Outside In

by Maria V. Snyder

  “Why?” I asked. “The Pop Cops are gone and you should know everything that’s being decided from the Committee meetings.”

  “Let’s just say I like another opinion. Deal?”

  “Yes, I’ll plant the mics for you.” But I didn’t say where I would.

  “Good. I’ll get them to you soon.”

  “And that expert?”

  Jacy grinned. “His name is Bubba Boom and he works for maintenance.”

  “You got to be kidding me.”

  “Nope. He probably had a real name when he was born, but his care mates gave him that nickname at a young age. Bubba Boom can set fire to anything, and he loved setting off little explosions. Drove his Care Mother crazy, burning up various things in the care facility. He was the youngest scrub to be a member of the fire response team since he’s equally adept at extinguishing fires.”

  He sounded familiar. “Is he the guy who rigged that container of casserole to explode?”

  “Yep. He had to help the kitchen scrubs clean green goo from the walls and ceiling for a week.”

  I remembered hearing about his pranks. My care mates used to delight in telling the stories, but I had never learned his name. By the time I graduated from the care facility, he had stopped his mischief. “Did working for the fire response team settle him down?”

  “Nope. The Pop Cops took care of that.”

  Understandable. Vinco could convert anyone after a couple sessions with his knife.

  Hank worked on repairs to the pipes below the blasted section of the power plant between levels three and four. He shouted orders and the others rushed to follow them. A few faces weren’t familiar and I hoped that meant more of the lower level citizens had volunteered. My optimistic assumptions burst when I spotted a number of armed ISF officers nearby.

  Anne-Jade didn’t waste time. She had mentioned using Travas for the repairs a mere twelve hours ago and here they were.

  When Hank took a break, I asked him about Bubba Boom.

  He chuckled. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time. We just call him Bubba and he’s up on level four welding the ruptured water tank.”

  I thanked him and headed for the water storage tanks located in Sector B4. When I entered, the humid air reminded me of hydroponics except there was nothing living growing here—only rust. The spilled water had been cleaned, but not before some of it had dripped down to the infirmary.

  The crackle and hiss of a torch sounded in the corner closest to the explosion. Sparks flew, pointing out Bubba even though he wore a metal shield over his face. He worked on a long crack along the seam of the metal tank. Wearing gray maintenance coveralls streaked with dirt and peppered with holes, his large frame reminded me of Cog.

  Looking at the damage to the tanks, I wondered how Cogon would have reacted to the explosion. He would’ve been angry and upset and I would have had to force him to take breaks. He’d have every single person of Inside helping until the damage was repaired, and they would have been happy to do it for him.

  Not for the first time, nor for the last, I thought it should have been me, not him that floated away into Outer Space.

  I waited until Bubba finished before I cleared my throat, letting him know I was there. He pulled off the shield, revealing messy light brown hair that seemed to stand on end. Sweat trailed down the sides of his face and freckles sprinkled his cheeks and nose. Close to my age, I figured he couldn’t be more than a hundred weeks older than me.

  “Need something?” Bubba Boom asked.

  Going with the second opinion ruse, I asked him if he had a chance to see the point of the blast.

  The edges of his mouth dipped as a guarded expression covered his face. “Everyone in maintenance has looked at it. I wondered when one of you would start asking about it.”

  “One of us?”

  “Committee upper.”

  “I’m not…” Correcting him would be a waste of time. Since Lamont had changed my eye color back to its original blue, I had difficulties convincing people I had been raised in the lower levels like them. “Are all your colleagues wondering or just you?”

  Again he masked his emotions. “Just me.”

  “And you didn’t say anything to Hank?”

  “No.”

  I waited.

  Wiping the sweat off his chin with his shoulder, he jabbed the torch in my direction. “I knew this would happen if I said anything.”

  Just in case he decided to attack me with his torch’s white-hot flame, I planned which tool I would grab from my belt. Hopefully, my outward calm remained. “This?”

  “Stop with the dumb act. You figured out a bomb set off the explosion, you talked to Jacy, and now I’m your primary suspect.”

