Inside

by Maria V. Snyder

  The heating vent would not provide a safe haven yet. I slid, squirmed, pushed and pulled. Voices shouted and echoed. Once I felt certain I’d escaped, I stopped. I had reached the connector shaft that led into waste handling in Sector H1.

  Sweat-drenched and huffing for breath, I lay there. As my heart slowed and my muscles quit trembling, my other injuries demanded attention. My shoulder, wrists and hip ached. Sharp pain stabbed my back anytime I breathed in too deep. Overall I felt like I’d been shoved through a pipe too small for me. However, every stab of pain reminded me of my luck in getting out of there alive.

  I didn’t blame Sloan and the others for being angry. But I wondered if he had said those things about attacking the Committee because he heard me in the duct or if he had meant them. If I hadn’t gotten away, would they have killed me? I rubbed my cheek. It still burned from the slap. Sloan had called me a traitor and by the fury in his gaze, I guessed that yes, they would have easily vented their anger on me.

  Eventually, I continued into waste handling and exited the shaft at the first opening. I had no energy left to travel through the ducts. Leaning on the wall, I scanned the plant for scrubs from Sector F1. No one appeared to be searching for me. The regular plant workers milled about the equipment.

  Emek spotted me, smiled and approached. “Haven’t seen you down here in a long time. Did you come to check up on me?”

  “Yes. I’m making sure you’re fully recovered from the surgery.”

  He inspected my appearance. “How nice.” Yet his tone implied he didn’t believe me. “Rough trip?”

  “Yep. Installing air filters is hard work, I better get back.” I pushed off, but just then Rat raced into the plant like he’d been chased by an angry mob. Or it just could be my imagination.

  “Emek! The scrubs in…” Rat slid to a halt when he spotted me talking to Emek. Two bright red splotches stained his cheeks and his short brown hair stuck up as if he had run his fingers through it.

  “Don’t keep us in suspense,” Emek said.

  “The scrubs in Sector F1 are rioting. They’re fighting with the ISF officers, claiming the Mop Cops are spying on them.”

  Emek pierced me with his scowl. “Did you know about this?”

  I suddenly wished to hide under the covers of my bed. “The riot? No.”

  Rat’s gaze jumped from Emek to me and back. “I heard Trella’s name.”

  Emek groaned. “Do the ISF officers need help?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go get the rest of the crew, Rat. They’re cleaning out the secondary sludge tanks.” He hooked a thumb, pointing toward another room. Rat dashed off.

  “Do you need an escort back to level three?” he asked.

  “No thanks. I’m fine.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Are you sure? You look—”

  “I’m sure.”

  Rat returned with a dozen people on his heels. They sprinted out the door. Emek’s gaze followed them.

  “Go help the ISF officers,” I said.

  “No one’s in the plant right now so you can use the small washroom in my office before you go.”

  “Thanks.” I shooed him away.

  Tucked into the northeast corner of the plant, Emek’s neat office seemed very organized. When I considered the raw sewage that flowed into the plant, it made sense for him to have his own washroom. It always amazed me how the machinery and bacteria transformed crap into fertilizer and cleaned our water. Plus the process produced a special gas that was pumped into the power plant to be used as fuel.

  I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. Dirt smudged my face. Clumps of dust clung to my hair. My bottom lip was swollen and bloody. And a bright red handprint covered my left cheek. I cleaned up as best as I could, braiding my hair. In my haste to escape I hadn’t noticed how dirty the barrack’s floors were.

  Dirt and rust harmed our world. They weren’t as bad as sabotage, but they could do plenty of damage.

  I left Emek’s office. The hum and whoosh of the machinery sounded louder without the workers. I debated between the risk of walking the hallways or the effort needed to climb into the air shaft. Scanning the ceiling for an accessible vent, I spotted one over the digester, which had a ladder up its side. Perfect.

