Glad for the change of topic, I told him about Jacy’s request. I pulled a handful from my pocket. “Can you get the frequencies from them? Logan wants us to listen in too.”
“Where are you sticking them?”
I listed the areas Jacy requested. “But I’m not bugging the control room or Anne-Jade’s office. And I have extras to plant for us.”
Riley sat back on his heels as if bracing for bad news. “Why?”
Explaining Jacy’s theory of two groups, I speculated that one of the groups had to be connected to the Travas. “The Pop Cops had moles in the lower levels, spying on the scrubs. They could still be loyal. Perhaps by listening in, we can discover who sabotaged the power plant.”
He considered. “I doubt the network hackers worked in the lower levels. With the degree of complexity it needed, I believe there could only be a few suspects with that ability. The people I’m thinking of are all uppers.”
His obvious sincerity didn’t stop my instant ire over his statement. “Logan broke into the network and reached the highest levels without a port. He’s not an upper so why are you assuming only they could sabotage the files?”
“That’s a valid point. Why are you getting so defensive?”
“I’m…” I had been about to protest, but realized I had overreacted. “It was an automatic gut reaction. The Pop Copshad brain washed us to believe the uppers were superior in every way.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Knowing and believing are sometimes hard to combine.”
While Riley discussed the network problems with Logan in the infirmary, I showered then slept. When I woke, Riley had left a wipe board, listing the frequencies of all the mics next to Sheepy.
I reported to the air plant at hour seventy to assist with the clean up and repairs. No surprise to see Hank there, barking orders and organizing workers. Pleased to see so many helpers, I waited until he finished instructing a team before claiming his attention.
“You’re in high demand,” I said to him with a smile. “Do you even have time to sleep?”
“Sleep? What’s that? A new type of casserole?”
I would have laughed, but the craters under his eyes proved he and sleep were strangers.
“You have a big crew now. Can’t you take some time off?” I asked.
My comment had the opposite effect. Hank’s mood soured. “Yeah lots of scrubs being forced to help.”
“What do you mean?”
Hank shook his head in a slow way as if he couldn’t believe I had to ask. “Where have you been, Trella?”
“In the infirmary, growing new skin.”
“Oh. Sorry. I forgot.” He ran a calloused hand over the stubble on his face. Dirt and ash stained his coveralls. “The Committee and ISF have commandeered hydroponics and thekitchen. If the scrubs want to eat, they have to work two hours for each meal.”
I noted Hank’s use of the word commandeered. Even though the Committee was desperate for aid, they had mishandled the situation. In theory Hank should be on their side. He bore all the stress of having to make repairs with a limited crew. They should have asked him how to recruit workers.
“Any work or just repair work?”
“Any. Laundry, recycling, kitchen duty, waste handling… All the jobs that need to be done. Repair work actually counts double—one hour for one meal—because of the critical time-sensitive nature of them.”
“Did they set the same requirements for the uppers?”
“What do you think?”
Damn. “But to be fair, the uppers are still doing their jobs. It’s just?—”
“None of the scrubs has a clue what their jobs are. I know, and the scrubs on the Committee understand, but the rest of them believe all the uppers do is sit in front of a monitor and type every so often. No one is taking the time to explain it to the scrubs.” He swept a hand out, indicating the flurry of activity around the air filter bays. “At least there has been one positive thing to all this. I’ve a few uppers who don’t mind getting their hands dirty and they’re putting in long hours right beside the scrubs.”
The situation was unfortunately familiar. “Who’s keeping track of a person’s hours?”
