cinder || dnf

chapter eighteen

A med-droid rolled into Dream's path as he exited the warehouse, blocking his way with outstretched spindly arms. "Patients are strictly forbidden from leaving the quarantine area," it said, nudging Dream back into the shadows of the doorway.

Dream swallowed his panic and halted the robot with a palm against its smooth forehead. "I'm not a patient," he said. "I'm not even sick. Here." He held out his elbow, displaying a small bruise from being stuck with too many needles the past two days.

The android's innards hummed as it processed his statement, searching its database for a logical reaction. Then a panel opened in its torso and the third arm, the syringe arm, extended toward Dream. He flinched, his skin tender, but tried to relax as the android drew a fresh sample of blood. The syringe disappeared into the android's body and Dream waited, rolling his sleeve down over the hem of his glove.

The test seemed to take longer than at the junkyard, and a sinking panic was crawling up Dream's spine. What if Dr. Za had been wrong? He heard a low beep and the android backed away, clearing his path.

He released his breath and did not look back at the robot or any of its companions as he crossed the hot asphalt. The hover was still waiting for him. Settling into the backseat, he told it to take him to New Beijing Palace.

Having been unconscious the first time he'd been brought to the palace, Dream found himself plastered to the hover's window as he was taken up the steep winding road to the top of the harsh cliffs that bordered the city. His netlink fished for information, telling him that the palace had been built after World War IV, when the city was little more than rubble. It was designed in the fashion of the old world, with hearty dosages of both nostalgic symbolism and state of the art engineering. The pagoda-style roofs were made of gold-tinged tiles and surrounded by gargoyles, but the tiles were actually galvanized steel covered with tiny solar capsules that created enough energy to sustain the entire palace, including the research wing, and the gargoyles were equipped with motion sensors, ID scanners, 360-degree cameras, and radars that could detect approaching aircrafts and hovers within a sixty-mile radius. All that was invisible, though, the technology hidden in the ornately carved beams and tiered pavilions.

What captured Dream's eye was not modern technology but a cobblestoned road lined with cherry blossom trees. Bamboo screens framing the garden entrances. Through a peep window, a steadily trickling stream.

The hover did not stop at the main entrance with its crimson pergolas. Instead, it rounded to the northern side of the palace, nearest the research wing. Though this part of the palace was more modern, less nostalgic, Dream still noticed a squat Buddha sculpture with a cheery face off the pathway. As he paid for the hover and walked toward the automatic glass door, a subtle pulse tugged at his ankle- Buddha scanning visits for weapons. To his relief, the steel in his leg did not set off any alarms.

Inside, he was greeted by an android who asked for his name and told him to wait in the elevator bank. The research center was a hive of activity- diplomats and doctors, ambassadors and androids, all roaming the halls on their separate missions.

An elevator opened and Dream stepped into it, glad to be alone. The doors began to close, but then paused and opened again. "Please hold," said the mechanical voice of the elevator operator.

A moment later, Prince George darted through the half-open doors. "Sorry, sorry, thanks for hold-"

He saw Dream and froze. "Mr. Almeida?"

Dream pushed himself off the elevator wall and fell into the most natural bow he could, simultaneously checking that his left glove was pulled up over his wrist. "Your Highness." The words were a rush, spit out automatically, and he felt the need to say something more, to fill the space of the elevator, but nothing came.