The Girl Who Dared to Stand (The Girl Who Dared #2)(6)

I didn’t view Scipio as a god, but I wasn’t sure that I could view him as human, either. He had always felt like a machine to me, his demeanor icy and pragmatic. But people seemed to like that, too, saying that our emotions were the enemy of survival, which was why humanity needed his coldness to guide us.

But that meant he did things that were inhuman, to my mind. He initiated quarantines of entire departments if there was a biological threat, and wouldn’t open the doors until he determined the threat had passed. If there was a catastrophe, he would seal the department it was in before people had a chance to escape.

To me, he wasn’t a person. And he never would be.

On the other hand, he was the only full AI I had any experience with, and it didn’t seem fair to judge this one before I even got to know him.

“Not exactly,” I decided to reply. “But I think that’s a conversation for another time, if I’m honest. Please can you explain to me what, exactly, you are?”

His eyes studied me. And suddenly I felt very much like the frog we’d had to dissect for the Medica apprenticeship lessons. Pinned down and exposed. The only difference was that the frog we’d used in class had been dead. I, however, was very much alive—and didn’t like the sensation.

Not to mention how bright he was. I kept trying to meet his gaze, but the two glowing orbs were hard to look at, and there were no details for me to focus on—just an infinite bright glow in the shape of a man.

“Can you please… Can you do something about how bright you are?” I asked, when the discomfort became too much to bear.

“Oh! I didn’t even realize. One second.” A heartbeat later the glow dimmed, and I looked back up at him. He now looked… normal, really. As if I could reach out and touch him with one hand.

The blue orbs faded so that they formed natural-looking irises, while the dimmer setting revealed high cheekbones and a straight, strong nose. He was wearing what appeared to be a version of the uniforms we assigned to each department, but an older version, with weird shoulder pieces that looked like a giant grub had latched onto him and decided to die there. Unlike the Tower uniforms, however, his was purple and black, and was glowing lightly, the seams of it brighter than the rest of him.

“Thank you,” I said, realizing that I should at least be polite. “Now… my question, if you don’t mind?”

“Oh, well, that’s easy. I’m the first version of the Scipio program to be developed, and it’s because of my program that the later version of Scipio exists.”

Of course. That explained so many of his incongruities that it had to be true. I mean, of course Scipio had a previous version. I had learned enough from my twin, Alex, to know that every program ever written went through several rounds of what he called “beta testing” before it was introduced into the system. It made sense that Scipio had gone through the same process.

“So… are you like a backup? In case the main AI goes down?”

Scipio studied me for a second. “That’s classified,” he said.

“By whom?” I shot back, arching an eyebrow. “Lionel Scipio is dead, so unless you’re being controlled by something…”

His brows drew together, and I saw a flash of pain on his face when I mentioned the death of his creator. But he pushed it aside quickly. “You’re right, of course,” he replied, folding his arms across his chest. “And no, I’m not a backup.”

It made sense—if he was a backup, they would have kept him in the Core, not where people could get in and tamper with him. This place was sealed away, but not well enough to justify keeping him here alone. He was interacting with me as well—something I’d imagine the IT would strictly prohibit.

Still, why wasn’t he the backup? And what was he doing here?

I opened my mouth, ready to ask, when a distant scream, significantly muted by the distance it traveled and the walls in its way, caught my ears. It was coming from the vent, and I quickly crossed over and knelt down in front of it. I could hear more panicked voices echoing loudly, and although I couldn’t make out what they were saying, they were full of fear. It was my friends. And they were afraid.

My heart flared, certain that it was Devon, and I pushed through the vent just as Scipio said, “Wait, where are you going?”

“My friends are in trouble,” I replied, not stopping. “I’m going to them.”

Whatever his reply was, it got lost in the sound of the vents rattling as I began to crawl my way through, following the sounds of screams.

I quickly reached the junction where I had left my bag, and began pushing it forward, following the shaft toward the sounds of panic and fighting. I rounded the corner and saw light ahead. A dark shadow crossed over it, followed by Grey’s grunt of pain.

Tian screamed, a high, shrill sound, and I gritted my teeth and used the palms of my hands on the thin sheet metal to drag myself forward, pushing the bag ahead of me with my chest and shoulders.

The bag fell out of the opening and onto the floor first, and I followed quickly, rolling to my feet into what appeared to be madness.

The room was small—maybe fifteen feet by ten feet wide—and had a thick water pipe running through it. The walls were the same slatted grate that seemed to make up the walls and floors of the outer shell of the Tower, and a dirty yellow light emanated through the ceiling tiles, dimly lighting the room. My eyes darted around, finding my friends in various forms of combat.