“That’s correct, Miss Linh. You do not have the plague.”
“And I’m not going to die.”
“Correct.”
“And I’m not contagious?”
“Yes, yes, yes. Lovely feeling, isn’t it?”
She leaned against the wall. Relief filled her, but it was followed by suspicion. They had given her the plague, but now she was healed? Without any antidote?
It felt like a trap, but the orange light was nowhere to be seen. He was telling her the truth, no matter how unbelievable it seemed. “Has this happened before?”
An impish grin spread across the doctor’s weathered face. “You are the first. I have some theories about how it could be possible, but I’ll need to run tests, of course.”
He abandoned the holograph and went to the counter, lying out the two vials. “These are your blood samples, one taken before the injection, one after. I am very excited to see what secrets they contain.”
She slid her eyes to the door, then back to the doctor. “Are you saying you think I’m immune?”
“Yes! That is precisely what it seems. Very interesting. Very special.” He gripped his hands together. “It is possible that you were born with it. Something in your DNA that predisposed your immune system to fight off this particular disease. Or perhaps you were introduced to letumosis in a very small amount some time in your past, perhaps in your childhood, and your body was able to fight it off, therefore building an immunity to it which you utilized today.”
Cinder shrank back, uncomfortable under his eager stare.
“Do you recall anything from your childhood that could be connected to this?” he continued. “Any horrible sicknesses? Near brushes with death?”
“No. Well…” She hesitated, stuffing the wrench into a side cargo pocket. “I guess, maybe. My stepfather died of letumosis. Five years ago.”
“Your stepfather. Do you know where he could have contracted it?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. My step—my guardian, Adri, always suspected he got it in Europe. When he adopted me.”
The doctor’s hands trembled, as if his clutched fingers alone were keeping him from combusting. “You’re from Europe then.”
She nodded, uncertainly. It felt odd to think she was from a place she had no memory of.
“Were there many sick people in Europe that you recall? Any notable outbreaks in your province?”
“I don’t know. I don’t actually remember anything from before the surgery.”
His eyebrows rose, his blue eyes sucking in all the light of the room. “The cybernetic operation?”
“No, the sex change.”
The doctor’s smile faltered.
“I’m joking.”
Dr. Erland reassembled his composure. “What do you mean when you say you don’t remember anything?”
Cinder blew a wisp of hair from her face. “Just that. Something about when they installed the brain interface, it did some damage to my…you know, whatever. The part of the brain that remembers things.”
“The hippocampus.”
“I guess.”
“And how old were you?”
“Eleven.”
“Eleven.” He released his breath in a rush. His gaze darted haphazardly around the floor as if the reason for her immunity was written upon it. “Eleven. Because of a hover accident, was it?”
“Right.”
“Hover accidents are nearly impossible these days.”
“Until some idiot removes the collision sensor, trying to make it go faster.”
“Even so, it wouldn’t seem that a few bumps and bruises would justify the amount of repairs you had.”
Cinder tapped her fingers against her hip. Repairs—what a very cyborg term.
“Yeah, well, it killed my parents and threw me through the windshield. The force pushed the hover off the maglev track. It rolled a couple times and pinned me underneath. Afterward some of the bones in my leg were the consistency of sawdust.” She paused, fiddling with her gloves. “At least, that’s what they told me. Like I said, I don’t remember any of it.”
She only barely remembered the drug-induced fog, her mushy thoughts. And then there was the pain. Every muscle burning. Every joint screaming. Her body in rebellion as it discovered what had been done to it.
“Do you have any trouble retaining memories since then, or forming new ones?”
“Not that I know of.” She glared. “Is this relevant?”
“It’s fascinating,” Dr. Erland said, dodging the question. He pulled out his portscreen, making some notation. “Eleven years old,” he muttered again, then, “You must have gone through a lot of prosthetic limbs growing into those.”
Cinder twisted her lips. She should have gone through lots of limbs, but Adri had refused to pay for new parts for her freak stepdaughter. Instead of responding, she cast her eyes to the door, then at the blood-filled vials. “So…am I free to go?”