What I had was private because the good moments with her had been few and far between, and I couldn’t bear to part with them, especially now that I understood the source of my pain came from the uncertain future between us. They were part of our history, and the truest memories of her, for good or bad. I mourned over the fact that I’d never hear her say “I love you” again, or get annoyed at her meddling, but I didn’t share. The thoughts were mine, and I wasn’t going to share them with anyone.
And it seemed my family agreed, because my brother and father also stayed silent. I found myself hoping that Mom would understand our reticence. That our thoughts were now open to her, our motivations clear, and completely un-malicious. We just… didn’t want to share.
So we stood there for hours while other people spoke, one right after another, a parade of faces and voices that all seemed to blur together until suddenly I looked up and realized that Astrid was back at the podium, speaking.
This was it—the end was in sight. I straightened my spine some and pushed through the haze, forcing myself back to reality to hear the final remarks before making my escape. I had no intention of staying behind for the wake, but there was only a narrow window of time when I could get out before anyone spotted me and tried to draw me into conversation, or offered their condolences. I couldn’t handle it, and I wouldn’t, so I needed to know the moment Astrid was done speaking.
“—know that this loss will linger in the days to come, and I realize that the tragic circumstances regarding the final challenge have left us all hurting and filled with confusion.” She sighed and glanced at me, her mouth pinched slightly, her eyes remorseful. “I have been authorized to help assuage some of that confusion. As you are all aware, a sentinel—a robot created by the Knights to help establish order in the aftermath of Requiem Day, all of which were retired shortly thereafter—was used as another obstacle during the Tourney. Scipio lost connection with the sentinel shortly before the start of the challenge, and attempted to shut it down remotely, but failed, and as a result, two fine Knights lost their lives. An intensive investigation by the council has determined that faulty firmware in the sentinel kept a critical software update from occurring, one that was necessary for Scipio to maintain the connection. This was a well-documented problem with the sentinels in the past, and although both the IT Department and the test designers thought they had compensated for it, it seems they had not.”
I frowned, trying to understand what she was saying. It didn’t make any sense to me—and it definitely wasn’t the truth. If there had been a real investigation, it would’ve been looking into where the sentinel, an obsolete and defunct piece of tech created a hundred years ago, had even come from. Because I knew from our past brushes with it that it hadn’t been a part of the Tourney. In fact, it had been working for someone else entirely.
But Astrid hadn’t mentioned that, which meant this was a cover-up. This must be the story made up by the council so that they could conduct further investigations in secret without alarming the public. The council didn’t want anyone knowing that someone had stolen one of their sentinels—it would make them look weak and ineffective.
They didn’t want to take responsibility for the actions, or lack of action, as it were. They didn’t want to see that Scipio and the Tower were corrupted. They didn’t want to admit their little system was broken.
I narrowed my gaze at Astrid and clenched my teeth, wondering if she had anything to do with it.
“Those responsible for the failure have given themselves up freely, and have been penalized with a lowering of their rank, for their failure to perform their duties correctly. They have also been demoted within their department, and are expected to write personalized apology letters to the families of those who were lost. I understand that many of you feel this isn’t enough, but this was an accident.”
She turned and looked at me again, and I met her gaze, letting my anger bleed through. Astrid had been my mother’s mentor. Her friend. If she was participating in a cover-up, then I wanted to know why. Her eyes widened, and then narrowed derisively, and she turned away to face the crowd. Her reaction confused me a little, because while she looked angry, it didn’t seem to be directed at me.
“I know it’s hard to accept in the light of all the tragedy, and we’re all looking for someone to blame, but this incident was not malicious. If anything, we were fortunate that more lives were not lost to this situation. To the families of Min-Ha Kim and Holly Castell, there are no words I can offer that will comfort you in this time of darkness, and for that, you have the sincerest condolences of both myself, and the council.
“Now, I know many of you must be asking what happens next, and wondering about the future of the Knights. With the investigation now concluded, I have been authorized to make one more announcement regarding the council’s determination concerning the results of the Tourney. While the tragedy surrounding the final challenge may be close to our hearts, it still pleases me greatly to be able to make this announcement, here in the presence of all of you. And most importantly, in the presence of our future Champion and her family. After much consideration and due diligence, the council has determined that the results of the Tourney will be upheld. Liana ‘Honorbound’ Castell is the confirmed Champion, and rightful leader of the Knights!”
The crowd burst into applause and cheers, but all I felt was horrified and enraged. They’d made their determination and decided to announce it here? Right after feeding us that pack of lies about the sentinel “malfunctioning”? I couldn’t believe this—couldn’t believe that Astrid would even play a part in this. They’d covered up my mother’s and Min-Ha’s murders, and now they were distracting from that with “good news”, and Astrid was acting as the mouthpiece. How could she do that to me, to my mother? Didn’t she or the council have any sense of decency?
