Inside

by Maria V. Snyder

I hid them in my tool belt. “I have another question.”

  “Goody. I have more listening devices.”

  “Not that type of question. At least I think the answer wouldn’t be worth anything.”

  He brushed away his hair, revealing his dark eyes. “Now, I’m intrigued.”

  “I just want to know the latest gossip, what rumors are circulating.”

  Jacy studied my face. “You never cared before. Why now?”

  “The lower levels feel…odd.”

  “With twice as many Pop Cops patrolling, people are scared and nervous.”

  “I get that, but…” How to word my questions without giving too much away? “But they have the chance to…make their life better, and I don’t know why they don’t take it.”

  “You should know why. Do you really need me to spell it out for you?”

  I nodded.

  He shook his head. “It’ll cost you two more devices.”

  Figures. “Only if it isn’t some bull.”

  “It’s not. This is serious.” He stepped toward me and lowered his voice. “Despite what you think, scrubs aren’t stupid. We put it together. One missing prophet, Cogon arrested for hiding him and LC Karla asking questions about you.” He held up three fingers. “If we rat you out to the Pop Cops, then the prophet is found and you and Cog are recycled.” His fingers curled in and formed a zero with his thumb. “We’re left with nothing. No hope, Trella, is worse than fear. Right now, we hope you’re up to something that will benefit us all.”

  All feeling drained from my body. Logic leaked from my brain and panic filled the empty space. “And if I’m not?”

  “No one will believe you. See we know something big is going on. Big enough to cause the Queen of the Pipes to come down from above and mingle with her fellow scrubs.”

  “But…but…” My vision turned to static. I drew in a few breaths. The air smelled musty and damp with a hint of body odor. “But what if I fail?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “What?”

  He gave me a sad smile. “It’s the effort, not the results that matter.”

  Coming from the man who was all about getting something in exchange for his information and services, I didn’t believe him. The scrubs were either holding out for a better offer from the Pop Cops or waiting for me to perform a miracle for them. Sheep don’t risk their necks for other sheep.

  Yet my conviction faltered when I discovered what clogged the air shaft above the kitchen a few minutes past hour eighty. Food containers filled the duct. Enough food to feed me and Domotor for weeks.

  I peered through the vent and watched the bustle of the kitchen scrubs. Pop Cops also kept an eye on them, but they had still managed to hide food despite the danger.

  They counted on me. Again panic threatened to overwhelm me. If nothing changed in the lower levels, the scrubs would be disappointed and upset for risking the little comforts they had.

  Shoving the confused terror into a deep corner of my mind, I concentrated on the task at hand—getting the food to Domotor’s hideout. With my makeshift skid and the troll’s help, I transported all the containers to the air shaft over his quarters then continued to work my shift.

  The hours crept by. Each time I changed air ducts, I kept expecting to be arrested. When I encountered the first RATSS, I almost screamed. The thing focused its antennae on me.

  “Name and birth week,” a mechanical voice ordered.

  I answered.

  “Noted. Continue working,” it said.

  It drove away and my heart resumed beating. I was questioned by two more RATSS in two other shafts.

  By the time hour ninety arrived, my muscles were so tight I could have climbed a vertical shaft without breaking a sweat. Grateful to be done, I returned the cleaning troll to his closet.

  “There you are,” my supervisor said. Her eyebrows pinched together with annoyance and a red cuff hung from her fingers.

  I bit down on a sarcastic reply. No sense upsetting her further.

  “I waited for you at the end of your last shift, but you never showed. Where were you?”

  My thoughts raced. “My cleaning device broke in the shaft and I had to repair it. Took me an extra hour to finish.” I hoped she hadn’t waited an hour.

  She tapped the red cuff on her thigh. I kept my face neutral.

  “Next time, leave it behind and check to see if I’m waiting. I’ve got Pop Cops breathing down my neck. They want to know if anyone misses a shift.”

  “Yes, sir.” Calling her sir always mollified her.

  As expected, her expression smoothed. “I wanted to let you know there will be a lot of RATSS in the pipes. The Pop Cops believe there’s evidence hidden in one of the air ducts.” She huffed in disbelief. “We’re supposed to work around them. Just try not to break any of the RATSS during your next shift.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She checked my name off her list and left to find the next scrub. I waited for my pulse to calm before sliding into the heating ducts and heading toward Domotor’s room. The air shafts wouldn’t be safe for me to travel in for a while. And I hoped the RATSS hadn’t discovered the cache of food above Domotor’s hideout.

  I entered his quarters through the vent. Domotor was slumped over his keyboard sleeping. Wasting no time, I transported the food containers from the air shaft to the refrigerator and freezer.

  When I finished, Domotor straightened a bit in his chair, but he rested his forehead in the palm of his hand. His hair covered his expression.

  Not able to wait anymore, I asked, “Any progress?”

  His reply was muffled so I stepped closer and touched his shoulder. He dropped his arm and met my gaze. Hollowness lurked in his eyes.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “We’re done.”

  Chapter 11

  I understood the look of defeat in his face, but not the reason for it.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “I hit a wall. The security system has been enhanced and I couldn’t bypass it.”

