The Final Six (The Final Six #1) - Alexandra Monir Page 0,65

the first thought that comes to mind.” Cyb swipes the left-hand corner of the desk, and I can see the reflection of text lighting up the glass.

“Do you believe that everything in the world is relative?”

“Yes,” I answer. That’s an easy one. “I do.”

“Do you trust reason above feelings?” Cyb peers closely at me.

“Um . . .” I falter, unsure which answer is the truth. I am a scientist, therefore I should be ruled by reason. But it’s my gut, even more than my reasoning, that’s been telling me something shifty is afoot with the Europa Mission.

“If I can add a third choice, I would say I trust my educated intuition most of all,” I finally answer.

Cyb doesn’t object and moves on to the next question.

“Do images, words, or ideas often come to your mind unbidden?” the robot asks.

I shake my head. That’s a weird one.

“Do you have suspicious ideas about the world around you?”

I freeze. Is Cyb asking because the AI somehow knows what I’ve been thinking about the mission? Or are all the finalists being asked the same question?

“I don’t think so,” I lie, forcing myself to meet the robot’s eyes. “I would say I’m no more suspicious than your average person.”

“Lastly, if you were forced to fight in self-defense, what would your preferred method be? Would you use your own body, your environment, or weapons?”

Another weird question. I rack my brain, thinking aloud.

“Well, I’m not much of a fighter. Technology is my weapon of choice.” The flash drive waiting in my dorm room comes to mind, and my face turns hot. “Um, I’ll go with environment.”

“We’re nearly done now.” Cyb double-taps the desk and then turns back to me. “I just need you to take a look at some images here.”

I join Cyb and Dot behind the desk, watching in amazement as the glass turns cloudy, colors swirling together in front of me, until they form the shape of a bat extending its wings.

“Please memorize the image,” Cyb instructs, before the colors scramble together again and then fade into the clear glass. “Tell us what you think it looked like.”

“It’s the Rorschach test,” I say, remembering the disappearing inkblots from my Intro to Psychology class. The way I interpret the images will tell Dot and Cyb whether or not I have any psychological disorders. If I knew how to manipulate the test, this could be my way home—but I can’t go anywhere until I prove my theories about the RRB and Europa. I’m in too deep.

“I see a bat with its mouth wide open and its wings outstretched,” I reply, going with the honest answer.

After giving my interpretation of two more inkblot pictures, it’s finally time to go. But while I’m relieved to be done with the test and out from under the robots’ watchful eyes, a part of me is reluctant to leave this room—the place the answers lie.

My words to Leo last night replay themselves in my mind. If there are biosignatures to be found, they have to still be stored within Dot and Cyb. I gaze up at them now, my eyes fixating on the metal plates covering their torsos—the place where the AIOS software resides. The place where I’d break in and retrieve their secrets, if only I could.

After all, based on what he said about Leo . . . it seems Cyb is already collecting secrets of mine.

We can hear the wind from the cafeteria that night, its gusts rattling the windows all through dinner. A crack of thunder echoes in the room, and as I look at the tense faces surrounding me, I know I’m not the only one worrying about what this means. We’ve been so sheltered here at ISTC, with all the barriers and fortifications keeping the tide at bay, that it’s been easy—at least for me—to pretend that we’re safe from the raging storms as long as we’re here. But this is the first time the sounds of outside have infiltrated our walls . . . and it makes me wonder what’s coming.

“I can’t stand the thought of having to go back out there,” Katerina says, eyeing the window. “It’s crazy to know we’re just three days away from the first elimination.”

“Don’t worry. I bet you’ll get chosen, right along with me,” the ever-confident Beckett assures her, giving Katerina a flirtatious smile. Gross. He glances at Lark. “Don’t you think so?”

“You know I can’t say a word on that topic,” Lark reminds him, before taking a bite of