Inside Out

by Maria V. Snyder

  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 disguise, 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?”

  “You can walk around in a few hours, but it’s going to take a week for you to regain your full strength.”

  A week! I’d be recycled in a week. Sooner if the doctor reported me to the Pop Cops.

  “Now it’s your turn. Care to tell me why you’re here?”

  “No.”

  “How about if I threaten to tell the authorities?”

  I considered. The doctor could have reported me hours ago. “No.”

  She grinned. “You called my bluff. Good thing your young man is a friend of mine.” Then her smile dissolved as sadness pulled on her features. “I’m not an idiot, though. A rogue scrub wearing a red cuff has been reported to be in the air ducts and, although injured, is potentially dangerous. The uppers have been ordered to listen at vent covers and alert the authorities about any suspicious noise.” She gazed at me as if memorizing my features. “Once the game is up, it never ends well.”

  Jacy’s comment about results repeated in my mind. “Better to make an effort, than do nothing.”

  “When the effort fails, is it worth the cost?”

  A tough question to answer. Failure meant Domotor, Logan, Anne-Jade, Riley and I would all be recycled along with Cog. Six people. A high cost. “No.”

  “Then why try at all?”

  “Because there is a chance for success. Maybe not complete success, or even the hoped-for results, but maybe just planting a seed to grow long after I’m gone. It doesn’t have to be a total failure.” Logan already knew this. I understood his words about causing maximum damage on a deeper level.

  “Good answer. It’s the reason I’m here.” She glanced at the clock. “Now that you’re in stable condition, I need to report to the infirmary.” Standing, she bustled about and gathered her supplies. “I’ll be back later to check on you.”

  “Doctor?”

  She turned.

  “Thank you.”

  Flashing me a smile, she left. The bluelights remained on, and I wondered why her motion hadn’t triggered the daylights. Perhaps Riley had turned off the sensor. Her comments about Riley as my young man made me laugh. Pain flared near my hip and I stopped.

  I scanned the room for the fifth time. Nothing to do or see, I was alone with my thoughts. Funny how I had craved to be alone and now I wished for company. Wished to see Cog’s happy face. I had been avoiding the clock, keeping my gaze away. If I didn’t know the time, then Cog was still alive.

  Instead, I reviewed my conversation with the doctor. This quest to find Gateway had started because I wanted to prove Broken Man wrong and save Cog the disappointment when his prophet disappeared without keeping his promises.

  A simple task which had blown into a complicated mess, involving six—seven if I count the doctor—people. Actually, if I included Jacy and his group, the scrub who covered for me and the kitchen scrubs, I was well past twenty.

  Not the actions of sheep at all. In fact, if I was honest with myself, I’d wanted to prove Broken Man wrong to save myself from hoping. To give myself permission to not care about the scrubs. So I could view them and treat them just like the Pop Cops did. As sheep.

  Some Queen of the Pipes, I thought. I’d believed I was better than a mindless drone. But I was the mindless one, hiding away. Even now I referred to them as if I didn’t belong. I had completely fallen for the Pop Cop propaganda. The computers in the care facility listed all the wonderful things the uppers did and their wonderful lives. Being a scrub was undesirable and hard work, living in crowded conditions with no privacy and just being one of many. Undistinguishable.

  The propaganda was crafted to make scrubs distance themselves from other scrubs so they wouldn’t be lumped into one universal category. Queen of the Pipes was better than being a scrub. I fell for it, but others hadn’t. Cog, for one. He remembered names and treated everyone as if they were special. Rat in waste management. He was proud of his work, despite his job being considered even beneath a scrub.

  Shame over my behavior pulsed in my chest. I dug deeper into my motivations for pursuing the location of Gateway and my entire body cringed. I covered my eyes with my free hand, yet the darkness didn’t block the realization. Selfish. The word flashed in front of my eyes as if burned in the underside of my eyelids.

  In my small metal heart, I’d wanted to find Gateway for me. So I could escape from being a scrub. I could try to rationalize it—my desire to help Cog was genuine—but my desire to help myself was stronger.

  Disgust, self-loathing and guilt all rolled into a noxious mix, filling me until I acknowledged them and had wallowed in them for a while. Then I purged them. Gateway existed and the game wasn’t over yet.

  Maximum damage.

  Unflinching, I looked at the clock. Hour ninety-six. Cog was still alive. I had three hours to…What? I couldn’t even laugh without pain, and couldn’t count on Riley’s help. His shift lasted until hour hundred, and I assumed he would come straight here.

