Outside In

4

ALL TINGLY WARMTH FLED MY BODY. “SABOTAGE?” I asked. “I didn’t feel—”

“Come to the control room, and I’ll explain,” Logan said.

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

“This frequency isn’t secure.”

The click from Logan switching off sounded in my ear. I met Riley’s resigned gaze. He buttoned his shirt. I pulled up the top of my uniform and zipped it.

“Promise me we’ll continue this … conversation later.” Riley’s mournful tone made me smile.

“That’s an easy promise to make.”

I glanced at the air vent in the ceiling. Riley’s broad shoulders would never fit. Gesturing toward the door, I asked, “Did anyone see you come in here?”

“Nope.”

“The corridors should be patrolled by ISF officers.”

“They are. I told them I was checking the wiring. As soon as they lost interest in me, I ghosted down our hallway.”

“Ghosted? You’ve been hanging around Logan too much.”

“I’d rather be … exploring with you.” He ran his hands down my sides and rested them on my hips. “There may be other surprises under your jumpsuit just waiting to be discovered.”

I slipped from his grasp and stood. “Key word, waiting.”

He groaned. “If Logan’s exaggerating, I’ll pound him.”

Picking up my tool belt, I clipped it into place. “Can you leave here without being seen?”

“Yep.”

“Great. I’ll meet you in the control room.” The ladder I had used before leaned against the far wall. I set it up under the air vent and climbed. Before I pulled myself into the duct, I caught Riley staring at me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just wondering.”

“About what?”

“If you’ll keep your promise.”

“When have I ever broken a promise?”

“What about leaving the Committee?” he asked.

“I didn’t promise them anything, just offered to help.”

“I didn’t mean the Committee members, but the people of Inside. By freeing them from the Travas’ control, you promised them a better life.”

“First off, the Force of Sheep freed them, not me. And second, they have a better life. No Pop Cops, grueling work schedules and we’ll soon have plenty of room. How could you possibly see that as breaking a promise?”

“There wouldn’t have been a rebellion or the Force of Sheep without you. You started everything and you need to finish it.”

Words jammed in my throat. How could he think I didn’t finish it? I shook my head. “We can argue about this later. Logan’s waiting for us.” Before he could reply, I slid into the air duct, heading toward the control room.

Riley’s voice followed me, echoing through the metal shaft. “Logan called you, Trell, not me about the sabotage. Think about that.”

As I traveled in the duct, I dismissed his comment. It was a matter of semantics, nothing more.

I arrived at the control room and took a few seconds to see who worked below. Logan sat in front of a computer, frowning at the monitor. Riley hadn’t arrived. No one else was in sight.

The noise from opening the air vent should have alerted Logan to my presence, but the poor guy jumped a meter when I landed behind him.

“Would you stop doing that?” he asked. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“You knew I was coming.” I studied him. He still had bags under his eyes, but he no longer looked as if a hundred-week-old could knock him over.

Logan flinched when the door opened, but relaxed when he spotted Riley. Something had him rattled.

“Time to explain,” I said.

He typed on the keyboard for a minute. The screen changed to tables and charts that meant nothing to me.

“The explosion in the power plant was caused by sabotage,” Logan said.

“That’s—”

He cut me off. “It’s the only explanation. My first clue was the location of the blast. Damage to the plant itself was minimal, but it hit the Transmission in the perfect spot.”

“The Transmission?” Riley asked.

Logan glanced at me. “Didn’t you tell him?”

“You made me promise not to.” I shot Riley a look. “And I keep my promises.”

“Oh. Well you could have told him,” Logan said.

“Then next time you swear me to secrecy, you need to include that exception.” I quickly explained the Transmission to Riley. “Did you fix it yet?” I asked Logan.

“No.”

“What about being on a collision course?” Riley asked.

“We should have plenty of time to avoid it. As I was saying, the Transmission’s controls were damaged, but not the equipment. Repairs should be easy if we knew how the controls worked.”

“I could look at it for you,” Riley offered.

“It couldn’t hurt,” Logan said.

“How do busted controls lead you to sabotage?” I asked.

“Second clue is this.” He pointed at the screen.

Riley bent closer, but I wasn’t going to try and decipher it. “And?”

“Operating data for the plant right before the explosion,” Riley said.

“And?”

“All the machinery was operating within normal parameters,” Logan said. “There is nothing here to warn of an impending explosion. No spike in power, no jammed valves, no fire or anything unusual.”

“But the computer might not have registered it in time. Did you examine the plant?”

“Of course. Went over it with a couple of the supervisors. They’re equally puzzled about the cause.”

