The Girl Who Dared to Think

  There was an abrupt movement in the cell, and I looked over to see Grey sitting back down, staring at the glass. I hoped he’d received the message I had risked so much to send. And understood it.

  “Disgusting,” Devon muttered. “Like an animal, really. Imagine what depravity it must require to become a one.”

  Gerome nodded, obedient as ever.

  “We tried rehabilitating them,” Devon said, his lip curling. “We really did. But no matter what we did, they fell, and they fell, and they fell, and they dragged others with them. Good people. Honest people.” He shook his head.

  Rehabilitating. Yeah, right—from what I had seen and heard coming from those rooms, rehabilitation was anything but. You couldn’t get compliance from people by driving needles into their heads and scrambling their brains. They’d be lucky to function at all after something like that, but I doubted they could do more than perform the simplest of tasks. No creativity. No innovation. No thoughts.

  Which definitely meant they weren’t dragging anyone down with them, as Devon had stated.

  I watched as Grey folded his knees to his chest, using him as a visual reminder to hold my tongue and keep from saying anything rude to Devon. Keep from giving us away. I hated being in that room with Devon, and found myself hating him more than I’d ever hated anyone or anything in my life.

  “Do it, Squire,” Devon said. “Earn your place. Show us why Scipio graced you with that nine.”

  I swallowed, and Grey looked up. I knew he couldn’t see me, but in that moment I met his gaze. Held it. Here sat the man who had saved me. Who had taken a risk on me—and had been repaid with capture, with torture. The wound on his chest was turning yellow with infection, and I could see the tired pain he was in, the hollow hunger in his eyes. I felt my heart swelling. This confirmed all over again that my purpose was not to kill.

  “Do it,” Devon said again, his voice sharper this time.

  My purpose was to save.

  I slapped my hand onto the button, feeling a wave of terror flowing through me, seated deep in my bones, convincing me that I had just condemned a man to die. This wasn’t supposed to kill him anymore—this would just be steam. Please let it just be steam. There was a click, a whirr, and then the gas began pouring into the room.

  Grey’s eyes grew theatrically wide when he saw the white mist pouring in, and he immediately flattened himself to the ground. He’d gotten my message, I told myself. He was acting.

  Devon let out a little chuckle of amusement at that. “Does he think that will help?” he asked into the silence. My hand clenched into a fist as his words crashed into me, and I fought off the urge to hit him.

  Noise from the other room was completely cut off, and I watched, clenching my hands behind my back until my nails bit into my skin. Anger shifted to apprehension and fear as I saw the first tendrils of mist slip into Grey’s nose, and waited, apprehensive and nervous and certain that Zoe had made a mistake.

  Please, I begged. Please let this work.

  Nothing happened for a second, and then Grey gasped, his breath becoming ragged like he was struggling to inhale. His hand darted to his throat, scrabbling there until he scratched long, pink lines down his skin. I stared in horror as blood began to trickle onto his collarbone and he started to slam himself against the glass. Once, twice, three times he battered himself, eyes wide, before he tipped over and started convulsing on the floor, a slip of saliva spilling from his mouth. He kicked once. Again. Then he was still. There was no way to tell whether Grey was acting or not, which made it all the more terrifying to watch. I kept looking for a sign, but coming up short.

  I hit the button to vent the gas two seconds later. I wanted to believe this plan had worked, but if he was acting, it was so realistic, and all I could hear were the voices in my head screaming at me that I had just murdered him. Something had gone wrong. I had just killed him. Devon was smiling in grim satisfaction, while Gerome wore the same steely expression as always.

  I waited a moment, but that was all I could manage. In my pocket, I wrapped a sweaty hand around the pill case and opened it, letting the pill roll free.

  “Sir,” I said, my voice finding a strong note and holding it. “May I go inside now?”

  “You may,” Devon said, lifting a hand and waving it dismissively.