I glared at her as she stepped down from the podium and made a line straight for me, coming to a stop a respectful distance away.
“If you’ll accompany me,” she said to me, dismissing my brother and father with a respectful bow of her head. “I’ll show you to your new quarters.” I stared at her, and then nodded. I clearly had a few things that I needed to ask her about, and this gave me an excuse to get out of here before I was swarmed by people.
She studied me for a second and then turned to head toward one of the side doors that was guarded against the general public’s use. I started after her, but stopped when Alex continued to hold my hand. Glancing back, I saw him looking at me with a speculative light in his eyes, and he took a step closer.
“I want to say congratulations,” he said, his voice soft. “But first, something tells me that what Astrid said up there was a pack of lies. And you haven’t told me anything about what happened. I know that sentinel was the same one we saw at Dinah’s, and I know someone was controlling it. You and Dinah said as much. Liana, what is going on?”
I opened my mouth to tell him, and then hesitated. Alex was in a precarious place already, given that he was a member of IT and under heavy scrutiny from the head of the department just because he was my brother. He already knew too much, and even though he was protected by Dinah Velasquez, a powerful and mysterious woman who had been helping us from early on, that protection would only go so far. If he tried to get involved, he could get caught—and I wasn’t about to lose somebody else I cared about.
And yet he stared at me, determination and anger glittering in his dark eyes, and I found I couldn’t lie to him, either. So I stalled instead.
“Not right now, Alex,” I replied, carefully pulling my hand from his. “I’ll net you later, once things calm down.”
Then I left, pointedly ignoring my father’s scathing look and following Astrid out into the hall and away from my mother.
4
I followed Astrid down the hall, walking a few steps behind her and trying to wrap my head around what had just happened. I felt as if I had just surfaced for the first time in a long time, and could
focus again. Maybe coming to terms with my mother had helped, I wasn’t certain, but now that I could think more clearly again, some of my anger toward Astrid was fading fast as I considered the cover-up and what it really meant.
I supposed it was naïve of me to hope that they would reveal any aspect of the truth regarding my mother’s murder. If they had discovered that the sentinel was stolen, which was more than likely, they wouldn’t want to broadcast that to the Tower. What’s more, if they found out there was a group behind the theft, they wouldn’t want to cause a panic inside with the knowledge of a potential terrorist cell.
I was still angry that she and the council had used my mother’s funeral as a stage to broadcast the news that I was the Champion, but I found the questions I had for Astrid were far more pressing than that, and decided to use the walk to the Champion’s quarters to let my temper cool off some.
The Champion’s quarters, like every department lead’s apartment, were a well-guarded secret, to the point that most of the department didn’t know where their lead lived. Not only were their locations hidden, but each housed some of the most sophisticated defense systems in the Tower, in case anyone tried to attack the leader of a department directly. It hadn’t happened, but councilors continued to keep their quarters hidden over the years for this reason alone.
A lead’s quarters also served as a sort of fallout shelter, should a catastrophe large enough to destroy the Tower occur. They were supplied for any event imaginable, with hundreds of thousands of liters of water that were refreshed daily to prevent stagnation, and food stores that could last months or years, depending on how many people a councilor stuffed into their apartment. Each had direct access to the outside in some way, and could be ejected from the Tower if needed. Supposedly, anyway. No one really knew, so much of what I had gleaned was based on rumors—and many of them were ludicrous, so I had taken in only the ones that made the most sense.
I had always daydreamed about what the Champion’s apartment would actually look like.
Astrid led me into the elevator, which scanned our nets to ensure that we were authorized for use. I winced as the net in my skull began to vibrate, sending waves of discomfort through my brain and skull and setting my teeth on edge. It ended moments later, and a digitized feminine voice said, “Champion Liana Castel, 25K-05, and retired Knight Commander Astrid Felix, 165K-58, you are cleared for elevator use.”
A thin, flat disc slid from the wall into the open shaft and hovered in place, and Astrid and I stepped onto it. I started to turn around as it began to lift us into the tube, to face the entry portal, but paused when I saw Astrid still facing the wall behind us.
“What are you doing?”
She looked over at me and offered a small smile, the lines around her eyes crinkling. “Liana, what’s on the other side of this wall?”
I frowned and looked at the wall, trying to think. This elevator was one of the six that ran through the centermost part of the Citadel. There wasn’t anything on the other side, except for the internal support structure that allowed the structure to hang from the ceiling.
“Nothing but a massive steel rod and brace beams,” I replied, letting some of my confusion show.
Her smile deepened, and she looked up. “Stop the elevator between the thirty-first and thirty-second floors on my authority, Astrid Felix 165K-58.” The elevator slowed to a stop, and I tensed, taking a step away from her that was purely reactionary. All I could think was that I was alone with a woman I wasn’t sure I could trust, and that she had just shut the elevator off in a way that left me completely alone with her for some unknown reason.
