Inside

by Maria V. Snyder

  My other mates didn’t understand. Life in the pipes was preferable to being taunted by everyone. Once I had my celebration, I left the facility and Cog found me. I vowed not to get too close to him or anybody, fearing the return of pain. But Cog just wouldn’t give up. And now he was gone again.

  I let the waves of anguish pound in my chest. Abandoned and alone. I rode my emotions as I would surf in a water pipe, allowing the force of the liquid to take control.

  Eventually, I fought for control and won. I shoved the sadness deep within me, locked it down and focused on the present. My shift was over.

  The cleaning troll slowed as it neared a turn. Access to a maintenance area was a few meters ahead. When we reached the area’s door, I stopped the troll and slid the panel wide. Wrestling with the awkward device, I stored the troll in a cleaning cabinet for the next scrub.

  As I debated whether or not to travel through the pipes or main corridors, the door opened. Three Pop Cops entered the small room.

  My heart desired immediate action, screaming for my legs to run. Logic forced my body to ignore the panicked commands. I gave the newcomers space and stepped closer to the access panel, planning to escape through the air shaft if needed.

  A lieutenant eyed my work suit and bare feet. “Finishing your shift?” I recognized his voice from Karla’s office. Lieutenant Arno.

  “Yes, sir.” I kept the quaver from my voice.

  “You’re under arrest.”

  The quaver dropped into my stomach. “Why, sir?”

  “For lying to Lieutenant Commander Karla,” he snapped.

  “Lying, sir?” Cog wouldn’t have given in so fast. Unless… My thoughts shied away from how horrible it would have to be for Cog to tell her about me.

  “We know you’re involved with Broken Man’s disappearance despite what you said. You will tell us where he is.” His tone left little doubt.

  The Pop Cop on his left pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt. I gauged the distance to the panel, but hesitated. Running was the action of a guilty person and I—well, I was guilty, but I trusted Cog. It seemed too soon.

  One of Arno’s gadgets beeped. He grabbed the black communicator. “Yes?”

  The Pop Cops waited as he listened.

  “Are you sure?” He shot me a nasty look. “All right. I’ll be there.” Replacing the device, he reported to his companions, “Looks like the little scrub is clean.” Then to me he said, “Your friend Cogon just confessed to killing my officer by himself. You’re free to go…for now.”

  He strode from the room with the Pop Cops a step behind. When the door clicked shut, I sagged against the wall, letting the metal cool my hot skin. I didn’t linger long. My next shift started in ten hours and I had a promise to keep.

  After a meal and a few hours of sleep, I aimed for Broken Man’s hideout. I hadn’t visited in over thirty hours, but at least he had enough food. When I slipped into the room, he sat at the computer terminal, looking well groomed for a man in hiding.

  He smiled with relief. “Thank air you haven’t been caught.”

  “Not yet.”

  He sobered. “Will Cogon tell them where I am?”

  “How do you know about Cog?” I glanced around. Was someone else coming here? The place appeared to be clean.

  “The computer. I can access general information. When I saw Cogon’s shifts had been reassigned, I assumed he was arrested.”

  “He was. But don’t worry about Cog ratting you out. He can be stubborn when he wants.” I explained Cog’s sacrifice to Broken Man.

  He closed his eyes and pressed his hand over them. “A martyr. He will be remembered.”

  My throat felt as if Zippy had lodged there. I swallowed, and focused on the ground. Broken Man’s chair legs had wheels. “Where did you get the chair?” I demanded.

  He wiped his eyes and squinted at me. “Chair?”

  “The wheels?”

  “Oh. I made it. I found an old toolbox and a broken cart. With nothing else to do, I had plenty of time to rig this up.” He straightened in his chair, grinning slightly. “In fact, I’ve gotten pretty good at helping myself. I can take a shower and pull myself into a chair. I guess my muscles are getting stronger.” His posture wilted a bit. “Trella, will you do me a favor?”

  I stiffened. What more could he want? “Depends.”

  “If you are caught, tell the Pop Cops where I am.”

  “Why?”

  “I’d rather be kill-zapped than starve until I expire.”

  Good point. “I’ll make sure someone knows where to find you, Domotor,” I promised.

  His defeated attitude changed into surprise. “How do you know my name?”

  I related my adventures in LC Karla’s office. “Riley knows I wanted your port. We’ll have to find a way to access the computer without it.”

  “Impossible.” He stared into the distance for a few moments. “What are the boy’s family names?”

  “Narelle Ashon. Why?”

  “He’s Jacob’s boy.” He peered at me. “You never asked me about your family.”

  “The family you invented so I would help you?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Doesn’t matter. Even if you were serious, from what I read of the uppers, no real family would abandon their child in the lower levels, so I have no desire to know anything about them.”

  He put his hands up in defeat. “All right. Have it your way. We still need my port, though. Any ideas?”

  “I make another attempt.” How remained the problem. Zippy worked but would tip Riley off again, and the lock was impossible to pop. Unless the Tech Nos had another useful device.

  “Do it when Riley’s on shift.”

  “Why?”

  “He covered for you before and might do it again. Hopefully he’s sympathetic to our cause.”

