CHAPTER 1
A vibration rippledthrough my body. I awoke in semi-darkness, unsure of my location. Reaching out with my hands, I trace the smooth sides arching up and in. My fingers met overhead. Pipe.
A distant roar caused unease, but with sleep fogging my mind, I couldn’t quite grasp its significance. The pipe’s vibrations increased as the thunder grew louder. Water. Coming toward me. Fast.
I scrambled in the narrow space. My bare feet slipped on the sleek surface of the pipe as I advanced toward a faint square of bluelight emanating from the open hatch. It seemed an impossible distance to reach.
Cogon’s voice in full lecture mode echoed in my mind as the water rushed closer. “Someday, Trella. You’ll screw up and there will be bits of you raining out of the showers.”
I reached the hatch and dove headfirst through the opening, convinced the water chased at my heels. Landing on the hard floor, I shot to my feet and slammed the door shut. When I finished sealing the hatch, the whole pipe shuddered then stilled as the water passed. The metal cooled under my fingers, and I leaned my sweaty forehead against it, catching my breath.
That was close. Soft bluelight glowed all around the water filtering machinery. Hour eighteen, I knew by the roar of water. The upper workers adhered to a strict schedule.
I checked my tool belt to make sure nothing was broken and my flashlight still worked. Then I climbed down from the ductwork and crossed to level two by taking a shortcut through an air conduit. Traveling through the pipes and air shafts, I avoided seeing my fellow scrubs. But my peace and quiet ended too soon as I opened the vent, swung down, and landed in the middle of a crowded corridor, scattering scrubs.
Someone knocked into me. “Watch it!”
“Come to mingle with the lowly scrubs, your highness?” A mocking bow.
Used to curses and hostile glares, I shrugged. The mass of people in the tight corridor jostled and pushed me along. Life in the lower two levels teamed with scrubs at all hours of the week. They moved from work to their barracks and back to work. Called scrubs because rust and dust were the twin evils of Inside; however, they also maintained the network of mechanical systems which kept us all alive.
The scrubs shoved. They frowned. They complained. I hated every one of them. Except Cog. No one hated Cog. He listened. Empathized with tales of misery. Made people smile. A rare occurrence as rare as a person like Cogon.
I headed toward the cafeteria in Quadrant G2. It stayed open around the clock. As far as I could tell, Inside’s length and width equaled a square with four levels. All constructed with sheet metal. Overall measurements, by my calculations—for reasons unknown Inside’s exact dimensions and specifications were classified—were two-thousand meters wide by two-thousand meters long by twenty-five meters high. Each level was divided into nine areas. Four Quadrants A, C, G, and I, which were Inside’s corners, and five Sectors B, D, E, F, and H.
If I drew a square with two lines across and two lines down inside it, I would end up with nine smaller squares. The first row’s three squares would be labeled A, B, and C, the next row D, E, and F, and the last row G, H, and I. That was the basic map of each level. Boring, unoriginal, and predictable to say the least.
The scrubs’ cafeteria and dining room encompassed all of Sector G2. The number two meant it was on the second level. Even a hundred-week old scrub couldn’t get lost here. Hydroponics resided directly below in Sector G1, making it easy for the food growers to send vegetables to the kitchen scrubs.
The hot, musty smell of people packed together greeted me at the cafeteria’s door as the noise of them slammed into me. I paused, deciding if eating was worth being in the same room with so many scrubs. My stomach growled, overruling my reluctance.
The line to get food remained perpetually long. I took a tray and waited, ignoring the stares. Most scrubs changed from their work clothes to wear the drab green off-duty jumpsuits before eating, but I was scheduled to scour an air duct at hour twenty. So I remained in my form-fitting uniform. The slippery dark-blue fabric covered every inch of skin except for my hands, feet and head. The material helped me slide through the tight heating ducts when I cleaned them. And I didn’t care if I was the only person not wearing moccasins. My mocs were back at my bunk in Sector F1.
Pushing my tray along the metal shelf, I pointed to what I wanted from three different choices. The big containers held either green, yellow, or brown-colored slop, and they all smelled like moldy vegetables. The food was easy to prepare, easy to cook, and best of all easy to reuse. I didn’t even bother reading the names of the dishes. If the kitchen staff called it a casserole, a quiche, a stew or a soup, it all tasted the same. A pulpy, leafy,spinach flavor dominated the other ingredients lurking in the recipe.
To be fair to the cooks, hydroponics didn’t offer much in the way of variety. Mass production of the hardier vegetables had replaced diversity, and there was only so much a person could do with mutton. I didn’t want to be fair, though, I just wanted something different to eat.
After being severed, I found an empty seat, and let the discord of multiple conversations roll over me.
“Where’ve you been?” a voice asked, cutting through the din. I looked up at Cog’s broad face as he pressed into a seat next to mine.
“Working,” I said.
“You were supposed to be done at hour ten.”
I shrugged. “Got to make sure the pipes are squeaky clean for the uppers.”
“Yeah. Like it would take you that long,” Cog said. “You were sleeping in the pipes again.”
“Don’t start.”
“You’re going to get hurt?—”
“Who’d care? One less scrub to feed.”
“Grumpy, aren’t we? What’s the matter, Trella? Get wet?” Cog smirked, but couldn’t hold the expression for more than a second. He was soon smiling, unaffected by my mood.
“Shouldn’t you be changing a fan belt or something?” I asked, trying to be nasty, but Cog ignored me, knowing it was all an act.
