“We’re about to.”
Turning, she scanned the control panel behind her. “We’re never going to use the dust-vacuum module are we?”
“The dust what?”
She yanked a connector cord from the panel and snapped one end into the mainframe, the other into the inlet for the auto-control system—the same that had nearly fried her own circuitry.
“And that should do it,” she said, sitting back on her heels.
The system lit up, the sound of an internal diagnostics check familiar to Cinder’s ear. Her heart was palpitating—to think that she wouldn’t be alone anymore, that she could succeed in rescuing at least one person who mattered to her …
The mainframe fell quiet again.
Thorne stared up at the ship’s ceiling as if he expected it to cave in on him.
“Iko?” Cinder said, facing the computer. Were the speakers on? The sound and data input settings correct? She’d been able to communicate with Thorne just fine when they were in the warehouse, but …
“Cinder?”
Her relieved gasp nearly knocked her backward. “Iko! Yes, it’s me, it’s Cinder!” She grabbed hold of a cooling tube that hung overhead—a part of the engine, a part of the ship.
And Iko was all of it.
“Cinder. Something’s wrong with my vision sensor. I can’t see you, and I feel funny.”
Tongue jutting from her mouth, Cinder bent over to analyze the slot where Iko’s personality chip had found a new home. It seemed to fit perfectly, protected and functional. There was no hint of any compatibility issues. Her smile split from ear to ear.
“I know, Iko. Things are going to be a little different for a while. I’ve had to install you as the auto-control system of a spaceship. A 214 Rampion, Class 11.3. Do you have net connectivity? You should be able to download the specs.”
“A Rampion? A spaceship?”
Cinder ducked. Though there was only one speaker in the engine room, Iko’s voice echoed from every corner.
“What are we doing on a spaceship?”
“It’s a long, long story, but it’s all I could think to do with your—”
“Oh, Cinder! Cinder!” Iko’s voice came out as a wail, sending a chill down Cinder’s spine. “Where were you all day? Adri is furious, and Peony … Peony.”
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—”