  I moved over to the door and opened it. I followed a long, narrow hall down about fifty feet, until it opened up slightly. There was another door at the end of the hall, and I noted it, making an educated guess that it led to where the prisoners were kept when they weren’t in the cells or rehabilitation rooms. I turned right to enter the holding area. An exposed tile shower stood outside the cell, as well as a heavy metal table. I walked past it, too, trying not to think about all the degrading things that might have happened in this room.

  The first thing I noticed when I opened the door was the smell. The cell was obviously filthy, but the stench just reared up to punch me right in the nostrils. Excrement. Blood. And in the middle of it all was Grey, streaks of pink leading to his hands. He was so still. His eyes were closed. If he was breathing, I couldn’t see it.

  I knelt, putting a hand on his chest and hoping for a heartbeat.

  His chest was still beneath my hand.

  No. No! No! No! No!

  Keep it together, I ordered myself, palming the pill. Stick to the plan. He’s alive.

  I reached for his chin, pretending to shut his mouth, and as I did so I let the little pill slip past my fingers and between his teeth. It was a small motion, shielded from the audience by my body. Hopefully nobody would suspect a thing.

  Swallow, I thought at him, willing him to do so. Don’t let them find your Scipio-damned body with a pill in its mouth.

  As if in answer, I saw his mouth move. It was only a little, but the movement was definitely there. I felt my heart leap into my throat, then forced myself back into the moment. There was no time for emotions. I had to get him out of there. I lifted him, a full dead weight in my arms, and began dragging him from the cell. Luckily, I had been trained in how to move unconscious people without causing too much harm to myself.

  “SQUIRE.”

  Devon’s voice was cold as steel as he snapped out the command. I leapt, Grey slipping from my arms to collapse against the floor as I jerked around to stare at the Champion standing in the doorway.

  “Sir?”

  “Step away,” he said, his voice sharp as he yanked his baton out, its tip igniting with blue light. “He’s not dead. The gas didn’t do its job.”

  I looked at him, then at Grey. How did he know?

  And then I saw the way the Champion’s head was tilting. The way he seemed to angle one ear skyward. He hadn’t known. Scipio, however, had.

  My heart pounded. I hadn’t thought of that, but of course Scipio could tell he was alive—his brain activity had never stopped! I couldn’t believe I hadn’t considered that before. I felt like an idiot—a soon to be imprisoned, tortured, and gassed idiot.

  On the floor, Grey sucked in a massive breath, his eyes flying open. He looked around, first at me, then at the advancing councilman. His face, if possible, went even paler. He tried to force a smile, but it came out shaking and lopsided, hardly a smile at all.

  “Champion,” he said, his voice as cracked as a shattered plate.

  “Grey Farmless,” Devon answered, rolling his baton between his fingers and stepping into the room, filling it with his presence. “You have been tried by Scipio, and found undeserving. Your punishment is to be expelled from the Tower, immediately, and in a way that offers no return.”

  Grey scrambled back against the far wall, holding up a hand. “I think there’s a mistake,” he said. “I—”

  “Champion!” I called, my voice loud and strong, and I pointed at Grey’s wrist. “His number.”

  The number, now orange, had risen to a four.

  “Scipio’s grace,” Gerome gasped from the doorway, his eyes wide and filled with awe. “The experience cha
nged him, Champion. He has seen the error in his ways.”

  Devon’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the number. Then, from between clenched teeth, a single word slipped out.

  “What.”

  It wasn’t even a question. It was a cold, stark thing, like poison that he was trying to spit from his body.

  I stared between the two of them, my heart thudding wildly in my chest. Devon did not lower his weapon, and continued to look at Grey with what could only be described as hunger. Gerome, in contrast, seemed awed, though, his brows drawn up in confusion.

  “A malfunction in the system,” Devon snarled. “Scipio marked this one for death. His will must be carried out. Squire!”

  Turning to me, he jabbed a finger toward Grey. “Finish him!”

  I hesitated, and then lifted my chin up a notch. “Sir, are you asking me to undermine the will of Scipio?”

  “It’s a trick.”

