“No, but…” He sought Anne-Jade’s permission. She waved him on, despite the strain lined in her face.
Logan stepped close to me. “But, we’re almost there.”
“How soon?”
“Twenty weeks, maybe more.”
Too late to help me. “Any chance you could speed it up?”
Anne-Jade turned on me. “No. Crafting these devices takes an immense effort. And it’s just us. You’re looking at the entireTech Nos. The Pop Cops have decimated our group, and the only reason we’re still alive is because we move slow and proceed with the utmost care. So far, we have out-smarted the uppers.” Twin circles of red spread on her cheeks.
“We know we’ll be found out eventually,” Logan added. His tone remained flat as if he discussed a routine event. “We just want to impart themaximumdamagebefore we’re fed to Chomper.”
With Zippy leading the way, I crawled through the air shaft on level four. The trip here felt routine. Bad sign. Before Broken Man, I had limited my trips into the upper levels to once every five or ten weeks. Now I popped up here every off-shift.
I turned Zippy off as we neared Riley’s room. No sense alerting him to our presence even if hour fifty-eight was only minutes away. Peering through the vent, I searched for Pop Cops.
Riley sat on the edge of the couch. After a moment he stood, glanced at the clock, smoothed his shirt and adjusted his headset. Nervous or bored, I couldn’t tell for sure. The Pop Cops could be waiting in the corridor for Riley’s signal. And why would he be wearing his headset?
Now or never. I reached the vent above the couch and removed the cover. Riley jumped at the sound. I suppressed a grimace. He was nervous. Because of a trap or because of me? At least he wasn’t armed.
I dropped Zippy onto the couch and climbed down the ladder. Keeping my feet on the lowest rung, I prepared to bolt at any sign of trouble.
“I thought you wouldn’t come,” Riley said.
He appeared older. No longer in training, he wore a plain gray shirt and black pants. Fresh scratches marred his cheek and neck, and his left sleeve was torn and bloody.
“What happened?” I asked, gesturing to his arm.
A wry smile twisted his lips. “Extra duty with Commander Vinco. The Commander delights in knife fighting and uses his unarmedhelpersfor target practice.”
I couldn’t resist. “Unarmed?”
Impishness lit his face. “So far, I managed to survive them, much to his annoyance.” He rubbed his shoulder as the humor faded from his expression. “But he’s getting creative, which is not the reason you’re here.” He stared at me for a moment.
I imagined I was quite the sight. Wisps of brown hair had sprung from my braid long ago and clung to my sweaty face. Stains and tears marked my one-piece cleaning uniform, which was rather tight all of a sudden. Dirty bare feet roughened with calluses completed the picture. I don’t know why I cared about my appearance. I hadn’t before.
“Aren’t you going to come down?” Riley pointed to the couch.
“I’ll stay here.”
“You still don’t trust me even after I covered for you?”
No sense sugar-coating it. “Yep.”
“Thenwhyare you here?”
“I owe you one.”
“Wonderful,” he muttered. He crossed his arms and frowned. “You might as well go then. I can’t help you if you don’t trust me.” Riley turned to leave.
Not the reaction I expected. “Help me with what?”
He paused. “Getting Domotor’s port.”
“Why?”
Riley faced me with a challenge in his blue eyes. So used to the various shades of brown in the lower levels, the color still amazed me.
