She shrugged. “Not here. If you want clean clothes, you have to do them yourself.”
“How long has it been like this?” I asked.
“Where’ve you been?” The woman paused to look at me for the first time. “In the upper levels, I’d bet.” She swept her hand out. “The laundry scrubs stayed for a few weeks, but none of the uppers came down to help them. Eventually they stopped. They’re not washing the uppers’ clothes. We’re all supposed to be equal, but as far as the scrubs are concerned nothing’s changed.”
I bit back my reply about the lack of Pop Cops patrolling the hallways and kill-zapping dissenters or about not having to report to the hundred-hour assemblies. Instead I said, “You have to be patient. It’s going to take some time to get everyone organized. And we outnumber the uppers ten to one.”
“So? Can’t a few come down and help? How hard can it be?”
Opening my mouth to respond, I closed it. She had a point. But it wasn’t like the uppers sat around doing nothing. Yet another problem for the Committee to address.
The woman waited for my reply.
“The Committee—”
“Has caused more problems than they solved. This is a big ship, right?”
Confused by the change in topic, I said, “Sort of, but—”
“We had a captain, right?”
“Captain James Trava. But he was relieved of duty. All the Trava officers were.” We also had an admiral and a fleet admiral. Although I didn’t know why since one ship didn’t equal a fleet.
“So? Appoint another.”
I smiled. “Just like that?”
“Why not? Can’t be any harder than taking the Travas out, right? Unless you’re afraid?”
My humor died. “I’m not afraid of anyone.”
“I don’t doubt that, young lady, but I wasn’t talking about a person.”
“Then what—”
She poked a finger at a bin half hidden behind the washers. “You’ll find clean clothes in there. They’re too small for most of the scrubs.” Scooping up an armful of clothes, she added them to the washer. Conversation over.
I sorted through the uniforms and jumpers. Finding a few shirts and a pair of pants the kitchen scrubs wore, I tucked them under my arm. The nearest washroom was in Sector E1, which also housed the barracks, along with Sectors D1 and F1. Bluelights lit the rows and rows of bunk beds stacked three high.
Unlike the laundry and recycling areas, many scrubs lounged in the barracks. Some gathered in groups, others slept despite the noise and a few played cards. The place was packed and the stench of them nearly knocked me over. I hurried to change my clothes in the washroom, but as I dashed through the barracks on my way out, I spotted a number of ISF officers patrolling the barracks.
I felt as if I had just slammed into a wall. Why were they here? The scrubs didn’t like their presence either. They threw snide and nasty comments at them, mocking and taunting them. Horrible. I wondered if Anne-Jade knew what was going on down here. Or was she like me, avoiding the lower levels? I hadn’t been on levels one or two in weeks and I didn’t have a good reason either.
Sick to my stomach, I paused in the corridor and breathed in the clean air until my heart slowed to normal. Going with a hunch, I braced for another assault on my senses as I entered the barracks in Sector D1. Jacy used to hold court in a corner.
Not as bad as E1, there were less people and ISF officers. Also the general mood seemed stable and not as tense.
Sure enough, Jacy and a few of his followers huddled together. When I approached they broke apart.
“Hello Trella,” Jacy said, but his tone was far from welcoming. “What’s the emergency?”
“There isn’t one. Why would you think that?”
“You’re here with the scrubs so it must be something big.”
I ignored his snide comment. “Did you mention what’s going on down here to the Committee?”
“And just what is going on?” He acted innocent.
“The piles in recycling and the dirty laundry. How no one is doing their jobs.”
“Of course.”
“And?”
“And nothing. It’s not a high priority. The Committee thinks once the extra levels are completed and the scrubs get more space, everyone will be happy to return to work.” His sarcastic tone implied otherwise.
“Is it the same for all the systems?”
“Except for maintenance and security, they’re busy and productive. Why? Do you care now?”
I laced my hands together to keep from punching Jacy. “Okay, tell me. What should I be doing?”
He jerked as if I surprised him. “Truthfully?”
“Always.”
“Disband the Committee. Appoint a few people to be in charge.”
I laughed. “Is that it? And here I was ready for something that would be hard to do.”
“You asked.” He kept his expression neutral.
“I don’t have the power to appoint people. I’m just a—”
“A scrub?”
“No. A citizen of Inside. I’ve done my part. It’s time for other people to step in and set up a better system. I wouldn’t know the first thing about running a society.”
“Uh-huh.” Jacy leaned against a bunk. “And you’re here because…”
“I need to talk to you.”
“So talk.”
I glanced around. There were too many people nearby who seemed interested in our conversation. “Some place private.”
He frowned with annoyance then snapped his fingers at his men. They cleared a wider space around us. Impressive.
“Better?”
“Yes.” But I hesitated. His hostility worried me. Plus he acted like he had before the rebellion—as if we were enemies. Yet he had been a key member, rising to the occasion and being invaluable. I suppressed my doubts and asked him if he knew or heard of an expert in explosions.
He whistled. “You think someone damaged the power plant on purpose?”
Trust Jacy to put the pieces together so quickly. “Let’s just say I’d like another opinion.”
“Uh-huh. And what if this expert is the one you’re searching for?”
“There is always that possibility.”
He tapped his fingers on the bunk’s metal support beam as he considered my request. “I do know one scrub that would be regarded as an expert, but you need to do something for me in return.”
No surprise. “And that would be…”
“Remember those microphones you planted for me in air duct seventy-two?”
“Yes.”
“I need you to plant more in another air duct.”
“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 clea
n 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 movement. “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 rib cage 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 straightened 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 return
ed 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.”
Chapter 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 waste-water 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.”
Inside Page 32
