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Voices echoed in the chamber. Boots drummed on the floor.

  “Guard the door.”

  “Fan out and search.”

  “Watch for ambush.”

  I wiped the tears from my eyes, eased back to the vent and peeked in. A woman stepped into my view. An intricate knot pulled her blond hair back from her face. She wore the uniform of the Population Control Police, purple with silver stripes down the outsides of the sleeves and pants. Her black weapon belt bulged to such an extreme that she looked like she wore a tire. A lieutenant commander’s insignia glinted on her collar.

  A lieutenant snapped to attention beside her. “No one here, sir.”

  “Impossible. Look again,” she ordered.

  He rushed off.

  She scanned the room, then spotted the bag on the floor. She tipped her head back and looked directly into the vent. Every cell in my body turned to ice.

  “All sectors clear, sir,” another Pop Cop said.

  “Get me some RATSS,” she yelled. “Post guards on all air vents in Sector F3. Now!”

  Her order shocked me into action. I hustled along the duct with as much speed as I could muster one-handed. The Pop Cops’ Remote Access Temperature Sensitive Scanner (RATSS) would search me out through the ducts using heat-seeking technology. I had to leave Sector F3. Now. I had to find a hot spot to hide in.

  As I slid through the air shaft, snatches of conversations reached me from the corridors where an alarming number of Pop Cops rushed to take up positions under the vents. I just stayed ahead of them.

  “Someone sprung the trap.”

  “Escaping through the vents.”

  “Use the gas.”

  “Stunners only. No kill-zappers.”

  “Alert all sectors on level three.”

  My heart hammered, driving me forward on the edge of panic. With the Pop Cops in every room, I couldn’t get to the near-invisible hatch. Instead, I raced toward Sector B3 where I knew of a well-placed laundry chute I could use. Impossible to climb up, laundry chutes only worked one way.

  Just before I reached the chute, something bit my foot. Yelping, I twisted around. A RATSS had clamped on my toe. Damn!

  Its little antennae vibrated, probably reporting my position. Imagining the information racing through the complex network of wires crisscrossing every level, I yanked my wrench from my tool belt and smashed the RATSS. After reducing it to scrap, I jerked it off my foot.

  When I reached the laundry chute, I slid down two levels without having any dirty garments tossed on my head. A small bonus. I landed in a half-full bin.

  The dryers hummed productively, creating one of the warmest sections of Inside. If a RATSS had followed me here, it would lose me in the heat from them and from the mass of scrubs who labored here.

  I found a small crawl space behind a row of dryers and collapsed into it to catch my breath.

  Questions swirled in my mind. Where to go now? I couldn’t give the disks to Broken Man. He might have orchestrated this whole thing. Obviously the Pop Cops had set a trap for whoever came to collect the disks. But why not rig the vent? Maybe they hadn’t known where the disks were located. That would mean Broken Man wasn’t involved. So why hadn’t they interrogated him before sending him down here? I hadn’t wanted any trouble. Now I swam in it.

  I could hide the disks on level three for the Pop Cops to find. If Broken Man wasn’t a plant, then they’d known someone had come for them, but not who. Then I could walk away. Stay uninvolved. It was the safest course of action. The smartest move. The Pop Cops would have what they wanted.

  Broken Man had said the disks might reveal the location of Gateway. Why risk my neck for a possibility? For something even I didn’t believe in.

  I just couldn’t give the Pop Cops what they wanted. It rankled too much. Shoving the disks into a pocket of my belt, I hurried to find Broken Man.

  Pop Cops had infested the lower level. Groups of three and four scanned the scrubs, occasionally stopping and questioning one. My skin burned where it touched the pocket concealing the disks. Trying to remain calm and invisible, I searched for Broken Man.

  The dais he had used as a pulpit was empty. Cogon sat on the edge of the platform with his head in his hands.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Broken Man’s gone,” he said to the floor.