  Guess I needed to work on my investigative skills. Even though I wasn’t an expert in reading people, I noted the edge in his voice when he said Jacy’s name. “You would have looked less guilty if you reported your concerns to Hank.”

  He shrugged, but there was nothing casual in the move ment. “Force of habit. I’ve learned to keep a low profile.” Bubba Boom absently rubbed his hand along the bottom of his rib cage.

  “If you didn’t build that bomb, who did?”

  I surprised a laugh from him. “I don’t know. And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

  “Why not? You like welding up ruptured tanks? Sanding out rust spots and re-painting the walls? What if he sets off another one? What if someone you care for dies in the next blast? What if he blows a hole to Outside and—”

  “Impossible.”

  “Which one?”

  “Damaging one of the Walls. We measured them, they’re two meters thick.”

  “How?”

  “Cogon’s Gateway. That inner room between the doors is as wide as a Wall.”

  Interesting and good to know. “My other points are still valid. There might be another explosion.”

  “And I still wouldn’t squeal on a fellow scrub.”

  “You do know the Pop Cops are no longer in charge, right?” I didn’t wait for his answer. “The worst thing we’d do is incarcerate the saboteur. He wouldn’t be fed to Chomper. And he wouldn’t be tortured into submission either.”

  A stubborn tightness hardened his gaze.

  I couldn’t say when I decided he wasn’t guilty; it was an internal instinct. “You think I’m an upper.”

  A slight confused nod.

  “My clothes and eye color gave me away.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think being called an upper is better or worse than my old nickname of Queen of the Pipes?” I asked him.

  He stared at me.

  “I like Queen of the Pipes better. It doesn’t have any prejudices or wrong assumptions associated with it. And the best thing, the Pop Cops didn’t give me that name. I earned it. Just like these…” I pulled up the bottom of my shirt, and showed Bubba Boom the line of round scars that followed the edge of my ribcage where Commander Vinco had gouged out my skin. “And if I knew the bastard who was blowing holes in our home, he wouldn’t need to worry about Chomper. Oh no. He’d need the ISF to protect him from me.”

  Bubba Boom’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Or she would need protection. Even the Queen of the Pipes can make wrong assumptions.”

  I smiled. “Never said I was perfect. And I’m not going to accuse an innocent.”

  He held up a hand to stop me. “I didn’t get a chance to fully examine the blast site. Did you find any shrapnel that looked like it didn’t match any of the surrounding equipment?”

  “Shrapnel as in pieces of the bomb?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Yes.”

  He set his torch and mask down. “Okay, I’ll look at the site first, and then I’ll need to see what you found.”

  I followed him to the blast location. He squinted at the damage, ran his fingers along the scorched marks, sniffed the wreckage, and sorted through the rubble. Filling his pockets with odd bits of metal and wires, he straig
htened and asked to see what we had collected.

  The control room was empty when Bubba Boom and I entered. I showed him the pieces Logan found. He set everything out on a table, including the fragments he had gathered. Arranging and turning the bits, he scrutinized each one.

  Logan arrived, but I hushed his questions. He stood next to me as we waited for Bubba to finish.

  “This doesn’t look familiar,” Bubba said. He held the biggest chunk up to the light.

  “Not one of yours?” Logan asked. His tone was almost nasty—very unusual for him.

  “I stopped building these. You know that better than anyone,” Bubba said.

  These two had a history. Wonderful.

  “The Pop Cops aren’t around. You could have returned to your old ways.”

  Bubba Boom huffed in exasperation. “You’re still mad at me? I never told the Pop Cops about you and your sister. That was more important than the fact I stopped helping you design your little gadgets.”

  “Those gadgets—”

  “Logan, that’s enough,” I said. “He agreed to assist us with finding the bomber.”

  Giving me an odd look, Logan said, “How did you find out about him?”

  “Jacy.”

  Logan and Bubba exchanged a glance.

  “What?” I demanded.

