Pip chittered from his perch, breaking the heavy silence. The small creature glided down from the shelf where he’d beenwatching and landed on Baylin’s shoulder with a proprietary air. He reached up slowly, carefully, and Pip allowed him to stroke the soft fur behind his ears. The creature’s luminous eyes half-closed in pleasure.
“I think he likes me,” Baylin said.
“Maybe.” She watched the interaction with a feeling she couldn’t quite name. “Or maybe he knows something I don’t.”
Pip opened his eyes and fixed her with a look that seemed almost smug.
“Would you—” She hesitated, suddenly shy. “Would you like to see the rest of the tower? I could show you the greenhouse and the library and my workshop. It’s not much, compared to the settlements you’ve seen, but...”
“I’d like that.”
The simple acceptance warmed something in her chest. She stood, brushing off her clothes, and gestured towards the spiral staircase that led to the upper floors.
“This way.”
She paused at the foot of the stairs, looking back at him—this strange, impossible male who had climbed her tower and healed beneath her hands and made her question everything she thought she knew.
“Thank you,” she said. “For being here. For asking the questions I should have been asking all along.”
“You’re welcome.” A faint smile curved his lips. “Though I suspect you would have figured it out eventually. You’re too smart not to.”
“Maybe.” She started up the stairs. “Or maybe I needed someone from the outside to show me what I was missing.”
CHAPTER SIX
Baylin followed Liora up the stairs, Pip still perched on his shoulder, adjusting his grip with a proprietary air, and he found himself oddly reluctant to dislodge the small creature. There was something comforting about its presence—a vote of confidence from a being with no reason to lie.
What am I doing?
He’d come here seeking information about the tower, but what he’d found was far stranger than any automated research station or abandoned outpost. A young female with healing blood, an AI that controlled her every movement, and a prison disguised as protection.
He needed to understand more before he could decide what to do about any of it.
The stairs wound upwards along the outer wall before arriving at the library. It was larger than he’d expected—a circular room that occupied most of the floor, its walls lined with shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling. Books crowded every surface, their spines forming a rainbow of faded colors. But there werealso data terminals, holographic displays, and storage devices of various ages and designs. A mismatched collection of human knowledge, gathered and preserved in this improbable location.
Chairs were scattered throughout the room, but there were no conversation groups. Each one was isolated. Everything in this tower was designed for solitary existence. Single chairs, single beds, single meals. Even the AI’s voice, with its measured tones and careful phrasing, seemed calibrated for an audience of one.
“Ari curates the collection,” she said, running an affectionate hand over the stacks. “New materials are included in the supply shipments twice a year. I submit requests, and Ari determines which ones are appropriate.”
“Appropriate?”
“For my education and development.” She pulled a book from a shelf, handling it with obvious reverence. “This one is a first-edition treatise on xenobotany. It took me four years of requests before Ari approved it. I think it was worried I’d become too focused on off-world species when I should be studying the local ecosystem.”
The AI controls what she reads. What she learns. What she’s allowed to think.
“What about fiction?” he asked, scanning the shelves. “Stories, entertainment?”
“Some.” She pointed to a smaller section near the window. “Some fairy tales that Susan used to read me, but mostly historical fiction and approved literature. Ari says fantasy and science fiction can create unrealistic expectations about the outside world.”
“Unrealistic expectations.”
“That’s what it says.”
He walked to the fiction section, examining the titles. Classic literature, carefully selected histories, and educational narratives with moral lessons. She’d mentioned fantasy and science fiction, but it was clear that romances were also banned. There was nothing that might inspire dreams of escape. Nothing that might make her question the walls around her.
They’ve controlled everything. Every piece of information, every idea, every possibility. They’ve shaped her mind as surely as they’ve shaped her body.
“These are my favorites,” she said, joining him by the window. She pulled out a worn volume, its cover soft with handling. “Poetry. Ari approved it when I was young because it helps with language development and emotional intelligence. But I think—” She hesitated, something vulnerable crossing her face. “I think I would have loved it anyway. The words feel like... like having company. Like the poets are speaking directly to me, across all those years and all that distance.”