 
I scanned the room for ideas. My tool belt and bloodstained clothes lay tangled together in a heap by the desk. The tools were long gone, but I hoped the pouches still held Logan’s decoder device and Jacy’s microphone.

  A small amount of liquid remained in the bag over my head. I wiggled into a sitting position, closing my eyes against a burst of pain and wave of dizziness. When my head stopped spinning, I examined my arm. My wrist had been turned to expose the underside of my arm. The top of the metal needle at the end of the tube had been taped to my skin on the opposite side of my elbow.

  I pulled the tape off the tube. Each tug caused a pinching jab. When the tube was free, I tugged the needle out. Blood welled. Another round of dizziness claimed my attention for a few moments. Unwrapping the rest of the tape to remove the white board, I focused on the positive. There was less hair on the underside of my arm. If my wrist had been turned the other way, the sting from removing the tape would have been worse.

  Once I was free, I paused to catch my breath before working the stiffness out of my arm. Bending over to retrieve my tool belt from the floor, I toppled. Bad idea. Daggers of pain robbed me of breath. On the upside, I landed near my tool belt. Sheer willpower kept me from passing out.

  I found both Logan’s and Jacy’s devices close to the heating vent. My initial idea had been to bring Logan’s decoder to Cog. He could unlock his cell door and escape. Pure fantasy. If the air shaft vent in the cells had been barred, it stood to reason that the heating vents would also be secured. Plus where would he go?

  But I could do one thing for him. Determined, I found the student’s uniform I had stashed under the couch. I wore nothing but a bandage under the robe. I wondered if Riley had helped the doctor. Heat flushed my face.

  My line of thought wasn’t conducive to my mission so I concentrated on getting dressed. I taped a small pillow to my wound before donning the uniform. Ignoring the pain, I crawled over to the heating vent and opened it.

  Amazingly, the pillow did a decent job of cushioning my injury as I slithered/crawled through the duct. However, my battered muscles protested each movement and dizziness plagued my efforts. I paused often, and set little goals for myself.

  Just make it to the bend, I willed, and I celebrated each one with a rest before setting the next. I had no idea how long I spent traveling to the holding cells. All that mattered was reaching Cog before they led him down to Chomper.

  There was no mistaking the feeble light or the rancid stench of the holding cells. I peered through the bars, searching for Cog. Nothing but empty cells until I reached the third vent.

  Cog sat on the edge of the bunk. Old black and yellow bruises painted his face, and the swelling around his eyes was gone. Bleeding cuts crisscrossed his legs and torso. He hugged his arms tight to his chest as if trying to stanch the blood. He rocked either in agitation or pain.

  I called his name.

  Cog jumped to his feet and looked around. “No, Trell, you shouldn’t have!”

  “Shouldn’t have what?”

  He cocked his head.

  “I’m down here. In the heating vent.”

  He sagged back on the bunk. Keeping his voice low, he said, “Don’t scare me like that.”

  “Sorry.” I hated to see him so frazzled. “Cog, what shouldn’t I have done?”

  “I thought you had turned yourself in.”

  “Why?”

  He gestured toward the door. “They came asking more questions about you. They found out Broken Man is still alive and you’re involved.”

  “I know. Broken Man tipped them off.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. He used the computer, and then I was reprimanded for failing to finish my shift. Karla’s suspected me all along, so the reprimand gave her enough reason to try to arrest me.”

  Cog smiled with glee. “That’s my Trella, hiding in the pipes.”

  “You used to yell at me for it.”

  “You should have seen her. Bright red, sputtering with rage and I swear I saw fire coming out of her nostrils. That was worth every cut from Vinco’s knife.” He grew serious. “She said you were injured. Are you all right?”

  “Fine.” It was a good thing he couldn’t see me. I thought about his earlier comment. “Why did you think I turned myself in?”

  “Karla asked me stuff like what you knew, where you might be and who you were working with. I couldn’t tell her anything. Then she said she would offer you a deal.” He stopped.

  “What kind of deal?”

  “I’ll only tell you if you promise not to take it.”

  I connected the clues. He didn’t need to tell me Karla would offer to spare his life in exchange for me. “I’m not promising, Cog.”

  “You have to. Otherwise everything I suffered through will be for nothing.”

  “No, it wouldn’t. You gave us time and freedom. We found Gateway.”

  He slid off the bunk and onto his knees as pure joy lit his face. “Did you open it?” The question was a reverent whisper.