“But that isn’t enough to suggest sabotage,” Riley said.

Logan uncovered a glass container. “Final clue. At the explosion site, I found an oily residue coating the walls, and pieces of a timer and switch. And before you try to explain them, I tested the residue and it’s a flammable substance not found anywhere in the power plant. It’s used in the recycling kilns on level one.”

Riley picked up one of the twisted hunks of metal from the container. As he examined it, a shocked horror filled his eyes. “This could detonate a bomb.”

A bomb. Spoken aloud, the words slammed into me. Someone had set off a bomb, killing people on purpose, risking all our lives—thousands of people. I let the stunned outrage roll through me. It took me a few minutes to pull my emotions together and think.

“Who did this? Why?” I asked.

“Who would have to be someone who knew about the Transmission, and had enough knowledge to make and place the bomb so it didn’t blow a hole to Outside,” Logan said. “As for why, I can only guess. Since the Transmission was the target, either someone doesn’t want us traveling through Outer Space or someone wants to get our attention.”

“Do you think they will make demands or threaten to damage another system if we don’t comply?”

“I’ve no idea, Trell. This is all new territory for me.”

“If they plan to make demands, it should be sooner rather than later,” Riley said. “Actually, if they do contact Logan or the Committee, we might be able to find out who they are.”

“Have you informed the Committee?” I asked Logan.

“No.”

“Why not?” I demanded.

“I just connected the clues. And this information needs to be handled with care. Knowing we’re dealing with a saboteur gives us an advantage. If nothing is said, maybe the person will relax and give himself away.”

“And if word gets out, there could be panic,” Riley added.

“This is too big. The Committee needs to know.”

“Nineteen people can’t keep a secret. It’s statistically impossible,” Logan said.

“What if the saboteur makes a demand?” I asked.

“The Committee will know then, won’t they?”

I huffed in frustration. “You need to tell someone,” I said.

“I did.”

“Besides us.”

“I think that’s unwise.”

“Do you have any suspects?” Riley asked.

“Don’t encourage him,” I said.

“He’s right and you know it.”

“I can pull together a list of all those who know about the Transmission for you and Trella,” Logan said. “Us?”

He ignored me. “Anne-Jade is still trying to find out which Travas worked on the Transmission equipment. Once we have those names, I’ll add them to the list. It’s doubtful the Travas pulled it off, but one of them could have given the information to someone who isn’t under constant surveillance.”

“I can talk to the maintenance scrubs, see if they know more than they’re letting on,” Riley offered. “Are you going to tell Anne-Jade?” I asked. “Of course. She can be trusted.”

Still not convinced we were doing the right thing, I knew when I was outnumbered. “We’re going to need Jacy’s help. He has kept his network of contacts.”

“Is he trustworthy?” Riley asked. “He’s on the Committee.”

Remembering how he had bartered and traded for services and favors, I said, “I’ll talk to him.”

From the air shaft, I searched for Jacy among the Committee members’ offices in Sector H3. Each of the nineteen had been given a small space and computer to use when they weren’t sitting in meetings. Using the ducts had been a cowardly act on my part. I didn’t want to encounter any of the other members. I didn’t want to be questioned about why I left or guilted into returning.

Jacy’s office was empty. I debated waiting or leaving a note. Neither appealed to me, so I found a vent in the main corridor between Sectors and dropped down. He could be in the upper’s dining room next door in Quad G3, but my skin-tight jumpsuit would draw everyone’s attention. Since I needed regular clothes anyway, I headed down to the laundry in Sector B1 via the stairs in Quad I.

When I reached level one, I almost tripped. Huge mounds of glass, metal and clothing filled most of the floor space. The recycling plant in Quad I1 remelted glass and metal and turned clothing back into thread. Usually a busy place with scrubs sorting and carting items to the kiln or the furnace or to Chomper, only a few people worked among the piles.

I put my moccasins on, but was still careful to avoid the sharper objects as I skirted the heaps. The recycling scrubs were required to wear thick boots for a good reason.

After the mess in the recycling plant, the condition of the laundry room failed to surprise me. Bins overflowing with soiled garments and uniforms had been lined up. The line snaked around the room. Rows of washers and dryers stood silent and unused. The bins for clean clothes were empty. One person loaded a washer. Another folded clothes. A few picked through the dirty bins, searching for sizes. Otherwise the place was empty.

I crossed to the lady shoving sheets into a washer. She wore the drab green jumper that the scrubs wore when off-duty.

“Where’s everyone?” I asked. By necessity, the laundry had the most workers in the lower levels.

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 clean 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 ribcage 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.”