Questions swirled in my mind. Where to go now? I couldn’t give the disks to Broken Man. He might have orchestrated this whole thing. Obviously the Pop Cops had set a trap for whoever came to collect the disks. But why not rig the vent? Maybe they hadn’t known where the disks were located. That would mean Broken Man wasn’t involved. So why hadn’t they interrogated him before sending him down here? I hadn’t wanted any trouble. Now I swam in it.
I could re-hide the disks on level three for the Pop Cops to find. If Broken Man wasn’t a plant, then they’d known someone had come for them, but not who. I could walk away. Stay uninvolved. It was the safest course of action. The smartest move. The Pop Cops would have what they wanted.
Broken Man had said the disks might reveal the location of Gateway. Why risk my neck for a possibility? For something even I didn’t believe in.
I just couldn’t give the Pop Cops what they wanted. It rankled too much. Shoving the disks into a pocket of my belt, I hurried to find Broken Man.
Pop Cops had infested the lower level. Groups of three and four scanned the scrubs, occasionally stopping and questioning one. My skin burned where it touched the pocket concealing the disks. Trying to remain calm and invisible, I searched for Broken Man.
The dais he had used as a pulpit was empty. Cogon sat on the edge of the platform with his head in his hands.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Broken Man’s gone,” he said to the floor.
“Disappeared?” Figures, I thought. He was a plant and I had fallen for it like a gullible hundred-week-old.
“No. Taken.” Cog looked up. Blood ran down his face from a gash on his forehead.
“Cog!” I ran and grabbed a towel from one of the laundry bins lining the hall. A few scrubs folded sheets nearby, pretending to ignore us, but I knew better.
“Here.” I wiped Cog’s eye and cheek, pressing the cloth to the cut. “Who did this to you?” Cog was a big man. No scrubs would dare fight him.
“Pop Cops,” he said.
The significance of Cog’s word ‘taken’ finally sunk in. My world shrank, tightening around my body, making it difficult to breathe. Interrogation of Broken Man would lead the Pop Cops to me.
“When?” I demanded.
“Just now.” Cog gestured down the hallway. “I tried to talk to them. Stop them. But...” He touched his forehead.
Figured. The Pop Cops knew a good beating was an effective way to warn a scrub. Give them trouble another time and a scrub was arrested and never seen again in the lower levels.
“How many?”
“Three to subdue me,” he said with a wan smile, “but only one took him away. He can’t do much from a wheelchair.”
“You could have been fed to Chomper.” I admonished him.
“Could have, Trell. Doesn’t mean I would have. Besides, I would have felt terrible if I didn’t try to help.” He sighed. “I’m talking to a wall. You don’t care about anyone in this place.”
An old argument. My response would be how I cared about him, and he would claim I had a funny way of showing it. But not this time. “You’re right. So why do you bother with me? Why do you drag me to listen to every prophet?”
“It’s called hope. It’s called seeing the best in people despite the miserable conditions.” He grabbed the towel from me. His shoulders sagged as he covered his face with the bloody cloth. “Maybe you’re right and it’s all a lie.” He gestured to Broken Man’s dais.
The prophet hadn’t lied about the disks, but soon the Pop Cops would know about them, too. A plan raced along the circuits of my mind. “Which way did the Pop Cop take Broken Man?”
“Why?” Confusion pushed his thick eyebrows together.
“Just answer.”
“Toward Quad A1. Probably going to take him up the lift to level four.”
I had to hurry. “Cog, you better get to the infirmary. I need to go.”
“Go where?” He glanced at the clock. “Your shift doesn’t start for another hour.”
“Not your concern,” I said, looking up at the ductwork. I quickened my pace, planning the best route to Quadrant A’s lift.