  I ignored the tightness gripping my throat. “Is there another way?” The question squeaked out.

  “No.”

  “There has to be.” A whisper, all I could manage. My body felt as if it were trapped in a metal compactor.

  “There isn’t.” He rubbed a hand over his cheek as he stared into the distance. A combination of emotions crossed his face, but they moved too fast for me to decipher. “Unless…I follow Cog’s example and reveal myself to the Travas. They’ll know I have my port and where I am, but I could find the information we need before they get to me.”

  I searched his expression. He was committed to sacrificing himself. Good to know. “You said ‘could find,’ does that mean the information is there to retrieve or you think it might be?”

  “The information is there, but I can’t guarantee I’ll access it before the Controllers sever my link.”

  Too big a risk right now. I thought about the problem. Even though I knew nothing about the computer and its security, I remembered a comment Logan had made about the uppers’ computer system.

  “Wait until I return before you attempt to retrieve the information. I need to check a few things and report for the hundred-hour assembly.”

  He agreed to wait and I hurried off. I had much to do in the hours remaining before assembly.

  “Sure can,” Logan said. A delighted smile spread across his face.

  “No,” Anne-Jade said at almost the same time.

  Once again I had donned the shapeless overalls of the recycling-plant workers and joined the Tech Nos in sorting through a pile of clothing. We pulled buttons and cut zippers from the ruined garments before fee
ding them into Shredder. The device had a more technical name for how it recycled the threads, but the scrubs nicknamed everything.

  “No as in he can’t do it?” I asked Anne-Jade.

  “No as in I won’t let him. It’s too dangerous. He’ll be caught.”

  “We’re going to be discovered anyway. Might as well go out with style,” Logan said.

  She scowled as Logan pouted, but by the tight set to Anne-Jade’s shoulders I knew she wouldn’t change her mind. A Pop Cop sauntered by and we concentrated on our work.

  Her reaction didn’t make sense. They had covered for Cog and told me about Zippy. Why was this different? I ran a tattered shirt through my fingers. The steady plink of buttons dropping into a bucket and clack of zippers kept time with my thoughts.

  The answer was right in front of me in the movement of their hands. They worked as one, progressing through the pile of clothes without any signs of communication. Anne-Jade wasn’t afraid he would be recycled, but that he would be recycled without her. They were a matched set.

  I used logic. “If he doesn’t help, Broken Man will go after the information anyway. He’ll be arrested and interrogated, which will lead the Pop Cops to me and I’ll lead them to you.” I suppressed a shudder. The pain would have to be horrible for me to rat on them.

  “Are you threatening me?” Anne-Jade thrust her scissors in my direction.

  “No. I’m just stating the facts. We’ve come too far to back off now. If Broken Man’s efforts fail, then you and Logan will be recycled without causing any damage.”

  Her arm dropped and she returned to cutting zippers. “When do you need him?”

  “Right after assembly is over. Logan, meet me in the hallway outside the care facility.”

  He flashed me a grin, but Anne-Jade kept her eyes on her work, ripping threads and seams with more force than needed. The sound of tearing cloth followed me as I left the plant.

  I had a few more bits of unfinished business. Jacy’s listening devices needed to be installed. Air duct number seventy-two was located above the fourth level. It didn’t cross over Riley’s room. In fact, it supplied air to two areas only. The main control room in Quad G4 and the Pop Cops headquarters and holding cells in Quad A4. Extra filters had been installed and a few special scrubbers.

  Remembering the gas hissing from the canisters in Domotor’s room, I guessed the extra precautions kept an enemy from sending airborne poisons through the vents.

  The known ways into seventy-two were either through the vents in the actual rooms or at the air source. Since I doubted LC Karla would let me use her office to climb into the duct, I headed to the air plant in Quad I4. I could cut a hole into the shaft from the Gap, but the ducts weren’t labeled and the effort to figure it out would consume more time than I had available.

  I wore the air workers’ plain white jumper, tucking my hair under the bump cap. The air filters and scrubbers were cleaned on a regular schedule. Between shifts only a few scrubs lingered to keep an eye on the equipment. I strode to a two-meter-high rectangular box as if I had an urgent purpose. A large air shaft entered the side of the container and another exited the other end. No one questioned me as I climbed the ladder to the top of the container and the access ports that allowed the scrubs to remove the filters, clean them and return them.

  Lowering myself, I squeezed through the rows of filters. Soft and made of a cloth mesh, the bags trapped the dust particles in the air. A strong current pushed through the chamber. I tried hard not to damage the filters as I swam through them. On the intake side of the container, I climbed into the oversize trunk air shaft and followed it up to one of its branches—air shaft seventy-two.

  Working my way through air filters and wire security screens, I reached the Pop Cops headquarters and placed a microphone near a vent.

  I couldn’t resist making a side trip to the holding cells. Risky, yes, but there could be a way to rescue Cog, I rationalized. When the covers on the vents turned into solid bars, I knew I had reached my destination. Slowing, I moved with care. Only a slight whisper of fabric sounded.

  Harsh daylight streamed from below. Armed Pop Cops occupied the room. Desks and chairs with handcuffs littered the space, appearing to be a processing area for the inmates. Double doors festooned with locks filled the back wall.

