The Omnipod entered lumen mode, and the device created a strong beam of light from its central eye. As Eva made her way down the long, winding corridor, she thought back to her first discovery of the secret hallway. . . .

She’d been five years old, playing hide-and-seek with Muthr.

Eva’s favorite place to hide had been the empty cabinet under the kitchen sink, but she had grown some and could no longer fit under there.

Instead, Eva had found her way into the very back of the labyrinthine supply room and had hidden behind the last shelf full of nutriment capsules. Giggling, she had leaned against the back wall, sliding into the shadows and awaiting the sound of Muthr’s playful voice. On the cold surface of that wall, Eva had felt the unmistakable seam of a doorway.

Muthr had found her moments later trying to get the Sanctuary to open it. The robot had told her it was a malfunctioning door that had been sealed off long before Eva Nine had been born.

Eva had soon forgotten about the mysterious door, until the day she’d made the other discovery.

Putting a pair of rolled-up woolen socks away in her dresser, an eight-year-old Eva had found something scratched into the metal on the inside of the top drawer. Printed in blocky lettering was: “CP01: OMNISCIENT: FLOOR PLAN.”

Eva had puzzled over this cryptic code for days. She’d wondered if she should go and ask Muthr about its meaning. She’d pondered this idea, but had hesitated, for it was also at that time that Eva had started to realize that she and Muthr were truly not the same. This observation had led to a notion that had itched at the back of her mind: She wasn’t being told everything.

There were other humans depicted in the holo-shows and programs that she watched—but none living in the Sanctuary. Where could they be? When she had asked Muthr, Eva had received the same response: “There are no others like you. That is what makes you so very special.”

Eva had returned to her dresser and stared at the words written inside the drawer.

That was when she’d asked her Omnipod what a “floor plan” was.

The device had prattled out a lengthy definition, projecting lavish holograms of various architectural layouts, then had asked if she wanted to know more. She had not.

Eva had then asked what “omniscient” was. The Omnipod had answered that “omniscient” was an adjective derived from a seventeenth-century word meaning “to know everything.”

Finally, Eva had asked what “CP01” was. Here, the Omnipod had had no answer. It had replied that the letters and numbers could be some sort of code, perhaps even for another computer or device.