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  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 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-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 p
erfect 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.

  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 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.

  9

  I BLINKED A FEW TIMES, BUT THE WORDS REMAINED ON the screen. All access denied by the Controllers. “Please tell me it’s a joke,” I said to Riley. “Or Logan’s idea of a sick prank.”

  “Wish I could. But this is the third system that has disappeared.”

  A dizzy weakness swept over me. “Critical systems?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Yet?”

  “I can’t stop it. Takia and a few others tried as well.”

  “Does the Committee know?”

  “Yep. They’ve been getting kicked out, too. Mostly informational systems and not mechanical or life systems.”

  Good thing. “Can Logan bypass the Controllers?”

  “I would think so. Why else would they have targeted him?” Riley swiveled around to face me. “We need to find who has hacked into the network.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. I need to talk to Logan and maybe Anne-Jade. She might have a few ideas.” He rested his elbows on his legs and put his forehead into his hands. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

  “What?”

  “We reclaimed our freedom and we have all this room to spread out and grow. Yet some group is hijacking the net work and blowing holes in our world. Why? Why are they destroying when they could be building levels and using their computer knowledge to help Logan?”

  I knelt down, pulled his arms away and met his gaze. “Because of fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of change. Fear of the Committee’s decisions.”

  “Fear can be a big motivator.” Riley tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. “Did you think our new life would be like this when we were fighting the Pop Cops?”

  “No. I thought we’d be lying on that big green carpet under that huge blue ceiling in Outside relaxing.”

  He laughed, but sobered. “We won’t ever see the real Out side. We have to make the most of what we have Inside. We can’t let fear ruin it.”

  “You’ve convinced me. Now you only need to convert nineteen thousand others,” I joked.

  But he wasn’t amused. “No, Trella. You’re not convinced. If you were, we wouldn’t have half these problems.”

  An icy chill zipped through me. “So I’m to blame for half of these new problems?” I kept my voice even despite my desire to scream at him.

  “No.” He slid off the chair and knelt in front of me so we were eye to eye. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just you gave up too soon.”

  “Gave up what?”

  “Power. You handed it over to the Committee without thinking about how the Insiders would react.”

  “The Committee members are Insiders. And they have more experience.”

  “This is all new to everyone.”

  I balled my hands into fists, tapping them against my thighs. “Yes, but they’re older and more knowledgeable. All I know is the internal structure of Inside. Good for moving around unseen and planting mics, but little else.” My knuckles knocked against my pants’ pockets. The discs inside jingled.

  “Planting mics for whom?” Riley asked in concern.

  Glad for the change of topic, I told him about Jacy’s request. I pulled a handful from my pocket. “Can you get the frequencies from them? Logan wants us to listen in too.”

  “Where are you sticking them?”

  I listed the areas Jacy requested. “But I’m not bugging the Control Room or Anne-Jade’s office. And I have extras to plant for us.”

  Riley sat back on his heels as if bracing for bad news. “Why?”

  Explaining Jacy’s theory of two groups, I speculated that one of the groups had to be connected to the Travas. “The Pop Cops had moles in the lower levels, spying on the scrubs. They could still be loyal. Perhaps by listening in, we can discover who sabotaged the power plant.”

  He considered. “I doubt the network hackers worked in the lower levels. With the degree of complexity it needed, I believe there could only be a few suspects with that ability. And the people I’m thinking of are all uppers.”

  His obvious sincerity didn’t stop my instant ire over his statement. “Logan broke into the network and reached the highest levels without a port. He’s not an upper so why are you assuming only they could sabotage the files?”

  “That’s a valid point. Why are you getting so defensive?”

  “I’m…” I had been about to protest, but realized I had overreacted. “It was an automatic gut reaction. The Pop Cops had brainwashed us to believe the uppers were superior in every way.”

  “You know that’s not true.”

  �
�Knowing and believing are sometimes hard to combine.”

  While Riley discussed the network problems with Logan in the infirmary, I showered then slept. When I woke, Riley had left a wipe board listing the frequencies of all the mics next to Sheepy.

  I reported to the air plant at hour seventy to assist with the clean up and repairs. No surprise to see Hank there, barking orders and organizing workers. Pleased to see so many helpers, I waited until he finished instructing a team before claiming his attention.

  “You’re in high demand,” I said to him with a smile. “Do you even have time to sleep?”

  “Sleep? What’s that? A new type of casserole?”

  I would have laughed, but the craters under his eyes proved he and sleep were strangers.

  “You have a big crew now. Can’t you take some time off?” I asked.

  My comment had the opposite effect. Hank’s mood soured. “Yeah, lots of scrubs being forced to help.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Hank shook his head in a slow way as if he couldn’t believe I had to ask. “Where have you been, Trella?”

  “In the infirmary, growing new skin.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I forgot.” He ran a calloused hand over the stubble on his face. Dirt and ash stained his coveralls. “The Committee and ISF have commandeered hydroponics and the kitchen. If the scrubs want to eat, they have to work two hours for each meal.”

  I noted Hank’s use of the word commandeered. Even though the Committee was desperate for aid, they had mishandled the situation. In theory Hank should be on their side. He bore all the stress of having to make repairs with a limited crew. They should have asked him how to recruit workers.

  “Any work or just repair work?”

  “Any. Laundry, recycling, kitchen duty, waste handling… All the jobs that need to be done. Repair work actually counts double—one hour for one meal—because of the critical time-sensitive nature of them.”

  “Did they set the same requirements for the uppers?”

  “What do you think?”

  Damn. “But to be fair, the uppers are still doing their jobs. It’s just—”