The cleaning troll grunted as his motor strained. He had come to a bend. I gave him a little push, and the troll continued on his way. The angle or the air duct started to sharpen. I braced my body in the pipe, using my bare feet to climb behind the troll. The air shaft was one of the main trunk lines, servicing multiple levels of Inside. It cut between the levels and I could follow the troll up to level four if I could unlock the air filter between level two and three.
Broken Man’s voice tapped in my mind. Information about Gateway might be on some disks hidden on level three. Might be. Most likely not. At least I would have proof the prophet was a fake to show Cog.
During my ten-hour shift of babysitting the troll, I kept changing my mind about whether or not to check Broken Man’sstory. When the troll finished the last air duct on my schedule, I pulled him out and stored him in a cleaning closet.
Officially, I was off duty until hour forty. All scrubs had the same schedule. Ten hours on, ten hours off, with a break every five hours. There were no such things as vacations or holidays. Since one week equaled one hundred hours, we worked five shifts per week. Everything Inside could be divided by the number ten. It made life simple so even the scrubs could understand. Work groups comprised of ten scrubs. One CM for every ten children. Ten weeks equaled a deciweek, and a hundred weeks was called a centiweek. And so on. Although, a few old-timers called a centiweek a long year, but I had no idea what that meant.
The work shifts were also staggered so only half the scrubs worked at one time. It saved room in the barracks. I shared my bunk with another scrub I never saw. Not that I ever slept there anyway.
My shift ended on level two in Sector D2, and I need to make a decision. Below me were the rows and rows of bunks that filled Sectors D, E and F on both lower levels. From this location, it was just a matter of heading due east for two sectors, then up one level to search for Broken Man’s disks.
The uppers filled their two levels of housing sectors with roomy apartments and vast suites for the important officials.
Only certain loyal scrubs had authorization to clean and maintain the upper levels, and to deliver food and laundry. Not me. I had no desire to ingratiate myself to earn the Pop Cop’s trust. They rarely policed the ductwork with their sensors, believing in their filters and the passivity of the scrubs. Except for a few, I grinned, they were right.
Although, I remembered the stories about when the Pop Cops tried to place video cameras in the lower levels. Each and every one had disappeared. No witnesses came forward, andno evidence had been found. Eventually the cameras became another lost part of our world. Something we once had. Our computers had a whole list of things which met this criterion, but I didn’t care. No sense bemoaning what was gone. A waste of time. Better to worry about what weapons the Pop Cops could use now.
It would be a challenge to search for the disks while avoiding the scrubs and Pop Cops. Like Cog had said, the threat of getting into trouble hadn’t stopped me before, and I had explored all the upper level ducts more for the challenge rather than just to break the rules. In the end, my curiosity was too great to walk away. I found an appropriate air conduit and slipped inside the tight space.
The rush of air blew past me in the active duct. Closing my eyes, I concentrated on the warm current as it caressed my face. I pulled my hair from its single long braid, and let it flow behind me, imagining for a moment that I flew.
The airshaft ended in a scrubber—a tight wire mesh impossible to bypass without unlocking and removing the cleaning filters nestled inside. This was the barrier to keep the scrubs down in their levels. I could dismantle it and reattach the lock and filters when I returned, but the effort would eat up a lot of time.
Instead, I backtracked until I found a near-invisible hatch and opened it. Climbing from the duct, I stood on top of level two above Sector F2. Pipes and wires hung down, crisscrossed and bisected the open space. I called it the Gap.
Between the levels of Inside, spaces ranged from one meter to one and a half meters. A two meter gap existed between the walls of the levels and the true Wall of Inside. The levels were bolted to the Walls with steel I-beams. And foam insulation had been sprayed onto the Walls.
As far as I could tell, no one knew about the Gap. Only four near-invisible hatches offered access to it—one on each level. I had spent hundreds of hours in the shafts before I discovered them. I didn’t care what the reason was for such a space around the levels, it suited me just fine.
Bluelight shone and I negotiated the obstacle course of ducts, and reached the east Wall. One of the six metal dividers framing our world, it was the barrier between Inside and whatever existed beyond.
A ladder was bolted to the Wall. It stretched from the very bottom of Inside to just above level four. Using it would make climbing to the air ducts above the third level easier. Expect for two problems. A two-meter space gaped between where I stood on the edge of level two and the ladder. To use the ladder, I would need to traverse the thin I-beam, connecting level two to the Wall. If I slipped, I would plummet about fourteen meters. The drop might not kill me right away, but if I broke my legs no one would know where to find me.
Breaks in the ladder remained the second problem with the route. Someone long ago had cut off portions of the ladder as if they attempted to limit access to the upper levels. I had strung chains between the breaks, but climbing them required a great deal of upper arm strength.
No sense wasting time. A tingle of apprehension brushed my skin. I moved onto the I-beam. The beam was a little wider than my foot. Balancing on it, I placed one foot in front of the other with care. Once I mounted the ladder, I climbed until I reached the chain. Taking a deep breath, I wrapped my legs around the slender metal links and pulled myself up to the next complete section of the ladder.
By the time I reached the lowest rung, sweat soaked my uniform and coated my palms. Stretching for the next bar, my fingers slipped and I fell.
Three wild heartbeats later, I stopped my descent by grabbing the chain. I swung in mid-air, and grinned. Returning to the top of the chain, my second attempt to transfer to the ladder was successful.
Navigating through the duct work, I found the near-invisible hatch for level three and climbed inside the air shaft, searching for the sleeping quarters in Sector F3.
Broken Man had said a duct above his rooms. Logic suggested he wouldn’t use a water pipe, too messy, or electrical conduit, no space. He had been an air controller so it stood to reason I would find the disks, if they existed, in the airshaft. If.
I crawled through the shaft above the rooms, counting. Small rectangles of daylight warned me when a room was occupied, and I took extra care to be quiet. Stealing glances into the quarters as I slipped by, I spotted uppers working on their computers.
I usually avoided the populated sections. One sneeze and I would be permanently assigned to the solid-waste crew. The crap suckers. Nothing like the threat of unclogging those pipes to keep scrubs in line.
When I reached number three four two one, I peered into the darkness below. The lack of light noteworthy. Inside had two light levels. Daylight for when people were awake and working, and bluelight for sleeping. Bluelight was also used for temporarily unoccupied areas where, as soon as a person entered, the daylights would turn on.
Darkness in Broken Man’s room meant it had been unoccupied for a long time. I shined my flashlight through the vent. The living area appeared normal. Sweeping my light on the walls of the shaft, I searched for the disks. At first, nothing caught my eye, but a strange bulge cast a slight shadow. I rubbed my fingertips over the bump and touched a slender edge.
Booby-trapped, I thought at first. Then I considered what I would do if I wanted to hide something from the Pop Cops. Either find a niche they didn’t scan, tuck it behind a lead-lined piece of machinery, or camouflage it.
Using my fingernails, I peeled back a thin metal sheet. Underneath was a cloth bag.
I’d been so sure I was right Broken Man had lied, I was almost disappointed. Almost. Let’s face it; if Gateway existed, I wouldn’t be upset.
