cinder || dnf

chapter thirty

Dream sat inside his booth, chin cupped in both palms, watching the huge netscreen across the crowded street. He couldn't hear the reporter's commentary over the chaos, but he didn't need to- she was reporting on the festival that he was stuck in the middle of. The reporter seemed to be having a lot more fun than he was, gesturing wildly at passing food vendors and jugglers, contortionists on miniature parade floats and the tail end of a passing lucky dragon kite. Dream could tell from the hubbub that the reporter was in the square just a block away from him, where most of the events took place throughout the day. It was a lot more festive than the street of vendor booths, but at least he was in the shade.

The day would have been busy compared to market days- lost of potential customers had sought prices on broken portscreens and android parts- but he had been forced to turn them all away. He would be taking no more customers in New Beijing. He would not have been there at all if Adri hadn't forced him to come, dropping him off while she and Pearl went shopping for last minute ball accessories. He suspected that Adri really just wanted to watch as everyone gawked at the limping, one-footed boy.

He couldn't tell his stepmother that Dream Almeida, renowned mechanic, was closed for business.

Because he couldn't tell Adri that he was leaving.

He sighed, blowing a misplaced lock of hair out of his face. The heat was miserable. The humidity clung to Dream's skin, pasting his shirt to his back. Along with the budding clouds on the horizon, it promised rain, and lots of it.

Not ideal driving conditions.

But that wouldn't stop him. Twelve hours from now, he would be miles outside of the city, putting as much distance between himself and New Beijing as he could. He had gone down to the garage every night that week after Adri and Pearl were in bed, hopping along on homemade crutches so he could work on the car. Last night, for the first time, the engine had roared to life.

Well, more like sputtered to life and spewed out noxious fumes from the exhaust that made him cough like mad. He had used nearly half of the plague research money Phil had wired him on a big tank of gasoline that, if he were lucky, would carry him at least into the next province. It would be a bumpy ride. It would be a stinky ride.

But he would be free.

No- they would be free. Him and Patches' personality chip and Drista's ID chip. They were going to escape together, like he'd always said they would.

Though he knew he could never bring Drista back, he hoped that someday he would at least find another body for Patches. Some other android shell, perhaps- maybe even an escort with their tauntingly ideal feminine shapes. He thought Patches would like that.

The netscreen changed, showing the other favorite news story of the week. The young Tommy, miracle child. Plague survivor. He'd been interviewed countless times about his unbelievable recovery, and every time it sparked a little glow in Dream's silicon heart.

Footage of his mad dash from the quarantines had been played repeatedly on the screens too, but the recording never showed his face, and Adri had been too distracted- by the ball and the funeral that Dream had not been invited to attend- to realize the mystery boy was living under her own roof. Or perhaps Adri just paid him such little attention that she wouldn't have recognized him anyway.

Rumors abounded about the boy and Tommy's miraculous recovery, and while some had talked of an antidote, no one was coming clean. Tommy was now under the surveillance of the palace research team, which meant Dr. Za had a new guinea pig to play with. He hoped it would be enough, given that his role as research volunteer was over. He hadn't had the heart to tell the doctor that yet, though, and the guilt clawed at him upon seeing a new monetary deposit every morning. Phil had made good on his promises- he'd set up an account ID-linked so that only Dream could access it, not Adri, and had made almost daily payments from the research and development fund. So far he'd asked for nothing in return. His only comms had been to tell Dream he was still making use of his blood samples and to remind him not to return to the palace until the queen was gone.