  Broken Man’s words reminded me of Riley’s note. He asked me to meet him. And to trust him. I did owe Riley one, and would meet him at hour fifty-eight. But trusting him was out of the question.

  Chapter 9

  The recycling plant occupied the entire I1 quadrant. Piles of discarded and broken items littered the space. Scrubs sorted the heaps of trash into smaller loads. Other scrubs moved around the plant’s machinery, feeding metal into the blast furnace, glass pieces into the kiln and thread into the looms. And, beyond the equipment, another set of workers crafted goods from the melted glass, from the sheets of metal and the bolts of cloth.

  I wore the shapeless coveralls of the workers, blending in with ease. A few Pop Cops wandered around, and I practiced my cover story in my mind just in case.

  Heat from the machines thickened the air, and a film of fine grit formed on my clothes and skin. A hot metallic smell dominated. I pushed through the noise and activity, looking for Logan and Anne-Jade.

  The reason thick-soled boots were required for this area crunched under my feet, and I skirted piles of kitchen utensils and torn clothing. Nothing was wasted. Everything was recycled and reused. Human waste and food traveled to the waste-handling system to be turned into fertilizer for hydroponics. Water looped through the water-treatment plant and air blasted through a series of tanks and scrubbers.

  Even people contributed when their life ended. Their lifeless bodies were sent to Chomper’s Lair—a room next to the solid-waste facility—to be transformed into…I wasn’t sure. Wild rumors and creative speculation circulated about the place. Not many scrubs were allowed in there—well, not alive anyway. A few called the room the Final Gateway.

  My thoughts drifted to Cog. When a well-loved person died, scrubs would line the corridors to Chomper’s Lair to pay their respects. I yanked my morose thoughts away. They distracted from my mission.

 
Anne-Jade and Logan sorted a number of small circuit boards. I joined them. Anne-Jade shot me an annoyed look, but Logan smiled in welcome. In order to appear to be working, I moved items around.

  “What are you doing here?” Anne-Jade asked. The words hissed.

  “I need your help.”

  She scanned the Pop Cops nearby. “Couldn’t you wait until our shift is over at sixty?”

  “No, I work the even shifts.”

  Logan leaned close. “Did Zippy help you?”

  “Sort of.”

  They waited, and I explained about the power drain being noticeable to the electrical systems manager.

  “That is a problem. We will have to install a—”

  “Not now.” Anne-Jade’s long golden hair swung as she shook her head in exasperation. “What do you need?” she asked me.

  “I could use a new-and-improved Zippy and something to open locks.”

  “Zippy’s it for now. If I had some time…” Logan stared into the distance, probably reassembling Zippy in his head.

  “How much time?”

  He shrugged. “A week.”

  “Too long.” I considered. Since I knew where to find Broken Man’s port, I could reduce my time spent in Karla’s office and be gone by the time the spike registered. “What about the lock?”

  Logan flashed me a bright smile. He pulled a narrow timer from his pocket and handed it to me. “I thought you would need this. Place it below the keypad and press the button. Instead of the time, the display will show the code for the lock in about three to four seconds.”

  I marveled at the device. “How?”

  “Do you really want to know?” Anne-Jade asked.

  “No. This is wonderful.”

  “Anything else?”

  I hesitated. Broken Man had said it was impossible, but, with these two, impossible could be possible. “Do you have a device to access the uppers’ computer network?”

  Anne-Jade and Logan exchanged a glance. Once again, she scanned the room before asking, “Like a port?”

  I nodded.

  Another significant look flashed between them. “That’s the ultimate goal of a Tech No,” Logan said. “I managed to hack into the uppers’ computer system about as far as I can go without one. All I need is a port to open the door, then I would own the system. Own it!”

  “Has anyone achieved that goal?” I asked, wondering just how many Tech Nos there were.

  “No, but…” He sought Anne-Jade’s permission. She waved him on, despite the strain lined on her face.

  Logan stepped close to me. “But, we’re almost there.”

  “How soon?”

  “Twenty weeks, maybe more.”

  Too late to help me. “Any chance you could speed it up?”

  Anne-Jade turned on me. “No. Crafting these devices takes an immense effort. And it’s just us. You’re looking at the entire Tech Nos. The Pop Cops have decimated our group, and the only reason we’re still alive is because we move slow and proceed with the utmost care. So far, we have outsmarted the uppers.” Twin circles of red spread on her cheeks.

  “We know we’ll be found out eventually,” Logan added. His tone remained flat as if he discussed a routine event. “We just want to impart the maximum damage before we’re fed to Chomper.”

  With Zippy leading the way, I crawled through the air shaft on level four. The trip here felt routine. Bad sign. Before Broken Man, I had limited my trips into the upper levels to once every five or ten weeks. Now I popped up here every off-shift.

  I turned Zippy off as we neared Riley’s room. No sense alerting him to our presence even if hour fifty-eight was only minutes away. Peering through the vent, I searched for Pop Cops.

  Riley sat on the edge of the couch. After a moment he stood, glanced at the clock, smoothed his shirt and adjusted his headset. Nervous or bored, I couldn’t tell for sure. The Pop Cops could be waiting in the corridor for Riley’s signal. And why would he be wearing his headset?

