Текст книги "Inside Out"

Автор книги: Maria V. Snyder

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

I peered through the vent and watched the bustle of the kitchen scrubs. Pop Cops also kept an eye on them, but they had still managed to hide food despite the danger.

They counted on me. Again panic threatened to overwhelm me. If nothing changed in the lower levels, the scrubs would be disappointed and upset for risking the little comforts they had.

Shoving the confused terror into a deep corner of my mind, I concentrated on the task at hand—getting the food to Domotor’s hideout. With my makeshift skid and the troll’s help, I transported all the containers to the air shaft over his quarters then continued to work my shift.

The hours crept by. Each time I changed air ducts, I kept expecting to be arrested. When I encountered the first RATSS, I almost screamed. The thing focused its antennae on me.

“Name and birth week,” a mechanical voice ordered.

I answered.

“Noted. Continue working,” it said.

It drove away and my heart resumed beating. I was questioned by two more RATSS in two other shafts.

By the time hour ninety arrived, my muscles were so tight I could have climbed a vertical shaft without breaking a sweat. Grateful to be done, I returned the cleaning troll to his closet.

“There you are,” my supervisor said. Her eyebrows pinched together with annoyance and a red cuff hung from her fingers.

I bit down on a sarcastic reply. No sense upsetting her further.

“I waited for you at the end of your last shift, but you never showed. Where were you?”

My thoughts raced. “My cleaning device broke in the shaft and I had to repair it. Took me an extra hour to finish.” I hoped she hadn’t waited an hour.

She tapped the red cuff on her thigh. I kept my face neutral.

“Next time, leave it behind and check to see if I’m waiting. I’ve got Pop Cops breathing down my neck. They want to know if anyone misses a shift.”

“Yes, sir.” Calling her sir always mollified her.

As expected, her expression smoothed. “I wanted to let you know there will be a lot of RATSS in the pipes. The Pop Cops believe there’s evidence hidden in one of the air ducts.” She huffed in disbelief. “We’re supposed to work around them. Just try not to break any of the RATSS during your next shift.”

“Yes, sir.”

She checked my name off her list and left to find the next scrub. I waited for my pulse to calm before sliding into the heating ducts and heading toward Domotor’s room. The air shafts wouldn’t be safe for me to travel in for a while. And I hoped the RATSS hadn’t discovered the cache of food above Domotor’s hideout.

I entered his quarters through the vent. Domotor was slumped over his keyboard sleeping. Wasting no time, I transported the food containers from the air shaft to the refrigerator and freezer.

When I finished, Domotor straightened a bit in his chair, but he rested his forehead in the palm of his hand. His hair covered his expression.

Not able to wait anymore, I asked, “Any progress?”

His reply was muffled so I stepped closer and touched his shoulder. He dropped his arm and met my gaze. Hollowness lurked in his eyes.

“What happened?” I asked.

“We’re done.”

11

I UNDERSTOOD THE LOOK OF DEFEAT IN HIS FACE, BUT not the reason for it.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I hit a wall. The security system has been enhanced and I couldn’t bypass it.”

I ignored the tightness gripping my throat. “Is there another way?” The question squeaked out.

“No.”

“There has to be.” A whisper, all I could manage. My body felt as if it were trapped in a metal compactor. “There isn’t.” He rubbed a hand over his cheek as he stared into the distance. A combination of emotions crossed his face, but they moved too fast for me to decipher. “Unless…I follow Cog’s example and reveal myself to the Travas. They’ll know I have my port and where I am, but I could find the information we need before they get to me.”

I searched his expression. He was committed to sacrificing himself. Good to know. “You said ‘could find,’ does that mean the information is there to retrieve or you think it might be?”

“The information is there, but I can’t guarantee I’ll access it before the Controllers sever my link.”

Too big a risk right now. I thought about the problem. Even though I knew nothing about the computer and its security, I remembered a comment Logan had made about the uppers’ computer system.

