Cress

“No, we risked too much by brainwashing the maintenance attendant before. Make it so that it can be more easily hidden. Able to embed on a wall hanging, perhaps. One of the other thaumaturges will likely handle the installation themselves during our upcoming visit.”

Cress’s head was still bobbing. “Yes, yes, of course. No problem.”

Sybil scowled. Perhaps Cress was being too agreeable. She stopped nodding, but it was difficult to focus as a clock ticked in her head. If Cinder and the others spotted the Lunar podship attached to her satellite, they would think Cress had led them into a trap.

But Mistress Sybil never stayed long. Surely she would be well gone before the hour was up. Surely.

“Is there anything else, Mistress?”

“Have you anything to report on the other Earthen feeds?”

Cress strained to think about any news she may have heard in the past few days. Her skills in cyber espionage went beyond research and hacking into Earthen feeds and databases, or programming spy equipment to be strategically installed in various homes and offices of high-ranking officials. It was also one of her responsibilities to monitor those feeds and report anything interesting back to Sybil and Her Majesty.

It was the most voyeuristic part of her job, which she hated. But at least if Sybil was asking her about it now, it meant that she and the queen hadn’t had time lately to monitor the feeds themselves.

“Everyone’s focused on the wedding,” Cress said. “Lots of talk of travel arrangements and scheduling diplomatic meetings while so many representatives are together in New Beijing.” She hesitated before continuing, “A lot of the Earthens are questioning Emperor Kaito’s decision to enter into the alliance and whether or not it will really signal an end to the attacks. The European Federation recently placed a large order from a weapons manufacturer. It seems they’re preparing for war. I … I could find the specifics of that order if you want.”

“Don’t waste your time. We know what they’re capable of. Anything else?”

Cress searched her memory. She considered telling Mistress Sybil that one UK representative, a Mr. Bristol something, was trying to make a political statement by rejecting his invitation to the royal wedding, but she determined that his decision might still change. Knowing Her Majesty, she would want to set the man up as an example, and Cress didn’t want to think what she would do to him. Or his family.

“No, Mistress. That’s all.”

“And what about the cyborg? Any progress there?”

She had told the lie so many times, it was effortless on her tongue. “I’m sorry, Mistress. I haven’t found anything new.”

“Do you suppose, Crescent, that her ability to go without detection is due to a similar technique we use to disguise our ships?”

Cress pulled her damp hair away from her neck. “Perhaps. I understand she’s a talented mechanic. Her skills may include software jamming.”

“And if that’s the case, would you be able to detect it?”

Cress opened her mouth, but hesitated. She most likely could, but telling Sybil that would be a mistake. She would only wonder why Cress hadn’t thought of doing it sooner. “I-I don’t think so, Mistress, but I’ll try. I’ll see what I can find.”

“See that you do. I’m sick of making excuses for you.”

Cress tried to look regretful, but her fingers were tingling with relief. Sybil always said some variation of this line when she was preparing to leave. “Of course, Mistress. Thank you for bringing me this new work, Mistress.”

A chime sang through the room.

Cress recoiled, but instantly attempted to morph her expression into nonchalance. Just another chime. Just another non-suspicious alert for one of Cress’s non-suspicious hobbies. Sybil had no reason to question it.

But Sybil’s attention had swerved to the single black screen that had awoken with the alert.

A new message had appeared.

MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM MECHANIC: ETA 41 MINUTES. NEED FINAL COORDINATES.

The satellite tilted beneath Cress—but, no, it was her own balance leaving her.

“What is this?” Sybil said, nearing the screen.

“It’s—it’s a game. I’ve been playing it with the computer.” Her voice squeaked. Her face was warming, cooled only where her damp hair clung to her cheeks.

There was a long silence.

Cress tried to feign indifference. “Just a silly game, imagining the computer is a real person … you know how my imagination can be, when I get lonely. Sometimes it’s nice to have someone to talk to, even if they’re not—”

Sybil grabbed Cress’s jaw, shoving her against a window that overlooked the blue planet.

“Is it her?” Sybil hissed. “Have you been lying to me?”

Cress couldn’t speak, her tongue heavy with terror, as if she were pinned by a glamour. But this was not magic. This was only a woman strong enough and angry enough to tear Cress’s arms from their sockets, to break her skull against the corner of the desk.