The Girl Who Dared to Think (The Girl Who Dared #1)

“To the Citadel,” she replied, patting the pocket with the pipe chart, and I nodded. The fastest route back was automatic for me after years of coming down to visit Zoe. I began to move down the adjacent hall, but Zoe caught my arm and gave me a look. “We need to be outside the Citadel,” she added pointedly.

I sighed and began rethreading my lashes to come out through my belt. I was going to need my hands, it seemed. From the excited look on Zoe’s face, we were going to do some climbing.



Just before the Anwar’s Bridge—a gleaming black bridge that lay flat and wide to accommodate traffic from the nearby greeneries—we came to a stop. I examined the bridge and the people already lashing across it while Zoe pulled out the plastic bag containing the torn page of her book.

“We’ll have to go down here,” she said. “You’ll lash us across under the bridge and down the side of the Citadel. We’re looking for hatch 3B.”

I nodded absentmindedly as I pulled my lashes out, immediately attaching one to the black railing. There was so much traffic around the Tower that we likely wouldn’t be noticed, so now was a good time to get moving. Bending my knees, I waited for Zoe to climb on, and then took two steps forward and pitched us over the edge. Zoe sucked in a deep breath as we fell, but I was already moving, throwing my next lash out at the apex of our descent and disconnecting the first line. We moved at a steady rate, my arms flying to attach new lashes almost as soon as I disconnected the last, and within moments, I had taken us through the arches and columns and attached us to the smooth, slightly reflective surface of the Citadel. I looked around, studying the small marks along the side—designed for navigation and repairs—and began moving left and down, following the designations toward the hatch Zoe had named.

“There it is,” Zoe said suddenly, adjusting her weight on my back so she could thrust out her arm and point to a spot a few feet below and farther left. I threw my lash to just past where the door would be and swung us over it, spreading my legs wide to brace our weight. I was studying the smooth surface, searching for a button or switch to open it, when Zoe reached over and inserted a long wire into a small, almost invisible hole between the 3 and the C. I felt something hard press up against my back but stayed still, not wanting to distract her from what she was doing. There was an electronic beep behind me, and then a door about three feet wide slid open.

I realized it was a crawl space that ran between floors, and sighed as I lowered myself to let Zoe climb in first. She did so as gently as possible, but I still got her boot on my shoulder and neck for a moment as she pushed farther in.

“Now that we’re here,” I grunted as I pulled myself in before retracting the lines, “you mind telling me what’s up?”

Zoe had already pulled out the paper and unfolded it on the floor, a small light in her hand as she studied it and looked at the pipes running overhead. I looked as well, but still couldn’t make heads or tails of the chart.

“You said they used a gas, right?” she asked, her eyes still darting around.

I thought of the woman with blood streaming from her eyes and nodded, stomach knotted. “Yeah,” I said. “Why?”

She seemed to find what she was looking for, then, because just after I asked the question, she started folding up the chart. “I’m not sure yet, but I think that if it’s coming out as a mist, they might have hijacked a water pipe to make the system do that. It’s not designed to, so they had to modify something somewhere. They’re probably using the pipes that put a small amount of humidity in the air.”

“Oh. Wait, so they are using the humidity controls to distribute the poison?” I frowned, considering that approach and puzzling out the rest of what she was telling me. “What good is that going to do?”

“I’m not really sure, yet,” she said with a tired sigh. “I have to see how they modified the system before I can figure out a plan of attack. But... I have a theory, and if I’m right, then I can make it so the poison is never introduced into the water in the first place.”

God, I loved Zoe, but she clearly thought more highly of my cognitive abilities than was realistic. “Girl, can you please dumb it down for me?”

“Literally no appreciation for what I do,” Zoe muttered as she began folding up the chart. “I think I can make it seem like the poison gas is coming out, but without any of the poison.”

I blinked, considering her words. “So I press the button, but he doesn’t die?”

“That’s the idea,” Zoe said, her eyes now glued to the pipes overhead as she began to crawl forward on her hands and knees. “There’s only one place they could do it from, and it’s in the junction up ahead. Did his cell have a designation number?”

It did, now that I thought about it, but I had glossed over it both times I went in. I forced myself to remember the walk down the hall, and the door, and after a moment, it came to me.

“5D,” I informed her, following her through the crawl space.

The space went on for some twenty feet before it opened into a wide circular room, awash with pipes—both glass and lead—electrical boxes, wires, and cables. Zoe clicked off her light and looked around. The room was well lit with a bright white light... and she was already frowning.

“Some of these pipes are lead,” she commented, consulting her chart. “But they shouldn’t be.”

She was right, although it took me a minute to recall why. It was from one of our classes with another Diver, named Lester, several months ago, when he was explaining how to identify which pipes did what. The only reason to use lead was when the water was toxic, or lethal. Those pipes were only used below, in Water Treatment. No toxic water was allowed past floor forty, as a safety protocol.

“Do you think that’s where the poison gas is?” I asked, eyeing the pipes.

“No,” she said, lowering the chart and studying the pipes. “If it were already in gas form, they’d need a way to vent it in. I don’t see any sign of a machine to help them do that.”

“They could be piping it in with the air?” I asked. “The mist is already coming through the vent.”

She immediately shook her head. “Can’t be done without some serious overhauls to the ventilation system, as they are all connected. Besides, it wouldn’t be coming out as a mist if they were—the system is specifically designed to eliminate moisture inside of it to prevent it from deteriorating. The humidifiers are the only way they could pump it in and keep it contained.”

“So then...”

“Give me a second,” she said, taking a step forward and running her fingers against one of the pipes, following it. I fell silent, trying to be patient enough to let her work. I was grateful she was here, because it was unlikely I was going to make any sense of these pipes. And I needed to know what was going on. Grey’s life depended on it.

“Ah, so that’s what they’re doing.” I looked over to see her kneeling by some wires, her homemade pad connected to them.

“What are they doing?” I asked as she disconnected.

“Well, the good thing is that there is water in those lead pipes.”