“Impossible.”

“Which one?”

“Damaging one of the Walls. We measured them, they’re two meters thick.”

“How?”

“Cogon’s Gateway. That inner room between the doors is as wide as a Wall.”

Interesting and good to know. “My other points are still valid. There might be another explosion.”

“And I still wouldn’t squeal on a fellow scrub.”

“You do know the Pop Cops are no longer in charge, right?” I didn’t wait for his answer. “The worst thing we’d do is incarcerate the saboteur. He wouldn’t be fed to Chomper. And he wouldn’t be tortured into submission either.”

A stubborn tightness hardened his gaze.

I couldn’t say when I decided he wasn’t guilty; it was an internal instinct. “You think I’m an upper.”

A slight confused nod.

“My clothes and eye color gave me away.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think being called an upper is better or worse than my old nickname of Queen of the Pipes?” I asked him.

He stared at me.

“I like Queen of the Pipes better. It doesn’t have any prejudices or wrong assumptions associated with it. And the best thing, the Pop Cops didn’t give me that name. I earned it. Just like these…” I pulled up the bottom of my shirt, and showed Bubba Boom the line of round scars that followed the edge of my ribcage where Commander Vinco had gouged out my skin. “And if I knew the bastard who was blowing holes in our home, he wouldn’t need to worry about Chomper. Oh no. He’d need the ISF to protect him from me.”

Bubba Boom’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Or she would need protection. Even the Queen of the Pipes can make wrong assumptions.”

I smiled. “Never said I was perfect. And I’m not going to accuse an innocent.”

He held up a hand to stop me. “I didn’t get a chance to fully examine the blast site. Did you find any shrapnel that looked like it didn’t match any of the surrounding equipment?”

“Shrapnel as in pieces of the bomb?”

“Exactly.”

“Yes.”

He set his torch and mask down. “Okay, I’ll look at the site first, and then I’ll need to see what you found.”

I followed him to the blast location. He squinted at the damage, ran his fingers along the scorched marks, sniffed the wreckage, and sorted through the rubble. Filling his pockets with odd bits of metal and wires, he straightened and asked to see what we had collected.

The control room was empty when Bubba Boom and I entered. I showed him the pieces Logan found. He set everything out on a table, including the fragments he had gathered. Arranging and turning the bits, he scrutinized each one.

Logan arrived, but I hushed his questions. He stood next to me as we waited for Bubba to finish.

“This doesn’t look familiar,” Bubba said. He held the biggest chunk up to the light.

“Not one of yours?” Logan asked. His tone was almost nasty—very unusual for him.

“I stopped building these. You know that better than anyone,” Bubba said.

These two had a history. Wonderful.

“The Pop Cops aren’t around. You could have returned to your old ways.”

Bubba Boom huffed in exasperation. “You’re still mad at me? I never told the Pop Cops about you and your sister. That was more important than the fact I stopped helping you design your little gadgets.”

“Those gadgets—”

“Logan, that’s enough,” I said. “He agreed to assist us with finding the bomber.”

Giving me an odd look, Logan said, “How did you find out about him?”

“Jacy.”

Logan and Bubba exchanged a glance.

“What?” I demanded.

“A distraction?” Logan asked him.

“Could be.”

Fear sizzled up my spine. “Another bomb?”

“No,” Logan said. “More like keeping you busy and away from the real culprit.”

“Why would Jacy do that?” I asked.

“Don’t know,” Logan said. “He’s hard to read.”

“Anything that doesn’t have numbers scrolling across it is hard for you to read,” I teased.

“Real funny. At least I didn’t fall for Jacy’s disinformation.”

“Not quite,” Bubba Boom said.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Just because I stopped playing with fire, doesn’t mean I ignore what’s going on around me.” He held up a twisted piece of metal. “I recognize this.”

5

“DO TELL,” LOGAN SAID.

I swatted Logan on the arm. “Cut it out.” He acted like a two-hundred-week-old, and I wondered if he had looked up to Bubba Boom only to be disappointed when the man caved in to the Pop Cops.

“There’s a couple of scrubs,” Bubba said. “I wouldn’t call them Tech Nos as their devices are rudimentary, but they’ve gotten together and built a few incendiary apparatuses.”

“Could they be responsible for the damage in the power plant?” I asked.

“Possible. One of them works in the wastewater treatment plant, the other in hydroponics. As far as I know they’ve only set off a couple stink bombs. One time they cleared everyone out of Sector E2 due to the stench.” He smiled at the memory. “They also helped keep the Pop Cops occupied while you were busy rebelling.”