“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 three-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, appearing 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 sank in. My world shrank, tightening around my body until I felt like I was being crushed. 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.

Figures. The Pop Cops knew a good beating was an effective way to warn a scrub. Give them trouble another time and a scrub is arrested and never seen again in the lower levels.

“How many?”

“Three to subdue me,” he said with a 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, but I was distracted.

“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 two hours.”

“Not your concern,” I said, looking up at the ductwork. I quickened my pace, planning the best route to Quadrant A’s lift.

But Cogon trailed after me. “Why do you care which way he went?”

I ignored him.

“He must be right,” Cog called. His voice bright and strong again. Back to normal. “Broken Man’s right about Gateway. Why else would the Pop Cops take him?”