Inside Out

by Maria V. Snyder

  “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. Over. 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.”

  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.”

  Understanding lit his eyes and another emotion softened his posture. When I realized he pitied me, I crossed my arms over my chest to keep myself from punching Riley in the face.

  “Since we already did a partial board-ectomy, let’s just move on. What do you say, Sheepy?” Riley pressed his nose against the sheep’s as if communicating with the stuffed toy telepathically. He pursed his lips and nodded. “Sheepy says he’s hungry.” He quirked a smile at me. “Sorry. Oh…wait.�
�� Once again, Riley stared at his toy. “Sheepy also says he doesn’t believe you’re a stupid scrub. In fact, he thinks you’re quite smart and if you say otherwise, he’ll bite you on the leg.”

  Amused, I huffed in mock outrage. “Tell Sheepy that if he bites me on the leg, I’ll send Zippy after him.”

  “Zippy?”

  “My little cleaning troll. He has a nasty habit of shredding dust bunnies.”

  He laughed. “Sheepy’s not going to back down. He meant what he said.” All humor evaporated from Riley. He pressed fingers into his right temple, wincing in pain. “My break’s over. I need to return to my station.” He met my gaze. “Did you come here for a reason?”

  “Yes. I need help…” How should I phrase the request?

  “Name it.”

  I stared at him. He used the exact same words I had when talking to Cog. Did he overhear us?

  “What? Did you expect me to say no?” His confusion seemed genuine.

  “I…”

  “I have to go.”

  I told him about needing a computer, but didn’t mention Logan’s name. “Preferably one located in an isolated area.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, and let you know during my next shift.” He strode to the door.

  “How?”

  He paused with his hand on the knob. “Come to our room, I’ll try and schedule my break time to coincide with your visit again, but you might have to wait a bit.”

  “You knew I was here?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  He gave me a mischievous smile. “Sheepy told me.”

  On my way back to level two, I checked to see what I had netted in the laundry chute. A couple shirts, three pants, a handful of undergarments and a Pop Cop’s uniform. I debated about the uniform as I sent the rest down. It could be a great disguise, but it also could be trouble. Did the Pop Cops keep track of their uniforms? Did they all recognize each other by sight? If a person wore a white kitchen uniform, I wouldn’t know if they were scrub or spy. Postponing my decision, I rerigged the net and left the uniform within its black web.

  I stopped at the cafeteria, pushing my way through the miasma of so many people gathered together. When I reached the serving scrub who had mentioned the clogged air shaft, I paused.

  “Your problem is fixed,” I said.

  He nodded.

  “Thanks.”

  He made eye contact and resumed filling the bowls with food. But he squared his shoulders, stood a little straighter and the barest hint of a smile settled on his face. The image of his smile hovered in my mind. Even though we had a limited variety of food, the kitchen scrubs worked hard to cook meals for the rest of us.

  Cogon had always thanked the servers, calling them by name as he moved through the line. I remembered being annoyed and impatient with him as he held up the rest of us who waited. Considering Cog’s present situation, I regretted every harsh word I’d said to him.

  I fought my way around filled tables, searching for a seat. Jacy and his buddies occupied an entire table. When I glanced back at them, Jacy patted the vacant seat next to him. Funny. There hadn’t been an empty one there a second before.

  Understanding the hint didn’t mean I would take the hint, I hesitated, but couldn’t produce a good reason to avoid him. I sat next to him.

  “The microphones are working well. Thanks,” Jacy said.

  “No problem.” I shoved a spoonful of green bean casserole into my mouth.

  “We’ve already gotten a few nuggets of useful intelligence. Do you think you could install a few more?” His casual tone didn’t match the intensity in his eyes.

  “Where?”

  “Over the Control Room and in the lifts.”

  “Monitoring Pop Cops not enough?”

  His gaze slid over the mass of scrubs. I copied him, trying to see the people through his viewpoint. Clusters of miserable expressions dominated, but a few smiles and a couple of laughing faces stood out from the crowd.

  “No. Not enough at all,” he said. “Can you do it?”

  “Sure.” I ate a few more scoops of casserole. When I realized I hadn’t even tasted the food, I slowed down and made a conscious effort to savor it. Not bad. Did the cooks change the recipe?

  “What do you want in return?” he asked.

  Interesting question. He dealt in information. “How about you tell me if you hear anything I would consider important through those microphones?”

  “Deal. In fact, I’ll start now. I heard Cog confessed to killing Broken Man and dismembering him.” Jacy watched my expression. “Gruesome, I agree. And despite the evidence the Pop Cops found, I don’t believe Cog is capable of harming anyone.” He gestured to the scrubs around us. “And neither do they. If Cog killed the Pop Cop, we all know it had to be an accident.”

  He waited, but I wasn’t going to confirm nor deny his theory.

