As much as I wanted to withdraw and go it alone, I knew they’d never let me. Even worse, they would probably get themselves killed trying to help me.
“No, thank you,” I informed Cornelius, trying to stay on track. “Tell me, what are your duties?”
“I monitor your quarters at all times to ensure your safety, as well as assisting you in finding procedural solutions to any and all problems that arise in our department. I liaise between you and central command, so your orders are delivered correctly and effectively. I also inform you of your daily schedules and pending messages that require your attention, and help you prepare for your weekly council sessions.”
I blinked, realizing that I was about to lose my excuse for ever being late again. Because Cornelius was going to play lord of my schedule and force me to deal with every issue as it came in.
“Fun. So… is everything I do in here recorded?”
“Yes. There are multiple cameras recording at all times.”
I definitely did not like that. If he was hacked, my enemies could be watching me right now. “Who has access to those cameras?” I asked.
Because the next step was obvious. Devon Alexander had been working with the legacy group—and he might have given them access to Cornelius’s system.
“Only you and whomever you authorize, Champion Castell,” Cornelius replied simply.
I considered his answer, and knew I couldn’t be certain about that, either—not until Leo and Quess got here. But the idea that I was being recorded got me thinking even more about the former Champion, and the fact that if what Cornelius was saying was true, he had been recorded as well. Were those vid files still there, inside of Cornelius? A surge of excitement shot through me as I considered it, and I found myself already imagining that they were, and that I could access them and discover who Devon was working with by finding clues in the recordings Cornelius had made.
“What happens to the security files after a Champion dies?” I asked carefully. I wasn’t sure if there was a special way to access those files, but if I asked directly about them, anyone who might be watching could figure out what I was getting at and preemptively delete the backups.
“They are deleted.”
That didn’t make any sense. The council would want a record of everything, wouldn’t they? “What happens if a Champion is accused of a crime, and the council requires the vid files to prove it?”
“Only with a warrant unanimously agreed upon by the other members of the council can I release that data.”
“So there is a way to access the vid files after a Champion is dead?” I asked, excited that I might have caught him in a mistake.
“Clarification. In your earlier question, I presumed the Champion accused of a crime was still living, which would mean the data would be available. However, to answer your question more specifically, it would be possible for a technician to come in and recover the deleted file from the buffer, but those would be fragmented, at best.”
“Was a warrant ever issued for Devon Alexander?” I asked, my skin tingling. If so, that meant that those files, even fragmented, would be a part of the council’s records. Definitely in the file with my trial—undoubtedly sealed—but there, nonetheless. And now that I was a counselor, I could gain access to them and watch.
“No. The council has never had a unanimous decision to issue a warrant like that. Not once in the entire history of the Tower.”
I blinked, disappointment flaring through me. “I see.”
“Would you like to see the records of the attempts to gain warrants in the past?” he inquired by way of response. “Perhaps this can help you with your investigation.”
“No, it’s fine,” I muttered. I was grasping at straws, anyway. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. Still, it was mildly reassuring to know that, should Cornelius check out, this room was completely private and safe from prying eyes. My friends and I would finally have a safe place to plan things out without the risk of being discovered.
I looked up at the column, taking in the dimensions of the room using the interactive hologram, and studied it. The elevator pad was massive, with a diameter of a hundred and fifty feet, creating an area that measured a little under seventeen thousand square feet. I had never had so much space available to me in my entire life, and suddenly I was curious to see what I could do with all that room.
I pressed the back button and examined the drop-down menu for a moment or two before pressing Layouts. There were a few mockups of potential floorplans in the archives, but after a short perusal of them, I decided that none were to my liking, and moved on, flipping through the options until I discovered a way to draw directly onto the image using a stylus that slid out of the wall, to show exactly where I wanted the walls to go.
The program was very intuitive, and within minutes I was tinkering with ideas, checking spaces and dimensions, and trying to come up with the most defensible design. I settled for something that looked like a snail’s shell and widened into oval-shaped rooms before narrowing into a hall again. The first room was a sitting area, complete with a tactical table, several monitors, and comfortable seating. I planned for this room to be where I had my monthly meetings with the Knight Commanders, as well as being a general reception room, should I ever feel inclined to invite anyone over. From there, the layout became a more intimate dining area and kitchen. I learned that I could also alter the depths of the floor somewhat—three feet, either up or down—and could add stairs if I wanted to. So I made the kitchen slightly higher than the dining room.
Another long hall came around, and here I created two bathrooms. I was delighted to learn that not only could I have a bathtub, but I would also no longer be restricted by water rations (although Cornelius still warned me about overuse). I could take a bath for the first time in my life, and it would just be like… swimming in one of the bodies of water in Water Treatment. Only hot, private, and luxurious.
