Outside In Page 9

  Logan’s laughter turned into a coughing fit.

  “Okay. Point taken. Who else knows about the attack?”

  “The Committee has been informed of both sabotages and the attempt on Logan’s life.”

  She gripped the rail on Logan’s bed as if a great weight rested on her shoulders. All humor fled her eyes and I realized she teetered on the edge of exhaustion.

  Even though I was reluctant to ask, and I could probably guess the answer, I had to hear it from her. “And the Committee’s response?”

  “Lockdown and search of all levels.”

  Now I had to grab the rail or risk falling to the floor. We had come full circle. Instead of Pop Cops policing the lower levels, we now had ISF officers. They would confine everyone to their barracks until they could do a thorough search for evidence. At least, they included the upper levels.

  Anne-Jade said, “Do you have any better ideas? We can’t let them keep blowing and burning up vital life systems. We also brought Ivie and Kadar in for questioning.”

  “How did—”

  “We found your wipe board in the hallway outside the air plant. I remembered the names from our discussion with Bubba Boom.”

  “But you don’t have any proof they’re involved. Just his suspicions.”

  “Doesn’t matter. There could be another explosion or at tempt to get to Logan or you.”

  “Me? Why would they—”

  “To prevent you from discovering any more surprises. They’re still reeling from the fact we’re in a big ship and we have all this extra room to spread out.”

  Good thing I’d kept the bubble monster to myself.

  Anne-Jade then asked me how I had gotten to the air plant so fast. “Did someone ask you to meet there?”

  “No.” I explained about leaving Riley’s, but omitted the fact I had been going to find her. Any chance to discover what Ivie and Kadar had been up to had been ruined. And if they had been working with anyone, it would be impossible to find out now.

  “A lucky coincidence,” Anne-Jade said. She smoothed Logan’s hair. “By the time the fire response team arrived they could only go a few meters into the plant. If you hadn’t dragged Logan closer…”

  “Who pulled us out?”

  “Bubba Boom carried you and Hank from maintenance grabbed Logan.”

  “How’s the plant?”

  “Bad. Smoke spread throughout Inside and made a bunch of people sick. Half the air filters are burnt to a crisp. The air workers are rigging up a temporary cleaning system, but it won’t last long. When you’re feeling better, they’re going to need you to help install filters in the air ducts. It’s another temporary measure.”

  Logan lifted his mask again. “Plant fire also…a distraction.”

  “And a lure to get you in harm’s way,” Anne-Jade said.

  “No. A distraction from…computer.”

  Dread twisted and I wished I had stayed in my bed. “What’s wrong with the computer?”

  “Compromised.”

  My chest felt as if my body had gotten stuck in a tight pipe. “How bad?”

  “Don’t know…I need to…see.”

  I considered. Besides the burning from the smoke, my vision hadn’t been affected by the heat. “Logan, was there an explosion in the air plant before the fire?”

  “No. Light exploded from—” Another coughing fit seized him. “From…the computer monitor. It burned…my eyes.”

  Anne-Jade and I shared a horrified look.

  “Who could…?” I couldn’t even say the words.

  “I could,” Logan said.

  “Who else?” his sister demanded.

  “A few…of the Travas. Maybe Riley.” He drew on the mask for a few breaths. “Domotor. Trella’s father.”

  “Nolan’s been fertilizer for over fifteen centiweeks,” I said, dismissing him.

  “According to…Karla Trava.” He shrugged. “She didn’t recycle you—”

  “We don’t know that for sure.” I squelched any and all hope. It was ludicrous. “Besides, he would have revealed himself after the rebellion.”

  Another shrug. I mulled over his list. Not Riley and I doubted Domotor, so that left the Travas. “Are there any working computers in Sector D4?”

  Anne-Jade scowled at me. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  “We disabled them,” Logan said.

  “Could they have hooked them back up?” And before Anne-Jade could snap at me, I added, “They don’t have anything else to do. And you and Logan made a number of amazing devices just from recycled parts so it’s a valid question.”

  She scratched her arm absently. “I guess it’s possible. I’ll have a team go in and check.” Huffing in annoyance, she slid her hand under her sleeve and rubbed harder.

