“Mistress,” she ventured to ask, “what will you have me do at the docks?”
Sybil was silent for so long that Cress began to regret asking. Maybe she’d angered her. Sybil didn’t like being asked rudimentary questions. She didn’t like it much when Cress talked at all, other than Yes, Mistress and Of course, Mistress and I would be happy to complete this task for you, Mistress.
And though Cress had never been fond of Sybil—had, in fact, been terrified of her since before she could remember—she still wanted Sybil to be fond of her. She wanted Mistress to be proud. She imagined Sybil bragging about her to the queen, telling Her Majesty of the young prodigy in her care, who could be so much more useful to the crown if she weren’t trapped in those awful dormitories all the time. Cress hoped that if she could impress Sybil enough, someday the queen would have to take notice of her. Maybe she would be offered a job and she could prove that shells weren’t dangerous after all. That they want to belong and be good, loyal Lunars just like anyone. Maybe, just maybe, the queen would listen to her.
“Do you remember,” said Sybil, jolting Cress from a daydream in which Queen Levana herself was praising Cress for her brilliance and essential service to the crown, “when I asked you about conducting more extensive surveillance on the leaders of the Earthen Union?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“You told me then that our current software was unsuited for the surveillance we had in mind. That the feeds were too easily disrupted or dropped. That the very act of obtaining live audio feeds from Earth would no doubt be noticed, and likely traced back to us. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Sybil nodded. “Your work has been invaluable to me of late, Crescent.”
Cress’s lips parted. It was rare to hear anything remotely resembling praise from Sybil, and her chest warmed at her words. They turned a corner and the corridor ended at an enormous set of double doors.
“I believe,” Sybil continued, not looking at Cress as she pressed her fingertips to a scanner on the wall, “that I have resolved all of the dilemmas that were keeping us from achieving our objectives.”
The doors slid open. Cress followed Sybil onto a wide platform that encircled a cavernous domed space, filled with the shimmering white bodies of royal spaceships. The floor beneath them was glowing, casting the shadows of the ships onto black ceilings. At the far end of the dock, the massive barrier between the atmosphere-controlled area and outer space was sealed tight.
What was more—there were people.
Not many, but a dozen at least, mingling around one of the larger ships. They were too far to see clearly, but Cress could make out vibrant-colored clothing, and one of the men was wearing an enormous hat and—
Sybil grabbed Cress’s elbow and yanked her in the opposite direction. Cress gasped and stumbled after her.
“Do not look at them,” said Sybil.
Cress frowned. Her arm was stinging but she resisted the urge to rip it out of Sybil’s grip. “Why? Who are they?”
“They are members of Artemisia’s families, and they would not appreciate being gawked at by a shell.” She dragged Cress down a ramp to the dock’s main floor, releasing her elbow once they were separated from the aristocrats by the svelte forms of the spaceships. It was disconcerting to be walking on the glowing floor. It felt like walking on a star. Cress was so distracted that she crashed into Sybil when she came to an abrupt stop.
Sybil looked down at her, lip twitching, and didn’t respond to Cress’s hasty apology. She just turned and nodded to the guard, who opened the door to a small podship. It couldn’t have fit more than three or four passengers, but while it was small, it was also luxurious. A faint strip of lights curled around the ceiling. A holograph node was projecting the image of a burbling water fountain in one corner. The benches behind the pilot were covered in a fabric that made the blankets in the dormitories look like animal feed sacks.
Sybil gestured for Cress to get in, and the invitation was so unexpected that Cress could only stand and stare at the podship’s interior in disbelief. “Really?” she whispered. “I’m … we’re leaving Artemisia?” She felt momentarily dizzy—with elation, but perhaps also a bit because of the blood taken before.
“We are leaving Luna,” said Sybil. “Now get in.”
Cress’s mouth ran dry. Leaving Luna? It was more than she had dared to hope. A ride in a spaceship. A real trip into space. The other shells would be so jealous.