  Farther along the shaft the light changed into a muted yellow. The smells of sweat, blood and fear created an acidic stew. Taking shallow breaths, I peered into the dank cells. Black bars caged tiny areas only big enough for a bed and toilet. Although, calling the metal slab a bed was being generous. Three cells lined each side of the room with a short corridor between them. Cog was the sole occupant.

  His bulk filled the slab and his feet dangled off the end. In the sickly half-light the raw and bleeding bruises on his face resembled rotten meat. His eyes were swollen shut and his breath rattled. I rested my forehead on the duct for a moment, trying to see past the fog of horror and guilt clouding my vision. Pressure built inside my skull and chest as if I would explode. I fought to muffle my sobs.

  My fault. Retrieving those disks had been a lark. I didn’t believe in Gateway, didn’t care about the prophet. One mistake, letting the cover slip through my fingers, and Cog… I wanted to shy away from the vision, but I forced myself to face the image of Chomper crushing and pulping Cogon’s lifeless body, and to hear the sound of splintering bones and the wet smack of bodily fluids. I let the consequence of my actions burn into my mind.

  No way to change the past, I could only hope to affect the future before I met the same fate. For Cogon, and in Logan’s words, I would inflict the maximum damage.

  “Cog?” I whispered. When he didn’t stir, I cupped my hands around my mouth and called louder. After the fourth try, he moved his head.

  “Trella?” His voice rasped like a rusty hinge. “You caught?” He struggled to sit up with frantic haste.

  “No. I’m in the air shaft above you.”

  He relaxed, resuming his prone position. “Good, ’cause I can’t break those bars to the duct to help you escape. So don’t get caught.”

  “How are you—”

  He waved his hands in a pushing motion. “No worries. Did you find Gateway yet?”

  Despite being beaten, his confident tone astounded me. I squashed the honest reply between my molars and hedged. “Not yet.”

  “How soon?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “I hope I’m alive when it’s opened. Just to see the look on the lieutenant commander’s face.”

  My jaw ached as the Chomper vision flashed. “Cog, can I bring you anything?”

  “No, but you can do something for me.”

  “Name it.”

  A harsh bark erupted from him, and, at first, I worried he was choking but then realized he was laughing. Between gasps he said, “And I…had…to beg you…to see Broken…Man. Wish…you were this…cooperative before.”

  “Cogon,” I warned.

  “Whew. Back to your old…self. I need you to plant Broken Man’s clothes to help my alibi. Obviously, the Pop Cops haven’t found him and they think he’s moved to another hiding place. But after the next—” he drew in a deep breath “—next round of torture, I’m going to confess to killing him and I need evidence. I’m going to tell them I shoved his clothes into the space behind storage closet two-two-one in the care facility. Do you know where it is?”

  I smiled at the memory of Cogon showing me his hidey-hole. “The one where you hid your…what did you call them?”

  “Spirits.”

  “Now I remember. So called because they burned on the way down and floated right to your head, making you feel as light as a ghost.”

  “And you believed me, too.”

  “Did not.”

  “Did, too.
You used to follow me around the common room, making sure I didn’t turn into a ghost.”

  “You have it all wrong. You followed me. And I’m the one who kept you from getting into trouble.”

  “Me? Who covered for you when you went exploring? Me. That’s who! And I’m still protecting you.”

  The dagger of truth popped the warm bubble of memories. Cold reality rushed in, shocking me into the present.

  A bang echoed through the cells, and a wedge of daylight sliced the yellow glow.

  “Who’re you talking to, scrub?” a man asked.

  “The rats,” Cog said.

  The man’s harsh laughter grated on my nerves. “Did they respond?”

  “No.”

  “I’m not surprised. Rats wouldn’t demean themselves by interacting with a low-life scrub.”

  “You’re talking to me, Vinco. Does that make you worse than a rat?”

  Vinco growled. “That’s Commander Vinco, scrub. Since you’re in such a chatty mood… Porter bring me my knife!”

  There was a muttered reply. I strained to see Commander Vinco. I wanted to put a face to the man who hurt both Riley and Cog.

  “Damn assembly. My knife will be talking to you on my next shift,” Vinco said.

  The white light shrank then disappeared with the slamming of the doors.

  “Trella?” Cog pitched his voice low.

  “Still here.”

  “You shouldn’t be. Get going before you’re marked tardy for assembly.”

  “But I need to hide Broken Man’s stuff for you.”

  “You have time. The Pop Cops won’t be looking for it until hour twelve.”

  His matter-of-fact tone about the exact time had an ominous ring. A cold unease crept up my spine. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Vinco’s next shift starts at hour ten. I can take a beating and I can endure most pain. But two hours of Vinco’s knife is all I can bear.”

  The bell rang for the hundred-hour assembly as I climbed from the bag-filter’s chamber. Damn. No time to change the stained and sweat-soaked uniform. I raced to my assembly station—the cafeteria—and ended up last in the short line. Only three scrubs between me and LC Karla. She leaned against a table, watching the check-in process. I wondered why she was here again.