Текст книги "Inside Out"

Автор книги: Maria V. Snyder

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His companion laughed. “Just think,” said the second man, “in another seven thousand weeks or so, everyone in this room will be gone and there will be a whole new generation forced to listen to the same crap.”

They chuckled together as the old scrub squinted at them. In the minds of the scrubs, the millionth week had been blown to mythical proportions. Some prophesied that on week one million, our fuel and air would run out, ending all our lives. Others claimed we all go Outside. But when you considered the average life span of a citizen was sixty to seventy centiweeks, and there would be roughly a hundred and twenty-two generations of scrubs before the millionth week, it was hard to get too concerned.

With a gnarled finger, the old scrub tapped the man who had hushed him. “Laugh all you want, but the millionth week isn’t the end. It’s the beginning.”

“…Broken Man.” Karla Trava’s voice cut through the buzz of voices around me. My attention snapped back to her.

“Information is still needed. You will be rewarded for any tips that lead us to him.” She stopped for a heartbeat. “But don’t lie to me.” Her tone turned deadly. She gestured. Two Pop Cops pulled a scrub forward. Karla yanked the poor guy up to the tabletop by his collar. He swayed on weak legs and his face was a mask of fear. His hands trembled. Silence blanketed the dining room.

Karla patted her weapon belt, looking as if she debated. With a blur of motion, her kill-zapper jumped into her hand. She pressed the nozzle to the scrub’s chest.

“This,” she said, “is what I do to liars.” A crackle built to a crescendo as the man jerked and twitched.

When the lieutenant commander pulled the weapon away, the man dropped to the floor with an echoing thud.

6

THE SOUND OF THE SCRUB HITTING THE FLOOR BURNED into my mind like the kill-zapper had burned into the man’s chest. I shook in my chair, feeling hot and short of breath. It didn’t take much imagination to envision myself an arm’s length away from LC Karla with a kill-zapper at my breast.

She stepped off the table and let the usual ensign read the weekly announcements. The ensign stumbled over his words, probably thrown by the unnatural silence in the room.

Little by little, whispered conversation spread, and the ensign’s voice evened out. My plans to collect food during the assembly took on a higher level of danger. Karla Trava had raised the stakes.

Even so, I couldn’t let Broken Man starve. Time was running out. I faked a coughing fit. My seatmates glanced at me in annoyance. I sputtered and choked for a while then stood and headed for the kitchen doors, hoping anyone who was interested would assume I sought a drink.

As soon as the doors closed, I bolted to the refrigerators. Grabbing cheese, sheep’s milk and containers of vegetable casseroles, I piled them on one of the stainless-steel counters. I shut the refrigerator and sprinted to the freezer, tossing a few hunks of frozen mutton onto my pile. With panic fueling my actions, I leapt up on the counter next to the food. Right above my head was a vent to an air duct. I opened it and loaded the shaft with the provisions. Careful not to block the airflow, I shoved and stuffed until my breath came in puffs.

When finished, I replaced the vent cover, hopped down and filled a glass with water. I slipped back into the dining room, covering my gasps for air with the drink as I reclaimed my seat. None of the scrubs gave me a glance, and I hoped no one suspected.

When the signal sounded to end the assembly, I filed out with the rest of the scrubs. The line of people bulged sideways. Even though the scrub’s body had been removed, everyone avoided the spot where he had fallen.

As I passed Karla, she pressed her lips together and cocked her head to one side. I dropped my gaze and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible, which only resulted in her calling out to me.

“Trella, come here,” she ordered.

I stepped out of line. My heart jumped in my chest. “Yes, Lieutenant Commander?”

“Feeling better?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your cough. I hope you’re not getting a virus.”

Her concern was frightening. “No, sir,” I said, my mind roiling. “I just must have swallowed something wrong.”

“Oh, yes, I understand,” she said with an even flat tone. “I find myself having to swallow wrong things all the time. They leave a bitter taste. Makes me choke. Churns my stomach.”

I had no answer. My mind buzzed with warning signals.

She studied me for an eternal minute, then said, “Hour zero. Time to report to your station for your next shift. Air duct twenty-two, I believe.”

“Yes, sir,” I managed to squeak out. I joined the flow of scrubs to the hallway, not daring to look back at the LC. She had been reading my file. She knew all about me, and she wanted me to know. Damn.

An interesting fact about air duct number twenty-two was it crossed right above the kitchen, and eventually, if you followed it far enough, it passed right on top of Broken Man’s hideout.

