Chapter 6
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 were also 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.”
She opened the book, and a small piece of paper fell out, a bookmark covered in careful handwriting.
“I keep notes,” she explained, retrieving the paper. “Thoughts, questions, things I want to remember. The margins are full of them too. Ari says I should use the digital annotation system, but there’s something about writing by hand...”
“It feels more real.”
“Yes.” She looked at him with surprise, as if she hadn’t expected him to understand. “Exactly. It feels like leaving a piece of myself in the pages. Like having a conversation, even if no one answers back.”
No one answers back.
The phrase echoed in his mind as they continued upwards through the tower.
“My quarters are on this level,” she said, pausing at the next landing.
“But the greenhouse is at the top, and that’s really what I want to show you.
You’ll love it. Well—” She laughed, a self-conscious sound.
“I assume you’ll love it. I don’t actually know what you like.
I don’t know what anyone likes, really. Only myself.
And Pip.” She glanced at the creature still perched on his shoulder.
“Though Pip mostly likes sleeping and stealing fruit.”
Pip chirped indignantly.
“He understood that,” he observed.
“He understands everything. He just pretends not to when it suits him.”
He laughed and gestured to the stairs.
“Lead the way.”
She gave him a quick, bright smile that transformed her face and hurried up the stairs.
He followed her, automatically cataloging details.
The tower’s interior was a strange mixture of stone walls that looked centuries old, but were embedded with technology that hummed with quiet power.
He caught the soft glow of the sensors tracking their movements.
The AI was everywhere, silent and watchful.
A gilded cage, he thought. With invisible bars.
They emerged onto the top level, and his breath caught.
The greenhouse spread before them in a riot of color, illuminated by the afternoon sunlight streaming through a glass dome that shouldn’t have existed.
The exterior of the tower had appeared to be solid stone, capped with weathered tiles.
But from inside, he could see that it was actually a sophisticated structure of transparent panels, carefully angled to maximize light exposure while appearing opaque from outside.
“Ari designed it,” she said, misreading his expression as he studied the roof. “The tiles are actually solar collectors on the outside. They power most of the tower’s systems and provide full-spectrum lighting for the plants when natural light isn’t sufficient. But at this time of day...”
She gestured, and he understood. The sunlight poured through the dome in rivers of amber and gold, painting the rows of plants in colors that seemed almost impossible.
Leaves gleamed like burnished copper. Flowers glowed with inner fire.
The air itself seemed to shimmer, thick with moisture and the complex scent of growing things.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, and meant it.
She beamed. “I’ve spent so much time up here. Every morning before breakfast, and every evening before the light fades. The plants need consistent attention—watering schedules, nutrient adjustments, pest monitoring—but I don’t mind. They’re good company.”
Good company. The words hit him harder than they should have.
He watched her move through the rows, trailing her fingers along leaves and stems, murmuring to plants that couldn’t hear her.
This was her world. These silent, growing things were her companions, her friends, her only society besides an AI that controlled her every breath.
“Tell me about your experiments,” he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
“Oh!” She spun towards him, eyes bright with enthusiasm. “I have so many. Come, let me show you.”
She led him to a section near the back of the greenhouse, where rows of identical plants grew in carefully labeled containers. Each label was covered with precise handwriting listing dates, conditions, and variables being tested.
“These are moonvine cuttings,” she explained, gesturing to the first row.
“I’ve been testing their response to different light spectrums. The standard botanical texts say they only bloom under white light, but I hypothesized that the flowering trigger might be related to specific wavelengths rather than overall intensity. ”
“And?”
“I was right.” She grinned, pointing to a plant near the end of the row. Its leaves were unremarkable, but clusters of pale blue flowers clung to its stems. “Blue-shifted light at specific intervals. It took me three years to isolate the exact parameters, but I finally got consistent blooming.”
“Three years.” He studied the small flowers, trying to imagine the patience required. “That’s dedication.”
“I had time.” Something flickered across her face—not quite sadness, but something adjacent to it. “I have a lot of time.”
She moved on before he could respond, leading him past experiments in grafting, nutrient optimization, and hybrid development.