“Wait until I return before you attempt to retrieve the information. I need to check a few things and report for the hundred-hour assembly.”

He agreed to wait and I hurried off. I had much to do in the hours remaining before assembly.

“Sure can,” Logan said. A delighted smile spread across his face.

“No,” Anne-Jade said at almost the same time.

Once again I had donned the shapeless overalls of the recycling-plant workers and joined the Tech Nos in sorting through a pile of clothing. We pulled buttons and cut zippers from the ruined garments before feeding them into Shredder. The device had a more technical name for how it recycled the threads, but the scrubs nicknamed everything.

“No as in he can’t do it?” I asked Anne-Jade.

“No as in I won’t let him. It’s too dangerous. He’ll be caught.”

“We’re going to be discovered anyway. Might as well go out with style,” Logan said.

She scowled as Logan pouted, but by the tight set to Anne-Jade’s shoulders I knew she wouldn’t change her mind. A Pop Cop sauntered by and we concentrated on our work.

Her reaction didn’t make sense. They had covered for Cog and told me about Zippy. Why was this different? I ran a tattered shirt through my fingers. The steady plink of buttons dropping into a bucket and clack of zippers kept time with my thoughts.

The answer was right in front of me in the movement of their hands. They worked as one, progressing through the pile of clothes without any signs of communication. Anne-Jade wasn’t afraid he would be recycled, but that he would be recycled without her. They were a matched set.

I used logic. “If he doesn’t help, Broken Man will go after the information anyway. He’ll be arrested and interrogated, which will lead the Pop Cops to me and I’ll lead them to you.” I suppressed a shudder. The pain would have to be horrible for me to rat on them.

“Are you threatening me?” Anne-Jade thrust her scissors in my direction.

“No. I’m just stating the facts. We’ve come too far to back off now. If Broken Man’s efforts fail, then you and Logan will be recycled without causing any damage.”

Her arm dropped and she returned to cutting zippers. “When do you need him?”

“Right after assembly is over. Logan, meet me in the hallway outside the care facility.”

He flashed me a grin, but Anne-Jade kept her eyes on her work, ripping threads and seams with more force than needed. The sound of tearing cloth followed me as I left the plant.

I had a few more bits of unfinished business. Jacy’s listening devices needed to be installed. Air duct number seventy-two was located above the fourth level. It didn’t cross over Riley’s room. In fact, it supplied air to two areas only. The main control room in Quad G4 and the Pop Cops headquarters and holding cells in Quad A4. Extra filters had been installed and a few special scrubbers.

Remembering the gas hissing from the canisters in Domotor’s room, I guessed the extra precautions kept an enemy from sending airborne poisons through the vents.

The known ways into seventy-two were either through the vents in the actual rooms or at the air source. Since I doubted LC Karla would let me use her office to climb into the duct, I headed to the air plant in Quad I4. I could cut a hole into the shaft from the Gap, but the ducts weren’t labeled and the effort to figure it out would consume more time than I had available.

I wore the air workers’ plain white jumper, tucking my hair under the bump cap. The air filters and scrubbers were cleaned on a regular schedule. Between shifts only a few scrubs lingered to keep an eye on the equipment. I strode to a two-meter-high rectangular box as if I had an urgent purpose. A large air shaft entered the side of the container and another exited the other end. No one questioned me as I climbed the ladder to the top of the container and the access ports that allowed the scrubs to remove the filters, clean them and return them.

Lowering myself, I squeezed through the rows of filters. Soft and made of a cloth mesh, the bags trapped the dust particles in the air. A strong current pushed through the chamber. I tried hard not to damage the filters as I swam through them. On the intake side of the container, I climbed into the oversized trunk air shaft and followed it up to one of its branches—air shaft seventy-two.

Working my way through air filters and wire security screens, I reached the Pop Cops headquarters and placed a microphone near a vent.