Once I reached my cleaning station, I hefted the troll into the air shaft. Then I raided a maintenance closet for extra supplies. Crawling behind the troll, I built a crude skid. I kept glancing behind me, checking to see if LC Karla had sent a couple of RATSS to spy on me.

When the troll reached my stash of food, I shut it down while I rigged the skid up to it. I peered through the vent. The kitchen bustled with activity. Scrubs filled containers and chopped vegetables. Two ensigns strolled through the chaos. They were probably keeping track of the knives, counting in their heads to make sure a scrub didn’t steal one and attack the Pop Cops.

No sign of Karla. My relief surprised me. Subconsciously I must have been expecting her to ambush me; to reach through the vent and cry “Gotcha!” before she kill-zapped me.

With that awful image in mind, I loaded the food onto the pallet as fast as I could, then restarted the cleaning troll. The troll’s engine strained with the extra weight. I had to smile when I flipped open one of the control panels on the side of the troll and turned a tiny thumbscrew. Cogon had shown me how to increase the machine’s throttle, so it could move faster. An increase of speed meant I would finish my work sooner, and would have more time off—provided no one caught me.

The troll lurched forward as the engine roared. Its speed stayed the same, but it had no trouble pulling the skid.

Paranoia made me keep checking for RATSS, but the troll and I reached Broken Man’s rooms without incident. I popped the vent off and swung down, dropping to the floor.

“Hello, Trella,” he said.

I spun. He sat in a corner of the living room. I smelled him from here. He was ripe.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” I said. Pulling a chair under the open vent, I used it to reach the food.

“Here, let me help.” Broken Man sprawled on the floor and used his arms to drag himself across the room. He wriggled into a sitting position and held his hand to me.

I handed the supplies to him, and he made a pile next to his legs. When the skid was empty, I hopped off the chair and carted the food into the kitchen.

“Hungry?” I asked from the kitchen.

“Very.”

I brought him a spoon, and he dug into one of the yellow vegetable casseroles. When everything was put away, I stepped onto the chair again.

“I’ll be back after my shift with fresh clothes,” I called. He waved his spoon in goodbye. I climbed into the duct, turned the troll on and completed the air shaft.

When I finished my assigned ducts, I headed to the washroom. Fresh laundered uniforms and clothes were always stacked in large canvas bins on wheels. Empty bins were then used for dirty garments.

I collected a bunch of clothes, linens and soap and bundled everything together with a towel. At my next stop I added some cleaning supplies, hoping to reduce the black dust coating every surface of Broken Man’s rooms.

He had returned to the corner when I plopped down with my bundle. I showed him what I had brought. He smiled in relief, but I cringed over the black grit between his teeth.

“Shower?” I asked.

“Please.”

I hesitated for an awkward moment. How to go about this? Fortunately, he had thought ahead. Poor man, he had hours alone with nothing to do, and I didn’t think to bring him anything to occupy him.

“Get a chair from the kitchen and put it in the shower,” he said. He set a businesslike tone as he gave me instructions.

As I placed the seat under the nozzle, he pulled himself into the bathroom and began to undress. His short commands only faltered when I tugged off his pants and underwear and hoisted him into the chair. I turned on the water and gave him the soap and the washcloth, leaving him to wash himself in private.

As I cleaned the dust, I wondered how he had gotten the long jagged scar stretched across his lower back. Shorter scars marked his arms and torso. His withered legs had flopped when I had moved him. I stopped wiping for a second to try to envision his life before the accident. One insight I did have while helping him into the shower. He was a natural blond, and I should probably apologize for the harsh comment I had made when I first met him about going back to the upper levels to have his hair dyed.

When I checked on Broken Man, he had turned the water off and sat dripping. I handed him a towel and assisted in drying and dressing. I debated how to move him. Despite my smaller size, all the time I’d spent climbing through the ducts and pipes had strengthened my muscles. Not wanting him to drag his clean clothes over the floor, I wrapped his arms around my neck, pulled his weight onto my back and in a hunched-over shuffle managed to get him into the chair in the living room.

“Thanks,” he said as he combed his fingers through wet hair.

“Food?” I asked.

He nodded. I brought him a bowl.

As he ate, he pointed to one of the walls where a rippled pattern was the only notable feature.

“See that? I bet it’s a computer terminal. I couldn’t reach it from the floor. Can you lift it?”

I studied the pattern. It consisted of horizontal sheets of metal about two-centimeters wide connected like a curtain. A dent at the bottom allowed my fingers to slide under.

