“How long to get the information?”
“It’ll take about forty to fifty hours,” Domotor said.
I groaned aloud.
“If I’m not careful, I’ll alert the system to my presence and we’ll be discovered.” He studied my face. “Trella, get a few hours’ sleep. You look terrible.”
I ignored his remark, but thought about Riley’s comment about circumventing computer systems. “Are you going to tell me your real agenda?”
He fidgeted in his chair. The ecstatic expression faded and wariness touched his eyes. I hadn’t given him the device.
“Are you really seeking Gateway’s location? Or was that my incentive for retrieving the disks and your port?”
“It’s complicated,” he said.
“Meaning a dumb scrub wouldn’t be able to understand?” My hand fisted around his port.
“No.” He pushed the hair from his eyes. The long blond strands hung loose. “Meaning you don’t know enough about the upper levels to realize that even if we find Gateway, we might not be able to unlock it without gaining control of key computer systems.”
“Do you even believe Gateway exists?”
“Yes, I do.” His gaze remained steady.
Damn. Either he was a good liar or he told the truth. “How do you gain control of the systems?”
“Through the computer network, but I need to find out who the real Controllers are.”
“You mean which Travas?”
“No. All the upper families think the admiral, vice admiral and captain, who are all Travas, are the Controllers. But I found a command flow chart in a forgotten file that put the Controllers above the admiral.”
“Then who are the Controllers?”
“No one knows. Not even the Travas. But I’ve overheard them speculating, and they believe the Controllers live Outside and send instructions through the computer. Sort of a divine influence.”
Shock rolled through me. The thought of people or even a divine being dictating what we did Inside from Outside was hard to grasp.
“Just because the Travas believe it doesn’t mean it is true.”
“Do they know what is Outside?”
“No. No one does. It’s all speculation. A few Travas think the divine presence lives in the computer network. Others think the computer itself has become intelligent.” He shrugged. “Knowledge of before was erased from the computer system thousands of weeks ago. Something has to be beyond our walls. The Controllers must know.”
I mulled over the information. “Gateway could just be a computer link to the Controllers, and not a physical exit.”
“It’s possible. And you’re holding our only chance to find out.”
I unfurled my fingers. His port rested in my palm. Cog’s life in exchange for this. No turning back now. I would stay the course until the end.
He snatched his port as a hungry man would grab food. Relief washed the worry from Domotor’s expression. He inspected the device and then inserted it into the gap on the right side of his lower jaw. I wheeled him over to the computer.
“Get some rest,” he said half-distracted. “You’re welcome to use my bed.”
A few hours remained in my shift, and I needed to put in an appearance. But I entered the kitchen first to inventory his food. Not much left. A few lonely bowls of casserole occupied the small refrigerator. More than thirty hours remained to the next assembly, and I doubted I could cough my way into the kitchen again. The prospect of standing in line multiple times for extra food seemed daunting.
I straightened the dishes and checked his bedroom. The clicks and taps from the keyboard followed me. His sheets hung to the floor and his blanket was a balled-up wad. Must be hard to make a bed when you couldn’t use your legs.
Pulling everything off, I remade the bed with clean linens. A mistake. The fresh sheets called to me. My body ached. My thoughts pushed through a numb fog. A sense of loss pressed between my shoulder blades. I settled on the edge of the bed and rested my head in my hands.
What had I expected? Give Domotor his port and voilà! Directions to Gateway would appear in a matter of minutes. Huffing in tired amusement, I admitted that, yes, I had been expecting instantaneous results despite all my efforts to believe Gateway didn’t exist and to not get my hopes up. I guess a part of me really desired a true exit to Outside. Now the possibility of a computer Gateway instead of a physical Gateway sucked all hope away.
I should be happy. Domotor’s discoveries would prove me right. Yet the possibility of the Controllers not living with us or even being a person caused a finger of fear to brush my spine.