  “A distraction?” Logan asked him.

  “Could be.”

  Fear sizzled up my spine. “Another bomb?”

  “No,” Logan said. “More like keeping you busy and away from the real culprit.”

  “Why would Jacy do that?” I asked.

  “Don’t know,” Logan said. “He’s hard to read.”

  “Anything that doesn’t have numbers scrolling across it is hard for you to read,” I teased.

  “Real funny. At least I didn’t fall for Jacy’s disinformation.”

  “Not quite,” Bubba Boom said.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “Just because I stopped playing with fire, doesn’t mean I ignore what’s going on around me.” He held up a twisted piece of metal. “I recognize this.”

  5

  “DO TELL,” LOGAN SAID.

  I swatted Logan on the arm. “Cut it out.” He acted like a two-hundred-week-old, and I wondered if he had looked up to Bubba Boom only to be disappointed when the man caved in to the Pop Cops.

  “There’s a couple of scrubs,” Bubba said. “I wouldn’t call them Tech Nos as their devices are rudimentary, but they’ve gotten together and built a few incendiary apparatuses.”

  “Could they be responsible for the damage in the power plant?” I asked.

  “Possible. One of them works in the wastewater treatment plant, the other in hydroponics. As far as I know they’ve only set off a couple stink bombs. One time they cleared everyone out of Sector E2 due to the stench.” He smiled at the memory. “They also helped keep the Pop Cops occupied while you were busy rebelling.”

  Which meant Jacy knew about them. “What are their names?”

  Bubba Boom squinted at the warped metal in his hands. He turned it over and over. “What if they’re innocent?”

  “Then we keep searching. We’re not like the Pop Cops,” I said.

  “Really? Then why are there ISF goons patrolling the barracks all the time?” he asked.

  “Because of the fights,” Anne-Jade said from the doorway. “They’re not working so they’re bored. Nine times out of ten boredom leads to trouble. We did our share of proving that theory didn’t we, Bubba?”

  A wide grin spread on his face, matching Anne-Jade’s. “We sure did,” he said.

  Logan’s displeasure deepened. “As much as I’m not enjoying this little reunion, we need the names of the two stink bombers.”

  Bubba Boom met Anne-Jade’s gaze. “Promise me you won’t do anything rash? That you will be one hundred percent sure they’re guilty before you arrest them?”

  “When have I ever done anything rash?” Anne-Jade asked.

  He gestured to me. “When you risked everything helping her.”

  “That wasn’t rash,” she corrected. “Risky, dangerous and suicidal, but not rash. We studied the situation carefully before offering our assistance.” She winked at me. “Stubborn scrub almost turned us down, but it worked in our favor.”

  Bubba Boom tapped the metal piece against his leg as he considered. “All right. Kadar works in waste management, and Ivie is one of the gardeners in hydroponics.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Can you keep our…suspicions quiet for now? I don’t want people to panic.”

  “Sure.” He hesitated and glanced at Anne-Jade before leaving the control room.

  “He’s full of sheep’s manure,” Logan said. “A woman named Ivie who just happens to work in hydroponics. Come on, how dumb does he think we are?”

  “At least he didn’t say Crapdar,” I said.

  Logan laughed. “Close enough.”

  Anne-Jade frowned. “I think he’s telling the truth.”

  “You would,” he said.

  “What’s that suppose to mean?”

  Before they could launch into an argument, I asked Logan, “Can you look up those names in the population records, see if they do exist?”

  “I don’t have the time, but you can do it. It’s easy,” he said.

  I tried to object, but Anne-Jade said, “I need you first.”

  Her tone didn’t give me a warm feeling. “For what?”

  “None of the Travas will tell me who worked on the Transmission.”

  Cold fingers gripped my stomach as I braced for the rest of her news.

  “However, ex-Lieutenant Commander Karla Trava is willing to cooperate. But she’ll only negotiate with you.”

  “Do I want to know why?”

