Inside

by Maria V. Snyder

  “You’re right.”

  “Bet you don’t know about the bugs, either.”

  I held a hand up. “I don’t, and I don’t want to. For certain things, ignorance really is bliss.”

  My comment turned my thoughts to Gateway. What if I couldn’t open it? What if I was caught and killed before seeing Outside? I berated myself. One minute I was convinced Gateway didn’t exist, the next, I waxed maudlin over the possibility of not opening it. Just because we found a few coordinates in the computer, shouldn’t make me an instant believer.

  I forced that line of thought away. It wasn’t helping, and I could what-if myself until I was reduced to a nervous mess. Instead, I followed Rat and tried not to breathe through my nose.

  Shoveling black goo from the bottom of the incinerator was my last task.

  “Isn’t this maintenance’s job?” I asked.

  “Nope. This is good stuff.” He dumped a shovelful into the bin. “That’s it. Take the bin to the recycling plant and then you’re done.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the sheep’s pen. Want to come? I’m good with sheep, too.” He winked.

  “No, thank you. Ignorance remember? Best I don’t become an expert in waste management.”

  He waved as he left. And I realized he enjoyed his work. His job was used to punish other scrubs, but he didn’t see it that way. He knew his job was vital to Inside and was content. Why couldn’t the rest of the scrubs be content? Maybe they were, and I hadn’t noticed.

  “Trella? What are you doing here?” Logan asked as I pushed the bin through the sorting piles. Dark half circles hung under his eyes.

  I waved the cuff in front of his bleary eyes. “I pissed my supervisor off. She assigned me extra duty.”

  “Anne-Jade will be glad. She’s worried because she fell asleep in the air shaft, but she didn’t see your supervisor, so she hoped it would be okay.”

  “She did fine. I’m glad you came over. Broken Man wants to open those files. When can you get the password questions?”

  “My next off-shift.”

  “Great. Also can you—” I checked for Pop Cops “—get security information about the uppers?”

  “Depends on what you want to know.”

  I’d already memorized the names Domotor had given me. Reciting the list of uppers to Logan, I asked, “Can you find out which one of these people is working undercover for the Travas?”

  “If the information is listed in the computer system, but it’s unlikely.”

  “Why?”

  “Because someone could find it.”

  “Like Broken Man?”

  “No. You need level-nine clearance…oh!”

  I smiled as Logan realized only a few Travas had the required security clearance.

  “It’s still unwise to have such sensitive information listed,” Logan said.

  “I agree, but I’d bet the higher Pop Cop officers feel rather confident about their security network, believing no one, especially no scrub could breach it. So try not to bust their illusion.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I’m like a—”

  “Ghost. I know.” Two Pop Cops headed in our direction. “I better go. I can’t miss any more shifts, but I’ll stop by your barrack during one of my breaks.”

  Logan nodded and returned to work. I left the recycling plant and hurried to find Emek. Only five hours remained in my off time and I was determined to locate Gateway.

  Emek issued orders to a couple scrubs. When they left, I pushed a marker into his hands. “Sign, please.”

  “Hold on, you still owe me five hours,” he said.

  I met his gaze. “Cogon’s execution is in twenty-four hours. I don’t have time.”

  Understanding softened his face; he signed the cuff. “Ever have a cuff before?”

  “My first.”

  “Put a little sheep’s oil on your wrist under the cuff before the Pop Cops remove it. Otherwise, the sucker tends to grab a hunk of skin when it’s cut off.”

  “Thanks.” I strode from solid-waste handling and headed to the right. My supervisor’s voice called from behind me. She wasn’t kidding about watching me. Suppressing a groan of annoyance, I turned.

  My heart dropped into my stomach and ran laps. Lieutenant Commander Karla and three Pop Cops followed my supervisor. The LC’s smug expression and the terrified fury on my supervisor’s face told me all I needed to know.

  Without hesitating, I ran.

