My voice didn’t waver when I repeated my stats, but my heart beat a faster rhythm when Karla eyed my work suit with a contemplative purse on her lips. I tried to sidle past her.
“Running late?” she asked.
“Sorry, sir.” I stepped toward the dining room.
She blocked my way. “You weren’t scheduled to work. What have you been doing during your off time?”
Her stare could have frozen the warmest heart. I blinked. Caught by surprise, my mind blanked.
“Hey, Trella,” another scrub called. An older man with short gray hair and a stooped posture, he had gone through check-in just before me. “Thanks for helping with that clogged drain. Without your little hands, I don’t know what we would have done.”
“Anytime,” I said, waving.
Karla snatched my hand and inspected my short fingernails.
“No dirt under your nails?” She waited.
“I washed my hands, sir. They were in raw sewage.”
She dropped my hand as if I were contagious and gestured for me to join the scrubs assembled in the cafeteria. I stood next to the man who had covered for me. As Karla pushed her way to the front, I leaned close and whispered my thanks.
“Anytime,” he said, winking.
LC Karla climbed onto a table to address the crowd. “Citizens, welcome to the end-of-the-week celebration. Now begins week number 147,003.” She scanned the scrubs. “I have good news. We have caught the man responsible for my officer’s untimely recycling, and we will find Broken Man soon. However, if you know of anyone who may have helped hide Broken Man, you are to tell me immediately. Rewards for accurate information may result in promotion to the upper levels.”
Absolute silence filled the room. All moisture evaporated from my mouth and gushed from my pores. I couldn’t help glancing at the man beside me. Why didn’t he raise his hand and tell the LC about lying for me? He didn’t move. No one did.
LC Karla’s body stiffened and she shook as if waves of pure anger pulsed off her. She glared at the crowd. “Fine, then you all will be interrogated. One at a time.”
She relinquished her tabletop position to the ensign on duty. As he read the weekly announcements, murmurs circled the room. But the whispers held a timbre of outrage.
The man leaned over. “She’s made a mistake.” He met my gaze. “Whatever you’re up to, do it quick. I think you’ll be first on her interrogation list.”
I listened to the rest of the ensign’s message without hearing a word he said. My thoughts tumbled in circles, ending at the same point. I stifled the desire to jump on a tabletop and shout to the scrubs, “Don’t get your hopes up!”
When the assembly was over, I bolted into the kitchen. Karla stood at the exit and I didn’t want to remind her about me. If she caught me later, I could say I had needed to start my cleaning shift. True to a point.
No Pop Cops had arrived yet, and the kitchen scrubs took my presence in stride, preparing food for the next meal. I could reach the air vent above the countertop, but would have difficulty getting inside. Scanning the kitchen, I searched for a stool to stand on.
A thud sounded behind me and I turned. On the counter rested a stepladder. The type with only a few rungs and used to reach into high cabinets. Without delay, I climbed on the counter and up the ladder.
“Thanks!” I called as I pulled myself into the air shaft. The ladder was gone by the time I closed the vent’s cover. I traveled through the shaft to the hallway outside the care facility in Sector H2. Once there, I glanced down. A stream of scrubs heading toward their work assignments flowed below me. I waited a few minutes then dropped down on the stragglers.
No curses. No taunts. I could get used to it. Although if I failed to help the scrubs, the verbal abuse would resume. I laughed. If I failed, the scrubs would be the least of my worries.
Logan paced the hallway, biting a nail. I scanned the hallway to make sure no Pop Cops lingered nearby. He stopped when he saw me. I pulled his hand down.
“Try not to look so nervous,” I said. “How do you manage to work on Zippy and the other technology without giving yourself away?”
“Anne-Jade. She has nerves of glass. It has to be pretty hot for her to melt.”
“We’ll be out of sight soon.” I guided him to a small door near the care facility. Taking his decoder from my tool belt, I whispered, “Keep an eye out.” Then I placed the device near the door’s lock, pressing the button.
“Anne-Jade? What are you doing here?” Logan asked.
I looked over my shoulder. Barefooted, Anne-Jade wore a skintight dark blue work uniform. Her thick hair had been wrestled into a single braid.
“I need Trella’s birth week and barrack number,” she said.
“Why?” Logan asked.
“Good idea,” I said, rattling off my stats. “I’m supposed to be in—”
“Shaft one-eleven. Got it.” She hurried off.
I reviewed my cleaning schedule in my mind—two water pipes and a bunch of air ducts on level one. Nothing too challenging for her.
The decoder had finished. I unlocked the door and pulled Logan into a small storage room filled with stacks of linen diapers. Closing the door, I switched on my light. Situated under the shelves was a heating vent. My fellow scrubs didn’t bat an eye when I wormed into the heating system, but Logan’s presence would draw unwanted attention. I had thought ahead, remembering this closet. However I had failed to find a solution for missing my shift, hoping we would be done in time for me finish it. But Anne-Jade figured it out.
“Oh,” Logan said. His puzzled expression smoothed. “She’s pretending to be you so the Pop Cops won’t be suspicious. Smart!”
