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?”

“Agreed.”

“Great. Hi, I’m Riley Narelle Ashon and this is Sheepy Narelle Ashon.” He picked up his stuff toy and waved the sheep’s paw at me. Then he held out his hand to me. “And you are…?”

I grasped his hand, marveling at the feel of his smooth skin. “Trella Garrard Sanchia.”

12

THE NAME HAD POPPED FROM MY MOUTH WITHOUT thought. I was sure Riley’s shocked expression mirrored my own. He let go of my hand.