  “Cog has taken the blame for everything. However, Lieutenant Commander Karla knows Cog is too big to fit into the air shaft above Broken Man’s room, and she’s determined to find the scrub who started this whole mess.” Jacy stared at me. “And do you know what Cogon did then?”

  Icy fingers of dread clutched my heart. “No.”

  “He saved your ass. Again. He told Karla that Roddie was in the air shaft.”

  Roddie? I spun the name around my mind, but failed to recognize him. “A friend of Cog’s?”

  “You don’t know who he is?” Jacy’s face creased as if he smelled a rotten stench.

  “Should I?”

  “You damn well should! He was the man who Karla kill-zapped at assembly 147,002. He was recycled because of you and you don’t even know his name!”

  Stunned, I lost the ability to even form a reply. He was right—when he…Roddie had been kill-zapped, all I had worried about was my own skin. Karla had claimed he lied to her, but I didn’t know why he had lied.

  Jacy answered my question before I could voice it. “Roddie told LC Karla Broken Man hid in the recycling plant to help Cog. When the Pop Cops discovered the ruse…well you know what Karla did. But Cog told Karla she had been too hasty in kill-zapping Roddie and he was in on the plan from the beginning.” Jacy leaned closer to me. “Karla didn’t want to believe the explanation. Too easy, she said. But her boss ordered her to close the case. So you…” He jabbed me in the shoulder with a stiff finger. “You are clear. Unless you do something stupid, you’re no longer a suspect.”

  He grabbed his tray and stood. “I hope you’re worth the effort. I hope you manage to do something with all of this, because as a human being, you’re worthless.” Walking away with his cronies in tow, Jacy didn’t look back.

  The seats at the table remained empty as I moved the food around my plate, building heaps and creating designs out of the cold vestiges of my casserole. The bell sounded for the new work shift, jarring me from my morbid thoughts.

  I hurried to my assigned ducts and went through the motions. Insert cleaning troll, turn on and follow. Turn off troll, remove and lug to the next shaft. Gratitude to Cog for taking the heat off me warred with Jacy’s admonishments. Worthless might be the right word for me. Events had spun beyond my control. I relied on Logan and Riley to reach the next step.

  I dragged the troll to the cleaning closet when my shift ended. Every muscle in my body ached and my head felt as if it were stuffed with wet towels. I wanted to find a warm spot and sleep, but Riley worked the odd-hour shift and I needed to climb to our room.

  Our room. I stifled a laugh. Riley’s name, not mine for where we met. The trip was a hard slog. Bluelight from the room shone through the vents and, after checking for ambushes, I dropped to the couch. White daylights switched on. My tired brain connected the dots and linked the motion sensor with Riley’s precognitive knowledge of my arrival. Too bad. I liked his explanation better.

  After scanning the room, the only change of note was the presence of Mama Sheepy. A twin of Sheepy except for her larger size. He rested in the space un
der her belly and between her legs, protected and safe. Mama Sheepy’s wool was flat in the middle as if she had been used as a pillow. An image of a young Riley with his black hair mussed, sleeping on Mama while clutching Sheepy formed in my head. I braced for a stab of jealousy, but I couldn’t produce the emotion. Instead, I kept the pleasant image in my mind as I carried the sheep family to the couch.

  Squirming into a comfortable position, I waited for Riley. I played with the sheep. Not caring that I had lost it and gone soft. Not caring about Gateway. Not caring about what might happen the rest of the week. I enjoyed the moment.

  “Trella.”

  His voice pierced the bubble of my dream. Cold reality replaced the feelings of warmth and safety. I blinked awake. Luckily Riley hovered over me and not a Pop Cop. Falling asleep up here was deadly. I wanted to blame the couch, but knew my erratic snatches of sleep were to blame.

  He straightened with a smile on his face. “Sheepy told me to let you alone, but I only have thirty minutes.”

  His stuffed toys were still clutched in my hands. I sat and placed them on the cushion next to me. Riley settled on the opposite end. I smoothed my hair and wondered how long he had been here before waking me.

  “I’ve been searching for a computer terminal, but every one up here is either in constant use or located in a populated area. The only option left is for you to use the terminal in my room.” He held up a hand, stopping my protests. “My father works even shifts. You can come during the next one.”

  “What about the rest of your family?”

  An odd half-flinch creased his face for a second. “He’s all I have, so no problem there.”

  “What happens if the Controllers find out we used your computer?”

  “As long as you don’t use my port, there is no way to prove I’m involved.”

  “It’s still a big risk.”

  “So is this.” Riley gestured to me and him.

  “Good point.” I considered his offer. “Where is your suite located?”

  “Sector E4.”

  I waited for the number, but he stared at the wall as if making mental calculations. “What’s your—”