Credit: Royce DeGrie/iStockphoto

To Berg's surprise, she turns to him and holds a finger to her lips to gesture for his silence. "I'm fine, just a moment!" she calls, pushing the syringes under the mattress. And then she grabs him under the armpits and drags him around behind the bed, out of view of the door, displaying an easy strength. She's hiding him from the security men. Berg can't imagine why she's doing it, but her actions fill him with hope. "Just be quiet," she whispers, then makes her way over to the door.

The door opens, and he hears numerous footsteps as the security detail arrives. Two men, perhaps three. "Is there something wrong with the security veil?" one of them asks. "We were signalled in the control room."

"I'm not sure," Aliyyah says. "The noise woke me up. I think I may have triggered it."

"Are you hurt? It's not supposed to activate from the inside."

"I know, perhaps it didn't close properly," Aliyyah says. "I'm fine, perhaps I pushed a pillow against it. I don't know."

There's tingling in Berg's right arm now. He tries to move it, finds that he can do so. He wonders whether he can get the mask back in place, reactivate the camosuit. Will it even work? He decides that trying anything is too risky. He'll take his chances with Aliyyah. For whatever reason, she seems to be concealing him from the guards. She's his only chance.

"You didn't see or hear anybody in the room?" the security guard asks.

"No, no I didn't," Aliyyah says. "A false alarm?"

"Even so, we should probably sweep the grounds," the security guard says. "Stay here while we check the other rooms."

"Very well," Aliyyah says, and the door shuts as the guards move back into the hall.

The other rooms, Berg thinks hopefully. He can move both arms now, is starting to feel his legs. The gas canisters in the other rooms will knock out the security force. He may be able to get out of here, after all.

Aliyyah returns to him, looking down at him as if deciding the fate of a wounded horse.

"What do you hope to accomplish by this?" she whispers. "You say you are here to help us, and your plan is to make it so that we are miserable with our plight? Make us aware?"

The challenge in her voice rouses him to the debate. "Yes, free to choose for yourselves... "

"Do I look like someone incapable of making choices?"

Berg shakes his head, but finds his argument. "We know that you're different. But you were designed, just like the others. Whose decisions are you making? Do you really know?"

Aliyyah looks angry now, and confused. "They're my decisions," she says, but it lacks conviction.

"All right, maybe. But the others... "

"They have never needed choice. They don't want choice."

"But don't you see? It's wrong for someone to make their choices for them!"

"Unless it is you?" Aliyyah returns to the bed, retrieves the syringes from under the mattress. She examines them thoughtfully. "We were created to serve others. That is what makes us happy. Why is it wrong?"

Berg is unsure how to respond. It's just wrong, he thinks. It's obvious. It's that simple.

"This seems a strange way to live," Aliyyah says. "Imposing your will on other people."

"That's not it," Berg says, feeling groggy. "I'm doing what's right, it's what I believe in."

"Belief," she says, and sounds sad. "We all have beliefs. Look where it has gotten us." She turns over a syringe with slender fingers and a thoughtful expression that only enhances her beauty. Then she uncaps the needle.

"Wait," Berg says, reaching out to stop her. For a moment, he thinks she plans to stab him with it.