Chapter 8 #2
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 seemed 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 listening devices, turning it over and over, I 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 took 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 I didn’t agree to where I would place 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. Tiny invisible bugs crawled over every centimeter of my arms and legs. 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 listening device. 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 failed 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-uh. 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 the 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 seemed like a centiweek instead of a week and a half. Most of the vents popped on and off, but the ones on the fourth level had screws. In a pinch, the thin flat discs of Jacy’s listening devices worked as a screwdriver.
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.
The familiar smell and hum reminded me of when I had slept in the heating ducts. Combine that with muscles that had been doing nothing but lie in a bed for the last hundred and thirty hours, and the trip turned into an endurance test.
Finally, I reached the control room. Through the slats of the vents, I saw legs of seated workers and rows of computers.
Bypassing them, I found Logan’s rooms. In no time, I popped open the vent and tumbled into his small living area.
The captain had occupied this space when he was on duty but not needed.
I imagined problems had been few and far between until Domotor recruited me.
Glad to have room to stretch, I glanced around.
No surprise the place was a mess of computer parts, wires, and gadgets.
It took me longer than I hoped to find his stash of mics.
Pocketing them so I was balanced, I debated about returning through the heating system.
The bigger air ducts would be easier to navigate, but I would have to climb to the ceiling.
My newly healed skin hadn’t liked my recent activities and I doubted I had the strength to scale the wall.
Instead, I walked from Logan’s rooms and through the control center. Most of the workers just nodded a greeting unperturbed. A few seemed surprised. The oversized ISF officer’s glare could have burned a hole in sheet metal. But he didn’t try to stop me.
I waved to him as the doors opened for me to leave. “Guess I should change my name to No One, since no one gets by you.” It was not a mature thing to do, but I never claimed to be an adult. And I never could resist a challenge.
Tracking down Riley proved to be a challenge as well, I found him at his old work station, banging on the keyboard in irritation.
He had monitored electrical usage and since the power plant produced all the electricity in Inside, his station was located in the office next to the plant’s control room.
“Not now, Trella. I’m—”
“Busy. I know. I’m starting to understand how you felt when I attended back to back Committee meetings.”
My comment earned me a glance and a brief smile.
“This is critical. The computer…” He slammed a fist on the keys. “Damn it. There goes another one.”
“Has the network been compromised?” I peered over his shoulder.
“Sort of. Files are just disappearing as if they never existed.”
“Is that possible. I thought—”
“Lousy son of a Trava!”
White light filled the monitor. Without thought, I covered Riley’s eyes with my hands and dipped my head, blocking mine with my upper arm.
After a few seconds, Riley pulled my hands down. “It’s okay. I think.” A strange hitch cracked his voice.
I peeked. White still dominated the screen, but big black letters shone from the center. Squinting at them, I read: All access denied by order of the Controllers.