So I gave both bathrooms a tub, and moved on. I created four bedrooms, all on the same side of the hall, with connecting doors between them as a security measure. One was for Zoe and Eric, one was for Quess and Leo, one was for Maddox and Tian, and then the last one was for me. I put in basic furniture where I thought it would look best, and was delighted when the mechanical cranes suddenly got to work, dropping everything exactly where I had placed it in the model.
In fact, the transformation of the room was conducted so seamlessly while I worked that I lost notice of the whir and scrape and the flurry of activity as I adjusted, tweaked, modified, and refined my design, only moving when the program notified me that I was in the way of something, until the final wall slid into place, followed by the final bit of furniture.
I turned in what was now the center of my snail shell, looking over the final piece of my design, which I was planning to call the war room. It had two levels, the lower of which held a long table that was another tactical table (only far superior to the one I had dropped in the front room). Curved steps climbed up six feet to where I was standing, creating a small dais with a desk in the middle of it that overlooked the table. Screens circled the dais and desk, giving whoever sat at the desk a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of whatever was being projected there. Cornelius helped me set each one of them up, adjusting until I had live images from the Citadel piping through each one.
I stared at it for several moments, and then decided to take a quick tour to admire my work and search for any problems. I walked through the spiraling hall, up stairs and down them, and found myself smiling at the space I had created. A space that was now all my own.
I can’t wait to show my friends this place, I thought, and then stopped dead in my tracks as it suddenly hit me. I had been so distracted by fiddling around with the versatility of the room that I had forgotten to net them and tell them where I was.
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, trying to release the sudden tension that had formed. I was making progress in overcoming the problems from
the last three days, but even though I had come to terms with things, I still wasn’t sure if I was ready to talk about them. It was a little embarrassing to admit that I had broken down all because I had been robbed of a potential future with my mother.
And then it hit me all over again. She was gone, and nothing was ever going to be fixed between us. I’d forever carry the memories of the good and the bad (more bad), and it made everything inside ache and rage. In spite of me recognizing it for what it was.
My strength deserted me, and I leaned against the wall for support, wondering where she was right now. They would’ve closed her casket at this point, to transport her through the Tower with respect, which meant there were no more chances to say goodbye—unless I wanted to walk through the fields of Twilight, a greenery where the dead were left to create new soil that helped maintain the fields we needed for farming. It was a process that took decades, so if I truly wanted to, I could go up there and visit her.
But that would require being comfortable with the idea of seeing her decomposing corpse. The respect was finished as soon as the casket bearers reached the greenery and her body was upended from the box onto soil that needed replenishment. It was a brutal and callous thing to do to the dead—something that had never sat well with me—and yet was a practical solution for keeping the soil we had rich with the minerals necessary for growing things.
And that was where Sybil was buried, and Ambrose. Devon was probably there as well. And now my mother and Min-Ha. All of them sharing what would become one final task before they were completely obliterated, unified by the only equalizer my world seemed to know or understand: death.
I knew in my heart that I would join them up there too, one day. I could only hope to accomplish something good before it happened—something that would help people rather than hurt them. I believed that, more than anything, was the legacy my mother wanted me to have. She had believed I had a destiny once, after all. And if destiny meant helping people instead of hurting them, then I was okay with it.
Once again, my heart began to wish and pray for her to be here with me, guiding me and telling me what to do, and I wanted to beat my head against the wall, frustrated that I still couldn’t push the torrent back. Maybe it was unrealistic, given the hour or so that had passed since the funeral, but I just… I wanted to be better.
I needed to be better. There was no time for this—I had too much to do. Finding my mother’s killers, rescuing Jasper, saving Scipio, keeping my friends safe, learning how to be Champion… The list was endless.
I sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm myself. It took me a moment, but I realized that I was on my knees in the hall, just before the sitting area. Pathetic.
I scrubbed my cheeks clean, wiping away the wet residue, and sniffled to clear my nose so I wouldn’t sound nasal or stuffed up. I was shaking slightly, and exhausted by how much energy all that emotion had eaten up.
Of all the things mourning had put me through, these moments of weakness were the worst, and I couldn’t keep going on like this. I had to find a way to compartmentalize everything so I could function. Every time I broke down, I was giving our enemies free time to plan their next move. Not to mention, my friends were depending on me to figure out what we would do next. They were probably already climbing the walls, wondering where I was and what I wanted them to do.
Yesterday, I wouldn’t have been able to tell them, but now…
Now I had answers, even if I wasn’t sure I was ready to share them yet. I could keep going, if I just reminded myself what it was I was really upset about, and remained in the moment. It was going to take time, but at least I had a path forward. I just had to focus on it, and try to keep calm whenever the pain hit. It would pass. I hoped.
I picked myself up off the ground, climbing back to my feet on shaky knees. My friends were waiting for me. People were depending on me. I could do this.
“Cornelius?” I croaked, my voice hoarse.
“Yes, ma’am?” he replied. “How can I serve you?”
