“Yes. Your…ancestors stole it. Exiled us.”
I noted his use of the word exile. Of course, it could have a wide range or meanings. “How do you know? As you said, our air is thicker than yours.”
“We have…records. We had to…ration air so long…we are used to it. The air mixture is easy to alter. We’ll find a…common setting. Good for all.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“You are leader,” Ponife said.
I touched the collar. “Not a good one.”
“Work with us. You will have…chance to repair damage.”
I doubted it would be that easy. “Why did they exile you?”
His demeanor changed in an instant. Wrong question.
“Impertinent child.” Ponife twisted the X.
When I came to my senses, Ponife was gone. In his place was a tray of food and a glass of water. My throat burned so I gulped down the water. Then I attacked the food. Only after I had consumed most of it, did I consider the danger. I shrugged. They didn't need poison or drugs. A couple more sessions with the collar and I would do anything for them.
I considered Ponife's comments, trying to list reasons for banishing a person. It would also depend on if the Insiders at the time knew about the extra space or not. The Committee hadn't recycled the Travas, but if they hadn't known about the Expanse I was sure the Travas would have been recycled to in order to make room for our growing population.
Maybe instead of recycling the trouble makers, our ancestors put them into a bubble monster and sent them on their way. Was that better or worse than being recycled? Given the choice, I would rather take my chances in Outer Space in a bubble than be Chomper's dinner.
Eventually, I fell into an exhausted sleep.
A rasping sound woke me. Disorientated, I blinked in the daylights as the shushing grew louder. Deep down, I recognized the noise, but my brain hadn't quite connected it.
After a few more seconds, I jumped to my feet. Climbing up to the air vent, I peered inside. Zippy had come!
I rattled the bars over the vent, but they wouldn't budge. Riley would guess I was stuck. Otherwise, I would have escapedby now. I searched with my fingers and found a cloth bag tied to Zippy. Good boy.
Pulling the bag through the bars, I carried my treasure back to the mat. Funny how the smallest things became so important when you'd been reduced to utter helplessness.
I upended the bag. A listening device and a receiver tumbled out along with a diamond wire. Inserting the receiver in my earlobe, I turned on the device.
“Anyone listening?” I asked, trying not to sound pathetic, but strain shook my words, giving me away.
“Trella!” Riley's relieved voice reached me.
I collapsed back onto the mat. This was the first thing to go my way in a long time.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Worried about Hank detecting the transmission, I explained about the new control room and the Outsiders as fast as I could.
After I finished, Riley asked me a few questions. Then he said, “Get out of there, and meet me at?—”
“I can’t. They have a…tracer on me.”
“Can you cut it out? I could send a scalpel.”
“No. It’s around my neck.” I gave him a basic run down on all the wonders of the command collar.
He responded with an extended period of silence.
Unable to endure another minute, I said, “Don’t be upset. I tried to run away, but Hank?—”
