it covered. I’m just in the way.”
Riley tried to argue, but I didn’t want to dwell on how useless I was in those meetings. I handed him the antiseptic and pointed to the gash on my arm. He grumbled, but helped to clean and then suture the cut. Although a bit awkward, he didn’t balk when it was time to pierce my skin with the needle. That part tended to unnerve potential interns. I shouldn’t be surprised. He had assisted Lamont with surgery in our storeroom when a Pop Cop had knifed me. Maybe he should be the one to train with Lamont.
When he finished tying the last stitch, I examined his handiwork. Yet another scar on my arm. Between Vinco’s knife and my various injuries, I resembled one of those striped tigers listed in the computer files. A wild animal we had left behind. Why we left, I’d no idea, but I was sure Logan’s efforts to find the original files for Inside would be successful. Then we would know everything.
After Riley and I finished checking on all the patients, I showered and changed into clean clothes. Since I no longer traveled through the air ducts and pipes, I wore the comfortable light green V-neck shirt and pants Lamont and the other caretakers wore. Yes, I realized the irony, but since I was only 1.6 meters tall, only a few uniform types fit me—unless I wanted to wear the student jumpers. And I wasn’t about to go around Inside wearing my air scrubbing uniform or the surgery whites—a special white fabric worn during an operation that allowed the blood stains and other fluids to be easily bleached clean.
After my shower, I returned to the infirmary and organized the mess left by the Big Shake. Riley went to search for his father. Their rooms were located in Sector E4, cattycornered to the power plant, but he wasn’t too worried.
“He didn’t come to the infirmary on level four,” Riley had said. “I doubt he’s hurt, but I want to make sure.”
As I worked, people stopped by to look for loved ones and to visit the injured. Everyone seemed dazed, and I wondered how long it would take them to recover.
Hana Mineko arrived to record the names of the injured. She carried a portable computer—one of Logan’s new devices. Not only a member of the Force of Sheep, she had also been involved with Domotor’s first effort to regain control of Inside from the Trava family. Now she was a member of the Committee.
Her black curly hair, usually fixed in an intricate knot, hung in messy clumps. Dirt smudged her cheek and scratches marked her petite nose.
When she finished, I asked her how bad it was.
Pressing a few buttons on her computer, she said, “So far, I’ve listed five hundred and three.” Hana glanced at my forehead. “Make that five hundred and four injured and sixty-six to be recycled.”
My heart lurched and I put a hand to my chest. “That many are going to Chomper? Are you sure? The blast wasn’t that strong.”
“The number is unfortunately accurate and bound to increase slightly. It could have been worse,” Hana said. “The explosion happened between levels four and three. The hardest hit areas were Sectors F3 and F4, which houses apartments for the uppers. If the blast had been in the lower two levels, the scrub barracks in Sectors F2 and F1 would have been in the line of fire, and thousands would now be waiting for Chomper.” She swept a hand, gesturing to the far wall of the infirmary. “Another piece of luck, the energy went south. If it had gone west, this place would have been torn to bits. You and Doctor Lamont would be waiting for Chomper. And if it had blown to the east or north …”
Horrified, I stared at her. “Was it strong enough?”
“To punch a hole to Outside?”
A disaster that would cause the end of our world. “Yes.”
“We don’t know yet. Maintenance is looking into it.”
At the start of week 147,020, another announcement played. It had been thirty hours since the accident—looking at how much we’ve done in the meantime, thirty hours seemed an impossibly short time. The mechanical voice—which I had been correct in assuming was the computer’s automatic safety system—informed us maintenance had bypassed the damaged sections of the power plant and operations have resumed.
Once again electricity and heat were being generated and we would be up to full capacity in a matter of hours.
A new voice, sounding like Hana, requested helpers to assist with cleanup in Sector B4. One of the water storage tanks had ruptured. I imagined rust growing on the walls and floor of B4, spreading like a disease.
During the week, the infirmary emptied as people healed. About mid-week, I finally had a few hours to myself. I decided to inspect the damaged areas, starting with Sector F3.
In the back of my mind, I knew the force of the blast had been significant. But to see a huge jagged hole, crinkled metal and scorch marks was a whole other experience. A number of apartments had been destroyed. Wires hung to the floor and water dripped and pooled. The ceiling had been peeled back, exposing the Gap between levels three and four.
Using the buckled metal wall, I climbed up into the Gap. At this location, I could stand, but normally I would have to crouch in the one and a half meter space. The damage to level four resembled level three, except the floor had been ripped apart instead of the ceiling. The water pipes and air conduits that criss-crossed this space looked like broken toys.
Climbing higher, I found Logan in the plant’s main Control Room on level four. He pounded on a keyboard, muttering and cursing to himself. A white bandage covered his left temple and eyebrow. Dark purple and red bruises colored his left cheek.
“How bad is it?” I asked him.
He jerked. “Where the hell did you come from?”
It took me a moment to respond. Riley had said Logan looked better than me, but I’d slept since the explosion. Logan’s haggard oval face and bloodshot eyes told me it had been a long time since he’d rested.
“Where else would I come from? Outer space?”
He grunted and his focus returned to the computer screen.
“I’m fine. Thank you for your concern. However you look like Chomper’s been chewing on you. When’s the last time you’ve eaten?”
“No idea. What time is it now?” Logan cursed and slammed his fist down.
I pulled his chair away from the console.
“Hey!” He braced his feet, trying to scoot back.
“No.” I swiveled him to face me. Nose to nose, I gave him my best scowl. “You need food and sleep.”
“But—”
“Inside has power and heat.”
“But—”
“Whatever you’re working on will still be there when you return.”
“But—”
“You can’t think straight without rest.”
He clutched the chair arms as if I had threatened to pick him up and carry him to the cafeteria. No need. I would roll his chair if I had to.
His words rushed out in a panicked burst. “But this