“That’s it,” he said.

I pulled it up, then stepped back in alarm as the metal curtain disappeared under the wall with a rolling sound. Behind the sheet were a flat computer screen and a console of buttons and plugs.

“Yes!” Broken Man said. For the first time since we had rescued him, his face glowed with excitement. “Help me get closer.”

I pushed his chair next to the wall. He reached out to touch a button.

“Wait,” I said in alarm. “If you turn it on won’t the Controllers know about it?”

“No. It’s only when you hook up to the internal system. The basic public system for the scrubs doesn’t require a port. Besides, I just want to see if it works.”

He pressed a series of switches. His hands moved with a practiced grace. The computer screen brightened, and the symbol for Inside appeared. Typically unimaginative, the symbol looked like a cube with a capital I on the front panel. As the children in the care facility would say, “Boring.” Little did they know the activities and schooling in the CF would be the most interesting part of their lives. I shook my head of the gloomy thoughts as Broken Man changed the image on the screen.

After a while he said, “It’s still connected to the main system. We could access my disks from here.”

“Which would lead the Controllers right to us?” I asked, again afraid this seemed too easy. Too convenient. It made sense the upper worker who used to live here had a computer hookup, but that it still worked was suspect.

“Yes it would. Except I have a program to reroute the tracking software, so the Controllers would be led to another computer station on level four.”

“You know it works?”

“Well…” Broken Man rubbed his back, considering. “Obviously my original program had a few flaws, but I had found another more effective program hidden in the system. I copied it onto my disks. Unfortunately I was caught before I could use it.” The memory of pain spread across his face. His blue eyes squinted into the past.

“Who created the other program?” I asked.

“The security on it was too good to crack. But I believe it was probably a member of the Garrard family.”

“Garrard?”

“They are unhappy with the status quo. All the major families were upset with the Trava takeover, but in time they grew complacent and believed there was nothing they could do to restore the original balance of power.”

“Hold on. The Trava takeover?” I asked. “The Travas have always been in charge.”

“No, they haven’t. The Travas want the scrubs to believe that, and they’re hoping eventually, with enough generations born, the uppers will forget they ever had a say in the running of Inside. But I’ve uncovered the truth. All nine families at one point had an equal vote. Each family elected one of their members to be a part of Committee. This Committee made decisions and supervised the various mechanical systems of Inside.” Broken Man frowned. “Each family had a specialty—air systems, waste water, electrical—which turned into a major disadvantage.”

“Why?”

“The Travas’ specialty was security and only they had access to the stunners and kill-zappers.”

“Oh.”

Broken Man met my gaze. The wrinkles on his face deepened as if he alone shouldered all the responsibly in letting the Travas dominate. I guessed he was around forty-five centiweeks old.

“There was a group of uppers who tried to regain control of a few systems, but they failed,” he said.

“Would the group be willing to help us if you actually find Gateway?” I asked.

“No.” Broken Man fiddled with the computer. “The consequences of getting caught are too great for the uppers.”

It had been a hypothetical question. I planned to prove there was no Gateway. Prove to Cog that the people of Inside had been sealed off from Outside.

Besides the Pop Cops’ insistence of a purely spiritual final resting place for the good people, the rumors surrounding Outside ranged from wild guesses to tales of horror. I knew something had to be beyond our walls. And whether this place was Outside or something else, speculation ran rampant.

A few scrubs claimed it was a vast wasteland, others a magical kingdom where fairies flew through the air, a number declared water surrounded us and a couple maintenance scrubs thought our own garbage was piled around us. We reused and recycled everything, but a small portion of pure waste disappeared through a flushing system the Controllers maintained. Cog had tried to use that fact in his argument about Gateway.

All the rumors didn’t sway me. I didn’t care. Why worry or speculate about an inaccessible place? We were trapped in Inside until we ceased to exist and Chomper turned our bodies into fertilizer. End of story.

I concentrated on Broken Man’s statement about getting no help from the upper families. It fit—uppers wouldn’t risk themselves and their cushy life for a bunch of scrubs. Although, I couldn’t help thinking about Riley in his hideout on level four.

His family names seemed important to him—a source of pride. How did he feel about the Travas controlling our world? Maybe Riley and a few uppers would like to see life altered? I grimaced. Sappy bull. I was getting soft, letting hope grow a centimeter. Snip. Snip. I mentally cut it back.

“If the computer works, all I need to do is retrieve your disks and you can access them? Right?” I asked.

Broken Man bit his lip and said nothing.