  “Disappeared?” Figures, I thought. He was a plant and I had fallen for it like a gullible three-hundred-week-old.

  “No. Taken.” Cog looked up. Blood ran down his face from a gash on his forehead.

  “Cog!” I ran and grabbed a towel from one of the laundry bins lining the hall. A few scrubs folded sheets nearby, appearing to ignore us, but I knew better.

  “Here.” I wiped Cog’s eye and cheek, pressing the cloth to the cut. “Who did this to you?” Cog was a big man. No scrubs would dare fight him.

  “Pop Cops,” he said.

  The significance of Cog’s word taken finally sank in. My world shrank, tightening around my body until I felt like I was being crushed. Interrogation of Broken Man would lead the Pop Cops to me.

  “When?” I demanded.

  “Just now.” Cog gestured down the hallway. “I tried to talk to them. Stop them. But…” He touched his forehead.

  Figures. The Pop Cops knew a good beating was an effective way to warn a scrub. Give them trouble another time and a scrub is arrested and never seen again in the lower levels.

  “How many?”

  “Three to subdue me,” he said with a smile, “but only one took him away. He can’t do much from a wheelchair.”

  “You could have been fed to Chomper,” I admonished him, but I was distracted.

  “Could have, Trell. Doesn’t mean I would have. Besides, I would have felt terrible if I didn’t try to help.” He sighed. “I’m talking to a wall. You don’t care about anyone in this place.”

  An old argument. My response would be how I cared about him, and he would claim I had a funny way of showing it. But not this time. “You’re right. So why do you bother with me? Why do you drag me to listen to every prophet?”

  “It’s called hope. It’s called seeing the best in people despite the miserable conditions.” He grabbed the towel from me. His shoulders sagged as he covered his face with the bloody cloth. “Maybe you’re right and it’s all a lie.” He gestured to Broken Man’s dais.

  The prophet hadn’t lied about the disks, but soon the Pop Cops would know about them, too. A plan raced along the circuits of my mind. “Which way did the Pop Cop take Broken Man?”

  “Why?” Confusion pushed his thick eyebrows together.

  “Just answer.”

  “Toward Quad A1. Probably going to take him up the lift to level four.”

  I had to hurry. “Cog, you better get to the infirmary. I need to go.”

  “Go where?” He glanced at the clock. “Your shift doesn’t start for another two hours.”

  “Not your concern,” I said, looking up at the ductwork. I quickened my pace, planning the best route to Quadrant A’s lift.

  But Cogon trailed after me. “Why do you care which way he went?”

  I ignored him.

  “He must be right,” Cog called. His voice
bright and strong again. Back to normal. “Broken Man’s right about Gateway. Why else would the Pop Cops take him?”

  I just shook my head.

  The corridor to Quad A1 teemed with scrubs and Pop Cops, hopefully delaying progress of the Pop Cop pushing the wheelchair. When I spotted an air vent, I climbed up the metal wall. Metal rivets on the walls were the perfect size for my toes and fingers. Once inside the air duct, I scurried through the horizontal tube, using my hands and feet while sliding on my belly.

  The hum of the lift set every nerve in my body afire. If they were in the elevator, I was too late. Occasionally, I slowed to peer through the air vents, trying to spot Broken Man.

  I grunted with frustration. A Pop Cop wheeled Broken Man into the open lift.

  Chapter 3

  I had mere seconds to rescue Broken Man. Good thing level one’s near-invisible hatch was next to the lift. I scrambled out of the air pipe and hunched my way over to the shaft. The elevator’s shaft was solid except for half-meter openings at each level’s Gap. If the lift passed level one’s, I would be too late.

  Reaching the opening, I glanced inside. The lift remained on level one, but the doors hissed closed. I squeezed through and landed on the lift’s roof. I held still, listening as something scraped against the doors before they shut.

  “Stop,” a voice ordered.

