“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 member’s offices in Sector H3. Each of the nineteen had been given a small space and computer to use when they weren’tsitting 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 Shredder, 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 jumpsuit 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.
