The Final Six (The Final Six #1) - Alexandra Monir Page 0,84

be to instruct the robot to send the files directly to my tablet—but this rudimentary device I brought doesn’t have the storage space or capability to receive such advanced files on top of the AIOS software. There’s no chance of me getting back into the robotics lab either. Which means . . . I need Dot to bring the files to me.

Using binary code, I type in a command for the robot:

Download all data on biosignatures from Europa. Bring the results to the private room of finalist Naomi Ardalan before morning. Discuss with no one.

After I hit Send and tuck the flash drive back in its hiding place, another challenge awaits: disabling the security camera in our hallway. I think quickly, weighing my options. There’s no clear-cut way to stop the film from rolling without access to the ISTC computer that controls the cameras—but maybe I could blind the lens.

I rush to my backpack, retrieving the pouch Sam refers to as my mad scientist kit: filled with odds and ends that are capable of pulling off an experiment on the fly. I rummage through it, momentarily considering petroleum jelly to blur the lens instead, until my hands close around something even better: my mini LED flashlight. That’ll do the trick.

I throw on a hoodie and then, gathering my courage, I open the door and steal through the dark.

The main flaw with this plan is that it requires me to shine an ultrapowerful light straight ahead, to not only blind the lens but also obscure my face as I approach the camera—hardly subtle if anyone else happens to be wandering the dorm in the middle of the night. I just have to pray that I’m the only one on our floor who is daring—or foolish—enough to be up past curfew.

I make my way toward the blinking camera, my heartbeat echoing in my ears. And then, in one quick motion, I blast the LED light directly overhead, creating a lens flare. I hold the flashlight aloft for as long as my nerves allow, until I’m certain the lens is shot. And then I switch off the brightness and pick up my pace, tearing through the dark back to my room. I’m nearly there when I hear it—the sound of something moving behind me.

I whirl around, but all I see are shadows cast by the furniture and framed photographs. It must have been my paranoid imagination.

Except . . . as I push through the door into my room, I can almost swear I hear quickening footsteps.

I stay up waiting until dawn, but there is no sign of Dot. As I shower and get dressed in a sleep-deprived fog, I wonder if I made some kind of mistake. Did I mess up when entering the algorithm or the machine-to-machine command? I replay my every move in my mind, but I can’t pinpoint the flaw. Even if the robot was recharging on sleep mode, I know that it’s programmed to wake up at a command. So . . . what went wrong?

I rack my brain for a solution, another way to get the biosignatures from Dot. And then I remember that today’s training schedule includes a group robotics-operations session with the AIs. Could I maybe work this to my advantage?

After breakfast, I pull Leo aside into the first private place I can find: an empty utility closet.

“This is hot,” he says, pulling me in for a kiss.

As much as I’d love nothing more than to melt into Leo, I force myself to stay on track.

“I have a favor to ask you,” I say, pulling back from his kiss. “I need a moment alone with Dot to—to finish my plan. My only opportunity is during group training, but I’ll need Cyb and the others occupied.”

“Let me guess,” Leo says, raking a hand through his hair. “You need to use my powers of distraction once again?”

“I’ve already thought of something that should do the trick,” I tell him. “But I should probably warn you that it might mark you as difficult in the robots’ eyes. Then again, I questioned an actual NASA official about this at the very beginning, and I’m still here.”

Leo groans.

“What are you getting at?”

I take a deep breath.

“Asking Cyb point-blank about the failed mission to Mars. Athena.”

Leo leans against the wall, his shoulders slumping.

“Isn’t there some other way? Something else I can do that isn’t speaking out of turn or coming across like an instigator?”

“Not unless you can think of something compelling enough