Inside Out

by Maria V. Snyder

“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.

  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 soaked 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.

  Broken Man raked his fingers through his hair as understanding dawned. “But the Pop Cops didn’t know about the disks,” he said.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “I used an untraceable port and covered my tracks for the file transfer. However, I wasn’t as clever with my other forays into the computer system and was caught. When they questioned me before my accident and exile, they hadn’t a clue about the hidden files.”

  He glanced around the room. “Unless they suspected.”

  “So the Pop Cops rigged your former quarters just in case,” I said.

  “Why not just pick me up and ask?” Broken Man shuddered. The Pop Cops had a gruesome reputation.

  “They knew where to find you. They knew you didn’t have the disks on you. Plus if they waited, they could see who you recruited to break the rules in order to help you.”

  “That’s why you rescued him,” Cog said. “You started this whole mess by getting the disks.”

  I bit down on my retort. In my mind, Cogon had started it when he introduced me to his prophet, but in fairness I had made the decision to retrieve the disks. “All right,” I said to Broken Man. “Cog and I’ll have to lay low for a while. Let’s hope no one spotted Cog entering the lift. You’ll have to hide here.”

  “The scanners?” he asked.

  “The power and heat coming off those engines plays havoc with their scanners. This room hasn’t been used for hundreds of weeks. Keep the door locked at all times.”

  Cog rubbed a hand over his face. “I could put a blind in front of the door.”

  “A blind?” I asked.

  “It’s a thin sheet of metal. The maintenance crew uses them to cover holes and dents in the walls. If you match the rivets up right, no one can tell what’s behind the blind. I’ll do it during my next shift,” he said.

  “Good. Make sure no one sees you. And when you’re done, keep far away from this room. I’ll take care of Broken Man.”

  Cog nodded, pulled out a set of earplugs from his belt and handed them to Broken Man. “I’ll also bring some insulating foam to cut down the noise.”

  The quarters had a bathroom, but I had to make sure the water was turned on. Our shifts started in a few minutes. “Can you take care of yourself for the next shift?” I asked the prophet.

  “I’ll be fine for now,” he replied though his eyes looked a little wild. He held his hand out. “I’ll keep the disks.”

  “No. If they find you, they find the disks. I’ll hide them,” I said. I stuffed the disks back into my belt. Broken Man pulled his hand away. His expression guarded.

  Cog left through the door, and I locked it behind him. “I’ll be back after my shift with a few supplies.”

  The prophet blinked at me, but said nothing as he pushed the green foam plugs into his ears.

  I climbed into the vents and found the valves to turn on the water. Then I hurried to level two to report for work.

  Ten hours seemed like an eternity as my thoughts dwelled on the need to hide the disks.

  After my shift, I climbed to level four. This time I didn’t slip and I didn’t encounter any RATSS. Ultrasonic scanners and RATSS they might have, but I knew plenty of hiding places all over Inside where the electromagnetic currents scrambled ultrasonic waves. Spots that reflected a solid wall on their scanner displays. I stayed in those hidden areas as I traveled.

  In the Gap on top of level four, I had hidden a
small box where I kept my valuables. It was difficult to find and dangerous to reach. Perfect for hiding Broken Man’s disks.

  My niche appeared untouched. Until now, I had stored only two items in this cabinet. I placed the disks next to the thread-picture of my Care Mother. Colored threads had been sewn onto a white handkerchief, and, from a distance, her face and kind eyes could be seen.

  She understood my need to disappear in the pipes. Her support when Cog grew out of our group had made living bearable. I wondered what my CM would think about the trouble we were in now. Considering the problems my care mates and I had managed to cause during our stay, I imagined she would sigh with exasperation.

  Imagining her frown, I smiled because, no matter how hard she had scowled, she couldn’t stifle the gleam in her eyes. The gleam that said she was proud of our inventiveness. The gleam that encouraged us during lessons to think for ourselves even while she taught us the standard Pop Cop propaganda.

  It must have been difficult for her, getting a new child when one of the older kids reached the age of maturity and left. Our ages had ranged from newborn to fourteen centiweeks old.

  I folded the handkerchief and smoothed a few wrinkles before returning it to the cabinet. The other item in my niche was a comb decorated with pink pearls along its spine. The smooth spears pushed into my fingers as I pulled the comb through my long brown hair. With all the excitement, I had forgotten to rebraid it and it had knotted.

  Thoughts of the comb wove through my mind as the comb’s teeth worked at the knots in my hair. According to my CM, it had been a gift from my birth mother. My CM had kept it safe for me until I reached 1400 weeks, the age of maturity. The age when you were no longer considered a child. It was when you became a scrub and the reality of what the rest of your life would be like became suddenly and brutally apparent. The old-timers called it sweet sixteen, but there wasn’t anything sweet about it.

  I finished combing my hair and examined the gift, wondering which adult scrub cared enough to part with such a precious item, yet didn’t care enough to contact me. Even though it was forbidden, a few mothers kept in touch with their offspring.