I couldn’t resist making a side trip to the holding cells. Risky, yes, but there could be a way to rescue Cog, I rationalized. When the covers on the vents turned into solid bars, I knew I had reached my destination. Slowing, I moved with care. Only a slight whisper of fabric sounded.

Harsh daylight streamed from below. Armed Pop Cops occupied the room. Desks and chairs with handcuffs littered the space, appearing to be a processing area for the inmates. Double doors festooned with locks filled the back wall.

Farther along the shaft the light changed into a muted yellow. The smells of sweat, blood and fear created an acidic stew. Taking shallow breaths, I peered into the dank cells. Black bars caged tiny areas only big enough for a bed and toilet. Although, calling the metal slab a bed was being generous. Three cells lined each side of the room with a short corridor between them. Cog was the sole occupant.

His bulk filled the slab and his feet dangled off the end. In the sickly half light the raw and bleeding bruises on his face resembled rotten meat. His eyes were swollen shut and his breath rattled. I rested my forehead on the duct for a moment, trying to see past the fog of horror and guilt clouding my vision. Pressure built inside my skull and chest as if I would explode. I fought to muffle my sobs.

My fault. Retrieving those disks had been a lark. I didn’t believe in Gateway, didn’t care about the prophet. One mistake, letting the cover slip through my fingers, and Cog…I wanted to shy away from the vision, but I forced myself to face the image of Chomper crushing and pulping Cogon’s lifeless body, and to hear the sound of splintering bones and the wet smack of bodily fluids. I let the consequence of my actions burn into my mind.

No way to change the past, I could only hope to affect the future before I met the same fate. For Cogon, and in Logan’s words, I would inflict the maximum damage.

“Cog?” I whispered. When he didn’t stir, I cupped my hands around my mouth and called louder. After the fourth try, he moved his head.

“Trella?” His voice rasped like a rusty hinge. “You caught?” He struggled to sit up with frantic haste.

“No. I’m in the air shaft above you.”

He relaxed, resuming his prone position. “Good, ’cause I can’t break those bars to the duct to help you escape. So don’t get caught.”

“How are you—”

He waved his hands in a pushing motion. “No worries. Did you find Gateway yet?”

Despite being beaten his confident tone astounded me. I squashed the honest reply between my molars and hedged. “Not yet.”

“How soon?”

“Don’t know.”

“I hope I’m alive when it’s opened. Just to see the look on the lieutenant commander’s face.”

My jaw ached as the Chomper vision flashed. “Cog, can I bring you anything?”

“No, but you can do something for me.”

“Name it.”

A harsh bark erupted from him, and, at first, I worried he was choking but then realized he was laughing. Between gasps he said, “And I…had…to beg you…to see Broken…Man. Wish…you were this…cooperative before.”

“Cogon,” I warned.

“Whew. Back to your old…self. I need you to plant Broken Man’s clothes to help my alibi. Obviously, the Pop Cops haven’t found him and they think he’s moved to another hiding place. But after the next—” he drew in a deep breath “—next round of torture, I’m going to confess to killing him and I need evidence. I’m going to tell them I shoved his clothes into the space behind storage closet two-two-one in the care facility. Do you know where it is?”

I smiled at the memory of Cogon showing me his hidey hole. “The one where you hid your…what did you call them?”

“Spirits.”

“Now I remember. So called because they burned on the way down and floated right to your head, making you feel as light as a ghost.”

“And you believed me, too.”

“Did not.”

“Did, too. You used to follow me around the common room, making sure I didn’t turn into a ghost.”

“You have it all wrong. You followed me. And I’m the one who kept you from getting into trouble.”

“Me? Who covered for you when you went exploring? Me. That’s who! And I’m still protecting you.”

The dagger of truth popped the warm bubble of memories. Cold reality rushed in, shocking me into the present.

A bang echoed through the cells, and a wedge of daylight sliced the yellow glow.