Morbid thoughts circled and conversations replayed in my mind. To escape them, I laid down. I would rest a few minutes.
“Lousy son-of-a-Trava!” Domotor’s curses woke me from a dreamless sleep. Hours and not minutes had passed. So much for my shift. I hoped my supervisor hadn’t checked on me. I stretched and padded to the living area.
Domotor scowled at the computer monitor. He punched a few keys then slammed his fist on the table.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“New security systems have been installed.”
“And?”
“I might not be able to get around them.” He typed a few words. “The program is…odd. The Controllers aren’t usually this…creative. They stick to what they know and what has worked.”
“Perhaps your earlier forays into the system alarmed them?”
“Possible. But this other program should work. It’s just complicated.” His attention returned to the screen.
I left him to his work and showered. My stomach growled with urgent need and I resigned myself to spending the next five hours gathering food for me and Domotor.
He grunted when I said goodbye. I traveled through the heating vents until I reached one of the main hallways. The scrubs traveling through the corridor ignored me. No curses. No taunts. I joined the flow and aimed for the cafeteria in Quad G2.
Standing in line, I noticed the stiffness of the people around me. It was well known I didn’t like them and they didn’t like me. They called me Queen of the Pipes, believing I thought I was better than them. Used to glares and sneers, I now had scrubs avoiding eye contact. Different. And the ones who met my gaze, nodded. A few smiled in encouragement. Stranger still was the muted hum in the room. Pop Cops patrolled the aisles between tables, and a mist of fear hung in the humid sweat-scented air. Yet a sense of purpose emanated as if no matter how afraid they were, the scrubs were determined to endure the Pop Cops’ scrutiny.
I pushed my tray along the metal track and pointed to a vegetable casserole. The scrub spooned a ladle-full into a bowl then added in a second scoop. I glanced at the man in surprise.
“There’s a clog in the kitchen’s air shaft,” he said. “Can you clean it out for us?”
It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me. “Report it to the kitchen manager.”
He stared at me. “I did. She said to have someone check the shaft at hour eighty.” He returned to filling bowls and the press of the scrubs waiting behind me propelled me toward the tables.
Odd. The whole exchange worried me. The scrubs couldn’t know about me. Could they? No. They’d rat me out in an instant. I shoveled the food into my mouth, but didn’t taste a thing.
There had been plenty of chances for scrubs to gain favor by implicating me. Yet here I sat with a double portion. Enough for Domotor and me. Instead of standing in line again, I stored the leftover food and checked the cleaning schedule.
My next shift started at hour eighty. Air shaft twenty-two was the first job listed on my sheet. Twenty-two crossed over the scrubs’ kitchen. I licked my dry lips. The man had said there was a clog. Could it be an ambush? No. Why go to all that trouble? A simple anonymous note to the lieutenant commander would do the trick.
Something was going on. I searched for Jacy. He held court in his corner of the barracks. A tone signaled the end of a shift. I hung back, wait
ing for the crowd to thin. He spotted me and soon the scrubs hurried away.
After scanning the barracks, he pulled two round disks from his pocket and handed them to me. “The listening devices,” he said.
I remembered my deal to plant them in air shaft seventy-two. The metal felt cold in my hands. About a quarter inch thick, the silver circles fit within my palm. An inner circle of gold-colored mesh coated the one side, and a black magnet clung to the other.
“Stick them close to the vents. They won’t come loose even when the cleaning trolls go through,” Jacy explained. “Put one in the Pop Cops HQ and the other over the Control Room.”
I hid them in my tool belt. “I have another question.”
“Goody. I have more listening devices.”
“Not that type of question. At least I think the answer wouldn’t be worth anything.”
He brushed away his hair, revealing his dark eyes. “Now, I’m intrigued.”
“I just want to know the latest gossip, what rumors are circulating.”
Jacy studied my face. “You never cared before. Why now?”
“The lower levels feel…odd.”