I was certain I had just walked into a trap.
She noticed it, cocked her head in confusion, and then blinked rapidly in alarm. “Oh Scipio, Liana, no! I’m not going to attack you! I’m sorry for the theatrics. I just thought I’d surprise you. Your quarters are on the other side of the wall.”
Her voice carried a slightly flustered tinge, and I could tell she was mentally kicking herself for not thinking about how her actions would affect a recently traumatized and paranoid young woman. And I could’ve smiled, if the sight hadn’t made me sad. She knew now that I didn’t trust her, and while that wasn’t entirely true, it wasn’t exactly wrong, either. It made me feel guilty for even reacting like that toward her. And it made me hate the people who had put that seed of paranoia in my heart.
“It’s all right,” I replied, relaxing slightly and trying to shake it off. “Show me to my quarters.”
As if on cue, a door in the wall separating us from the heart of the Citadel slid open. Astrid gave me a pleased smile, and then stepped through the door and into the darkness. I hesitated for a second… then followed. The door slid shut behind me with a slight grating sound, and then lights came on overhead—terrible bright white things that stung my eyes.
“It’s a bit bright in here,” I said, raising my hand to shield my eyes so I could peer around the room. Before I could even get my hand up, though, the lights dimmed to a tolerable level.
“My apologies,” a dry masculine voice announced. “Your predecessor preferred the light settings to be much higher. If you wish to make these your new settings, please say so. If not, you can order them higher or lower, based on your preference.”
I blinked and looked around, searching for the speaker. Only, the floor was empty. Just a flat, circular dome with lights gleaming from the ceiling. “Who said that?”
“That’s Cornelius,” Astrid said from beside me. “He’s your personal assistant, and can answer almost any question you have regarding protocol and procedure.”
I blinked again, still confused. We had computers that spoke, after a fashion—the elevator scanners were a prime example of that—but they were automated, programmed with only a small variety of things to say and commands to respond to. They couldn’t sustain a dialogue with anyone, and even if they could, I doubted they would be as ingratiating as this voice had sounded.
“Cornelius?” I repeated.
“Yes, Milady Champion,” he replied. “How may I be of service?”
I looked over at Astrid. “I’m really confused.”
She smiled. “Cornelius is an advanced program, much more advanced than others in the Tower. He’s not sentient—only Scipio is, of course—but he can feel rather lifelike due to his broad vocabulary. He can take commands, as long as they are worded generally and are within his purview, and he can find almost any record within the Citadel or the council’s private server, should you need it.”
Huh. That was new and exciting. And also a little terrifying. The group of people I thought were behind the sentinel, and the attack on Scipio, had definitely proven they had a way with computers, and Cornelius could have been one of their targets. For all I knew, he had been hacked long ago. Especially considering that his former user, Devon Alexander, had been part of a legacy group that had been working to steal parts of Scipio’s code. Even if he hadn’t, the legacies we were up against had proven incredibly adept at manipulating the security systems around the Tower—which made Cornelius a potential threat. I’d have to be careful about what I told him and how I used him, or he could become a huge vulnerability that our enemies could exploit.
“I see.” I took another look around the room while I considered the problem and how to solve it, and was momentarily taken aback by how underwhelming the room was.
Because that was all it was: a room. A large, empty space with nothing save a column in the middle and a dome-like roof overhead.
“This isn’t what I expected.”
Astrid smiled warmly and then nodded to the column. “Wait until you see what it can do,” she replied mysteriously. “Come here.”
I followed her to the column and watched as she pressed her fingers against a dimly glowing spot halfway up. Instantly, a five-foot section of the column dropped open, revealing a three-dimensional holographic image of the room in red. There was also some sort of interactive screen over it, with sev
eral drop-down menus that read Layout, Furniture, Level, Appliances, Accessories. I jabbed my finger at the last one, feeling a tingle of electricity in my fingertip as I poked the word Accessories, and a moment later the screen changed, showing me an array of blankets, pillows, dishware, cookware, vases…
I looked over at Astrid and raised an eyebrow. “I can design the room?”
She nodded and reached over me to hit the back button. “You can,” she replied excitedly, swiping her finger through the entry marked Layout. The image of the room immediately got closer, and I watched as she drew a wall just to the left of us. A second later there was a soft grating sound, and a wall slid from the floor up to the ceiling. There was a flurry of movement overhead as a table was placed against the wall and topped with a vase, both delivered from above through the use of a robotic crane.
I gaped, astonished at what I was looking at, and gave her a wide-eyed look. “How is this possible?”
“You and the other councilors have access to a storehouse of furniture and different supplies in the top levels of the Citadel. Whenever you order something, it’s delivered. The room is adjustable according to your needs and wants, so you can lay things out in a way that makes you most comfortable. I would suggest that you create a large seating area, though, as you’ll be expected to meet with the Knight Commanders once a month to listen to their reports.”