  Logan reached out blindly and touched her arm. “Stop it. Doctor Lamont said…to leave it…alone or it’ll get infected.”

  “But it itches,” she said between gritted teeth.

  “What happened?” I asked her.

  She pushed up her sleeve, revealing white bandages like the ones on Logan and my arms. “I donated skin so the Doctor could grow my brother a new coat.”

  Logan smiled. “I’m covered with girl germs…don’t tell Riley.”

  “Maybe you’ll be smarter now,” she quipped. “I’d like to think you will appreciate having a sister more, but I doubt it.”

  I remembered he had said he had been burned on over fifty percent of his body. “He needed skin grafts from you to live. Didn’t he?”

  “Yes. I matched his skin type, which doesn’t always happen with siblings.”

  Glancing at my own bandaged arms, I wondered how badly I had been burned. I met Anne-Jade’s steady gaze.

  “You weren’t as bad as Logan, but you needed skin grafts to survive as well,” she said.

  She shifted her stance as if challenging me to ask her who donated skin cells for me; either that or she prepared for a fight. I didn’t have the energy to deal with either so I said goodbye and shuffled back to my bed.

  The effort to visit Logan had exhausted me. Grateful for the flow of clean air, I inhaled large lung-filling breaths from my mask. Funny how I had taken something as vital as breathing for granted—not paying it one bit of attention until it had become a problem.

  The next time I woke, the daylights brightened the infirmary and half of my curtain had been pushed back. Lamont rolled a small table toward me. Stocked with clean bandages, salve, a bowl of water and a sponge, I grimaced in anticipation. She planned to change my dressing and clean the burns.

  Hour two glowed on the clock. Another ten hours lost to injury. Another week gone. We were now on week 147,022.

  Lamont tried a smile, but thought better of it. She kept her tone and mannerisms all business. Doctor to patient. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I’ve been stuffed into an oven and twice baked.”

  Amusement flashed on her face. She tucked a long strand of her hair that had escaped her braid behind her ear. Wearing her light green shirt and pants, she looked ready for surgery. “You know I need to—”

  “Just get it over with…please.”

  With deft fingers, she peeled the bandages from my left arm, starting at the wrist. “You might not want to see your skin. It’s not fully healed yet and will look like…”

  I waited.

  “Raw meat. But it will return to normal healthy skin. I even removed the scars on your arms and legs from…before.”

  “You can do that?”

  “It’s considered cosmetic surgery. I normally wouldn’t do it for arms or legs. Faces, yes. But since you needed so much skin already…”

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  Without the dressing the air stung my skin. I braced for the touch of water and it didn’t disappoint, feeling like liquid fire as it ran down my arm. I hissed in pain.

  “Do you want a pain pill?” she asked.

  “No…thank you. They make me sleepy and I’ve slept enough.” Why was
I being so polite? Because this woman saved your life.

  I kept that thought in mind as she changed all the bandages. My extremities fared the worst. When she finished my bedding and gown were soaked, and so were her sleeves. She pushed them up to help me switch to a clean bed and I froze.

  White bandages peeked out from under the wet fabric on both of her arms. I stared at them, knowing what they meant, but not wanting to really believe it. Finally, I pulled my gaze away and met hers.

  “You were going to die,” she said. “We needed to find you a match.”

  8

  “AND YOU MATCHED MY SKIN TYPE?” I ASKED.

  Struggling to keep her professional demeanor, Lamont nodded. Impressive considering I stood less than a meter from her. The fact we matched meant I was her daughter. The daughter she had thought had been fed to Chomper over fifteen hundred weeks ago. Alive and…not quite well, but living and breathing.

  How would I feel if Cogon returned from Outer Space and he hated me for leaving him out there? Thrilled and awful at the same time.

  But I couldn’t get the image of her standing with Karla Trava in the main Control Room out of my mind. She had searched all the faces in the room and didn’t recognize me. Shouldn’t a mother recognize her own daughter no matter how old she was? Plus the fact that she had been there with Karla in the first place, cooperating with her, endangering thousands of people for her own selfish desire.

  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—1535 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 Cop’s 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 mou
th 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?”