I didn’t blame Sloan and the others for being angry. But I wondered if he had said those things about attacking the Committee because he heard me in the duct or if he had meant them. If I hadn’t gotten away, would they have killed me? I rubbed my cheek. It still burned from the slap. Sloan had called me a traitor and by the fury in his gaze, I guessed that yes, they would have easily vented their anger on me.

Eventually, I continued into waste handling and exited the shaft at the first opening. I had no energy left to travel through the ducts. Leaning on the wall, I scanned the plant for scrubs from Sector F1. No one appeared to be searching for me. The regular plant workers milled about the equipment.

Emek spotted me, smiled and approached. “Haven’t seen you down here in a long time. Did you come to check up on me?”

“Yes. I’m making sure you’re fully recovered from the surgery.”

He inspected my appearance. “How nice.” Yet his tone implied he didn’t believe me. “Rough trip?”

“Yep. Installing air filters is hard work, I better get back.” I pushed off, but just then Rat raced into the plant like he’d been chased by an angry mob. Or it just could be my imagination.

“Emek! The scrubs in…” Rat slid to a halt when he spotted me talking to Emek. Two bright red splotches stained his cheeks and his short brown hair stuck up as if he had ran his fingers through it.

“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Emek said.

“The scrubs in Sector F1 are rioting. They’re fighting with the ISF officers, claiming the Mop Cops are spying on them.”

Emek pierced me with his scowl. “Did you know about this?”

I suddenly wished to hide under the covers of my bed. “The riot? No.”

Rat’s gaze jumped from Emek to me and back. “I heard Trella’s name.”

Emek groaned. “Do the ISF officers need help?”

“Yes.”

“Go get the rest of the crew, Rat. They’re cleaning out the secondary sludge tanks.” He hooked a thumb, pointing toward another room. Rat dashed off.

“Do you need an escort back to level three?” he asked.

“No thanks. I’m fine.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Are you sure? You look—”

“I’m sure.”

Rat returned with a dozen people on his heels. They sprinted out the door. Emek’s gaze followed them.

“Go help the ISF officers,” I said.

“No one’s in the plant right now so you can use the small washroom in my office before you go.”

“Thanks.” I shooed him away.

Tucked into the northeast corner of the plant, Emek’s neat office seemed very organized. When I considered the raw sewage that flowed into the plant, it made sense for him to have his own washroom. It always amazed me how the machinery and bacteria transformed crap into fertilizer and cleaned our water. Plus the process produced a special gas that was pumped into the power plant to be used as fuel.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. Dirt smudged my face. Clumps of dust clung to my hair. My bottom lip was swollen and bloody. And a bright red handprint covered my left cheek. I cleaned up as best as I could, braiding my hair. In my haste to escape I hadn’t noticed how dirty the barrack’s floors were.

Dirt and rust harmed our world. They weren’t as bad as sabotage, but they could do plenty of damage.

I left Emek’s office. The hum and whoosh of the machinery sounded louder without the workers. I debated between the risk of walking the hallways or the effort needed to climb into the air shaft. Scanning the ceiling for an accessible vent, I spotted one over the digester, which had a ladder up its side. Perfect.

Halfway up the ladder a clang sliced through the mechanical drone. I hoped it meant the riot had been quelled. Leaning to the side, I peered around the digester. One man, wearing an off-duty green jumper crouched next to the gas collector. No one else had returned.

I waited a few seconds to see if the others would arrive. The man kept glancing over his shoulder. Then he pushed something under the collector, straightened and hurried off.

Odd. Did he come back from the riot just to fix the machine? About to shrug it off, I paused, remembering all of Emek’s men wore dark blue coveralls.

Sliding down the ladder, I rushed over to where the man had been. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but I wouldn’t know. I unhooked my tool belt before wiggling under the collector. Yet another unique view of my world. At least the space was cleaner than under the barracks. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

I peered up. Hoses, wires, pipes and a strange device wedged between the pipes. The device had a short fat pipe about twenty centimeters in diameter and sealed on both ends. On top of the pipe were two glass containers of liquid. Between the containers was a metal box with a digital display. Each time the four numbers flashed they were one less.

Understanding hit me as hard as Sloan. I’d found a bomb.

10

I GAPED AT THE BOMB’S DISPLAY, WATCHING THE countdown with a numb horror. Three thousand and fifteen, three thousand and fourteen… When it reached three thousand, I did the math and fumbled for my microphone, switched it on and turned it to Riley’s frequency.

“Riley, find Bubba Boom and bring him to the waste handling plant now. There’s a bomb that’s going to explode in forty-nine minutes!”

Staring at the bomb, I debated. Should I move it? Where? Every place in Inside had critical equipment. And people.