“With twice as many Pop Cops patrolling, people are scared and nervous.”
“I get that, but…” How to word my questions without giving too much away? “But they have the chance to…make their life better, and I don’t know why they don’t take it.”
“You should know why. Do you really need me to spell it out for you?”
I nodded.
He shook his head. “It’ll cost you two more devices.”
Figures. “Only if it isn’t some bull.”
“It’s not. This is serious.” He stepped toward me and lowered his voice. “Despite what you think, scrubs aren’t stupid. We put it together. One missing prophet, Cogon arrested for hiding him and LC Karla asking questions about you.” He held up three fingers. “If we rat you out to the Pop Cops, then the prophet is found and you and Cog are recycled.” His fingers curled in and formed a zero with his thumb. “We’re left with nothing. No hope, Trella, is worse than fear. Right now, we hope you’re up to something that will benefit us all.”
All feeling drained from my body. Logic leaked from my brain and panic filled the empty space. “And if I’m not?”
“No one will believe you. See we know something big is going on. Big enough to cause the Queen of the Pipes to come down from above and mingle with her fellow scrubs.”
“But…but…” My vision turned to static. I drew in a few breaths. The air smelled musty and damp with a hint of body odor. “But what if I fail?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“What?”
He gave me a sad smile. “It’s the effort, not the results that matter.”
Coming from the man who was all about getting something in exchange for his information and services, I didn’t believe him. The scrubs were either holding out for a better offer from the Pop Cops or waiting for me to perform a miracle for them. Sheep don’t risk their necks for other sheep.
Yet my conviction faltered when I discovered what clogged the air shaft above the kitchen a few minutes past hour eighty. Food containers filled the duct. Enough food to feed me and Domotor for weeks.
I peered through the vent and watched the bustle of the kitchen scrubs. Pop Cops also kept an eye on them, but they had still managed to hide food despite the danger.
They counted on me. Again panic threatened to overwhelm me. If nothing changed in the lower levels, the scrubs would be disappointed and upset for risking the little comforts they had.
Shoving the confused terror into a deep corner of my mind, I concentrated on the task at hand—getting the food to Domotor’s hideout. With my makeshift skid and the troll’s help, I transported all the containers to the air shaft over his quarters then continued to work my shift.
The hours crept by. Each time I changed air ducts, I kept expecting to be arrested. When I encountered the first RATSS, I almost screamed. The thing focused its antennae on me.
“Name and birth week,” a mechanical voice ordered.
I answered.
“Noted. Continue working,” it said.
It drove away and my heart resumed beating. I was questioned by two more RATSS in two other shafts.
By the time hour ninety arrived, my muscles were so tight I could have climbed a vertical shaft without breaking a sweat. Grateful to be done, I returned the cleaning troll to his closet.
“There you are,” my supervisor said. Her eyebrows pinched together with annoyance and a red cuff hung from her fingers.
I bit down on a sarcastic reply. No sense upsetting her further.
“I waited for you at the end of your last shift, but you never showed. Where were you?”
My thoughts raced. “My cleaning device broke in the shaft and I had to repair it. Took me an extra hour to finish.” I hoped she hadn’t waited an hour.
She tapped the red cuff on her thigh. I kept my face neutral.
“Next time, leave it behind and check to see if I’m waiting. I’ve got Pop Cops breathing down my neck. They want to know if anyone misses a shift.”
“Yes, sir.” Calling her sir always mollified her.
As expected, her expression smoothed. “I wanted to let you know there will be a lot of RATSS in the pipes. The Pop Cops believe there’s evidence hidden in one of the air ducts.” She huffed in disbelief. “We’re supposed to work around them. Just try not to break any of the RATSS during your next shift.”
“Yes, sir.”
She checked my name off her list and left to find the next scrub. I waited for my pulse to calm before sliding into the heating ducts and heading toward Domotor’s room. The air shafts wouldn’t be safe for me to travel in for a while. And I hoped the RATSS hadn’t discovered the cache of food above Domotor’s hideout.
