I had a few more bits of unfinished business. Jacy’s listening devices needed to be installed. Air duct number seventy-two was located above the fourth level. It didn’t cross over Riley’s room. In fact, it supplied air to two areas only. The main control room in Quad G4 and the Pop Cops headquarters and holding cells in Quad A4. Extra filters had been installed and a few special scrubbers.
Remembering the gas hissing from the canisters in Domotor’s room, I guessed the extra precautions kept an enemy from sending airborne poisons through the vents.
The known ways into seventy-two were either through the vents in the actual rooms or at the air source. Since I doubted LC Karla would let me use her office to climb into the duct, I headed to the air plant in Quad I4. I could cut a hole into the shaft from the Gap, but the ducts weren’t labeled and the effort to figure it out would consume more time than I had available.
I wore the air workers’ plain white jumper, tucking my hair under the bump cap. The air filters and scrubbers were cleaned on a regular schedule. Between shifts only a few scrubs lingered to keep an eye on the equipment. I strode to a two-meter-high rectangular box as if I had an urgent purpose. A large air shaft entered the side of the container and another exited the other end. No one questioned me as I climbed the ladder to the top of the container and the access ports that allowed the scrubs to remove the filters, clean them and return them.
Lowering myself, I squeezed through the rows of filters. Soft and made of a cloth mesh, the bags trapped the dust particles in the air. A strong current pushed through the chamber. I tried hard not to damage the filters as I swam through them. On the intake side of the container, I climbed into the oversized trunk air shaft and followed it up to one of its branches—air shaft seventy-two.
Working my way through air filters and wire security screens, I reached the Pop Cops headquarters and placed a microphone near a vent.
I couldn’t resist making a side trip to the holding cells. Risky, yes, but there could be a way to rescue Cog, I rationalized. When the covers on the vents turned into solid bars, I knew I had reached my destination. Slowing, I moved with care. Only a slight whisper of fabric sounded.
Harsh daylight streamed from below. Armed Pop Cops occupied the room. Desks and chairs with handcuffs littered the space, appearing to be a processing area for the inmates. Double doors festooned with locks filled the back wall.
Farther along the shaft the light changed into a muted yellow. The smells of sweat, blood and fear created an acidic stew. Taking shallow breaths, I peered into the dank cells. Black bars caged tiny areas only big enough for a bed and toilet. Although, calling the metal slab a bed was being generous. Three cells lined each side of the room with a short corridor between them. Cog was the sole occupant.
His bulk filled the slab and his feet dangled off the end. In the sickly half light the raw and bleeding bruises on his face resembled rotten meat. His eyes were swollen shut and his breath rattled. I rested my forehead on the duct for a moment, trying to see past the fog of horror and guilt clouding my vision. Pressure built inside my skull and chest as if I would explode. I fought to muffle my sobs.
My fault. Retrieving those disks had been a lark. I didn’t believe in Gateway, didn’t care about the prophet. One mistake, letting the cover slip through my fingers, and Cog…I wanted to shy away from the vision, but I forced myself to face the image of Chomper crushing and pulping Cogon’s lifeless body, and to hear the sound of splintering bones and the wet smack of bodily fluids. I let the consequence of my actions burn into my mind.
No way to change the past, I could only hope to affect the future before I met the same fate. For Cogon, and in Logan’s words, I would inflict the maximum damage.
“Cog?” I whispered. When he didn’t stir, I cupped my hands around my mouth and called louder. After the fourth try, he moved his head.
“Trella?” His voice rasped like a rusty hinge. “You caught?” He struggled to sit up with frantic haste.
“No. I’m in the air shaft above you.”
He relaxed, resuming his prone position. “Good, ’cause I can’t break those bars to the duct to help you escape. So don’t get caught.”
“How are you—”
He waved his hands in a pushing motion. “No worries. Did you find Gateway yet?”
Despite being beaten his confident tone astounded me. I squashed the honest reply between my molars and hedged. “Not yet.”
“How soon?”
“Don’t know.”
“I hope I’m alive when it’s opened. Just to see the look on the lieutenant commander’s face.”
My jaw ached as the Chomper vision flashed. “Cog, can I bring you anything?”
“No, but you can do something for me.”
“Name it.”
A harsh bark erupted from him, and, at first, I worried he was choking but then realized he was laughing. Between gasps he said, “And I…had…to beg you…to see Broken…Man. Wish…you were this…cooperative before.”
“Cogon,” I warned.
“Whew. Back to your old…self. I need you to plant Broken Man’s clothes to help my alibi. Obviously, the Pop Cops haven’t found him and they think he’s moved to another hiding place. But after the next—” he drew in a deep breath “—next round of torture, I’m going to confess to killing him and I need evidence. I’m going to tell them I shoved his clothes into the space behind storage closet two-two-one in the care facility. Do you know where it is?”
I smiled at the memory of Cogon showing me his hidey hole. “The one where you hid your…what did you call them?”
“Spirits.”
“Now I remember. So called because they burned on the way down and floated right to your head, making you feel as light as a ghost.”
“And you believed me, too.”
“Did not.”
“Did, too. You used to follow me around the common room, making sure I didn’t turn into a ghost.”
“You have it all wrong. You followed me. And I’m the one who kept you from getting into trouble.”
“Me? Who covered for you when you went exploring? Me. That’s who! And I’m still protecting you.”
The dagger of truth popped the warm bubble of memories. Cold reality rushed in, shocking me into the present.
A bang echoed through the cells, and a wedge of daylight sliced the yellow glow.
“Who’re you talking to, scrub?” a man asked.
“The rats,” Cog said.
The man’s harsh laughter grated on my nerves. “Did they respond?”
“No.”
“I’m not surprised. Rats wouldn’t demean themselves by interacting with a low-life scrub.”
“You’re talking to me, Vinco. Does that make you worse than a rat?”
Vinco growled. “That’s Commander Vinco, scrub. Since you’re in such a chatty mood…Porter bring me my knife!”
There was a muttered reply. I strained to see Commander Vinco. I wanted to put a face to the man who hurt both Riley and Cog.
“Damn assembly. My knife will be talking to you on my next shift,” Vinco said.
The white light shrank then disappeared with the slamming of the doors.
“Trella?” Cog pitched his voice low.
“Still here.”
“You shouldn’t be. Get going before you’re marked tardy for assembly.”
“But I need to hide Broken Man’s stuff for you.”
“You have time. The Pop Cops won’t be looking for it until hour twelve.”
His matter-of-fact tone about the exact time had an ominous ring. A cold unease crept up my spine. “How can you be so sure?”
“Vinco’s next shift starts at hour ten. I can take a beating and I can endure most pain. But two hours of Vinco’s knife is all I can bear.”
The bell rang for the hundred-hour assembly as I climbed from the bag-filter’s chamber. Damn. No time to change the stained and sweat-soaked uniform. I raced to my assembly station—the cafeteri
a—and ended up last in the short line. Only three scrubs between me and LC Karla. She leaned against a table, watching the check-in process. I wondered why she was here again.
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 slept. 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.
Inside Out Page 11