“What’s wrong? I thought you have a gap in your mouth for the port.”

“I have the gap.” He paused. “Problem is…I don’t have my teeth.”

“What?”

“They’re not real teeth. We just call them that. They’re needed to access the internal computer network. They’re designed so the Pop Cops can keep track of who is in the network and restrict access to the computer system by pulling an upper’s port.”

I sank to the floor. Rubbing my face in my hands, I said, “Now you tell me.”

7

NOTHING MORE I COULD DO. THE END. THE POP COPS had Broken Man’s port. Without his port, he couldn’t access his disks and the information. No information meant no proof or disproof of Gateway’s existence.

“Lieutenant Commander Karla has my port,” Broken Man said.

I stared at him. Was he serious? “You want me to ask her for it back?”

“Think, Trella. She doesn’t know about the disks. Pulling my teeth is standard procedure. She would have sent it to computer ops to check what I’ve been accessing in the system, and they would have returned it with their report.” Sudden understanding lit his gray eyes. “The report! I should have known. A few of the files I’d viewed probably made Karla suspicious and she set a trap in my room. If only I heard about you before she rigged my quarters.”

His comment reminded me of how I had gotten involved. Cog knew I couldn’t resist a challenge. “If Cog hadn’t told you about me, we wouldn’t be here now.”

He shook his head. “Your reputation as Queen of the Pipes intrigued me first.”

“Yeah, but Cog was the only person who knows what I’m really capable of. And he’s too quick to trust, he falls for any line and is too eager to get involved.”

“The opposite of you?”

“Of course. I’m not the one getting my hopes dashed every time a new prophet arrives.”

“Yet here you are.”

In trouble with no solution in sight. “A moment of weakness and an excellent lesson on what not to do in the future. Provided I even have a future.”

“From what I’ve seen in the lower levels, do you really want to live the rest of your life in these conditions?” he asked.

The standard scrub reply was to shrug and say there was nothing I could do about it or to regurgitate the Pop Cop line about a better afterlife. But I had the opportunity to actually prove or disprove the theory about Gateway and Outside. If I wanted to risk my life. Was being alive enough for me? Could I really walk away without trying?

Broken Man could see the answer in my eyes. “Karla’s office is on level four, Sector—”

“A. I know. It’s the only area I avoid.” Last thing I needed was for the Pop Cops to catch me in an air duct above their offices and holding cells. I enjoyed a challenge, but I wasn’t crazy. And I limited my time spent in the Gap above four to trips to my box.

Contemplating the theft of his port from the lieutenant commander, I crossed over from rational to insane. “Do you know what type of security measures are installed in her office?”

“The door’s always locked, but I’m guessing you’re not going to use it.” He smiled. “Probably the usual motion sensors.”

LC Karla knew someone had used the pipes to get the disks. Would she rig the air ducts above her office with sensors? Broken Man had said she was smart, so I assumed she had. But did she know about the Gap above the ductwork? I needed to do a reconnaissance mission to her office. It would require a great deal of planning.

“How do I know which port is yours?” I asked.

“There’s an identification number etched into the bottom.” Broken Man recited his number and I committed it to memory.

“I need to eat before my next shift. Hopefully I’ll think of a way to bypass the LC’s security measures.”

Various scenarios ran through my mind as I returned to the main corridor of level two. No brilliant ideas had formed by the time I shuffled through the cafeteria line and sought a free seat. And consuming the casserole of the day failed to ignite any exceptional plans.

The only way I could enter Karla’s office would be to find the wires for the motion detectors and disable them without setting them off. It would be time consuming and dangerous. The probability of missing a sensor would be high.

The noise in the room rose to an uncomfortable level. I grabbed my tray, intent on leaving, but two scrubs stood right behind me. A young man and woman. They both had the same nose—a distinctly petite feature with a perfect shape. Combined with their matching oval faces and light greenish-brown eyes, I knew they were related. They wore the drab-gray and shapeless overalls of the recycling-plant workers.

Pitching his voice so the sound cut through the din, the man said, “We want in.”

I stepped aside so he could claim my seat.

He shook his head. “We want to help you.”

“With what?” Confused, I glanced at each one.

She gestured to the table. Two more seats were empty. The scrubs sat and she pulled me back down.

I yanked my arm away. “Who do you—”

“I’m Anne-Jade and he’s my brother, Logan. We want to help you find Gateway.”