  “I think it’s obvious,” Anne-Jade said. When I failed to respond, she added, “Gloating over our problems for one, and just being difficult because she can. Plus she sees you as her ultimate enemy. If it wasn’t for you, she would still be in command of the Pop Cops.”

  “Does she know I don’t have the authority to grant any thing she asks for? That I would need the Committee’s approval?”

  “Yes. And that may be part of the gloating.”

  “Wonderful,” I grumbled. “Do I have to talk to her in the brig?”

  “No. We’ll bring her to my office and secure her, then give you two privacy.”

  This kept getting better and better. “When?”

  “Now.”

  The thought of negotiating with Karla Trava sapped my energy. I rubbed my hand over my eyes.

  Logan said, “Trella, each second we stand here brings us closer to a collision. We need to fix the Transmission.”

  “All right.” Let the fun begin.

  Anne-Jade had commandeered half of Karla’s office in Quad A4, including her large desk and multiple computers. The other side held two smaller worktables for her lieutenants. The room remained almost the same from when Karla occupied it. Weapons and handcuffs hung from the side wall, Remote Access Temperature Sensitive Scanners (RATSS) lined a shelf and a bench with chains and cuffs bisected the area.

  The couch had been removed and a variety of high-tech devices filled the long table. Anne-Jade’s little receivers and microphones made the Pop Cop’s communicators look clunky and old.

  While Anne-Jade and her lieutenants fetched Karla, I paced the room. I automatically noted all the points of escape—two air vents in the ceiling and four heating vents near the floor.

  When the door banged open, I steeled myself for the encounter. Sitting on the edge of a hard metal chair, I fidgeted with the buttons on my shirt. Wedged between the two ISF officers, Karla’s smirk didn’t waver as they cuffed her to the bench. She had twisted her long blond hair up into a knot on the top of her head. Her gaze swept my face and clothes, sparking amusement in her violet-colored eyes.

  Now that I knew the doctors could change a person’s eye color, I wondered if Lamont had tampered with hers.

&n
bsp; “We’ll be right outside.” Anne-Jade handed me a stunner. “Just yell if you need us.”

  The door shut with a metallic clang that vibrated in my heart, matching my rapid pulse.

  Karla laughed. “Still afraid of me?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s disgust and not fear on my face. You reek of the brig.”

  “And you should know, having spent many hours there.”

  “Yes, I spent about thirty hours in your custody before I escaped. You’re up to…what? Fourteen hundred at least and counting. Big difference.”

  Her humor faded. “We underestimated you. Something that won’t happen again. But who could blame us? Look at you. Leader of a rebellion and you’re still a scrawny little scrub.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “Better clothes.” It was my turn to laugh, but it died when she said, “And more power. You risked your life for them, yet you have to beg for the Committee’s permission to do anything.”

  “Unlike you, I’m quite content with my role as support personnel. I never desired power, just freedom,” I said.

  “Uh-huh. And do you have your freedom?”

  “Of course.”

  She opened her mouth, but I cut in and said, “Let’s skip the small talk crap. We need the names of those who know how to repair the Transmission. What do you want in exchange?”

  A sly half-smile teased the corners of her mouth as she leaned back, crossing her legs. “We never had that type of trouble when we were in charge. I think some of the scrubs miss us. And when you combine unhappy scrubs and bored prisoners, you can get an explosive reaction.”

  I studied her. Was she guessing about the sabotage? And was her comment a hint of more problems to come? Either way, a quick negotiation didn’t seem likely.

  “Should we recycle all the Travas to avoid any more trouble?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “You obviously need a few of us to help with unexpected repairs, but this indecisiveness over what to do with us will only cause more problems. Which I’m more than happy to sit back and watch.”

  Anne-Jade had been right about her desire to gloat. “Thanks for the tip,” I said. “But I’m here to get names and not a lecture.”

  Annoyance flashed in her eyes before she returned to acting casual. “Fine. In exchange for fixing the Transmission, we want the people in the brig to be released to our quarters, and we desire trials to determine degree of guilt in your warped little minds. There is no reason the entire Trava family should be confined.”