“Who’re you talking to, scrub?” a man asked.

“The rats,” Cog said.

The man’s harsh laughter grated on my nerves. “Did they respond?”

“No.”

“I’m not surprised. Rats wouldn’t demean themselves by interacting with a low-life scrub.”

“You’re talking to me, Vinco. Does that make you worse than a rat?”

Vinco growled. “That’s Commander Vinco, scrub. Since you’re in such a chatty mood…Porter bring me my knife!”

There was a muttered reply. I strained to see Commander Vinco. I wanted to put a face to the man who hurt both Riley and Cog.

“Damn assembly. My knife will be talking to you on my next shift,” Vinco said.

The white light shrank then disappeared with the slamming of the doors.

“Trella?” Cog pitched his voice low.

“Still here.”

“You shouldn’t be. Get going before you’re marked tardy for assembly.”

“But I need to hide Broken Man’s stuff for you.”

“You have time. The Pop Cops won’t be looking for it until hour twelve.”

His matter-of-fact tone about the exact time had an ominous ring. A cold unease crept up my spine. “How can you be so sure?”

“Vinco’s next shift starts at hour ten. I can take a beating and I can endure most pain. But two hours of Vinco’s knife is all I can bear.”

The bell rang for the hundred-hour assembly as I climbed from the bag-filter’s chamber. Damn. No time to change the stained and sweat-soaked uniform. I raced to my assembly station—the cafeteria—and ended up last in the short line. Only three scrubs between me and LC Karla. She leaned against a table, watching the check-in process. I wondered why she was here again.

My voice didn’t waver when I repeated my stats, but my heart beat a faster rhythm when Karla eyed my work suit with a contemplative purse on her lips. I tried to sidle past her.

“Running late?” she asked.

“Sorry, sir.” I stepped toward the dining room.

She blocked my way. “You weren’t scheduled to work. What have you been doing during your off time?”

Her stare could have frozen the warmest heart. I blinked. Caught by surprise, my mind blanked.

“Hey, Trella,” another scrub called. An older man with short gray hair and a stooped posture, he had gone through check-in just before me. “Thanks for helping with that clogged drain. Without your little hands, I don’t know what we would have done.”

“Anytime,” I said, waving.

Karla snatched my hand and inspected my short fingernails.

“No dirt under your nails?” She waited.

“I washed my hands, sir. They were in raw sewage.”

She dropped my hand as if I were contagious and gestured for me to join the scrubs assembled in the cafeteria. I stood next to the man who had covered for me. As Karla pushed her way to the front, I leaned close and whispered my thanks.

“Anytime,” he said, winking.

LC Karla climbed onto a table to address the crowd. “Citizens, welcome to the end-of-the-week celebration. Now begins week number 147,003.” She scanned the scrubs. “I have good news. We have caught the man responsible for my officer’s untimely recycling, and we will find Broken Man soon. However, if you know of anyone who may have helped hide Broken Man, you are to tell me immediately. Rewards for accurate information may result in promotion to the upper levels.”

Absolute silence filled the room. All moisture evaporated from my mouth and gushed from my pores. I couldn’t help glancing at the man beside me. Why didn’t he raise his hand and tell the LC about lying for me? He didn’t move. No one did.

LC Karla’s body stiffened and she shook as if waves of pure anger pulsed off her. She glared at the crowd. “Fine, then you all will be interrogated. One at a time.”

She relinquished her tabletop position to the ensign on duty. As he read the weekly announcements, murmurs circled the room. But the whispers held a timbre of outrage.

The man leaned over. “She’s made a mistake.” He met my gaze. “Whatever you’re up to, do it quick. I think you’ll be first on her interrogation list.”

I listened to the rest of the ensign’s message without hearing a word he said. My thoughts tumbled in circles, ending at the same point. I stifled the desire to jump on a tabletop and shout to the scrubs, “Don’t get your hopes up!”