Stunned, I gaped at them a moment. “But, I’m not—”

“Save it for the Pop Cops,” Logan said. “We know what you’ve been up to. We saw you with Cogon before he entered the lift. Saw the lift stop and Cogon leave the elevator’s maintenance room with the laundry bin. It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

They hadn’t told Karla, which meant a bribe. “What do you really want?”

“To help,” Anne-Jade said. Her lips pressed into a thin line, drawing her oval face into a serious expression.

“Why? You could get recycled.”

She swept her hand out, indicating the mass of people. “This is intolerable. I’d rather be recycled than to continue to live as livestock.”

Instinct kicked in. Too many people increased the chances of getting caught. Besides, I couldn’t trust them and I preferred to work alone. “Sorry, no. I can’t get anyone else involved.”

“We’re already involved,” Logan said. “Who do you think covered for Cogon?”

I scrambled for a reply. “Look, I’m thankful you saved Cog, but I really don’t know how you can help right now, and—”

“Listen.” Logan held up a metal wind-up toy near his ear then handed it to me.

“What—”

Logan gestured for me to listen to the toy. Not happy, I brought it close and almost dropped it when Broken Man’s voice whispered in my ear. He talked about Gateway and the disks, and I heard my own harsh reply. I stared at the little mouse murmuring in my hand. Its metal key turning. “How?”

Logan grinned. “Voice transmitting device sewn onto Broken Man’s shirt. This—” he picked up the mouse “—records and replays the conversation.” He held the device in the palm of his right hand, acting indifferent to the incredible danger he had placed us all in.

Realization finally clicked, and my bad situation turned downright rotten. I groaned. “You’re Tech Nos.”

Working in the recycling quadrant, Tech Nos “rescued” certain discarded items from the upper levels. They played around with the illegal technology—illegal for scrubs to have—and made it better. The Pop Cops hunted and killed these Tech Nos as fast as they would disease-carrying vermin. It was amazing Logan and Anne-Jade were still alive.

“How do you…where do you…” I couldn’t finish. The recycling-plant workers were monitored, their bunks searched on a regular basis.

“We’re allowed to make toys and different supplies from the metal waste.” Logan twisted the key. “Most of our toys are delivered to the uppers for their children, but we keep a few special ones.”

With space at a premium, scrubs owned few possessions. “Where?”

“Here and there. A few stay with us. This little guy is my favorite right now, and if a Pop Cop asks about it, I just say I’m doing safety testing on it before sending it to the uppers.”

Impressive and scary. “How much did you hear?”

“The conversation you had with Broken Man and Cog,” Anne-Jade said, “and the rescue. But wherever you have hidden him, we can’t get a signal.”

At least they didn’t know about the port. “I still don’t think you can help me.”

“We’re assuming you’re going to need to enter a few secure locations in search of Gateway. We have other gadgets,” Anne-Jade said.

When I didn’t respond, she huffed in frustration. “How did you plan to get past the motion detectors?”

“With creative wiring.”

“No need. We’ve built an invisibility device,” Logan said with pride.

I couldn’t mask my disbelief. “You can make me invisible?”

“To the sensors. When you turn on our Not-There Machine, the sensors won’t detect your presence.”

Passion shone from Logan’s eyes, but I wasn’t a sucker. “You two are either working for the Pop Cops or delusional.” I stood to go.

“This isn’t proof enough?” Logan held the toy mouse up.

“Yes. Proof you’re working with the Pop Cops.”

Logan opened his mouth to speak, but Anne-Jade shot him a look. “Fine,” she said. “Think what you want, but you owe us one for covering for Cog.”

“I don’t—”

She ignored me. “In the supply closet in Sector H1 is a small cleaning device.”

“Anne-Jade, if she doesn’t trust us, we shouldn’t trust her,” Logan said.

She frowned at him. “Someone has to take the first step.” Returning her attention to me, she said, “Do you know the one?”

“Zippy?” He was a quarter of the size of the regular trolls, and made to fit into tight pipes.

“You have names for the cleaning devices, and you call us delusional?” She tapped her chest to emphasize her point. “If you hold down its…Zippy’s on button for ten seconds, it not only cleans dirt, but will suck up all evidence of your presence in a place where you shouldn’t be.”

I’d heard more believable fairy tales. “How can Zippy suck up the evidence?”

Logan perked up. “Motion detectors emit pulses—”

“She doesn’t need to hear a bunch of technical mumbo jumbo,” Anne-Jade snapped at him. “It comes down to trust, Trella. You take Zippy out for a spin, and then let us know what else we can do to help you.”