Each project was meticulously documented, the work of years condensed into neat labels and careful records.
He listened as she explained her methods, her hypotheses, her successes and failures, and felt something cold settle in his chest.
This was the work of a brilliant mind with nothing to do.
A person who had channeled all her curiosity, all her energy, all her need for connection into the only outlet available to her.
The plants couldn’t answer back, but they responded to her care.
They grew and changed and bloomed under her attention, providing a semblance of the interaction she craved.
She’s been alone her entire life.
The thought crystallized with sudden, terrible clarity. The evidence had been there from the moment he entered the tower—the single place settings, the rooms designed for one, the AI’s constant monitoring. But seeing her here, surrounded by experiments that spanned years, decades—
She was a child when this started. A baby. And they put her here, alone, with nothing but an AI for company.
“—and this one is my favorite.”
Her voice cut through his thoughts. She was standing beside a plant that looked nothing like the others—larger, with deep purple leaves and tendrils that seemed to move independently, reaching towards her as if seeking contact.
“I call her Violet,” she said, and there was genuine affection in her voice.
“She was my first successful hybrid. I crossed a standard climbing vine with some seeds I found in the storage levels. I think they might have been from the original colonization supplies, maybe experimental stock that was never planted. It took years to get a viable cross, and most of the offspring didn’t survive. But Violet did.”
She reached out, and the plant’s tendrils curled around her fingers with unmistakable recognition.
“She knows you,” he said.
“I like to think so.” She stroked the purple leaves gently. “I know that’s not scientific. Plants don’t have consciousness, not in any way we can measure. But sometimes... sometimes I talk to her anyway. About my day, my observations, my questions. She’s a good listener.”
Because she has no one else to talk to.
He clenched his jaw, forcing the anger down. It wouldn’t help Liora to see his fury at whoever had done this to her. She didn’t even understand that what had been done was wrong.
Or perhaps she did, because she looked up at him, her expression troubled. “It’s strange. I’ve lived here my entire life, and I thought I knew everything about myself. My health records, my genetic profile, my capabilities. But apparently there were things Ari never told me. Important things.”
How much more is it hiding?
“What else do you think it’s keeping from you?” he asked carefully.
“I don’t know.” She wrapped her arms around herself, a gesture that made her look younger, more vulnerable.
“That’s the part that frightens me. I trusted Ari completely.
It was the only consistent presence in my life, the only thing that was always there.
And now I’m realizing that being always there isn’t the same as being honest.”
“No. It’s not.”
She looked at him with those large blue eyes, gold flecks catching the sunlight.
“I found something once,” she said softly. “In one of the storage rooms. Old records, from before Ari’s current protocols were established. There were images of a woman holding a baby. The baby had eyes like mine. Blue with gold flecks.”
He went still. “What else was in the records?”
“Nothing useful. Just the images, and some corrupted data files. Ari said they were remnants of the previous AI system, fragments that weren’t properly deleted during the transition. It said they weren’t important.”
“But you kept looking.”
“I tried.” A sad smile crossed her face. “Ari restricted my access to those files shortly after. System security protocols, it said. But I remember the woman’s face. She looked... sad. And scared. Like she knew something terrible was going to happen.”
She probably did.
His mind was racing, fitting the pieces together.
A baby with unusual genetics, hidden in a tower at the edge of nowhere.
An AI programmed to maintain control, to restrict information, and to keep its charge ignorant and compliant.
Years of isolation, documented like a long-term experiment.
And now, the revelation of healing blood—a trait valuable enough to warrant all this elaborate containment.
Someone built this prison for her. Someone decided she would spend her life here.
I have to get her out of here.
The thought crystallized with sudden, fierce clarity. Not because of what she could do, but because of who she was. Curious, brilliant, kind. Eager for connection, starved for experience, and desperate for the life she’d been denied.
Mate, his beast insisted, but he ignored it once again.
She didn’t need to be his mate for him to know that she deserved more than this tower.
She deserved to see the sea at sunset, to walk through the jungle she’d watched from above, to taste rain and feel grass and touch another person without the constant surveillance of an AI that controlled her every breath.
She deserved freedom.
And somehow, he was going to give it to her.