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 felt 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 Broken Man had lied, I was almost disappointed. Almost. Let’s face it; if Gateway existed, I wouldn’t be upset.

I shook my head. These were dangerous thoughts. They led to hope and hope led to pain. I squelched them and focused on the contents of the bag. Four disks with rainbow rays streaked around their silver surfaces. Enthralled, I dropped the bag. It slipped through the vent and floated to the floor.

I shrugged. No big deal. Until a red light pulsed in the dark room below. Then daylight flooded the chamber as gas hissed.

Booby-trapped was right. But not the camouflage—Broken Man’s rooms. Smoke filled the air shaft. I held my breath as my eyes stung and watered, blurring my vision. Pushing back, I blindly scooted away. The door banged open and a man ordered, “Halt.”

Instinctively, I halted.

“Clear the gas,” a female voice ordered.

A pump hummed and the gray fog around me disappeared.

Voices echoed in the chamber. Boots drummed on the floor.

“Guard the door.”

“Fan out and search.”

“Watch for ambush.”

I wiped the tears from my eyes, eased back to the vent and peeked in. A woman stepped into my view. An intricate knot pulled her blond hair back from her face. She wore the uniform of the Population Control Police, purple with silver stripes down the outsides of the sleeves and pants. Her black weapon belt bulged to such an extreme that she looked like she wore a tire. A lieutenant commander’s insignia glinted on her collar.

A lieutenant snapped to attention beside her. “No one here, sir.”

“Impossible. Look again,” she ordered.

He rushed off.

She scanned the room, then spotted the bag on the floor. She tipped her head back and looked directly into the vent. Every cell in my body turned to ice.

“All sectors clear, sir,” another Pop Cop said.

“Get me some RATSS,” she yelled. “Post guards on all air vents in Sector F3. Now!”

Her order shocked me into action. I hustled along the duct with as much speed as I could muster one-handed. The Pop Cops’ Remote Access Temperature Sensitive Scanner (RATSS) would search me out through the ducts using heat-seeking technology. I had to leave Sector F3. Now. I had to find a hot spot to hide in.