“So are you,” I said.
“Not that kind of smart.”
“There’s another kind?”
“Oh, yeah. I know the tech stuff, but she’s the one who disguises it. The Pop Cops walk by our stuff all the time and don’t know it’s there. She’s the one who figures out what we can take from the recycling plant and when. She’s the one who insisted we not tell the other Tech Nos about us.”
“That is smart,” I agreed. Pulling the vent cover down, I pointed. “Follow me, it’s not far. Close the vent when you’re through, and keep quiet. Voices carry in there.”
He nodded and then gnawed on a fingernail. I squirmed into the vent and moved ahead to give Logan room. My sore forearms protested. From all the time spent in the ducts, I would develop calluses on my elbows and wrists. How would I explain them to LC Karla?
The trip to Domotor’s room took twice as long as usual. Logan’s slight build fit into the shaft, but his arm muscles weren’t used to pulling his weight. When we finally entered the hideout, Domotor woke with a jerk. He had been sleeping on the couch. He pushed himself into a sitting position and studied Logan in alarm.
“I hope he is one of the ‘few things’ you needed to check on. And not a Pop Cop in disguise?” he asked me.
“Yes. Logan’s here to see if he can help with the computer system.”
“Unless he’s a technological wizard, he—”
Logan spotted the computer and wasted no time. He settled before the monitor. I helped Domotor into his chair and wheeled him closer to Logan.
The Tech No squealed in delight. His fingers flew over the keyboard. “You have a port!” He grinned.
“Yes, but you can’t—”
“I know stealth mode. I’ll be like a ghost. What are you trying to do?”
Domotor launched into technical double-talk. Logan’s eyes lit with the challenge. The prophet nodded and made impressed noises as they worked. I settled on the couch. My desire to interrupt to inquire about clothes for Cog’s ruse warred with my desire for sleep. I tried to remember the last time I slep
t. The effort needed to calculate proved too much for my exhausted brain, so I rested my head on the couch’s arm.
“…need an upper computer to access the data,” Logan said.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes. The vision of Logan and Domotor peering at me with twin concerned expressions failed to dissipate.
“What happened?” I asked.
“We figured out where the information is,” Domotor said.
His demeanor didn’t match his words. “But…”
“It can only be accessed from a computer on the upper levels.” He gave me a few seconds to let the news sink in. “Can you get Logan to level four?”
“Doesn’t he need a port?” I asked.
“Not anymore.” Logan smiled with smug satisfaction. “I set up my own account; all I need is a password and the right connection.”
“Why won’t it work here?”
Logan tried to describe the inhibitor function on a lower-level computer. I lost him after the second word.
Domotor thankfully interrupted. “Five minutes is all he would need. Can you do it, Trell?”
Could I? Crawling through heating vents was easier than climbing to another level. I doubted Logan had the upper-body strength needed to pull himself up the chains. Unless… We could ride on top of the lift. But where would we find an unoccupied computer and, if we did find one, then how long would it remain unoccupied?
“I need a few hours to think about it.”
“Perhaps Riley could help,” Domotor said. “I’m sure he would know where to find a computer.”
“I don’t think we should involve him,” I said.
“Who’s Riley?” Logan asked.
“It’s better you don’t know.” Too many knew about us already. Our chances of getting caught increased with each new person. Maximum damage, I chanted in my mind.
“He’s proven himself trustworthy. This is too important to leave to chance,” Domotor said.
I grumbled even though he was right.
“We’d better go. I don’t want to be late for my shift,” Logan said.
His words reminded me to ask Domotor about his clothes.
“Sure, take what you need.”
When I returned from his room with the pants and shirt he had worn the day we had rescued him, Logan grabbed the shirt. He jerked off the top button. I remembered the microphone.
“Don’t want to lose this,” he said, then handed me the disks. “We don’t need these, though.”
I looked at Domotor. He avoided my gaze and shifted in his chair as if searching for a more comfortable position. Waiting, I tapped the disks—the irresistible bait that lured me on this fool’s errand—against my legs.
Eventually, he gave me a sheepish grin. “The programs on them are worthless now. If I could have used them before I was caught, they would have worked.”
“But they can help Cog,” Logan said.
They would delay the inevitable. I pushed those morbid thoughts away. “It’s better than nothing.”
Hour ten and Logan had reported to his shift on time, the clothes and disks had been hidden in the storage closet and I had to figure a way to get Logan to level four. I stopped by the laundry room. All the clothes for Inside were washed here. Scrubs rolled big white canvas bins to transport piles of clean and dirty garments. Bins also stood under the chutes to collect the uniforms and clothes from the upper levels.
Along the left side wall rested stacks of clean uniforms for the scrubs. Each pile was specific to a different work area and was sorted by size. The blue color of the pipe scrubs seemed bright compared to the rest. Laundry and kitchen scrubs wore the same white uniform.
Stealing scrubs’ clothes was easy. A steady stream of people headed to and away from the stacks and no one cared if you picked up one or a hundred. The uppers’ clothes, though, were placed in marked bins—one per family. Pop Cops kept a close watch over them.