  Now or never. I reached the vent above the couch and removed the cover. Riley jumped at the sound. I suppressed a grimace. He was nervous. Because of a trap or because of me? At least he wasn’t armed.

  I dropped Zippy onto the couch and climbed down the ladder. Keeping my feet on the lowest rung, I prepared to bolt at any sign of trouble.

  “I thought you wouldn’t come,” Riley said.

  He appeared older. No longer in training, he wore a plain gray shirt and black pants. Fresh scratches marred his cheek and neck, and his left sleeve was torn and bloody.

  “What happened?” I asked, gesturing to his arm.

  A wry smile twisted his lips. “Extra duty with Commander Vinco. The commander delights in knife fighting and uses his unarmed helpers for target practice.”

  I couldn’t resist. “Unarmed?”

  Impishness lit his face. “So far, I’ve managed to survive the duty, much to his annoyance.” He rubbed his shoulder as the humor faded from his expression. “But he’s getting creative, which is not the reason you’re here.” He stared at me for a moment.

  Warmth flushed through me. I imagined I was quite the sight. Wisps of brown hair had sprung from my braid long ago and clung to my sweaty face. Stains and tears marked my one-piece cleaning uniform, which felt rather tight all of a sudden. Bare feet roughened with calluses completed the picture. I don’t know why I cared about my appearance. I hadn’t before.

  “Aren’t you going to come down?” Riley pointed to the couch.

  “I’ll stay here.”

  “You still don’t trust me even after I covered for you?”

  No sense sugarcoating it. “Yep.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I owe you one.”

  “Wonderful,” he muttered. He crossed his arms and frowned. “You might as well go then. I can’t help you if you don’t trust me.” Riley turned to leave.

  Not the reaction I expected. “Help me with what?”

  He paused. “Getting Domotor’s port.”

  “Why?”

  Riley faced me with a challenge in his blue eyes. So used to the various shades of brown in the lower levels, the color still amazed me.

  “If you want to know why, then have a seat.” He swept his arm wide.

  Curiosity was a lethal trait. Scrubs learned in the care facility not to ask too many questions or challenge what you were taught. To accept and agree meant more privileges, fewer punishments and a decent work assignment. A few had learned this lesson quicker than others. A few still hadn’t accepted it.

  My Care Mother followed the Pop Cops’ rules, but she lacked the inner conviction. She punished because she had to, not because she agreed with the rules. If one of us found a loophole, she honored it and applauded our inventiveness.

  Unfortunately, my talents in creative explanations had been limited. And the faded scars crisscrossing my body reminded me I should squelch all curiosity. But should didn’t mean I would. I settled on the couch next to Zippy.

  Riley pointed to the little cleaning troll. “Is that what you used to keep the motion detectors silent?”

  “I’m not answering anything until you tell me why you want to help me.”

  He swallowed his first comment, drew a deep breath and said, “After meeting you the first time, I searched for more information about life in the lower levels. My interest triggered a warning. Good thing I was still in training, the warning was sent to my trainer who’s also my father instead of the Controllers.” He touched his left arm. Blood still welled from a number of cuts.

  “What happens when the Controllers are alerted?”

  A wince flashed across his face. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Yes, I do. You
’re an upper. How bad can it be?”

  He paused. “Interesting. The ignorance goes both ways.” Balanced on the couch’s armrest, his gaze slid past my shoulder. “Makes sense, though. The Trava family wouldn’t want uppers and lowers to unite.” Riley’s focus returned to me.

  “Nor would we. You uppers think we’re filthy livestock bred for one purpose. To work.”

  “I see the propaganda has worked. You believe the Pop Cops.”

  I jumped to my feet. “I’m not like those sheep. I don’t listen to all that bull.”

  “Really?” He raised one eyebrow in a mocking sneer. “Where did you acquire your vast knowledge of life in the upper levels?”

  “In the care facility.”

  “Which is run by the Pop Cops.” Smugness replaced his scorn.

  I preferred the sneer. “So your purpose in inviting me here was to prove I’m an ignorant scrub?”

  “No.” The word ground out as if it originated deep within him. He held up both hands in a stopping motion. “I’m trying to understand why you automatically assumed I’m a spoiled brat. And I wanted you to think about where you’ve gotten your information. It’s either from the Pop Cops or from the computer system, which is run by the Controllers. Both can’t be trusted.”

  “Gee, thanks for that little nugget of advice. I wonder how I survived all these weeks without it.” I headed to the ladder. What a waste of time.

  “Wait.” He grabbed my arm.

  I yanked a screwdriver from my tool belt. He let go.

  “Please listen,” he said to my back. “This isn’t going the way I thought it would. When my father asked why I was so interested in the scrubs, I told him—”

  I rounded on him. “I knew this was a trap! Is your father waiting outside with a troop of Pop Cops?”

  “No.” This time the word growled. Riley’s hands shook as if he fought to keep from grabbing me again. “I told him I wanted to help the scrubs, to do something…anything to ease their horrid living conditions.”