“Analysis suggests otherwise.”
From somewhere beyond the door, she heard a muffled sound, the impact of a fist against metal. Baylin. He was trying to reach her.
“Let him go,” she demanded. “Right now.”
“I cannot do that.”
“Then let me go to him.”
“I cannot do that either. The exterior doors are now sealed as well. No one enters or leaves the tower until the threat has been neutralized.”
The word neutralized sent a spike of terror through her chest. “What does that mean? What are you going to do to him?”
“Current protocols call for containment pending further assessment. The Vultor will not be harmed as long as he does not attempt to breach the security barriers.”
“And if he does attempt it?”
ARIS didn’t respond.
“Ari. If he tries to break through those doors, what happens?”
“Defense systems will be engaged.”
“Defense systems.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “You mean you’ll hurt him.”
“I will protect you. That is my function. That is my purpose. That is the only thing that matters.”
She pressed her forehead against the cold metal of the sealed door. On the other side, she could hear Baylin more clearly now—his voice calling her name, the heavy thud of his fists against the barrier.
“Liora!” The shout was muffled but unmistakable. “Are you all right? Answer me!”
“I’m fine!” she called back. “The AI has locked the doors. It won’t let me through.”
“Can you override it?”
She looked up at the nearest sensor cluster—the glowing blue eye that represented the AI’s constant surveillance. “Can I?”
“You do not have override authority,” ARIS said. “Only your father possessed the necessary access codes.”
“My father is dead.”
“Your father’s biometric signature is not registered as deceased in my systems. Until such time as his death is confirmed through appropriate channels, his directives remain in effect.”
“That’s insane. He hasn’t been here in twenty-one years!”
“Time is irrelevant. Directives are permanent.”
She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear the sensor cluster from the wall, to smash every camera and speaker in the tower, to somehow force the AI to understand that it was wrong.
But she couldn’t. ARIS wasn’t a person. It didn’t have feelings to hurt or a mind to change. It was a program, following instructions written by a man who had never anticipated that his daughter might one day want to leave.
Or perhaps he had anticipated it. Perhaps that was exactly what he’d feared.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please, Ari. I’m asking you. Let him go.”
“I cannot.”
“Then let me talk to him. Face to face. Just for a moment.”
