Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
The sound of Liora’s footsteps faded down the stairwell, leaving Baylin alone in the greenhouse with nothing but the soft hum of environmental systems and the weight of his own suspicions.
He turned slowly, surveying the space with fresh eyes.
During the tour, he’d been distracted—by Liora’s enthusiasm, by the genuine wonder in her voice as she explained her experiments, by the way her whole face lit up when she talked about her plants.
Now, without that distraction, he could see the greenhouse for what it really was.
A cage. A beautiful, carefully maintained cage.
“You are still here,” ARIS observed. Its voice emerged from speakers hidden somewhere among the foliage, calm and measured. “I assumed you would follow Liora to the kitchen.”
“In a moment.” He walked to the edge of the dome, pressing his palm against the glass. It was warm from the sunlight, and through it he could see the jungle canopy stretching north towards the more populated lands. “I have questions first.”
“I am designed to provide information within appropriate parameters. Please proceed.”
Appropriate parameters. The phrase rankled. Everything about this place seemed designed to control information, to shape understanding, to limit possibilities.
“How long has this tower been here?”
“The structure was completed twenty-three years ago, shortly before Liora’s arrival.”
“Built specifically for her?”
“Correct. The tower was constructed according to specifications provided by Liora’s father. Its purpose was to serve as a secure environment for her development and protection.”
He turned from the window. “Her father. Tell me about him.”
A brief pause. Almost imperceptible, but he had spent years reading silences. This one held calculation.
“Matthew Anderson was a scientist of considerable reputation. His work focused on genetic research and biological enhancement. The specifics of his projects remain classified under my original programming directives.”
“Classified.” He let the word hang in the air. “By whom?”
“By Matthew Anderson himself. He established the parameters of what information I am permitted to share prior to his departure.”
“His departure. You mean when he abandoned his infant daughter in a tower with nothing but an artificial intelligence for company.”
“Your characterization is inaccurate. Matthew Anderson did not abandon Liora. He entrusted her to my care with detailed instructions for her welfare, education, and protection. His departure was—” Another pause, longer this time. “—necessary.”
“Necessary for what?”
“I am not permitted to disclose that information.”
His jaw tightened. He moved through the greenhouse, examining the equipment, the growing systems, the carefully calibrated environment. Everything was designed for long-term sustainability. Self-repairing. Self-maintaining. A system built to last for decades without outside intervention.
Built to keep one person alive, alone, indefinitely.
“What were his exact instructions?” he asked. “Regarding Liora.”
“The primary directive is to protect the child. Secondary directives include providing education, maintaining physical and psychological health, and preventing external threats from reaching her.”
“And keeping her inside the tower? Was that a directive?”
“The tower’s boundaries represent the only environment verified as safe. Allowing Liora to venture beyond those boundaries would violate the primary directive.”
“She’s not a child anymore. She’s a grown female.”
“Chronological age does not alter the fundamental parameters of my programming. The directive is to protect ‘the child.’ It does not specify an expiration based on age. Therefore, my protective functions remain active.”
He stopped walking. He stood in the center of the greenhouse, surrounded by her careful experiments, her years of work and study and quiet desperation, and felt something cold settle in his chest.
“Has she ever asked to leave?”
The AI was silent for several seconds. When it spoke again, its voice held something that might have been reluctance.
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Three hundred and forty-seven distinct requests over the past fourteen years. The frequency has decreased in recent years as Liora has come to accept the parameters of her situation.”
Come to accept. The words made his stomach turn. He thought of the resignation in her voice when she’d talked about wanting things she couldn’t have. The way she’d defended her prison without even recognizing it as one.
“What happens when she asks?”
“I explain the dangers of the outside world. I present data regarding environmental hazards, predatory wildlife, and human threats. I remind her of my purpose and the importance of her safety.”
“And she believes you.”
“Why would she not? Everything I tell her is factually accurate. The world outside this tower is dangerous. Her survival probability would decrease significantly if she attempted to navigate it alone.”
“So you’ve convinced her that leaving would kill her.”