“I need you to contact Zoe Elphesian for me,” I said, leaning heavily on the wall as I slowly maneuvered myself into a standing position. “Tell her to get everyone, and then direct her here. She and her guests have permission to enter.”
“Yes, ma’am. Doing so now. While I do, I would like to inform you that the Medica has sent you a notification that your neural transmitter is ready for implantation at your convenience. They want to know if you wish to do it in the Citadel or go to the Medica.”
I blinked, confused by what he was talking about. It took me a minute, but I realized that a neural transmitter was the special implant that only the council members got—one that allowed them to communicate nonverbally. The technology used to be fairly prolific, but as the materials for these types of nets became harder and harder to produce, they became limited, until their use was restricted to council use only.
But I was about to get one, and could have voiceless conversations with whomever I wanted. If I was ever being attacked or needed backup, I would be able to communicate orders without giving our enemies any clue what I was up to. Couple that with the legacy net that Quess was hopefully going to get back to me soon, and Cornelius, and I’d have access to more information than I would know what to do with—and be able to talk about it without actually having to talk about it.
It was exciting.
“Right, tell them I will come down in two hours, and remind me fifteen minutes before then. I’ll notify them if I need more time.”
“Order logged. I have received confirmation from Zoe Elphesian that she is on her way. You are also receiving a vid chat request from Engineer Lacey Green. Should I connect it to your desk station terminal?”
Vid chat request, huh? That was fancy; no citizen in the Tower had that ability. I considered his question for a second, and where I was in my new home, and then said, “No, connect it to the video screen in the parlor. I’ll take it in there.”
My breath caught for a second as a stab of anxiety rocketed through me, and then I took a moment to compose myself. I had been expecting this, and while I had been certain it would come sooner, I still wished it had happened later. I was not ready to deal with Lacey Green right now—but if I put her off, she’d make sure that my stint as Champion was the shortest one in Tower history.
And I’d no doubt be joining my mom in Twilight sooner than I’d hoped to.
6
I faced the screen on the wall and waited. A second later, Lacey’s face filled it.
She… did not look great, but that was understandable given that Ambrose had died a little over a week ago. It felt like a lifetime since it had happened, but it was still fresh on Lacey’s face. Her dark skin had an unnatural paleness to it, but the bags under her eyes were black, making them looked bruised. Her eyes were tinged with red, and even the brown and blond curls of her afro seemed to droop.
Still, the look on her face was anything but sad. Because her expression was lined with a hostility that almost matched the one my father had demonstrated earlier, during the funeral. As soon as I registered it, I immediately felt guilty—and then angry in my own right. Lacey might have blamed me for Ambrose’s death, but in my mind, she was to blame for my mother’s death! She’d forced me into the Tourney, made me participate just to help her plans along! It had made me a target, and my mother had gotten caught in the crossfire.
Lacey glared at me for a second or two, resentment simmering delicately in the browns of her eyes. “I’m sorry about your mother,” she said suddenly, a slight snap to her words.
More rage poured over me, until my skin felt like it was sizzling. Don’t start a fight, I told myself sternly, trying to rein it in. Remember to be patient, and that she owns you for as long as she has that so-called “evidence” against you. I managed to pull myself back—but just barely.
“Thank you,” I replied tersely.
She nodded, just once. “Congratulations on becoming the new Champion, as well.�
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I stared at her, thinking about Astrid’s speech and the knowledge that the council had put her up to it. Lacey was a council member. Had she agreed to that little stunt, or had she had the decency to at least vote no?
“Did you have anything to do with the strategy for delivering the news at my mother’s funeral?” I demanded, unable to help myself. If she had, I’d be livid that she’d stoop that low.
Her eyes widened, and then narrowed slightly. “No, I did not!” she hissed. “I’ve barely weighed in this past week. The only thing I did was keep appraised and pass my votes on through Strum as proxy. Scipio was the one who made the decision on your fate, and for some reason, the enemy chose not to alter it. Or maybe they couldn’t; it seems like sometimes Scipio fights them on things, though I’m not sure.”
I blinked. She had told me more about Scipio’s current state than anyone else had been able to. Scipio’s program was an amalgamation of several different AI fragments, but at his core, he was Leo—whose determination to keep the Tower moving had made him the central program on which Scipio was based.
I wondered if that part of him was rebelling against his controllers—if that was what Lacey had just told me. Still, I was a little suspicious. How could she determine that Scipio sometimes fought them? Did she have a way of monitoring him?
“How do you know he fights them?”
She frowned, instantly displeased. “Me and my big fat mouth,” she muttered, running a hand over her face. “Look… we have a way of monitoring Scipio’s emotional state. Basically, whenever he’s being manipulated, his emotional state shifts to extremes, almost like someone with bipolar disorder. However, there have been times when we start to see it happen, and then the entire thing breaks down before it finishes. It’s hard to explain, but that’s what happened with the decision.”
The Girl Who Dared to Think 5: The Girl Who Dared to Lead Page 6