  Chapter 16

  My supervisor’s shrill voice called for me to stop. One of the Pop Cops threatened to shoot me, but LC Karla’s calm order to stun me made my legs run faster. I reached an intersection just as a sizzle slap sounded behind me. Diving into the hallway on my left, I felt the pulse clip my legs.

  I rolled along the floor. A burning pain danced along my calves and left my muscles numb. Scrubs yelled and scattered. The corridor filled with noise and confusion. Regaining my feet proved difficult, I used my upper arms to balance on numb legs. The quickest of Karla’s Pop Cops reached the intersection.

  Pushing scrubs out of his way, he aimed his stun gun at me. Without thinking, I grabbed a screwdriver from my belt and flung it at him. The tool knocked into his arm. His shot flew low, hitting me below the waist.

  I fell over, landing on my back, feeling as if a million needles jabbed through my uniform and into my thighs. The Pop Cop stepped closer, raising his gun again.

  He was bumped from behind. Cursing, he turned to stun the closest scrubs. I hurled my wire cutters at him. They grazed his head, so I lobbed my flashlight. A direct hit. His gun clattered to the floor with a satisfying crack. Surprised, he stared at me a moment, then glanced over his shoulder.

  His buddies should be arriving any second, but sounds of a commotion reached us from the other hall.

  Taking advantage of his hesitation, I rolled onto my stomach and pulled my body away from him—the benefits of having strong arm muscles. A heating vent beckoned from two meters away.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said.

  Too much weight on me, I strained to a stop. He had latched onto my ankles.

  “Don’t you want to help your boss? Sounds like she’s in trouble.” I transferred my weight to my left elbow, turning my body sideways and freeing my right arm.

  He paused. Karla’s voice boomed through the sounds of panicked scrubs, ordering them to get out of her way. The sizzle slap of a stun gun increased the noise level.

  “She can handle a couple of scrubs. You should worry about yourself.” He reached for his handcuffs with his right hand. “You’re under arrest for—”

  I stabbed my needle-nose pliers into his left forearm. He yelled and let go. I continued, gaining another meter before he lunged for me. I managed to roll away, but he snaked an arm around my waist, pinning me down. He grinned as I searched for another tool.

  “You’re out, but I’m not.” He pulled a knife.

  The ruckus in the other hallway spilled into ours. The LC was caught in the middle of stampeding scrubs. It would have been comical if I didn’t have an armed Pop Cop wrapped around me.

  Taking advantage of the distraction, I grabbed the comb from my belt. I poked the teeth into his eyes as the crowd reached us. He let go of me, and I lost track of him as we were stepped on, kicked and crushed. The comb dropped from my hand, but all the while, I closed the distance to the heating vent. Removing the cover, I wormed inside, and replaced the metal grate.

  I pulled my aching body through the semidark shaft until my arms shook with exhaustion. Laying my head down, I listened as the clamor from the hall died and the angry voice of LC Karla echoed.

  Only a few of her words were coherent, but two stood out. Injured and blo
od. Then the grating sound of a metal cutter vibrated. I turned my head. In the faint light, a thin black trail shone. I wasn’t in pain, but then again the lower half of my body remained numb. Running my hands along my skin, I stopped when my fingers encountered wetness.

  The Pop Cop’s knife had sliced a gash near my hip. I couldn’t tell how deep, but I needed to stanch the blood. The rumble of the cutter stopped and a bright light glowed behind me.

  The slide step rasp of a person in the shaft reached me. I continued, but I still left a blood trail. When I arrived at an intersection, I tore a part of my coveralls and made a make-shift bandage which became soaked in no time, alarming me.

  Not much more I could do, so I kept moving. If LC Karla knew about me, she must know about the others. I wondered what had tipped her off. Concentrating on losing my tail, I glanced over my shoulder. I no longer left a smear of blood. Good. Next I needed to figure out where I was.