  “How?” I asked, feeling a little reckless. “Sir, Knight Commander Nobilis informed me that six percent of ones can make a recovery—perhaps Citizen Farmless is just a part of that percentile? What other possibility could there be? How could Scipio even be tricked in the first place?”

  “I said,” Devon hissed, “it’s a malfunction. Now do what you came here to do!”

  I saw the opportunity, and took a step back, forcing an appalled look on my face. “Scipio malfunctions?” I said, eyes growing theatrically large. Devon froze, and inside, I felt a grim moment of satisfaction.

  Talk your way out of that one, Champion Alexander.

  Gerome looked concerned now, and stared at Devon with worry bright in his eyes. “Champion, forgive me for saying so, but Scipio does not malfunction when it comes to rankings,” he said softly. “To question this is to question the system. To question this is to cause doubt, uncertainty, and panic.”

  He said the words almost as a child would—full of hesitation, and afraid of having the world as he knew it torn apart.

  Devon became very still for a moment, his back to Gerome, his face to me, and all I could see was the flash of intelligence in his eyes, cold, hard, deadly. He straightened himself up and tucked away his baton, smoothing out his uniform.

  “Of course, you are right, my dear Knight Commander. I seem to have gotten a bit carried away today. Citizen Farmless, I am glad you have seen the error of your ways. I hope this will help you excel even more in the years to come.”

  Grey, seemingly running out of energy, slumped down the wall, his eyelids fluttering, and I moved over in a way that I hoped did not seem rushed.

  “Sir,” I said to Gerome. “He needs medical attention.”

  Gerome nodded slowly. “Liana, escort the young man out. I will net the Medica to come meet you in the entrance hall. See that he is taken to a proper place of treatment. I want his number stabilized and improved. Scipio spared this one for a reason, and we cannot let him fall again.”

  I nodded, saluting by tapping my heels together and placing my fist over my heart. “Sir,” I said.

  Gerome helped me carry Grey to the lift, Devon following a few languid steps behind the entire way. The two men rode the elevator up with me, and I kept my head down and supported Grey’s full weight, keeping my mouth shut. Luckily, they were also quiet, for which I was eternally grateful—I didn’t want them to start speculating about Grey’s miraculous recovery in front of me. My nerves were so frayed that I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep any act or acceptable version of myself in the forefront of my mind.

  At the top, we were all greeted by the Medics Gerome had summoned. They took him from me, and I nearly sank to the ground with relief. He was a heavy man—surprisingly so, given his lean form. I smelled now, but I didn’t care. I was so close to getting him out of there. Half of me wanted to cheer, but the darker, less optimistic half reminded me not to stumble at the finish line. I was beginning to follow Grey, Gerome by my side, when Devon finally spoke.

  “Not you, Nobilis.” We all paused. “I need to speak with you. The girl may go.”

  I didn’t need telling twice. I followed the Medica team as they began to hook Grey up to machines, wheeling him along all the while. I had to walk in double time just to keep up, but the farther away from the Citadel I got, the more relieved I felt. I knew we weren’t out of danger—in fact, things were going to get even more dangerous. They would discover the valve. It was only a matter of time. But for now, I let myself feel the relief, and even permitted myself to smile as we moved. I had succeeded.

  19

  Grey was still sleeping after the medicine the Medics gave him, and I had been waiting for him to wake up, my patience dwindling. I felt certain that if we were going to get caught for taking medication that illegally altered our numbers, this was the place it was going to happen. I also felt certain that Devon was tearing apart the cell right now trying to find out what had gone wrong with Grey’s execution, and it was only a matter of time before he discovered the valve had been tampered with. We needed to get out of here. Soon.

  I rose from the chair I had been sitting in and moved over to him, putting my hand on his shoulder. “Grey?” I whispered, giving him a little shake. He made a noise, but didn’t stir, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. “C’mon... we really should get out of here.”

  “Why?”

  The sudden voice in the room caused me to turn, the hair on my arms and neck standing up in alarm.