  The lift began its ascent. I clutched a cable to keep from falling. Huddled on top, I regained my balance. Risking notice, I pried up the roof hatch just enough to see inside.

  A meter below me, Broken Man slumped in his wheelchair, while a Pop Cop stood with his stunner pointed at Cog. The big oaf must have squeezed into the elevator to rescue his prophet, and now he was caught.

  I altered my plan. Tracing wires, I found the electric feed into the elevator and fitted the white electrical wire between my rubber-handled pliers. I opened the emergency control panel on the roof, yelled, “Fire drill” and punched the stop button while cutting the wire. The lift jerked to a halt.

  The occupants of the elevator were now in total darkness. I hoped Cog knew what to do. My call had warned him. As I lifted the hatch, a soft thud, a loud grunt and the unmistakable sizzle slap of the stun gun reached me.

  “What’s going on?” Broken Man asked with a nervous tremor in his voice.

  I sucked in my breath, biting my lip.

  “We need to get out of here,” Cog replied.

  Relief washed over me as my clenched muscles relaxed. I pulled the hatch wide open. It squeaked.

  “Trella?” Cog asked.

  “Hold on. I’ll get a light.” I fumbled for the flashlight on my belt as Broken Man repeated my name in shock.

  I leaned through the open hatch, dangling upside down from my waist and held out my light. The Pop Cop lay on his side. His wide-eyed, lifeless gaze stared at nothing.

  Cogon gaped at the Pop Cop’s weapon in his own hand in horror. “This is a stun gun,” he cried. “Why would it kill him?”

  “What’s the setting?” I asked.

  Cog just looked at me. His eyebrows pinched together, and confusion shone in his eyes.

  “The intensity.” I tried again. “It’s on the side.”

  Cog turned the weapon over. “Ten.”

  “That’s why. It’s on the maximum setting. A ten blast could easily kill an average-sized man.” I still didn’t see understanding in Cog’s creased face. “You’re twice the Pop Cop’s size. I would have set the damn thing to ten, too, if I had to incapacitate you. Look, we don’t have time for this. We need to get Broken Man to a hiding place.”

  “Impossible,” Broken Man said. “Inside has no hiding place.” His face looked pale in the light.

  I smiled at Broken Man’s regurgitation of Pop Cop propaganda, then pulled myself back onto the roof. Using my rubber-handled pliers again, I fixed the broken wire, restored the lights and accessed the lift’s controls.

  “Push the button for level two,” I called.

  When we reached level two, I opened the back doors. A maintenance room was located adjacent to the elevator shaft.

  “Cog, wheel him out and take the Pop Cop, too.”

  Cogon finally realized how dangerous it was to delay. Galvanized into action, he cleared everyone from the elevator.

  “Leave them here, and get back on the lift,” I said through the roof’s hatch.

  “He can’t stay here. It’ll be the first place they’ll look,” Cog said.

  “I know, but he can’t travel through the corridors. We’ll have to camouflage him.”

  “How?”

  “Laundry bin.”

  Understanding smoothed Cog’s face. He delivered the laundry to the upper levels, so it wouldn’t look out of place if he was seen pushing a bin.

  With Cog as the sole occupant, I sent the lift back to level one, and again opened the back doors. This time the doors led to the laundry. Bins full of clean laundry filled the area by the lift. Cog grabbed one, waved to the working scrubs and pushed it into the elevator. I brought him back to level two.

  “Stand in the doorway,” I said. Returning the controls to the panel inside the lift, I swung down. “Help me put the hatch back on.” I sat on Cog’s broad shoulders and replaced the cover.

  We joined Broken Man in the maintenance room as the lift resumed its regular service. The bin was full of towels. We removed them and Cog lifted Broken Man into the bin.

  Before we covered him, he asked, “My wheelchair?”

  “It’s too big. We’ll have to leave it behind,” I said.

  “Now what?” Cog asked as he finished arranging the towels.

  “Take him down to Quad C1, but don’t use this lift.”

