However, if I was being fair, I endangered everyone with our rebellion. Was I being selfish as well?
Too confused to say anything but thanks for the skin cells, I collapsed on the clean bed and closed my eyes. Too much of a coward to meet her gaze.
Riley visited me around hour ten. He smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. “How are you doing?”
“Great. I’m ready to go. Do you think your dad would mind if I sleep on your couch?”
“Nice try. But you’re not leaving here until Doctor Lamont gives you permission.” He took my hand gently in his. “Did you even stop and think about the danger to yourself before you rushed in to save Logan?”
“No time. I hope you didn’t come here to lecture me.”
“Actually, I came to see how Sheepy is doing. He doesn’t like sleeping in strange places.” Riley picked up the stuffed sheep and smoothed his gray fuzzy hair made from real sheep’s wool. The little toy had been sharing my pillow.
At my age—1,535 weeks or 17.5 years in the old time—it seemed silly to lavish so much affection on a toy. But with a limited amount of playthings available while growing up in the care facility with nine others, and the all-work-and-no-free-time structure of my upbringing, Sheepy filled a void.
“Sheepy’s been keeping me company,” I said. “Thanks.”
“He does have an ulterior motive,” he said with a sly smile.
“And that would be?”
“Spying on you. Making sure you’re listening to the doctor’s orders and not… What’s that?” Riley put Sheepy up to his ear as if listening to the toy. “Not staying in bed? Bothering Logan?” He tsked.
“Anne-Jade really needs to learn the difference between her job and basic friendship.” I grumped. “I don’t suppose she has any suspects for the attack on her brother?”
“She’s questioning the two stink bombers, but that’s all she has right now.” He fiddled with his shirt. “Inside has been locked down. It’s worse than when the Pop Cops had been in charge.”
An outrage on her behalf surged through me. I struggled into a sitting position. “She’s dealing with a very different type of rebel than the Pop Cops ever did. We didn’t blow anything up, or kill any innocents or set fires. The only people to get hurt were our own and a few Pop Cops.”
He refused to meet my gaze. “There has to be a better way.”
“I’m sure she’s open to ideas. Have you talked to her?”
“I would if I had one. I’m more of a support person.” He finally looked me in the eye. “You’re the one who has the knack for coming up with new ideas.”
I flopped back. Not this again. Time to change the subject. “What have you been doing since the fire?”
Pressing his lips together, he swallowed his obvious ire over my dodge. “Once I knew you and Logan would live, I’ve been checking the computer network. Logan said it had been compromised, but I’ve yet to find evidence.”
“Did Anne-Jade search the Travas’ rooms?”
“Yep. None of the computers they found were connected to the network.”
Interesting word choice. I asked, “Do you suspect they have a hidden connection?”
“It’s possible, but not probable. I think we have another person or persons with Logan’s ability to ghost through the network. He or she would be all but impossible to catch.”
This conversation felt familiar, and I wondered if eighteen weeks ago, Karla Trava had a similar discussion with her lieutenants. The arrival of Lamont to check my vitals was a welcome distraction. Although she declared they were all strong, she remained vague about when I’d be able to leave the infirmary.
When she went to check on Logan, Riley raised his eyebrows. “You were…civil to her.” He sounded surprised.
“With my tendency to end up as her patient, there’s no sense being nasty. Besides, everyone else seems to think she’s okay.”
“Oh no. I’m not going to believe you’d be influenced by others. That’s not the Trella I know. Are you sure it isn’t because she saved your life?”
I shrugged. “Well…it helps.”
“Uh-huh. And how about the confirmation that she’s your mother? Did that help?”
“Not at all.”
“Whew! I was beginning to worry the fire had burned more than your skin,” he teased.
Glad to see Riley smile, I relaxed. Too often lately, our conversations had transformed into…not fights, but arguments. Right before the fire, he had accused me of not caring about Inside, and I had… A memory pulled on the edges of my thoughts.
“The scrub file,” I said.
“What?”
“White light flashed on the screen probably the same time Logan was attacked. Then it erased the list.”
He leaned forward. “Are you sure?”
“You might be able to find evidence of tampering in that file if it is still there. Or perhaps where those files are stored.”
“It’s a starting point.” Energized, he kissed me on the forehead, tucked Sheepy next to me and left the infirmary.
Happy to contribute to his search, I squirmed into a comfortable position. But it didn’t take long for me to miss him and wish for something to distract me from the sting of my injuries. Perhaps I should ask for a painkiller.
I scanned the infirmary for Lamont and spotted Jacy. None of his goons accompanied him. Guess he felt safe visiting a half- burnt scrub. That or he didn’t want to make an impression on the two ISF officers stationed next to the door. Now why did I automatically think scrub? Whenever I saw him, he always reminded me of the time before the rebellion. Even though he helped, I always wondered why. Jacy’s life had been better than most under the Pop Cops’ control.
