She sniffed, like my curiosity offended her. But before she could explain, Saga's voice echoed down the hall. "Because I never trusted the world wide web. Too many spiders."
My instinct was to declare the old man insane. But I knew all too well how easily the Troika had cut people off from each other because they'd sacrificed their freedoms to the gods of convenience.
Dare nudged me toward the doorway that Saga's voice had come from. I stumbled across the portal and gasped. I thought the hallway had a lot of books, but the--well 'room' was too pitiful a word--I'd just entered had more books than I ever imagined existed. The room was really a wide, round circle that rose dozens of feet in the air. Like a silo of books. Tall, rickety ladders leaned against the towering shelves and walkways were built at intervals up the walls. In the center of the room, a large desk stood atop a platform reached by a narrow bridge. Other bridges wagon-wheeled out at intervals to the shelves. The tunnel of books continued far below, as well, and those appeared to be accessed by ladders leading down from the bridges.
"Tell me, Carmina, can you read?"
I considered telling him to call me Six, but the twinkle in his eye told me he'd used my real name on purpose. "Of course." It wouldn't do for the Troika's propaganda doll to be ignorant.
"What is your favorite book?"
When a man who owns more books than the number of humans left on the planet asks you your favorite book it's not a casual question. This was the beginning of the tests. I raised my chin and went with the truth. "I've never read a printed book, and the majority of story-discs I was allowed to read were written by vampires loyal to the Troika."
"No doubt they were heroic tales about brave vampires who defeated hordes of dirty humans."
My lips twitched. "You've read Blood Bond, then?"
"Among others." He clicked his tongue. "Pedestrian writing, at best. At worst, they're terrifying windows into the psyche of our masters."
"What's your favorite book?" I asked him. Not that I knew the titles of many human novels, but I figured a man like Saga would jump at the chance to talk about his favorite stories. Maybe he'd appreciate it so much he'd go lighter on me in the trials.
"Fahrenheit 451," he said immediately. "You've heard of it."
I nodded. "Bradbury."
His eyes flared. "I'm impressed."
"Don't be. The only reason I know of it was one of my teachers preached it as the perfect example of how humans were begging to be dominated by a superior species."
"Oh." Saga's face fell. So did my hopes of passing his tests.
Behind me Rabbit cleared his throat. "My favorite is Watership Down."
I frowned at him. "You can read?"
"Of course." Rabbit puffed up his chest. "I ain't a dumbass."
I smiled at the kid in apology. "What's that one about?" I wanted to keep the kid talking in hopes it would help Saga forget I'd insulted his favorite book.
"Watership Down is about a group of heroic rabbits who have to leave their warren in order to find a new home."
"That's why he's called Rabbit," Dare offered with an indulgent smile at the kid.
I nodded politely, wondering how anyone could sound so loyal to a silly story about rabbits. "That's nice," I said when they all looked at me expectantly.
Saga's eyes narrowed. "What do you remember of your mother?"
The question was so sudden, so unexpected that hearing it felt like a physical blow. A sucker punch. Surely he knew. "That she was the leader of the human resistance at the Battle of Manhattan."
He pursed his lips and ran a hand down his beard. "Do you believe this information to be true?"
I raised my chin. "Doesn't matter what I believe. I know it to be true because I remember her."
"Are you certain?"
"Of course."
He smiled sadly, like one might at a misguided child. "Are you aware that the Troika has been doing experiments on humans for years in the work camps?"
I crossed my arms. "I've heard whispers, rumors."
Icarus snorted. "They're not just rumors." He sounded too confident for the information to be from hearsay.
I shrugged because I didn't have a response. They'd tell me what they wanted me to know soon enough.
Saga saw me mentally dig my heels in and smiled. "Isn't it possible they also conducted experiments on the humans they collected for the dormitories?"
I narrowed my eyes and tilted my head. "The Troika is capable of a lot of things, but they are not able to falsify memories or emotions. And if you know what is good for you, you will stop trying to convince me that the memories I have of my mother are lies." I delivered these words in a voice edged with steel. It simply was not an option to even entertain what they were suggesting. My memories of my mother were the only warmth I had to cling to when I was young and huddled in the cold, white dormitory bed at night. When it was dark and the sniffling of my cellmates punctuated the air and the loneliness pressed in so hard I could barely breath. The fact Saga even attempted to f**k with my head like this made me want to walk out of that book tomb and damn the consequences.
"I wouldn't act on the thoughts behind those wild eyes of yours."
"You don't know what I think, old man."
He dipped his chin to acknowledge that he didn't have the ability to mind read. "I wouldn't presume to, but I can see the anger boiling there. But it is displaced. We aren't your enemies."
"Aren't you? Ever since the Chatelaine brought me to this group I have been treated like one."
"Do you know what the human rebels call you?" Saga asked. I shook my head. "The Troika's Concubine."
“Why dress it up in big words, Scribe? You meant to say I was the Troika’s whore, correct?” I asked with a raised brow.
"I still say we shouldn’t trust someone whose reputation is pro-Troika." Dare grumbled.
I couldn't afford for these people to see how their obtuseness over the reality of my life with the Troika affected me, so I tossed my hair back and raised my chin. "So why didn't you kill me on sight?"
"For some reason the Chatelaine trusted you. That saved you at first." Icarus met my eyes. "You will only remain alive if you can prove yourself useful to the cause."
I'd had enough. I was tired of being told what I would or would not do. I crossed my arms and looked him in the eye. "You can shove your cause up your ass. I don't answer to you."