I entered his quarters through the vent. Domotor was slumped over his keyboard sleeping. Wasting no time, I transported the food containers from the air shaft to the refrigerator and freezer.
When I finished, Domotor straightened a bit in his chair, but he rested his forehead in the palm of his hand. His hair covered his expression.
Not able to wait anymore, I asked, “Any progress?”
His reply was muffled so I stepped closer and touched his shoulder. He dropped his arm and met my gaze. Hollowness lurked in his eyes.
“What happened?” I asked.
“We’re done.”
11
I UNDERSTOOD THE LOOK OF DEFEAT IN HIS FACE, BUT not the reason for it.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I hit a wall. The security system has been enhanced and I couldn’t bypass it.”
I ignored the tightness gripping my throat. “Is there another way?” The question squeaked out.
“No.”
“There has to be.” A whisper, all I could manage. My body felt as if it were trapped in a metal compactor. “There isn’t.” He rubbed a hand over his cheek as he stared into the distance. A combination of emotions crossed his face, but they moved too fast for me to decipher. “Unless…I follow Cog’s example and reveal myself to the Travas. They’ll know I have my port and where I am, but I could find the information we need before they get to me.”
I searched his expression. He was committed to sacrificing himself. Good to know. “You said ‘could find,’ does that mean the information is there to retrieve or you think it might be?”
“The information is there, but I can’t guarantee I’ll access it before the Controllers sever my link.”
Too big a risk right now. I thought about the problem. Even though I knew nothing about the computer and its security, I remembered a comment Logan had made about the uppers’ computer system.
“Wait until I return before you attempt to retrieve the information. I need to check a few things and report for the hundred-hour assembly.”
He agreed to wait and I hurried off. I had much to do in the hours remaining before assembly.
“Sure can,” Logan said. A delighted smile spread across his face.
“No,” Anne-Jade said at almost the same time.
Once again I had donned the shapeless overalls of the recycling-plant workers and joined the Tech Nos in sorting through a pile of clothing. We pulled buttons and cut zippers from the ruined garments before feeding them into Shredder. The device had a more technical name for how it recycled the threads, but the scrubs nicknamed everything.
“No as in he can’t do it?” I asked Anne-Jade.
“No as in I won’t let him. It’s too dangerous. He’ll be caught.”
“We’re going to be discovered anyway. Might as well go out with style,” Logan said.
She scowled as Logan pouted, but by the tight set to Anne-Jade’s shoulders I knew she wouldn’t change her mind. A Pop Cop sauntered by and we concentrated on our work.
Her reaction didn’t make sense. They had covered for Cog and told me about Zippy. Why was this different? I ran a tattered shirt through my fingers. The steady plink of buttons dropping into a bucket and clack of zippers kept time with my thoughts.
The answer was right in front of me in the movement of their hands. They worked as one, progressing through the pile of clothes without any signs of communication. Anne-Jade wasn’t afraid he would be recycled, but that he would be recycled without her. They were a matched set.
I used logic. “If he doesn’t help, Broken Man will go after the information anyway. He’ll be arrested and interrogated, which will lead the Pop Cops to me and I’ll lead them to you.” I suppressed a shudder. The pain would have to be horrible for me to rat on them.
“Are you threatening me?” Anne-Jade thrust her scissors in my direction.
“No. I’m just stating the facts. We’ve come too far to back off now. If Broken Man’s efforts fail, then you and Logan will be recycled without causing any damage.”
Her arm dropped and she returned to cutting zippers. “When do you need him?”
“Right after assembly is over. Logan, meet me in the hallway outside the care facility.”
He flashed me a grin, but Anne-Jade kept her eyes on her work, ripping threads and seams with more force than needed. The sound of tearing cloth followed me as I left the plant.
Inside Out Page 10