  The light had changed from weak gray to blue. Bunks were visible through the slats. I had reached the scrubs’ barracks. Trying not to make a sound, I removed a vent cover and slipped out of the shaft. I replaced the cover and peered around. It was hour seventy-six and most of the bunks were occupied with sleeping scrubs.

  My legs remained numb, which, by the amount of blood pouring from the gash, was a good thing. I crawled across the barrack to another vent on the opposite side. This one would take me to Domotor’s hideout. Once inside the shaft, I rested. My arm muscles burned with fatigue.

  The trip to Domotor’s room seemed unending. By the time I reached his vent, I didn’t have the energy to remove the cover.

  “Domotor,” I called. No answer. I yelled louder.

  “Trella? Where are you?” he asked.

  “In the heating duct.”

  He rolled into view. “What’s the matter?” He bent over and yanked the cover off.

  I stayed in the duct. “LC Karla tried to arrest me. She knows.”

  “How much does she know?”

  “I didn’t hang around to find out.”

  Concern and fear filled his expression but not surprise. He had come from the right side of the room. “What have you been doing?” I asked.

  Guilt flashed before he covered it. “Cleaning.”

  “You haven’t tried to access those files?”

  His gaze dropped to the floor. All the answer I needed. “Domotor, I told you to wait!”

  “I was careful. There has to be another reason Karla’s after you,” he shot back.

  “I doubt she’d bring along three Pop Cops if she wanted to follow up on my reprimand.”

  “You were reprimanded?” His voice held an accusatory tone.

  “For failure to finish my shift. Which is pretty damn good, considering all the extracurricular activity I’ve been doing for you.” This wasn’t productive. I drew a breath. “If she knows where you are, she’ll try and cut through the door. At least you’ll have a warning. Once you’re in custody, hold out for as long as you can before naming anyone. Give her Cog’s and Roddie’s names and then mine.”

  “Who is Roddie?”

  “The man who was kill-zapped back when you first went missing. Hopefully, she’ll be happy with those names.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Warn my friends.”

  It was a good plan. Warn Logan then find Riley. However, the numbness wore off my legs. It was a bonus to have the use of my legs, and I switched from the heating system to the air shafts. But the sizzling pain shooting from my hip created a big problem.

  After climbing to level two, I knew I wouldn’t be able to find Logan. Light-headed and weak, I lay in the shaft, wishing for one of those pocket communicators the Pop Cops carried. A sudden memory flashed and I checked my tool belt.

  Yes! I still carried the two listening devices Jacy had given me. Palming one, I toggled the On switch. I was supposed to plant it in air duct seventy-two, but hadn’t gotten the opportunity. I chuckled wildly, thinking I could only break one rule at a time.

  I wasn’t sure if Jacy or his buddies would be monitoring the devices or even listening, but it was worth the effort.

  Moving the device close to my mouth, I whispered, “Jacy, remember when you said to let you know if I needed anything? Well, I need your help.” I paused, collecting my thoughts. To tell Jacy Logan’s name could result in more danger for Logan. All Domotor knew about Logan was his physical description. My head spun and I realized I might not be conscious for too long. Better to tell Jacy then pass out.

  I asked Jacy to warn Logan. “I also need you to borrow all the metal cutters, chisels and crowbars in the lower levels and hide them. The Pop Cops are going to want to cut a hole and the longer it takes them to complete this task, the better. Anything you can do to make the Pop Cops’ lives difficult would be appreciated.” I flipped off the device and returned it to my tool belt.

  After the wave of dizziness passed, I decided to try to climb to the fourth level and warn Riley. Even if he wasn’t in our room, I would leave him a note. And then what?

  To distract myself from the pain and effort of climbing, I planned my next task. I could hide from the Pop Cops, but eventually they’d know about Gateway from Domotor. I had to get there first and open it. And then? No clue.

  My progress slowed and I gasped for breath. Focusing all my energy into moving my body, my awareness shrank to pushing forward one foot at a time, to pulling with one arm then the other. Black and white dots swirled in my vision and I bit my lip to keep conscious.

