Maria Snyder - Outside In

Riley picked up one of the twisted hunks of metal from the container. As he examined it, a shocked horror filled his eyes. “This could detonate a bomb.”

A bomb. Spoken aloud, the words slammed into me. Someone had set off a bomb, killing people on purpose, risking all our lives—thousands of people. I let the stunned outrage roll through me. It took me a few minutes to pull my emotions together and think.

“Who did this? Why?” I asked.

“Who would have to be someone who knew about the Transmission, and had enough knowledge to make and place the bomb so it didn’t blow a hole to Outside,” Logan said. “As for why, I can only guess. Since the Transmission was the target, either someone doesn’t want us traveling through Outer Space or someone wants to get our attention.”

“Do you think they will make demands or threaten to damage another system if we don’t comply?”

“I’ve no idea, Trell. This is all new territory for me.”

“If they plan to make demands, it should be sooner rather than later,” Riley said. “Actually, if they do contact Logan or the Committee, we might be able to find out who they are.”

“Have you informed the Committee?” I asked Logan.

“No.”

“Why not?” I demanded.

“I just connected the clues. And this information needs to be handled with care. Knowing we’re dealing with a saboteur gives us an advantage. If nothing is said, maybe the person will relax and give himself away.”

“And if word gets out, there could be panic,” Riley added.

“This is too big. The Committee needs to know.”

“Nineteen people can’t keep a secret. It’s statistically impossible,” Logan said.

“What if the saboteur makes a demand?” I asked.

“The Committee will know then, won’t they?”

I huffed in frustration. “You need to tell someone,” I said.

“I did.”

“Besides us.”

“I think that’s unwise.”

“Do you have any suspects?” Riley asked.

“Don’t encourage him,” I said.

“He’s right and you know it.”

“I can pull together a list of all those who know about the Transmission for you and Trella,” Logan said. “Us?”

He ignored me. “Anne-Jade is still trying to find out which Travas worked on the Transmission equipment. Once we have those names, I’ll add them to the list. It’s doubtful the Travas pulled it off, but one of them could have given the information to someone who isn’t under constant surveillance.”

“I can talk to the maintenance scrubs, see if they know more than they’re letting on,” Riley offered. “Are you going to tell Anne-Jade?” I asked. “Of course. She can be trusted.”

Still not convinced we were doing the right thing, I knew when I was outnumbered. “We’re going to need Jacy’s help. He has kept his network of contacts.”

“Is he trustworthy?” Riley asked. “He’s on the Committee.”

Remembering how he had bartered and traded for services and favors, I said, “I’ll talk to him.”

From the air shaft, I searched for Jacy among the Committee members’ offices in Sector H3. Each of the nineteen had been given a small space and computer to use when they weren’t sitting in meetings. Using the ducts had been a cowardly act on my part. I didn’t want to encounter any of the other members. I didn’t want to be questioned about why I left or guilted into returning.

Jacy’s office was empty. I debated waiting or leaving a note. Neither appealed to me, so I found a vent in the main corridor between Sectors and dropped down. He could be in the upper’s dining room next door in Quad G3, but my skin-tight jumpsuit would draw everyone’s attention. Since I needed regular clothes anyway, I headed down to the laundry in Sector B1 via the stairs in Quad I.

When I reached level one, I almost tripped. Huge mounds of glass, metal and clothing filled most of the floor space. The recycling plant in Quad I1 remelted glass and metal and turned clothing back into thread. Usually a busy place with scrubs sorting and carting items to the kiln or the furnace or to Chomper, only a few people worked among the piles.

I put my moccasins on, but was still careful to avoid the sharper objects as I skirted the heaps. The recycling scrubs were required to wear thick boots for a good reason.

After the mess in the recycling plant, the condition of the laundry room failed to surprise me. Bins overflowing with soiled garments and uniforms had been lined up. The line snaked around the room. Rows of washers and dryers stood silent and unused. The bins for clean clothes were empty. One person loaded a washer. Another folded clothes. A few picked through the dirty bins, searching for sizes. Otherwise the place was empty.

I crossed to the lady shoving sheets into a washer. She wore the drab green jumper that the scrubs wore when off-duty.

“Where’s everyone?” I asked. By necessity, the laundry had the most workers in the lower levels.

She shrugged. “Not here. If you want clean clothes, you have to do them yourself.”

“How long has it been like this?” I asked.

“Where’ve you been?” The woman paused to look at me for the first time. “In the upper levels, I’d bet.” She swept her hand out. “The laundry scrubs stayed for a few weeks, but none of the uppers came down to help them. Eventually they stopped. They’re not washing the uppers’ clothes. We’re all supposed to be equal, but as far as the scrubs are concerned nothing’s changed.”

I bit back my reply about the lack of Pop Cops patrolling the hallways and kill-zapping dissenters or about not having to report to the hundred hour assemblies. Instead I said, “You have to be patient. It’s going to take some time to get everyone organized. And we outnumber the uppers ten to one.”

“So? Can’t a few come down and help? How hard can it be?”

Opening my mouth to respond, I closed it. She had a point. But it wasn’t like the uppers sat around doing nothing. Yet another problem for the Committee to address.

The woman waited for my reply.

“The Committee—”

“Has caused more problems than they solved. This is a big ship, right?”

Confused by the change in topic, I said, “Sort of, but—”

“We had a captain, right?”

“Captain James Trava. But he was relieved of duty. All the Trava officers were.” We also had an admiral and a fleet admiral. Although I didn’t know why since one ship didn’t equal a fleet.

“So? Appoint another.”

I smiled. “Just like that?”

“Why not? Can’t be any harder than taking the Travas out, right? Unless you’re afraid?”

My humor died. “I’m not afraid of anyone.”

“I don’t doubt that, young lady, but I wasn’t talking about a person.”

“Then what—”

She poked a finger at a bin half hidden behind the washers. “You’ll find clean clothes in there. They’re too small for most of the scrubs.” Scooping up an armful of clothes, she added them to the washer. Conversation over.

I sorted through the uniforms and jumpers. Finding a few shirts and a pair of pants the kitchen scrubs wore, I tucked them under my arm. The nearest washroom was in Sector E1, which also housed the barracks, along with Sectors D1 and F1. Bluelights lit the rows and rows of bunk beds stacked three high.

Unlike the laundry and recycling areas, many scrubs lounged in the barracks. Some gathered in groups, others slept despite the noise and a few played cards. The place was packed and the stench of them nearly knocked me over. I hurried to change my clothes in the washroom, but as I dashed through the barracks on my way out, I spotted a number of ISF officers patrolling the barracks.

I felt as if I had just slammed into a wall. Why were they here? The scrubs didn’t like their presence either. They threw snide and nasty comments at them, mocking and taunting them. Horrible. I wondered if Anne-Jade knew what was going on down here. Or was she like me, avoiding the lower levels? I hadn’t been on levels one or two in weeks and I didn’t have a good reason either.