Maria Snyder - Outside In

“What if I or Logan needed your help?” He studied my expression. “Didn’t think of that, did you?”

“I’ll take it with me next time. Okay?” I held my hand out for the earring.

Riley dropped it into my palm. “Promise?”

I swallowed my retort. Riley’s overprotectiveness grated on my nerves at times. For more weeks than I could count, I had climbed all over Inside without any way to signal for help and without any trouble either. Cogon had warned me of the danger, but I had ignored him. Good thing, too. Without my knowledge of the ducts and my ability to travel through them, our rebellion wouldn’t have succeeded.

“I promise,” I said, rushing past him.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To change. I’m late.” I closed my door on his reply and switched the drab gray overalls the recycling workers wore for my skin-tight climbing clothes.

When I returned to the sitting area, Riley blocked my exit. “Late for what?”

I gestured to the ceiling. “My shift. I’m helping to repair the ductwork between levels three and four.”

His shoulders drooped. “Oh. I thought we could—”

“I’m done at hour sixteen. I’ll meet up with you later.” I slipped around him and waved.

“It’s always later, Trella.”

I rounded on him. “This is important.”

“And so is exploring and the Committee meetings before that, and—”

“I quit the Committee to spend more time with you. I wasn’t counting on an explosion. But I’ll remember to factor that in for the future.” I mimed writing on my palm. “Riley first, emergencies second. Got it.” I saluted him, rushed from the room and almost plowed into Lamont.

She said, “Trella, I need—”

“Find someone else,” I said. “I can only do so much.”

My anger cooled as I reported for work. I regretted my nasty comment to Riley. He had been putting in long hours, too. One of a few. The same handful of faces kept volunteering. Each time, they looked more and more exhausted.

During my shift, we fixed airshaft number fifteen. A small accomplishment, but that didn’t stop us from cheering.

After I organized the tools for the next group, I found Logan and his sister, Anne-Jade, arguing in the corridor near the power plant.

“… force them. I’m not a Pop Cop,” Anne-Jade said. Her dainty nose was identical to Logan’s as well as the light-brown color of her long hair. It hung past her shoulders in a shiny cascade.

The family resemblance was unmistakable, and I wondered if they were fraternal twins. They’ve always known they were related—a rarity among the scrubs—perhaps they knew who their parents were.

I hung back and waited for them to notice me.

“We need more people. I don’t care how you get them,” Logan said.

Anne-Jade fiddled with her belt buckle. She wore a modified Pop Cop uniform. The silver stripes down the sleeves and pants had been removed as well as any rank insignia. Her weapon belt held a stunner only, and the symbol representing Inside—a cube with the capital letter I on the front side—had been stitched onto her right collar.

After the rebellion, Anne-Jade had volunteered to organize a security force comprised of both uppers and lowers.

“What about the Trava family? They’re not doing anything but taking up space. And we could force them to help,” she said.

“No.” I jumped into their conversation. “They can’t be trusted.”

“To do what?” she asked. But she didn’t let me answer. “We have all the weapons and lock codes. I can post guards. It won’t be hard to do.”

By the thoughtful hum emanating from Logan’s throat, I knew he mulled over her suggestion. Between the two of them, Anne-Jade had all the common sense. As Tech Nos, they had needed to hide their activities from the Pop Cops. When they had built their illegal technology, she disguised their gadgets as everyday items. Those devices had played a critical role in winning the rebellion.

Sensing her brother’s agreement, Anne-Jade added, “And we can inject tracers in them. So even if they climb into the pipes to escape, we can track them.”

“Tracers?” I asked.

She grinned. “Tiny little bugs that are injected under the skin. They emit a signal we can pick up.”

“What’s to stop them from cutting it out?” I asked.

“They won’t know it’s there. We’ll use vampire boxes, but instead of taking blood samples, we’ll inject the tracer. They won’t know the difference. At least the civilian and lower ranked Travas won’t suspect anything.” An impish spark lit her greenish-brown eyes.

“Why not the upper ranks?” Deemed too dangerous, this group had been incarcerated in the holding cells.

“Because it was their idea,” she said. “I found notes on the project in Commander Vinco’s office. Although his tracer was twice the size of ours.”

Logan corrected his sister. “It was four times the size. Humongous. The scrubs would have panicked, thinking the lump on their arms was a tumor.”

I marveled over their skills. “How do you make your devices so small?”

“When I was experimenting with a circuit board, I—”

“You can tell her later, Logan,” Anne-Jade interrupted. “I need to know if you want me to schedule the Travas for repairs.”

“Do you have enough tracers?” he asked.

“Enough for a small group. Once we know if they’ll work, I can make more.”

“Then go ahead. Keep me informed.”

Logan’s grown-up, decisive tone surprised me. He usually deferred to her opinion.

As Anne-Jade turned to leave, I said, “Wait a minute. Shouldn’t you get permission from the Committee first?”

“No,” Logan said. “They put me in charge of the repairs. And time is critical.”

Using Travas to rush the repairs didn’t sit well with me. Perhaps the Committee could entice people to help by offering them first choice of the living space in the new levels. It was a good idea, which meant it would be ignored along with all my other ideas. Riley had called me the voice of reason, but the Committee remained deaf to me.

I returned to the infirmary, slipped past Lamont who was preoccupied with a patient and took a long hot shower. Half expecting Riley to be waiting in the sitting room when I finished, I felt a pang of disappointment over the empty couch. After donning my comfortable green shirt and pants, and weaving my wet hair into a single braid, I debated between food, sleep and Riley.

Riley won. I switched on my button microphone and turned it to Riley’s frequency. “Hi Riley. Where are you?” I asked.

No response. I tried reaching him two more times before giving up. He must be asleep. I heated a bowl of soup. The kitchen was another reason I stayed in Lamont’s suite. So nice not to fight the crowds in the cafeteria.

Unfortunately my enjoyment ended when Lamont entered. I tried to ignore her, but she sat next to me and clanged her plate on the table.

I glanced up, catching her staring at me. “What?”

She didn’t flinch. Her frank appraisal sent warning signals. Ever since the explosion, Lamont’s confidence had grown. Not as a doctor, she had never hesitated when working, but in her interactions with me. Before, her guilt made her uncertain around me, which it should. She was a traitor after all. Her actions during the rebellion had almost gotten me and my cohorts sent to Chomper.

“What?” I asked again.

“If you plan to keep living here, you have to help me in the infirmary. If you don’t want to work for me, then you need to move back into the barracks.”

I gaped at her.

“The extra room is supposed to be for an intern,” she said. “Off-hour emergencies are harder to respond to if I have to wait for my assistant to come from another level or Sector.” She leaned forward and her voice softened. “I’ve been thinking about Karla’s claims about you.”