The time before that she’d been in a research lab, strapped to a table while a med-droid downloaded the statistics of her cybernetic makeup.
She really, really hated having things plugged into her head.
She forced herself to take deep breaths. It was only Iko and Cress. She knew what they were plugging into her and what data they were extracting. It was not a violation. It was not an invasion.
But it was impossible not to feel that way.
“The connection worked,” said Cress. “There doesn’t appear to be any obvious holes in the data, so this part of your programming wasn’t affected by whatever cut off power to your limbs. I just need to find where it stores visual input and … here we go. Recordings … chronological … would it be the most recent … never mind, this must be it. Video, encrypted, one minute fifty-six seconds long. And … transferring.”
Cinder’s gut twisted. She was not squeamish in general, but whenever her panel was open it was impossible not to think about nameless, faceless surgeons hovering over her unconscious form. Connecting wires and synapses to her brain, regulating her electrical pulses, replacing part of her skull with a removable metal plate.
She squeezed her forearms until they began to hurt, trying to distract herself from the humming of her own internal workings and the sound of Cress’s fingertips padding against the portscreen.
“Eighty percent,” said Cress.
White spots flickered on the blackness of Cinder’s eyelids. She breathed deeply, chastising herself. She was fine. This would have been a routine procedure if it had been her working on an android or another cyborg. She was fine.
The humming stopped and Cress said, “Done.”
“Check it before you disconnect,” said Cinder, gulping down a mouthful of sour saliva. “Make sure it’s the right one.”
“It’s showing … a lot of people.”
“There’s Kai!” squealed Iko.
Cinder jerked her head up. She felt the pull of the cord still connected to the portscreen. “Show me,” she said, even as brightness flooded her vision. She cringed, slamming her eyes shut again.
“Wait, hold still,” said Cress. “Let me disconnect—”
That was the last Cinder heard.
* * *
NEW CONNECTIONS FOUND
REALITY MANUFACTURING CYBERHAND T200–L–CUSTOM: FIVE UTILITIES UNRECOGNIZED: STANDARD APPLICATIONS APPROVED
REALITY MANUFACTURING CYBERFOOT T60.9–L: STANDARD APPLICATIONS APPROVED
REBOOTING IN 3 … 2 … 1 …
Cinder woke up on the sofa with the softest blanket she’d ever felt tucked around her shoulders. She squinted at the unfamiliar shadows on the ceiling, trying to shake off the bewilderment of waking up in a strange place and not being sure how she’d gotten there. Sitting up, she rubbed at her bleary eyes. The room was in disarray, tools and parts scattered around the carpet and tables.
DIAGNOSTICS CHECK COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEMS STABILIZED. TWO NEW CONNECTIONS FOUND:
CYBERHAND T200
CYBERFOOT T60.0
RUN APPLICATION TEST NOW?
She raised her left hand in front of her face. The shiny finish it had when Dr. Erland had first given it to her was gone after two months of making repairs to the Rampion and living in a desert and a dip in Artemisia Lake.
Most baffling was that she had all five fingers, although the pointer—the gun finger Levana had removed—didn’t quite match the others. The finish was different, it was too slender, and the angle of the first knuckle was crooked.
Cinder ran the application test and watched as her fingers curled down, one at a time. Flexed back. Tightened into a fist. The wrist swiveled from side to side.
Her foot went through a similar range of motions. She pulled back the blanket to watch.
BASIC APPLICATION TEST COMPLETE. STANDARD APPLICATIONS APPROVED FOR USE. FIVE UTILITIES UNRECOGNIZED.
Five utilities.
Inspecting her hand, Cinder sent the command for the tips of her fingers to open, which they did without problem. But when she tried to turn on the flashlight, to eject the knife or universal connector cable, or to spin the built-in screwdriver, nothing happened. She didn’t bother trying to load a projectile into the replacement finger.
Still, she had use of the limb again, and she couldn’t complain.
“You’re awake!”
Iko traipsed into the room carrying a tray one-handed, with a glass of water and a plate of fried eggs, along with bread and jam.
Cinder’s stomach started gnawing through its lining. “You cooked?”
“Just some skills left over from my Serv9.2 days.” Iko set the plate in Cinder’s lap. “But I don’t want to hear a word about how delicious it is.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s awful,” Cinder said, shoveling a spoonful into her mouth. “Tank oo, Iko.” Her gaze landed on Iko’s disabled arm. It was missing a finger. She swallowed. “For the attachment too.”
Iko shrugged with her good shoulder. “You have a few escort-branded wires installed now too. The stuff from the gaming table didn’t work.”
“Thank you. That was really generous.”
Iko pushed Cinder’s feet aside and sat down. “You know how we androids are programmed to make ourselves useful and all that.”
“Are you still an android?” Cinder said around a bite of toast. “Sometimes I forget.”
“Me too.” Iko ducked her head. “When we saw the feed of you jumping off that ledge, I was so scared I thought my wiring was going to catch fire. And I thought, I will do anything to make sure she’s all right.” She kicked at a pile of stray screws on the carpet. “I guess some programming never goes away, no matter how evolved a personality chip gets.”