  “Not yet. I’ve been a little…busy.”

  “All the more reason to not take Karla’s deal. You need to open it.”

  “Why can’t I do both?”

  “Not possible.”

  “Yes, it is. I can stall for time.” But how much time? I needed to heal first if I planned to climb between levels. “Are you still scheduled for…” I couldn’t speak the words.

  “No. My appointment with Chomper has been delayed until further notice. I guess if they recycle me, the LC wouldn’t have any bait for her trap.” A tired resignation colored the tone of his voice. “How are you going to stall for time?”

  “Don’t worry about it. You just need to hold out for a little longer.”

  He huffed. “You have no idea. Do you?”

  My thoughts raced. Communication with the LC would have to be through a third party, which would be time consuming. “I can make a few unreasonable demands, and by the time we negotiate Gateway will be open. And then…” I couldn’t speculate any further.

  “Everything changes,” Cog said.

  17

  THE TRIP BACK TO THE STOREROOM PROGRESSED AT a much slower pace. No longer driven by the need to speak to Cog, I tended to stop often and lay my cheek against the cool metal of the duct. The warm air flowing through the shaft didn’t help either. I dozed off a few times.

  My sense of accomplishment on reaching the storeroom evaporated in an instant. Riley occupied the couch. I couldn’t call it sitting. Every muscle was so taut he appeared as if welded in place. His furious expression matched his posture.

  I concentrated on pulling my body from the vent. My adventure ended on the ground in a painful and exhausted heap. Wondering how I would find the energy to endure the inevitable recriminations and questions from Riley, I rested my head on the floor.

  Instead, he gathered me in his arms and carried me to the couch. “This is the second time I’ve had to pick you up. At least, this time you’re conscious.” He knelt and set me down with care. All signs of his anger had dissipated. “Good thing you don’t weigh much, either.” He fussed about, propping cushions.

  I was half asleep when he said, “Let’s see what damage you’ve done.” He pulled back my uniform to expose my injury. “A pillow.” He shook his head as he peeled off the tape.

  Blood soaked the underside of the pillow. I closed my eyes against the sudden queasiness in my stomach. He probed the cut and I hissed in pain.

  “Amazing. You didn’t rip any stitches, but you need a new bandage.”

  I peeked at him. His tone was matter-of-fact and he moved with confident efficiency as if he changed bandages all the time.

  “It’s going to hurt.” He gloated.

  “You need to work on your bedside manner,” I said.

  “And you need to listen to your doctor. Now hold still.”

  I bit my lip as he removed the old dressing and replaced it with a clean one. He covered me with a blanket. Rummaging around his desk, he
returned with a tool resembling bolt cutters but smaller.

  “Cuff.”

  I held my arm out. “Any chance you have some sheep oil?” I asked as he tightened the clamp.

  “Nope. And this will hurt.” He grunted and the metal cuff buckled.

  It broke with a crunch snap, gouging a hunk of skin in the process just like Emek had warned. Riley pulled the damaged cuff from my wrist and bandaged the bleeding gouge. He poured me a glass of water. Remembering the doctor’s instructions, I sipped it.

  Riley sat on the edge of the couch, and I knew the questions would start. He didn’t disappoint me. “What was so important?”

  I told him about Cog. About his strength, his sacrifice and his beliefs. “I couldn’t let him be recycled without knowing about Gateway.”

  Riley listened without interruption. “Then we need to open Gateway before he’s recycled.” He glanced at the floor as if undecided, then met my gaze. “You said you didn’t have a mate.”

  I almost laughed, but remembered the pain it caused. “I don’t. Cogon is like…” I cast about for the right upper word. “A brother to me. You should know how that is, you have one.”

  “I saw him once, and then he was gone.” He frowned. “I thought scrubs didn’t have families.”

  “We don’t. I was trying to match the feeling. Cog was my care mate. Which means we grew up together, looked after each other.” I struggled to keep my eyes open.

  “Get some rest, Trella.” Riley smoothed a few hairs from my face and stroked my cheek.

  “We need to plan.”

  “We’ll make plans when you’re stronger. Rest now. Doctor’s orders.”

  This time I listened.

  I woke to the ungentle prodding of the doctor.

  She perched on the edge of the couch and held up the needle I had yanked from my arm. “I see you decided to stop your medicine. Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes.” The dizziness and nausea were gone. My stomach rumbled, and I had no energy. The doctor helped to prop me up, bending caused too many spikes of pain.