As I slid through the air shaft, snatches of conversations reached me from the corridors where an alarming number of Pop Cops rushed to take up positions under the vents. I just stayed ahead of them.

“Someone sprung the trap.”

“Escaping through the vents.”

“Use the gas.”

“Stunners only. No kill-zappers.”

“Alert all sectors on level three.”

My heart hammered, driving me forward on the edge of panic. With the Pop Cops in every room, I couldn’t get to the near-invisible hatch. Instead, I raced toward Sector B3 where I knew of a well-placed laundry chute I could use. Impossible to climb up, laundry chutes only worked one way.

Just before I reached the chute, something bit my foot. Yelping, I twisted around. A RATSS had clamped on my toe. Damn!

Its little antennae vibrated, probably reporting my position. Imagining the information racing through the complex network of wires crisscrossing every level, I yanked my wrench from my tool belt and smashed the RATSS. After reducing it to scrap, I jerked it off my foot.

When I reached the laundry chute, I slid down two levels without having any dirty garments tossed on my head. A small bonus. I landed in a half-full bin.

The dryers hummed productively, creating one of the warmest sections of Inside. If a RATSS had followed me here, it would lose me in the heat from them and from the mass of scrubs who labored here.

I found a small crawl space behind a row of dryers and collapsed into it to catch my breath.

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 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. Then 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.