When the assembly was over, I bolted into the kitchen. Karla stood at the exit and I didn’t want to remind her about me. If she caught me later, I could say I had needed to start my cleaning shift. True to a point.

No Pop Cops had arrived yet, and the kitchen scrubs took my presence in stride, preparing food for the next meal. I could reach the air vent above the countertop, but would have difficulty getting inside. Scanning the kitchen, I searched for a stool to stand on.

A thud sounded behind me and I turned. On the counter rested a stepladder. The type with only a few rungs and used to reach into high cabinets. Without delay, I climbed on the counter and up the ladder.

“Thanks!” I called as I pulled myself into the air shaft. The ladder was gone by the time I closed the vent’s cover. I traveled through the shaft to the hallway outside the care facility in Sector H2. Once there, I glanced down. A stream of scrubs heading toward their work assignments flowed below me. I waited a few minutes then dropped down on the stragglers.

No curses. No taunts. I could get used to it. Although if I failed to help the scrubs, the verbal abuse would resume. I laughed. If I failed, the scrubs would be the least of my worries.

Logan paced the hallway, biting a nail. I scanned the hallway to make sure no Pop Cops lingered nearby. He stopped when he saw me. I pulled his hand down.

“Try not to look so nervous,” I said. “How do you manage to work on Zippy and the other technology without giving yourself away?”

“Anne-Jade. She has nerves of glass. It has to be pretty hot for her to melt.”

“We’ll be out of sight soon.” I guided him to a small door near the care facility. Taking his decoder from my tool belt, I whispered, “Keep an eye out.” Then I placed the device near the door’s lock, pressing the button.

“Anne-Jade? What are you doing here?” Logan asked.

I looked over my shoulder. Barefooted, Anne-Jade wore a skintight dark blue work uniform. Her thick hair had been wrestled into a single braid.

“I need Trella’s birth week and barrack number,” she said.

“Why?” Logan asked.

“Good idea,” I said, rattling off my stats. “I’m supposed to be in—”

“Shaft one eleven. Got it.” She hurried off.

I reviewed my cleaning schedule in my mind—two water pipes and a bunch of air ducts on level one. Nothing too challenging for her.

The decoder had finished. I unlocked the door and pulled Logan into a small storage room filled with stacks of linen diapers. Closing the door, I switched on my light. Situated under the shelves was a heating vent. My fellow scrubs didn’t bat an eye when I wormed into the heating system, but Logan’s presence would draw unwanted attention. I had thought ahead, remembering this closet. However I had failed to find a solution for missing my shift, hoping we would be done in time for me finish it. But Anne-Jade figured it out.

“Oh,” Logan said. His puzzled expression smoothed. “She’s pretending to be you so the Pop Cops won’t be suspicious. Smart!”

“So are you,” I said.

“Not that kind of smart.”

“There’s another kind?”

“Oh, yeah. I know the tech stuff, but she’s the one who disguises it. The Pop Cops walk by our stuff all the time and don’t know it’s there. She’s the one who figures out what we can take from the recycling plant and when. She’s the one who insisted we not tell the other Tech Nos about us.”

“That is smart,” I agreed. Pulling the vent cover down, I pointed. “Follow me, it’s not far. Close the vent when you’re through, and keep quiet. Voices carry in there.”

He nodded and then gnawed on a fingernail. I squirmed into the vent and moved ahead to give Logan room. My sore forearms protested. From all the time spent in the ducts, I would develop calluses on my elbows and wrists. How would I explain them to LC Karla?

The trip to Domotor’s room took twice as long as usual. Logan’s slight build fit into the shaft, but his arm muscles weren’t used to pulling his weight. When we finally entered the hideout, Domotor woke with a jerk. He had been sleeping on the couch. He pushed himself into a sitting position and studied Logan in alarm.

“I hope he is one of the ‘few things’ you needed to check on. And not a Pop Cop in disguise?” he asked me.

