I stared at Cog as my body numbed with horror.

“See, Trell? It does matter. Because for me to endure, I need to know you believe in Gateway and know you’re searching for it. To know I am helping by keeping the Pop Cops occupied while you find it.”

“But you’ll be fed to Chomper!”

“I don’t have a problem with that.”

“But I do.”

“It’s not your decision.”

“You think finding Gateway is more important than your life?” I asked him.

“Yes.”

“Why? Aren’t you happy with the status quo? You smile at everyone. You have a ton of friends.”

He held up his filthy foul-smelling hands. “This is the rest of my life. Nothing is going to change unless we do something. I’ve been waiting for the right circumstances. This is it.”

One of the maintenance scrubs hustled over. “Cog, a group of Pop Cops are looking for you. Want us to distract them?”

“No thanks. Go back to work.” Cogon met my gaze. An unanswered question still hovered between us.

“I don’t know if I believe in Gateway or not. But I won’t stop searching for it until I prove beyond a doubt it does or doesn’t exist. Will that help you?”

Shouts and loud voices reached us.

He smiled. “Yes. Now, shoo.” He waved me toward the heating vent. “Won’t help my story if you’re found in here with me.”

“What about the maintenance scrub?”

“He’ll cover for me.”

I raced for the vent and scrambled through. The Pop Cops must have been prepared for a fight. Surprise laced their voices when Cog agreed to go with them. Sure enough, the other scrub never mentioned me. He could have used the information in exchange for a better position. Proof of Cog’s uniqueness.

Lying in the warm duct, I felt truly alone for the first time in a long while.

If Cog was going to sacrifice himself, the least I could do was report to my work shift and pretend nothing had happened. Catching up on the three hours I’d missed, I toggled the troll to move faster, reminding me of Cog.

We had been care mates. My earliest memories involved a confusing array of new faces, being upset and longing. Even though Cog was two hundred and sixty-eight weeks older than me, he befriended me. Life in the noisy and chaotic facility was bearable with him. Then Cog had his fourteenth centiweek celebration and “graduated” from the care unit, leaving me.

I had known he would go, but I hadn’t been prepared for the devastation inside me. He visited and he was reachable, but his new life and friends kept him busy. The change from having him as my almost constant companion to seeing him for an hour every two weeks left me distraught and an easy target.

My other mates didn’t understand. Life in the pipes was preferable to being taunted by everyone. Once I had my celebration, I left the facility and Cog found me. I vowed not to get too close to him or anybody, fearing the return of pain. But Cog just wouldn’t give up. And now he was gone again.