I fought my way through the corridors to my scheduled air shaft. On the way, I encountered Cog. He scraped paint chips from one of the corridor walls. Patches of rust sprinkled the metal. Another of Inside’s evils, rust was not tolerated and repainting remained a constant chore.

Glad to see him, I touched his arm. His honey-brown eyes slid in my direction. Tight lines of worry streaked across his sweaty face. Cog pulled the scraper from the wall.

“What’s going on?” he whispered. “Is everything okay with—you know?”

I nodded. “He’s fine.”

Cog pointed with his nose toward the two Pop Cops who hovered at the end of the hall. “They’re watching me.”

“What happened?” I asked.

Cogon winced. “The Pop Cops escorted me to their office for questioning about my little skirmish before they arrested Broken Man.”

I studied his face in concern but didn’t see any bruises. Understanding my look, Cog touched his ribs and winced again. This time in pain.

“They said I was their best suspect. They threatened to recycle me just for defending my prophet. Told me I might as well confess to killing their colleague, and tell them where Broken Man was hiding.” Cog clamped his teeth together as defiance flashed in his eyes. “I’d confess to murder, but I won’t give him up.”

“Why? You could negotiate and tell them where he is in exchange for not being fed to Chomper.”

He stared at me as if I had spoken gibberish. “He’s important, Trell. He can find Gateway.”

“He might have a location. Big difference, and one not worth being recycled for.”

“He knows. I can feel it.”

I huffed in annoyance. “Come on, Cog. You’re an intelligent man. How can you believe in Gateway without proof?”

“The disks—”

“Could be part of the ruse.”

He smiled. “Then why did you risk punishment to get them?”

“To prove Broken Man wrong.”

“Then go ahead, prove us wrong.” His confidence turned smug and he watched my expression with a knowing grin. “You can’t resist a challenge. It got you into all kinds of trouble in the care facility.”

“We’re not in the care facility anymore.” I tapped his bruised ribs, emphasizing my point. “The stakes are higher.”

“So is the reward.”

I shook my head. We had lapsed into the same old argument with no ending and we had talked too long. The Pop Cops headed our way. Their continued interest in Cogon meant he remained their primary suspect.

“Why did they let you go?” I asked.

“Two scrubs came forward while I was being questioned and claimed they saw Broken Man wrestle the Pop Cop for his weapon before the elevator doors closed.”

My breath locked in surprise. After a moment I asked, “Did you get their names?”

“Not yet. But I will.”

“Keep playing innocent,” I whispered to him as the Pop Cops came within earshot. Then in a louder voice I said, “And my cleaning device has been making weird noises.”

“I’ll let maintenance know,” Cog replied.

“Thanks.” I walked away.

Another twist. I sighed. Why would two people lie? Especially when the right information could make their lives a lot easier.

The questions would have to wait while I dealt with my supervisor. She paced the hallway in front of my cleaning troll’s storage area. A red cuff clenched in her long-fingered hands. She frowned at it.

“Trella,” she said with a snarl. “Going to show up for work this shift?”

I braced myself. What rotten luck. The supervisors checked to make sure each scrub assigned to them was at the proper work location about once a week. My bad luck to have her looking for me during my last shift. At least I hoped it was bad luck and not the directive of a certain lieutenant commander.

“Where were you?” she asked.

“Special assembly.” I glanced at the cuff. If she snapped it around my wrist, I would have to report to the Pop Cops for discipline. They would probably assign me to work in waste handling during my off hours. When I completed the punishment, the cuff would be removed. Until then, everyone would know I was in trouble.

She hissed in exasperation. “The assembly lasted two hours. You were missing for eight.” She pulled the cuff open.

“It took me almost two hours to get out of the dining room, and then I had to wait to speak with Lieutenant Commander Karla.”

The LC’s name elicited the desired effect. Her hand paused in midair and she shot me a white-faced look. Usually only ensigns and lieutenants policed the lower levels. LCs were as rare as a change in routine, and all the scrubs knew to keep their distance.

“Oh, well, in that case.” She lowered her arm, probably assuming time spent with a Pop Cop lieutenant commander was worse than working in waste handling.

I never thought I would use fear of the Pop Cops to my advantage, but I knew my supervisor wouldn’t check my story with the LC. Watching me pull out my cleaning troll and heft it into the air shaft, she stayed until I had climbed into the shaft to begin my shift.

While I followed my troll through the air ducts for the next ten hours, I planned the best way to gather supplies for Broken Man. My choices were limited. The only time I could take enough food from the kitchen to stock Broken Man’s refrigerator was when everyone was at the hundred-hour assembly. Problem was, my presence was required, too.

When the buzzer sounded for the assembly, I dutifully reported to the dining room and stood in line.

“Name, barrack and birth week?” the Pop Cop asked without even looking up.

I repeated my stats.

“Health changes?”

“No.”

“Blood test.” He pointed toward another Pop Cop.

Waiting in this line, I held my arms close to my stomach as a Pop Cop drew blood from a scrub’s wrist using a device we had nicknamed the vampire box after reading one of those mythical stories in the computer. The stories we had been allowed to access chronicled myths and legends of strange creatures like vampires and ghosts. They also mentioned things and animals we have never seen. When questioned, my Care Mother explained those items were no longer available.

I shuffled forward in line, dreading my turn. After you insert your arm in the vamp box, two prongs jabbed into the skin and sucked a couple drops of blood out through a tube and into a chamber where it was analyzed in an instant.

The Pop Cops checked for illegal substances, pregnancy and other health markers the scrubs didn’t really care about. Blood tests were done at random hundred-hour assemblies, but they were never more than six weeks apart. The Pop Cops had them scheduled in advance and, for a price, you could find out when the next test would be. A scrub named Jacy had a whole network of informers, and he always knew when the Pop Cops planned tests and inspections.

The next scrub to be checked was a woman. The ensign running the analyzer grabbed her arm. Before the woman could react, he clamped a bright yellow bracelet on her wrist. She was pregnant. Shock, fear and surprise warred on her face as she tried to cope with this new information.

“Eight week checkups required,” the ensign droned. “Schedule with the infirmary.”

The woman was waved on. She staggered toward the dining room with her other hand gripping the irremovable bracelet. Now the entire population of scrubs would know she was with child. She’d work her shifts until she gave birth, spend a week in the infirmary, hand her baby over to the care facility and then return to work. It felt more like a breeding program than a miracle of life. One of the many reasons I would never have a child.

I took my turn with the vamp box and wove my way through the dining room toward the kitchen, finding a seat as close to the kitchen doors as possible. LC Karla stood on one of the tables. A fire burned in her eyes as she barked orders to the Pop Cops around her. I wondered why she chose this location instead of the other two meeting areas. Perhaps she enjoyed standing on the table. Yeah, right, just like I enjoyed these assemblies.