After a circuit around the room, I left knowing I would be unable to borrow a few uppers’ garments from the bins. However, if I wasn’t picky, I could intercept a few items as they traveled down the chutes.
I rigged a net in one of the shafts. Clogs in the chutes were rare, but not unheard of. Hopefully, I’d catch a Logan-sized disguise.
My next problem would be harder to solve. Climbing to Riley’s room on level four, I reviewed my options for finding a computer terminal. I could spy on one of the upper’s suites. Keeping track of their comings and goings, I could determine when the suite would be empty. But how long would it take? And, working my own shifts, I would only have half the picture.
Bluelight shone through the vent into Riley’s room. When I was certain it was empty, I dropped through the vent and onto the couch. The daylights turned on automatically and I jumped to my feet in surprise—it had never happened before.
I found the tiny motion detector. Its sensor was aimed at the couch, and the simple device had been wired to the light switch. Everything else appeared to be the same. The ladder leaned against a side wall, and the furniture remained in place. A moment passed and nothing happened. I checked under the couch. Zippy looked undisturbed in his hiding spot.
I relaxed. Riley had spent time fixing the place up. Wandering around the room, I found a few of his possessions. A broken keyboard with a tangle of wires streaming from under it, a chewed marker, a wipe board with a technical diagram of circuits drawn on it and a stuffed sheep. Not made with the skin of a real sheep, but the wool was genuinely fuzzy and soft, and the rest had been constructed of cloth. A child’s toy. And from its worn and threadbare appearance, I knew it was well loved.
I picked the sheep up and stroked its wool. The care facility had few toys for the children to share. Most of our time in the facility had been spent training for our future jobs. Cleaning trolls instead of dolls, and engines to take apart and repair. The Care Mothers evaluated us and decided our careers based on our aptitudes.
The memory of Cog racing Jacy to see who could rebuild an engine first caused me to smile. Cog loved to get his hands dirty and he probably would have gotten the maintenance job even if he hadn’t grown so big. My tendency to explore the ducts also made my Care Mother’s job easy in placing me. I didn’t have the patience to be a Care Mother or a gardener for hydroponics.
Computer time had dominated our learning hours. Teaching stories to read, mathematics to learn, our society’s customs and expectations, and a basic knowledge of the physical machinery and how our world worked had all been the main focus of learning. According to Riley, the information we learned had been Pop Cop propaganda. I wondered just how much was accurate.
A click sounded behind me. I spun, reaching for my tool belt. Riley slipped into the room and closed the door without making any more noise. He wore his headset and work uniform.
He raised an eyebrow at my defensive posture. “I see you found Sheepy.”
“Sheepy?” I replaced the toy. “That’s not a very original name.”
He shrugged. “I was three hundred weeks old when I got him and his mother as a present.”
“What’s her name?”
He grinned. “Mama Sheepy.”
I laughed.
“You do know how to smile and laugh,” he said. “I was beginning to worry.”
Sobering, I searched his expression. “Worry about what?”
“That you had no joy in your heart.”
What an odd statement. “What do you mean?” I demanded.
“I put myself at considerable risk helping you and it’s good to know you can…that you’re not…that you have…” He slapped his hands to his face and then dropped them as if in surrender. “I always say the wrong thing around you. Look, can we start over?”
“Over?”
“Yes. Ove
r. Wipe the board clean.”
“But I would have to go back to hating you and not trusting you,” I said.
“Oh, well, don’t do that.” He paused and chewed his lip. “Does that mean you like and trust me now?”
“I don’t hate you.”
“Trust?”
“The debate is ongoing.”
“You’re giving me squat. You know that, don’t you?”
I suppressed a grin, but couldn’t keep a straight face. “Yes.”
He shook his head. “Okay. We won’t wipe the board clean, but how about we ignore all our previous misconceptions and biases about each other and start as two regular people who don’t hate each other. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Great. Hi, I’m Riley Narelle Ashon and this is Sheepy Narelle Ashon.” He picked up his stuff toy and waved the sheep’s paw at me. Then he held out his hand to me. “And you are…?”
I grasped his hand, marveling at the feel of his smooth skin. “Trella Garrard Sanchia.”
Chapter 12
The name had popped from my mouth without thought. I was sure Riley’s shocked expression mirrored my own. He let go of my hand.
“How do you know?” he asked, recovering faster than I did.
I waved a hand as if I could erase my words from the air. No luck. They hung in the thick silence between us. I pulled my uniform away from my chest. The fabric peeled off my sweaty skin. Why was this room so hot?
He squinted at me, his demeanor stiff and cold. “Are you a spy?”
“No. Domotor told me the names, but I don’t care.”
“I see.” His tone implied otherwise.
“Look. I’m just a stupid scrub. Domotor wanted me to help him and he offered to give me information on my birth parents as a bribe. Except I don’t care who they are or why they abandoned me in the lower levels. I’m helping him for my friend Cog. End of discussion.”
Inside Page 12