  “You really are quite jumpy for a human, Squire Castell.”

  It took me a moment, but it suddenly clicked. “Jasper?”

  “In the flesh, so to speak.”

  I looked around at the walls. Of course there was nothing to see, but it was a bit disconcerting just addressing the room. “Are you supposed to be here? I thought you only worked with Dr. Bordeaux.”

  “The computers in the Medica are networked together, so I go where I please. I like observing the other doctors.”

  “Don’t you already know how to treat the patients?” I asked. “I mean, why would you need to observe?”

  “I’m aware of hundreds of thousands of ways to heal a human’s body,” Jasper informed me gruffly. “But not the mind or heart.”

  “Do you... care?”

  “Of course I care,” he replied, sounding affronted. “Being a doctor is more than just handing out cures or delivering bad news. We should be making people feel better as well. Giving them comfort. I’m embarrassed to say my algorithms don’t really cover that.”

  Embarrassed? That was... fascinating. I wondered how he had even come to the determination that his skills were lacking. Was it programmed in, or was it him? What was he?

  I considered asking the question, then decided that, even directed at a computer, it felt a little rude. Besides, he was something I wasn’t really supposed to know about, and I doubted Dr. Bordeaux would be pleased to know that his experimental program was revealing itself to me.

  “Why are you here?” I asked.

  “You’re worried. I could sense it in your body language, heart rate, eye dilation, and the way you almost jumped out of your skin when I started speaking. What’s wrong?”

  I frowned. Hesitated, reluctant to ask for help with Grey and put my trust in a computer. “My friend is injured, but we have to go, and I can’t seem to wake him up.”

  “He’ll be up soon,” Jasper replied. “Two or three minutes more, depending on how good his stamina is.”

  “Will he be all right to move as soon as he gets up?”

  “Yes, but protocol states he has to be checked out by a doctor.”

  “It’s an emergency,” I lied. “He needs to go now... His father is sick.”

  There was a pause. “You’re lying to me. You really shouldn’t do that—my sensors are very sophisticated.”

  I shook my head. “Of course, you would also be a lie detector.”

  “In your defense, you are quite good at lying. The only reason I detected it was through a pupillary response in your eyes. I
doubt most humans would pick up on that.”

  “Ah. Great to know that I can at least fool the humans.” I paused, and tried to rein in my sarcasm. “Are you going to report me for wanting to take him out of here?”

  “I should, but I won’t, primarily because you’re not acting like someone who wants to hurt him, but someone who wants to keep him safe. Why?”

  I twisted around to look at Grey. He shifted slightly, as if he knew we were talking about him, but grew still again, his breathing slow and deep. He looked so peaceful like this, the natural suspicion on his face gone, leaving him looking innocent and young.

  “He saved my life,” I told Jasper after a moment. “In more ways than one. I owe him.”

  “I see. What would you call this feeling?”

  I looked around the room, giving the walls and ceiling a touch of my incredulity. “I don’t know—honor, duty, responsibility, guilt... compassion?”

  There was a pause, and I got the impression (don’t ask me how) that Jasper was considering what I was saying, weighing each word and trying to understand what it meant, how it felt.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice softening some. “It’s helpful to me for my own growth.”

  “You’re welcome,” I replied, surprised. Then, after a pregnant pause, I asked, “Can I help you with anything else?”

  “No, but I can help you, in exchange for your lesson.”

  “Really?” I took a step forward, instantly excited. “How?”

  “I’ll mark him as released, and you can walk him right out the front door.”

  I felt a burst of happiness, but pushed it back, stubbornly refusing to feel it until I had examined all aspects of this with all the suspicion I could muster.

  “Doesn’t that violate protocol?”

  “Not at all! I am a doctor, after all.”

  “But you’re not supposed to be here.”

  “I’m a prototype computer system, Liana,” he said, his elderly voice dripping with good humor. “We have glitches from time to time. I’ll delete the memory of doing it, and they’ll assume it was just an error.”