“I know stealth mode. I’ll be like a ghost. What are you trying to do?”

Domotor launched into technical double-talk. Logan’s eyes lit with the challenge. The prophet nodded and made impressed noises as they worked. I settled on the couch. My desire to interrupt to inquire about clothes for Cog’s ruse warred with my desire for sleep. I tried to remember the last time I slept. The effort needed to calculate proved too much for my exhausted brain, so I rested my head on the couch’s arm.

“…need an upper computer to access the data,” Logan said.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. The vision of Logan and Domotor peering at me with twin concerned expressions failed to dissipate.

“What happened?” I asked.

“We figured out where the information is,” Domotor said.

His demeanor didn’t match his words. “But…”

“It can only be accessed from a computer on the upper levels.” He gave me a few seconds to let the news sink in. “Can you get Logan to level four?”

“Doesn’t he need a port?” I asked.

“Not anymore.” Logan smiled with smug satisfaction. “I set up my own account; all I need is a password and the right connection.”

“Why won’t it work here?”

Logan tried to describe the inhibitor function on a lower-level computer. I lost him after the second word.

Domotor thankfully interrupted. “Five minutes is all he would need. Can you do it, Trell?”

Could I? Crawling through heating vents was easier than climbing to another level. I doubted Logan had the upper-body strength needed to pull himself up the chains. Unless…We could ride on top of the lift. But where would we find an unoccupied computer and, if we did find one, then how long would it remain unoccupied?

“I need a few hours to think about it.”

“Perhaps Riley could help,” Domotor said. “I’m sure he would know where to find a computer.”

“I don’t think we should involve him,” I said.

“Who’s Riley?” Logan asked.

“It’s better you don’t know.” Too many knew about us already. Our chances of getting caught increased with each new person. Maximum damage, I chanted in my mind.

“He’s proven himself trustworthy. This is too important to leave to chance,” Domotor said.

I grumbled even though he was right.

“We’d better go. I don’t want to be late for my shift,” Logan said.

His words reminded me to ask Domotor about his clothes.

“Sure, take what you need.”

When I returned from his room with the pants and shirt he had worn the day we had rescued him, Logan grabbed the shirt. He jerked off the top button. I remembered the microphone.

“Don’t want to lose this,” he said, then handed me the disks. “We don’t need these, though.”

I looked at Domotor. He avoided my gaze and shifted in his chair as if searching for a more comfortable position. Waiting, I tapped the disks—the irresistible bait that lured me on this fool’s errand—against my legs.