  Halfway up the ladder a clang sliced through the mechanical drone. I hoped it meant the riot had been quelled. Leaning to the side, I peered around the digester. One man, wearing an off-duty green jumper crouched next to the gas collector. No one else had returned.

  I waited a few seconds to see if the others would arrive. The man kept glancing over his shoulder. Then he pushed something under the collector, straightened and hurried off.

  Odd. Did he come back from the riot just to fix the machine? About to shrug it off, I paused, remembering all of Emek’s men wore dark blue coveralls.

  Sliding down the ladder, I rushed over to where the man had been. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but I wouldn’t know. I unhooked my tool belt before wiggling under the collector. Yet another unique view of my world. At least the space was cleaner than under the barracks. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

  I peered up. Hoses, wires, pipes and a strange device wedged between the pipes. The device had a short fat pipe about twenty centimeters in diameter and sealed on both ends. On top of the pipe were two glass containers of liquid. Between the containers was a metal box with a digital display. Each time the four numbers flashed they were one less.

  Understanding hit me as hard as Sloan. I’d found a bomb.

  Chapter 10

  I gaped at the bomb’s display, watching the countdown with a numb horror. Three thousand and fifteen, three thousand and fourteen… When it reached three thousand, I did the math and fumbled for my microphone, switched it on and turned it to Riley’s frequency.

  “Riley, find Bubba Boom and bring him to the waste-handling plant now. There’s a bomb that’s going to explode in forty-nine minutes!”

  Staring at the bomb, I debated. Should I move it? Where? Every place in Inside had critical equipment. And people.

  I slid out from under the collector. The adjoining Quads should be evacuated as well as the infirmary and care facility filled with children directly above the plant. I checked the clock. Five minutes past hour ninety-nine. The bomb was set to detonate at the very beginning of week 147,023.

  There was enough time to evacuate, but I couldn’t leave. What if Bubba Boom arrived while I was gone? Instead, I paced and worried and second-guessed myself, sending out a call to Riley every ten lengths.

  When Emek and his crew arrived, I rushed over. Not caring that they seemed upset to see me. My words tumbled out in a flood as I explained about the bomb. Emek quickly grasped the situation and he organized three teams to evacuate the Quads and Sector H2. Since the explosion would be so close to flammable gases, Emek told them to go to Sector E1 and H3 if they had time. Rat volunteered to find Bubba Boom in case Riley slept through my calls. He still hadn’t answered any of them.

  I showed Emek the bomb. He barely fit under the collector. Another worry flared in my chest. Would Bubba Boom fit?

  “Should we move it?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “How much time left?”

  “About thirty-five minutes.” He pulled himself out and stood. “I wonder why the bomber left it with so much time. Could this be a distraction?”

  “I hope not. Perhaps he wanted enough time to be far away. He did wait until everyone left the plant and probably figured no one would find it. Plus he didn’t know I was here since I came through the heating ducts.”

  “After causing problems in Sector F1.” Emek crossed his arms, clearly unhappy.

  “If I hadn’t been here, we wouldn’t know about the bomb.” I snapped at him.

>   “True. Although you being here to witness it seems too coincidental.”

  “But who would know I’d be here? I didn’t know I’d be here. I was supposed to be in the air ducts, installing filters.”

  “Perhaps someone saw you come in and he placed it here at this time to throw suspicion on you.”

  “Why would I plant a bomb and then tell everyone about it? That makes no sense,” I said, outraged by his suggestion.

  “So starting a riot made sense?” Emek asked, but his stern expression had softened.

  “Nothing has made any sense since the first explosion!” I paced again. “Where are Bubba Boom and Riley?”

  “If Bubba Boom was in Sector F1, then we’ll have to find someone else who’s an expert with explosives.”

  “Why?”

  “The ISF had to gas the entire Sector, putting everyone to sleep. They’re looking for you so you can identify the troublemakers before they wake.”

  Lovely. I’d go from traitor to snitch. Getting blown to bits didn’t seem so bad.