  “To the Power plant?” Cog asked.

  “Yes. I’ll meet you there.”

  “What about the Pop Cop?”

  “Leave him. Someone will find him.”

  “And the stun gun?” he asked.

  “Put it back in his belt. It’s too dangerous to keep.” The Pop Cops would be mad enough once they discover a fallen colleague, but it would be worse if they believed one of the scrubs was armed.

  Kneeling beside the prone form, Cog shoved the weapon into the Pop Cop’s holder, but he paused. He closed the man’s eyes and smoothed his limbs to a more comfortable position—not that the Pop Cop would care. Cog rested a large hand on the man’s shoulder, bowed his head and whispered. Only the words sorry and journey were audible to me.

  I suppressed the urge to hurry him, knowing Cog needed this time. When he finished, he stood and wheeled the bin from the room. I waited for a few minutes before climbing into the air shaft. I traveled to level one to assess the situation.

  Walking through the corridors, I scanned faces. Level one appeared normal. So far, the Pop Cops hadn’t raised an alarm. I headed to Quad C1.

  I pressed past some scrubs until I found a heating vent near the floor. After sliding inside, I replaced the vent cover and rested in the warm metal tube, catching my breath. The enormity of what I had just done slammed into me. My body shook as doubt and fear fought for control. With effort, I pushed the ugly thoughts away; I had no time for recriminations. Right now I navigated by instinct alone.

  Propelled by the need to keep moving, I followed the heated air to its source. The Power plant in Quad C1 was Inside’s beating heart. It pumped out electricity and heat to keep us all alive. Encompassing all of Quadrant C on the first, second, third and fourth levels, the plant’s main controls were located on level four. Noise, excessive heat, dirt and fuel tanks filled level one, and hardly anyone worked in this area.

  The air burned my lungs as I drew closer to the plant, forcing me to leave the vent. Sweat soa
ked my uniform, but a sudden chill gripped my spine when I couldn’t find Cogon and Broken Man anywhere near the plant.

  My name sounded in the thick air and I spun in time to see Cogon waving me over. He had hidden behind one of the fuel tanks. Broken Man was propped up in the laundry bin.

  “Now what?” Cog shouted over the chugging engines.

  “There’s an abandoned controller’s room by the fuel-intake valve.” I pointed. “The door’s locked, but I can open it from the inside.”

  Finding the air return duct crossing over the controller’s quarters, I had Cogon lift me up to it. I crawled through the duct until I found a vent into the controller’s room. I had discovered this small living space on one of my excursions. Thinking it was a perfect hideaway, I had proceeded to make it my own. It hadn’t taken me long to figure out why it had been empty. The intolerable noise from the plant, the oppressive heat and the fine coating of black grit covering everything had eventually driven me away despite the rarity of such a space.

  As Cog wheeled Broken Man in, I cleaned the room as best as I could with the towels. Cog lifted the prophet into a chair. Dust puffed out from the cushions.

  We stared at each other for a moment as the engines roared.

  “We’re in trouble,” Cog yelled. “This isn’t going to work. They’ll find us.”

  “They’ll think I killed the Pop Cop. I’ll be recycled,” Broken Man said.

  “You were going to be recycled anyway,” I said.

  Broken Man jerked his head in shock.

  “What did you think they would do after they interrogated you?” I asked.

  “But what happened to you?” the prophet asked.

  “Yeah, why are you here, Trella?”

  Broken Man’s nose crinkled in confusion. He was either a good actor or genuinely flustered. Drowning in trouble and still unable to trust the blond-haired man, I hesitated. Cogon stepped toward me, a mixture of fear and anger twisting his face. An expression I had never seen on Cog. There was only one scrub I cared for in this whole metal world, and he wallowed in this predicament with me.

  Damn. I pulled out the disks, spreading them in my hands like a fan. Cog’s mouth dropped open as though someone had slapped him.