  A single goal propelled me forward, and the last thing I remember was the sensation of falling.

  Sharpness jabbed my arm. I tried to jerk away, but my arm was stuck. My whole body ached and a hammer kept striking the back of my head. I retreated to the darkness, leaving all those annoyances behind.

  The pricking and pulling around my hip demanded attention. I opened my eyes, but shut them against the harsh daylight. Two people stood over me.

  “She’s waking. Quick, more thiopental!”

  Another painful prick on my arm, and fire raced through my veins. I welcomed the return of darkness.

  Foggy thoughts floated sluggishly. Pain radiated from my hip, but only spiked when I moved, which proved difficult to do. My right arm was trapped. Squinting, I braced for the bright daylight, but sighed in relief. Soft bluelight glowed in the room.

  The familiar shapes of our storeroom surrounded me. Reclined on the couch, I still couldn’t comprehend why my right arm wouldn’t move. I wore a soft robe. A liquid-filled bag hung above my head with a tube snaking down. I followed the tube and found the reason for my frozen arm. It was tied to a white board. The tube ended in a metal piece protruding from my skin.

  Memories of being chased by Pop Cops sprang to life. They must have caught me and were using a drug to torture me. I struggled to sit up. Every muscle in my body hurt and I felt as if I’d been chewed by Chomper.

  “Easy there,” a woman’s voice said. She knelt next to the couch and laid a cool hand on my shoulder. “You shouldn’t move.”

  Panicked, I swatted at her hand with my free arm, but the effort was weak and she caught my wrist. The cuff was still in place around it.

  “If you move, you might pull your stitches out and I’ll have to sew you up again.” She used the stern tone of a Care Mother.

  Stopping, I peered at her clothes. An upper, but not a Pop Cop. Her words finally pushed through the fog of fear and I realized she worked in the infirmary. Yet I was in our storeroom. Could the Pop Cops be waiting outside? “What…? Who…?” My throat burned.

  “If you promise to lie still, I’ll get you a drink and tell you what happened. Promise?”

  I debated. Knowledge versus promising an upper. “Yes.” But if she turned out to be a Pop Cop in di
sguise, then I could break my promise.

  She moved away and returned with a cup of water. I grasped the heavy glass in my left hand, and she supported my head while I drank. The cold water felt wonderful going down, but turned my stomach.

  “Sip it slowly,” she said. “You just had surgery.”

  “Surgery? It was just a cut.” I strained to sit up.

  “Remember your promise.”

  I wilted. Who was I kidding anyway? I could barely lift a glass of water.

  A fleeting smile crossed her lips. Her brown hair had been braided into a single long rope. The end reached her waist and she flicked it aside when she sat on the edge of the couch. In the bluelight, it was hard to see her eye color, but I guessed by the fine lines on her face she was around forty centiweeks old. Her thin fingers checked the metal thing stuck in my arm. She moved with a competent grace as if she did this all the time.

  I winced when she touched my hip.

  “Sorry, but I want to be sure you didn’t pull a stitch.” She pressed her fingertips through my robe and along my cut. “Feels fine.”

  “Okay, Doctor. Care to explain what’s going on?” I asked.

  “I was accosted by a very persistent young man who insisted I was needed for an emergency. Imagine my surprise when he led me here. You were on the couch, unconscious and bleeding. After an initial check, I determined you had a concussion and had been stabbed.”

  Which explained all the blood.

  She watched my expression for a moment. “The young man would not let me take you to a proper surgical room, so we had to make do.” The doctor fiddled with the tube. “I’m giving you an antibiotic, but the risk of infection is still very high.”

  “How deep?”

  “The knife penetrated to your pelvic bone, damaging your large intestines and your ovary. I stitched you up as best I could, but you might have trouble conceiving a child.”

  Not a concern for me. “When will I be able to move?”