He swiped his bangs from his eyes and sat in the chair next to my bed. “You look terrible,” he said.
“Gee, that really cheered me up. Thanks for visiting.”
He flashed a grin. “You do know the Committee is unhappy with you. Don’t you?”
“I figured they weren’t keen about us keeping our suspicions to ourselves.”
“Keen is such a…mild word.”
“Jacy, if you keep trying to scare me, I’m going to have Lamont toss you out of here.”
Not bothered by my threat, he shifted into a more comfortable position. “Just trying to warn you.”
“How about you tell me who’s been endangering our world instead?”
He tapped his fingers on his leg. “Wish I could.”
“You’re lying. You know—”
“Nothing.” The word tore from his mouth as if it hurt him to speak it. “I used to have eyes and ears in every Sector and Quadrant. But my sources turned blind and deaf after I joined the Committee. I have a few loyal supporters, but not enough to discover who set off that bomb in the power plant.”
I studied his expression. He seemed truly disgruntled, but it could be an act. “If you didn’t know, why did you tell me Bubba Boom’s name then?”
“You asked for an expert. You didn’t ask for a suspect.”
True.
Jacy pulled a small bag from his pocket and tossed it on my stomach. I couldn’t open it with the gloves on. When Lamont had changed them earlier, my palms were still raw.
“Your part of our bargain,” he said, pitching his voice lower. “I need you to plant them in air duct seventy-two, ninety-five and eighty-one.”
His list of ducts targeted all the critical areas of Inside—the main Control Room, Anne-Jade’s office, the brig and the Sector full of Travas. I hefted the bag, calculating how many microphones might be inside.
“That’s three different shafts. You only gave me one name,” I said.
“I told you I don’t—”
“I don’t need names. How about locations?”
“Locations of what?”
“If you could have eyes and ears in the lower levels again, where would you want them?”
His expression smoothed as he caught on. “Sector F1, waste handling and maintenance.”
I waved the bag of mics. “Why not ask me to install these there?”
“Because the scrubs didn’t know about the Transmission, and they don’t necessarily know Logan’s the brains of our operation, so I think they’re just following orders. Besides, I have a limited number of mics.”
“Well, it may be a week or more before I can install these,” I said. “It depends on Lamont and how much help the air plant workers need.”
“Let me know when they’re in place.” He stood, but paused. “I also suspect the explosion in the power plant and the fire in the air plant were done by two separate groups.”
Double the trouble. Wonderful. “Why?”
He spread his hands out. “A gut feeling. Before the rebellion, I’ve dealt with many scrubs that broke the laws, and they get comfortable with one method or one type of defiance and rarely move beyond that. A bomb and a fire are two different methods.”
“But the results were the same.”
He studied me a moment. “No they weren’t. Think about it.”
Jacy had given me plenty of information to mull over. The explosion had targeted the Transmission, which only a limited number of people knew about. It affected our travel through Outer Space and killed many. To me, the sabotage screamed a message that someone wasn’t happy about our situation and wanted to be noticed. I wondered why they hadn’t made any demands yet, or announced the reason they damaged our world. Perhaps the Travas engineered the explosion and didn’t want the Committee to know they still had connections with…who? Uppers or scrubs? It didn’t matter.
The fire had targeted Logan. Most Insiders knew he was a member of the Force of Sheep, but only a few were aware of his brilliance with the computer network. No one was killed, and I wondered about the timing of the fire. The attack on him felt more intelligent and part of a greater plan. Unfortunately, I couldn’t fathom why anyone besides the Travas would desire the problems that would be caused by Logan’s inability to access the network.
Even though I failed to solve anything, I understood the logic behind Jacy’s two-group theory. I played with the cloth bag of microphones, turning it over and over, and listened to them clink together. Jacy had been quick to mention those three areas when I had asked him where he’d like eyes and ears. Two of them made sense. Scrubs filled Sector F1, and the waste-handling workers had the worst jobs. They would desire change. But maintenance didn’t fit with the others.
Why not? Jacy had mentioned maintenance before. I searched my memory and remembered his comment about how maintenance and security were the only systems working. Busy and productive had been his words. Which was opposite to the two things that led to trouble—bored and destructive.
I changed tactics. Chasing the reason those two systems kept working despite all the chaos, I found the answer. Anne-Jade and Hank. They led their people, and they weren’t on the Committee but reported to them. And then I considered “their people.” A mix of uppers and lowers. Riley and a bunch of his cousins helped Hank all the time. Anne-Jade had recruited from both as well.
What did all this mean? Perhaps one of the uppers working in maintenance wished to cause trouble. And one of Jacy’s ducts crossed over Anne-Jade’s office. He could suspect the uppers working in those two areas—that would be one group. The waste-handling scrubs and those living in Sector F1 could be the other.
But which one was which?
