her pinned and half choked before she’d loosened the gun from her waistband.

But it was impossible to feel threatened by the semi-stranger across from her. Wolf was entranced by the rolling farmlands passing by, gaping at tractors and cattle and decrepit, crumbling barns. His legs jogged ceaselessly the whole time, though she doubted he realized it.

The almost child-like fascination was at odds with him in every way. The fading black eye, the pale scars, the broad shoulders, the calm composure he’d had as he nearly strangled Roland, the fierce brutality in his gaze as he’d nearly killed his opponent in the fight.

Scarlet chewed the inside of her cheek, wondering which side of him was an act, and which was real.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

Wolf swung his gaze around to meet hers, the curiosity vanishing. Like he’d forgotten she was there. “Here. France.”

Her lips twitched. “Interesting. You look like you’ve never seen a cow before.”

“Oh—no, not here. Not Rieux. I’m from the city.”

“Paris?”

He nodded and his ticking legs switched to a new rhythm, alternating in time with each other. Unable to take it, Scarlet reached over and firmly pressed her palm onto one knee, forcing his bouncing leg to still. Wolf skittered at the touch.

“You’re driving me crazy,” she said, pulling back. His legs stayed still—for the time, at least—but his surprise lingered on her. “So how did you end up in Rieux of all places?”

His attention swept back to the window. “At first I just wanted to get away. I took a maglev to Lyon, and started following the fights from there. Rieux is small, but it draws a good crowd.”

“I noticed.” Scarlet leaned her head back against the seat. “I lived in Paris for a while, when I was a kid. Before I came down here to live with Grand-mère.” She shrugged. “I’ve never really missed it.”

They’d passed through the farms and olive groves, the vineyards and suburbs, and were swooping into the heart of Toulouse when she heard Wolf respond.

“I haven’t missed it either.”

* * *

The sublevel of the maglev station was obnoxiously bright as they descended on the escalator, the fluorescents overcompensating for the lack of sun. Two androids and a weapons detector were waiting at the bottom, and one beeped the second Scarlet’s feet touched the platform.

“Leo 1272 TCP 380 personal handgun detected. Please extend your ID chip and stand by for clearance.”

“I have a permit,” Scarlet said, holding out her wrist.

A flash of red. “Weapon cleared. Thank you for riding the European Federation Maglev Train,” said the android, rolling back to its post.

Scarlet brushed past the androids, and found an empty bench just off the rails. Despite half a dozen small, spherical cameras orbiting near the ceiling, the walls were scribbled with years of elaborate graffiti and the ghost images of torn concert posters.

Wolf claimed the seat beside her, and within moments his frenetic energy had started up again. Though he’d left space in between them, Scarlet found herself attuned to the fidgeting fingers, jogging knees, shoulders rolling out their kinks. His energy was almost tangible.

Scarlet was exhausted just from watching him.

Trying to ignore him, she dug her portscreen from her pocket and checked her comms, though nothing but junk and ads had come in.

Three trains came and went. Lisbon. Rome. West Munich.

Scarlet grew anxious, and didn’t realize that her own foot had started tapping to the same beat until Wolf placed the pad of a finger against her knee.

She froze, and Wolf instantly pulled away. “Sorry,” he whispered, gripping his hands together in his lap.

Scarlet had no response, unsure what he was apologizing for. Unable to tell if his ears had just gone pink or if it was the flickering lights from a nearby ad.

She saw him let out a measured breath before, without warning, Wolf stiffened and whipped his head toward the escalators.