  When Bubba Boom finally arrived with both Riley and Rat right behind him, the tight band around my chest eased a bit. Emek showed Bubba Boom where the bomb had been planted.

  “Why didn’t you respond?” I asked Riley.

  “I did.” He touched my earlobe. “Your receiver is gone.” Blood dotted his fingertips.

  “Oh.” I must have lost it in Sector F1.

  Then Riley cupped my chin and turned my head. “Who slapped you?” Anger flared. “I’ll kill him.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.”

  “What happened?”

  “She started the riot in Sector F1,” Emek said.

  I shot Emek a sour look as Riley rounded on me, demanding an explanation.

  “We have more pressing problems,” I said, gesturing to Bubba Boom as he knelt next to the collector. “A bomb. Remember? I’ll tell you later.”

  Since Bubba Boom was too large to fit underneath, he used a mirror to read the display. The counter read nine hundred seconds, which meant we had fifteen minutes.

  Riley insisted everyone else leave, including me.

  “I need Trella to stay,” Bubba Boom said. “She’s the only one who fits underneath.”

  Riley closed his eyes for a moment. “Fine, then I’m staying too.” He shooed Emek and Rat out the door.

  As Bubba Boom inspected the bomb with his mirror, I pulled Riley aside and whispered, “There’s no reason for you to stay.”

  “You’ve been trying to get yourself killed since Cog’s death. At least this time I won’t have to wait for news or wonder if you’ll survive your injuries. If this thing blows, we’ll both go.”

  “I’m not trying to kill—”

  “I think I know how to disarm it,” Bubba Boom said.

  “Think or know?” Riley asked.

  “It’s a basic mixing design. The glass containers are filled with two stable chemicals. When the counter reaches zero, it removes the barrier between the liquids. They’ll pour into the bigger pipe and mix together, creating a highly explosive combination. The counter will then create a spark and goodbye half of waste handling.” Bubba Boom met my gaze. “As long as the bomber didn’t get cute with the wiring, it should be easy to disarm.” He handed me a pair of wire cutters.

  Once again, I wriggled underneath the collector. Ten minutes left. My guts twisted and knotted with each second that disappeared.

  “Pull the counter gently away from the pipes to expose the wires behind it,” Bubba Boom instructed.

  My hands shook, but I eased the box out from where it was nestled between the glass containers. I moved the mirror so he could see.

  “Interesting.”

  “Good or bad?” Riley asked. I recognized the tight tension in his voice.

  Bubba Boom ignored him. “Trella, I need to see where the second wire on the left ends.”

  All the wires were covered in black. I pointed to my guess. “This one?”

  “No. One over. That’s it,” he said when I touched the next wire.

  Running a finger along it, I followed it until the end and repositioned the mirror. I rubbed my sweaty palms on my uniform.

  “Well?” Riley asked.

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Eight minutes left,” I said.

  “Not helping. Riley, I need a wipe board to draw out the circuit.”

  “Emek’s office,” I called, remembering the neat stack of them on the corner of his desk.

  The desire to scream at him to hurry lodged in my throat. His pounding feet faded then returned. Through the gap in the machinery, I watched Bubba Boom draw on the board. Riley peered over his shoulder. Dark gray sweat stains covered his gray shirt and strands of damp hair clung to the side of his face.

  Bubba Boom instructed me to move the mirror a few more times. He discussed the circuits with Riley as they figured out how to cut off power. I clamped both hands over my lips to keep quiet. The need to urge them to move faster filled my mouth and pushed against my teeth.

  Finally Bubba Boom told me to cut the wire I had traced for him. I placed the wire in the cutters and drew in a deep breath.

  “Stop!” Riley yelled. He argued with Bubba Boom. “Trell, you need to cut that wire and the one on the other end at the exact same time,” he said.

  I found the other wire. “This one?”

  “Yes,” Riley said.

  “No,” Bubba Boom said. “He’s wrong. Cut only the wire I told you.”