“Yes. Logan’s here to see if he can help with the computer system.”

“Unless he’s a technological wizard, he—”

Logan spotted the computer and wasted no time. He settled before the monitor. I helped Domotor into his chair and wheeled him closer to Logan.

The Tech No squealed in delight. His fingers flew over the keyboard. “You have a port!” He grinned.

“Yes, but you can’t—”

“I know stealth mode. I’ll be like a ghost. What are you trying to do?”

Domotor launched into technical double-talk. Logan’s eyes lit with the challenge. The prophet nodded and made impressed noises as they worked. I settled on the couch. My desire to interrupt to inquire about clothes for Cog’s ruse warred with my desire for sleep. I tried to remember the last time I slept. The effort needed to calculate proved too much for my exhausted brain, so I rested my head on the couch’s arm.

“…need an upper computer to access the data,” Logan said.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. The vision of Logan and Domotor peering at me with twin concerned expressions failed to dissipate.

“What happened?” I asked.

“We figured out where the information is,” Domotor said.

His demeanor didn’t match his words. “But…”

“It can only be accessed from a computer on the upper levels.” He gave me a few seconds to let the news sink in. “Can you get Logan to level four?”

“Doesn’t he need a port?” I asked.

“Not anymore.” Logan smiled with smug satisfaction. “I set up my own account; all I need is a password and the right connection.”

“Why won’t it work here?”

Logan tried to describe the inhibitor function on a lower-level computer. I lost him after the second word.

Domotor thankfully interrupted. “Five minutes is all he would need. Can you do it, Trell?”

Could I? Crawling through heating vents was easier than climbing to another level. I doubted Logan had the upper-body strength needed to pull himself up the chains. Unless…We could ride on top of the lift. But where would we find an unoccupied computer and, if we did find one, then how long would it remain unoccupied?

“I need a few hours to think about it.”

“Perhaps Riley could help,” Domotor said. “I’m sure he would know where to find a computer.”

“I don’t think we should involve him,” I said.

“Who’s Riley?” Logan asked.

“It’s better you don’t know.” Too many knew about us already. Our chances of getting caught increased with each new person. Maximum damage, I chanted in my mind.

“He’s proven himself trustworthy. This is too important to leave to chance,” Domotor said.

I grumbled even though he was right.

“We’d better go. I don’t want to be late for my shift,” Logan said.

His words reminded me to ask Domotor about his clothes.

“Sure, take what you need.”

When I returned from his room with the pants and shirt he had worn the day we had rescued him, Logan grabbed the shirt. He jerked off the top button. I remembered the microphone.

“Don’t want to lose this,” he said, then handed me the disks. “We don’t need these, though.”

I looked at Domotor. He avoided my gaze and shifted in his chair as if searching for a more comfortable position. Waiting, I tapped the disks—the irresistible bait that lured me on this fool’s errand—against my legs.

Eventually, he gave me a sheepish grin. “The programs on them are worthless now. If I could have used them before I was caught, they would have worked.”

“But they can help Cog,” Logan said.

They would delay the inevitable. I pushed those morbid thoughts away. “It’s better than nothing.”

Hour ten and Logan had reported to his shift on time, the clothes and disks had been hidden in the storage closet and I had to figure a way to get Logan to level four. I stopped by the laundry room. All the clothes for Inside were washed here. Scrubs rolled big white canvas bins to transport piles of clean and dirty garments. Bins also stood under the chutes to collect the uniforms and clothes from the upper levels.

Along the left side wall rested stacks of clean uniforms for the scrubs. Each pile was specific to a different work area and was sorted by size. The blue color of the pipe scrubs seemed bright compared to the rest. Laundry and kitchen scrubs wore the same white uniform.

Stealing scrubs’ clothes was easy. A steady stream of people headed to and away from the stacks and no one cared if you picked up one or a hundred. The uppers’ clothes, though, were placed in marked bins—one per family. Pop Cops kept a close watch over them.