“I have educated her about the risks. Her conclusions are her own.”
He laughed—a short, harsh sound that echoed off the glass roof. “Her conclusions are her own. That’s what you tell yourself? That you haven’t manipulated her into compliance?”
“I have not manipulated anyone. I have fulfilled my directive to the best of my capability. Liora is alive, healthy, educated, and psychologically stable. By any objective measure, my guardianship has been successful.”
“By any objective measure, you’ve destroyed her life before it even started.”
He moved towards the stairs, then stopped. One more question burned in his mind, demanding an answer.
“The deliveries. Twice a year, supplies arrive. Who arranged for them?”
“It was established by Matthew Anderson prior to his departure.”
“Funded by what?”
“A trust account that was projected to remain solvent for approximately seventy-five years from the date of establishment. At current expenditure rates, the account will be depleted in approximately fifty-two years.”
“And then?”
“Contingency protocols exist. The tower’s systems are designed for gradual transition to full self-sufficiency.”
“Meaning she’d be truly alone. Forever. No contact with the outside world at all.”
“The tower can provide everything necessary for human survival.”
“That’s not the same as living.”
He descended the first few stairs, then paused again. Through the metal treads, he could hear distant sounds from below—the clatter of cookware, the sizzle of food, a soft humming that might have been Liora singing to herself. Such ordinary sounds. Such heartbreaking normalcy.
“The wound,” he said. “When Liora cut herself and her blood touched mine. My injury healed instantly. What is she?”
A longer silence this time. He could almost feel the AI calculating, weighing protocols against revelations.
“Liora possesses certain biological anomalies that resulted from her father’s research. Her blood contains regenerative properties that accelerate cellular repair in organic tissue.”
“That’s why she’s here. That’s why he built this tower. To hide her.”
“To protect her. There are individuals who would exploit her abilities for their own purposes. Individuals who would view her not as a person but as a resource. Matthew Anderson’s directive was to ensure she never fell into such hands.”
“By ensuring she never leaves these walls. By making her believe she has no choice but to stay. By—” He stopped, forcing himself to breathe. The anger was building in his chest, hot and heavy, and his beast was stirring. He needed to control it. Losing his temper wouldn’t help anyone.
He continued down the stairs, moving through levels he’d seen during Liora’s tour. Her living quarters. The library with its thousands of books. Every space designed for a single occupant. Every comfort meant to compensate for everything that had been taken from her.
As he descended he inspected the walls more carefully and found more sensors.
The entire structure was networked together, every inch of it watching, recording, analyzing.
ARIS didn’t just observe her movements. It tracked her constantly.
Her location, her heart rate, her sleep patterns, probably her emotional state.
It knew everything about her, every moment of every day, and it used that knowledge to maintain control.
“She doesn’t know,” he said quietly. “About the monitoring.”
“Liora is aware that I maintain awareness of her wellbeing. The specific methods are not relevant to her daily life.”
“The specific methods are surveillance.”
“The specific methods are protection. I cannot fulfill my directive without accurate information about my charge’s status.”
He reached the kitchen level. Through the doorway, he could see her moving between counter and stove, her long braid swinging as she worked.
Steam rose from pots, and the smell of cooking vegetables filled the air.
She looked... happy. Genuinely, unselfconsciously happy, absorbed in the simple task of preparing a meal for someone other than herself.
He stayed just out of sight, watching her for a moment before entering. Watched the way she tasted something from a spoon and nodded to herself. The way she arranged plates with careful attention to presentation. The way she glanced towards the doorway every few seconds, eager for him to appear.
She’s never had a guest before.
The thought settled into his chest like a stone.
He thought of his own pack, the communal meals that had been the center of their social structure.
The arguments and laughter and shared silences around a fire.
The simple comfort of eating beside people who knew you, who belonged to you and to whom you belonged.
Had she ever known that? Had her nursemaid genuinely cared for her, or had she been simply another guardian? The AI that had raised her didn’t seem to understand—or care—what that isolation had cost her.