  “No, don’t. I’m right, Trell. He’s going to get us all killed.”

  My fingers refused to work. Who to trust? Bubba Boom, the explosives expert or Riley, the electrical expert. Less than two minutes left. I listened to Bubba Boom and cut his wire.

  The numbers stopped counting down, but they flashed red. The box started to beep.

  “Break the glass on one of the containers,” Bubba Boom yelled. The beeping increased its pace. “Now!”

  “Avert your face,” Riley shouted.

  I rested the wire cutters on the glass with the clear liquid. Turning to the left, I covered my face with my arm and then struck the container as hard as I could. The glass shattered. Shards rained as the chemical splashed on my chest and stomach.

  Yanking me out by my ankles, Riley picked me up, threw me over his shoulder and ran toward the shower in Emek’s washroom. Shoved under the cold spray, I caught on and helped Riley tear off my chemical-soaked uniform. He ripped his shirt off and we scrubbed our skin, removing the last traces of the acidic substance before it could burn holes into our bodies.

  I shivered and hugged my chest. “I’ve been wanting to take another shower with you,” I said. “This wasn’t quite how I imagined it.”

  His lips quirked into a brief smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. And it disappeared just as quick. Turning his back on me, he grabbed a couple of towels, handing me one without looking at me.

  I dried off, then wrapped the towel around my body. Riley’s shirt lay in a heap on the shower’s floor tangled with my ruined uniform. They needed to be disposed of properly so I stuffed them into a hazardous waste bag.

  “Trella, I…can’t do this anymore,” Riley said.

  Cold dread stabbed me. “Do what?”

  “Me and you…us.” He gestured between us with both his hands.

  Shivers raced across my skin as I realized Riley wasn’t just angry at me for trusting Bubba Boom over him. This ran deeper.

  “Trella, you have no qualms risking your life for Inside, sweeping in to save people, yet you don’t want to stick around and deal with the cleanup. You’d rather let others come in and decide how to organize our world. It’s frustrating and terrif
ying for me. I keep hoping the Queen of the Pipes will return and put a stop to all the Committee’s nonsense. Only you can help them focus on the real issues.” Riley dropped his hands. “Plus you don’t need me. You’ve been pushing me away since we won control of Inside. Since you accepted my pendant.”

  “That’s not true,” I said.

  “Really? How about when you discovered the fire in the air plant? I was right around the corner. You could have easily turned on your mic and called me to help, but you didn’t.”

  “There wasn’t any time,” I tried, but knew by his cold expression he thought it was a lame excuse. “I called you when I found the bomb.”

  “You ordered me to fetch Bubba Boom. If he had his own receiver, I doubt you would have bothered and we would be having this conversation in the infirmary while you once again grow new skin. Every time I try to get close to you, Trella, you turn to someone else. You only need me to clean up after you. You don’t trust me. I’m sorry, but I can no longer be with you. It’s too…painful to watch you self destruct.”

  Did he believe I cut the wrong wire on purpose? Shocked over his announcement, I couldn’t form a coherent response.

  Riley left Emek’s office and the waste-handling plant, ignoring Bubba Boom and Emek who waited for us.

  Before they could question me about Riley or before I could fall apart, I asked, “What about the bomb?”

  “Crisis averted.” With a chagrined expression, Bubba Boom said, “Riley was right. Both wires should have been cut.”

  “I got that,” I said, letting sarcasm edge my tone. “Do you know who built it? Who planted it?”

  “I don’t recognize it. I’ll take it apart and see if I can learn anything.”

  “Did you get a good look at the man?” Emek asked me.

  “Just his back and the side of his face. Short brown hair. No facial hair. Average build. Between 1,800 and 2,200 weeks old.”

  “That’s a big help.” Emek’s turn to be sarcastic.

  I bit back a nasty reply. “Now what?”

  “The Committee’s looking for you. And Anne-Jade wants to talk to you,” Emek said. “I’m surprised she isn’t here now.”