After a circuit around the room, I left knowing I would be unable to borrow a few uppers’ garments from the bins. However, if I wasn’t picky, I could intercept a few items as they traveled down the chutes.

I rigged a net in one of the shafts. Clogs in the chutes were rare, but not unheard of. Hopefully, I’d catch a Logan-sized disguise.

My next problem would be harder to solve. Climbing to Riley’s room on level four, I reviewed my options for finding a computer terminal. I could spy on one of the upper’s suites. Keeping track of their comings and goings, I could determine when the suite would be empty. But how long would it take? And, working my own shifts, I would only have half the picture.

Bluelight shone through the vent into Riley’s room. When I was certain it was empty, I dropped through the vent and onto the couch. The daylights turned on automatically and I jumped to my feet in surprise—it had never happened before.

I found the tiny motion detector. Its sensor was aimed at the couch, and the simple device had been wired to the light switch. Everything else appeared to be the same. The ladder leaned against a side wall, and the furniture remained in place. A moment passed and nothing happened. I checked under the couch. Zippy looked undisturbed in his hiding spot.

I relaxed. Riley had spent time fixing the place up. Wandering around the room, I found a few of his possessions. A broken keyboard with a tangle of wires streaming from under it, a chewed marker, a wipe board with a technical diagram of circuits drawn on it and a stuffed sheep. Not made with the skin of a real sheep, but the wool was genuinely fuzzy and soft, and the rest had been constructed of cloth. A child’s toy. And from its worn and threadbare appearance, I knew it was well loved.

I picked the sheep up and stroked its wool. The care facility had few toys for the children to share. Most of our time in the facility had been spent training for our future jobs. Cleaning trolls instead of dolls, and engines to take apart and repair. The Care Mothers evaluated us and decided our careers based on our aptitudes.

The memory of Cog racing Jacy to see who could rebuild an engine first caused me to smile. Cog loved to get his hands dirty and he probably would have gotten the maintenance job even if he hadn’t grown so big. My tendency to explore the ducts also made my Care Mother’s job easy in placing me. I didn’t have the patience to be a Care Mother or a gardener for hydroponics.

Computer time had dominated our learning hours. Teaching stories to read, mathematics to learn, our society’s customs and expectations, and a basic knowledge of the physical machinery and how our world worked had all been the main focus of learning. According to Riley, the information we learned had been Pop Cop propaganda. I wondered just how much was accurate.

A click sounded behind me. I spun, reaching for my tool belt. Riley slipped into the room and closed the door without making any more noise. He wore his headset and work uniform.

He raised an eyebrow at my defensive posture. “I see you found Sheepy.”

“Sheepy?” I replaced the toy. “That’s not a very original name.”

He shrugged. “I was three hundred weeks old when I got him and his mother as a present.”

“What’s her name?”

He grinned. “Mama Sheepy.”

I laughed.

“You do know how to smile and laugh,” he said. “I was beginning to worry.”

Sobering, I searched his expression. “Worry about what?”

“That you had no joy in your heart.”

What an odd statement. “What do you mean?” I demanded.

“I put myself at considerable risk helping you and it’s good to know you can…that you’re not…that you have…” He slapped his hands to his face and then dropped them as if in surrender. “I always say the wrong thing around you. Look, can we start over?”

“Over?”

“Yes. Over. Wipe the board clean.”

“But I would have to go back to hating you and not trusting you,” I said.

“Oh, well don’t do that.” He paused and chewed his lip. “Does that mean you like and trust me now?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Trust?”

“The debate is ongoing.”

“You’re giving me squat. You know that, don’t you?”

I suppressed a grin, but couldn’t keep a straight face. “Yes.”

He shook his head. “Okay. We won’t wipe the board clean, but how about we ignore all our previous misconceptions and biases about each other and start as two regular people who don’t hate each other. Agreed?”