My restless agitation inflamed all my burns. Before I helped myself to a pain pill, I visited Logan again. He no longer needed a mask—a good sign. I said his name in a soft voice in case he slept.
“Done with all your visitors?” he asked.
“I only had two.”
“Two more than me,” he grumped.
“You had lots of visitors, but they were all quiet.”
“Oh real funny. Tease the blind man.” But a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“Any better?”
“I’ve gone from seeing nothing but white to seeing large black spots on white. Doctor Lamont’s pleased voice indicated this is a step in the right direction.”
“Good. At least your hearing has improved. Did you hear what my visitors said?”
“Most of it. Except for Jacy’s last bit. What jingled and what does he want you to do?”
I told him.
He whistled. “Cheeky of him. He’d be privy to more than he should. Are you going to plant them?”
“I promised to in exchange for information, but didn’t agree to where I put them. It just doesn’t feel right. We shouldn’t have to spy on our own people.”
“True, but I think bugging the Trava apartments and brig is a good idea,” he said. “Before you plant them, ask Riley to get the frequencies from them. We might as well listen in, too.”
“Should we tell Anne-Jade?”
“Not yet.”
“Is that wise?”
“Probably not, but I’ll blame the pain medicine and say it clouded my thoughts if she finds out.”
“Good luck with that, I’ve seen her mad and it’s not fun.” Her new profession suited her. As soon as she had donned that stolen Pop Cop uniform, she’d fit right in. Then I remembered. “Logan, do you have any mics not being used?”
This time his smile broadened. “I have a few stashed in my room. Take what you need.”
The itch drove me insane. Every centimeter of my arms and legs felt as if tiny invisible bugs crawled over my skin. Lamont claimed it was part of healing. If given the choice, I preferred the pain.
Riley visited, but he seemed distracted and never stayed long. I endured another fifty hours as a patient. Finally Lamont released me at hour sixty-two with so many instructions on how to care for my newly healed skin, I almost jumped back into bed. Almost.
“Are you staying with Riley?” Lamont asked as she packed a few meds and a salve into a bag for me.
“No.” I carefully pulled on the shirt and pants she had brought me. The curtains had been closed; otherwise I would have flashed the ISF officers. Logan’s vision had improved, but he still had another week in here at least.
“The barracks?” Surprise laced her voice.
“Don’t worry about it.”
She stopped and pierced me with her doctor stare. “You need to sleep in a clean environment for another week. No pipes or air shafts or—”
“I know.”
Lamont touched my arm. No longer in doctor mode, she said, “Stay in my extra room. No strings attached.”
“What if you find an intern?”
“At this point, it’s highly unlikely, but if I do, then we’ll wheel an extra bed into the sitting room. Once we move to the medical center on one of the new levels, we’ll have plenty of space.”
I considered. “Does no strings mean if I have a gaping wound, you won’t try to stitch it up for me?”
“No. I’m still your doctor. It means I won’t try to…mother you.”
“Okay, I’ll stay.”
She nodded as if I just agreed to take my pills on time and pushed the curtains back.
“Doctor?”
Lamont tightened her grip on the fabric and wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Yes?”
“Thanks.”
I contacted Riley through my microphone. His terse reply indicated he was in the middle of something and would catch up with me later. Heading up to the main Control Room in Quad G4, I planned to fetch those mics from Logan’s room.
The double metal doors fail
ed to hiss open when I approached. Odd. A mechanical voice asked for identification. I said my name and they parted just wide enough for a large ISF officer to poke his head out.
“What do you need?” he asked.
“For you to get out of my way,” I said.
He didn’t move. “Only authorized personnel are allowed in unless you have a reason for being here. I’m sure you understand the need to protect the critical equipment and personnel inside the Control Room.”
Was that a slam? In an icy voice, I asked, “And you’re the protection?”
“Yes. No one gets by me.”
“Uh-huh. Tell Takia I’m here.”
“She’s at a Committee meeting.”
Figures. “Fine. I’ll come back.”
As the door clanged shut, fury simmered in my blood. I understood the need for security, but to prevent me from entering was borderline paranoid. No, not borderline, but outright paranoid. I was the last person the Committee had to worry about.
Or was I? I alone knew about level seventeen, and there weren’t many places I couldn’t get to. Actually there was no place I couldn’t get to. Scanning the hallway as I walked away from the Control Room, I found a perfect heating vent. And the beauty of the heating system was the vents were all close to the floor—easy to access.
I had left my tool belt in our storeroom so long ago it felt like a centiweek instead of a week and a half. In a pinch, the thin flat disks of Jacy’s microphones worked as well. Most of the vents popped on and off, but the ones on the fourth level had screws as well. I wiggled into the shaft and pulled the vent back in place.
Warm air flowed around me as I swam toward the Control Room—pulling with my arms and pushing with my feet. It was harder to do with regular clothes and a pocket full of mics. Plus my skin burned with the added friction.
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