They wove through the crowded cafeteria, taking their “toy” with them. The harsh clamor of multiple voices seemed louder than before. I suffered the noise as long as I could before leaving the room and reporting for my next work shift.

My thoughts replayed the encounter with the Tech Nos. If I was found associating with them or using illegal technology, I would be kill-zapped in an instant. I didn’t doubt I would be caught. I just wanted to…What? Find Gateway first?

I chided myself for such mushy thoughts. The end result would probably be exposing the whole endeavor as a hoax. Instead of wasting time, I concentrated on the next task, letting no emotions cloud my judgment. If Zippy worked, then it would make retrieving Broken Man’s port a whole lot easier. And if it didn’t? Then I hoped I could outrun the Pop Cops again.

During my shift, I planned how best to approach LC Karla’s office. I overrode the speed control on the cleaning troll and increased the pace. If I finished all my scheduled ducts early, I could sleep for a few hours before sneaking to level four.

“What do you want to know?” Jacy asked in a low voice. The scrub leaned against a column of bunks, appearing relaxed, but tension rolled off him. Two of his buddies hovered nearby. They kept watch, ensuring our conversation wouldn’t be overheard by the Pop Cops. Bluelight lit the scrubs’ barrack in Sector D1, and the snores and heavy breathing of sleeping scrubs filled the room. The musty smell of dirty socks mixed with sleep-breath, creating a rank odor. No wonder I slept in the pipes.

“I need to know Lieutenant Commander Karla’s schedule,” I said.

We were in a poorly lit corner. Rows and rows of bunks, reaching from top to bottom filled the room. Three beds per column. One meter of headroom per bed. The wooden dividers between them contained two drawers. One for the possessions of the first shift scrub who slept there and the other for the second’s.

Right now the row we occupied was half-empty. Most scrubs had finished their shift at hour thirty and were in the cafeteria.

“Why do you need her schedule?” Jacy’s dark brown bangs hung over his eyes. He studied me through the gaps.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.” He straightened.

He had grown since our time together in the care facility. I tilted my head to meet his gaze. If he tried one of his old tricks, I already knew the location of the closest ceiling vent. The design of the bunks made it easy for me to scale them if I needed to escape.

“Lieutenant Commander Karla’s been causing a lot of trouble for us. I don’t want to upset her any further. In fact, she asked me about you.”

A stream of cold fear shot down my back. Jacy dealt with information. His group of five always knew where the Pop Cops were. They warned their clients of surprise inspections and raids. Even though the scrubs worked hard, they found time to engage in a number of illegal activities.

“What did you tell her?”

“I had a kill-zapper at my chest so my memories are a little fuzzy. Perhaps if you tell me why the LC’s interested in you, it’ll help me remember.”

His expression remained guarded and I guessed the bastard already knew but wanted to confirm his suspicions.

“You’ll live longer if you don’t know.” Ha. I managed to surprise him. “Are you going to tell me Karla’s schedule or not?”

“And what do I receive in exchange?”

Typical scrub. Nothing without a price. “I’ll act as a lookout for you. One time only.”

He laughed. “I have a ton of people willing to watch for us.”

“From air duct seventy-two?”

His smirk died. “You can get in there without an upper’s help?”

I nodded. Number seventy-two crossed over a few highly sensitive areas, including the Control Center and Pop Cop headquarters. The uppers didn’t want a disgruntled scrub near them. The two scrubs allowed in the shaft always had a Pop Cop escort.

Energized, he paced. “Can you install a microphone in seventy-two for me instead?”

“A mic is illegal. How did you—?” Tech Nos. I didn’t need to know more. “You want me to put it where the cleaning trolls won’t suck it up?”

“Yes!”

I considered. “It’s more dangerous than acting as lookout. It’s worth two requests—Karla’s schedule and what you told her about me.”

“Deal.”

His response was too quick. I should have negotiated for more.

“I’ll have her agenda in an hour.” His posture relaxed, but concern lingered in his eyes. “I told the LC the truth.”

My stomach felt as if I had fallen off a pipe. “And?”

He huffed. “Same old Trella, giving nothing away. Not even for your fellow care mate.”

“The mate who bullied and tormented me? I guess you would find it odd I don’t hold any fond feelings from our time together.”

He waved my comment away. “You were cold from the start. We had to bully and torment you just to get a reaction from you.” Jacy bent close and lowered his voice. “I told her all about it. How you escape into the ducts to be alone. No friends. No interest in associating with your fellow scrubs. But I neglected to inform her about your Queen of the Pipes title.”