"Frizz, quit your pacin'—'em knees will pop. Do you wanna end up like Bud?"

Frizz whirled around and faced the boy. He sat on a dirty slab, scratching at the stone with a broken nail. "You quit your scratchin', Nail."

He said nothing. She resumed pacing. Up, down, up, down.

Her knees did protest—they had developed an ache that persisted no matter how many times she massaged them. Even though all of them at Pen 24 had barely hit adolescence, they had varying forms of joint pains. In a way, it was no surprise since she was bulkier than she would have liked—so were the others.

"Frizz, I'm tellin' you." Nail continued scratching. "You ain't gonna make it. Others have tried."

"Bucket of crubbin' sunshine, aincha?"

"I'm tellin' you—you ain't gonna."

Frizz shot him a look and sighed. He just watched her with his big, brown eyes, almost the same color as hers. His finger kept on scratching. Nail's habit formed an ever-present ambient noise, but she was used to it. His fingers were a mess. If one started to bleed, he'd start with another.

"Why doncha go outside and soak 'em rays?" she finally asked. "Early lockdown today, right?"

He shook his head. "Nah, don't wanna."

"Why not?"

"I'm just—I dunno." He fell silent.

Frizz shook her head and scampered up to the slab to check her makeshift sundial, composed of a stick and stones. It was almost time. Then she peered through the window bars and spied the others lumbering around on the stone yard below.

The Pens weren't that large—they were stacked one on top of another. It was crowded when they were all in, which made the smell worse at night. Few of them complained, however, since they knew that they had it better than the other humans in Nodrog. Frizz had stared many a time at the formidable, grey block that loomed on the curving horizon, which was the worst possible place for humans like her.

"So..."

Frizz turned to the boy. "What?"

"You really gonna go?"

She blinked at him. "Yeah. Why doncha come with me, Nail? If we gonna die out there, we can drag the zombie filth with us to hell!"

He shook his head, the motion slow and sluggish. Then he started scratching with his thumb.

Frizz sighed again, the puff of air causing a wispy cloud of dust to rise off the window sill. She slumped down and watched the motes of dust sparkle in the light.

"You think I'm crazy," she stated in a flat voice. "Like the others."

"No, I don't!" Nail leaned back against the wall. "I'm just...tired, Frizz. If you've been here as long as us—seen things, heard things—you'd be too."

"We won't get another chance like this! I tell you, I heard Frump talkin' about it. 'Em ships coming in today—I know it."

"Frump's crubbin' mental—even for a zombie. Gotta be to work in the Pens."

They sat in silence, listening to the distant whizz of drones and the low thrum of the city. Then a piercing, mechanical screech jolted them.

It was time for lockdown.

Frizz jumped to her feet while her heart pattered an erratic rhythm in her chest. "I'm goin' now, Nail!"

There was something in the boy's eyes she couldn't make out. He dug a pudgy hand into a secret pocket he had managed to create in his jumpsuit. Then he produced a necklace of twine with a stone pendant.

Frizz stared at it, forehead puckering into a frown. "You made this?"

"Yeah, for luck. And somethin' to remember me by."

A wave of sadness washed over her, and she gulped in a breath of dusty air. "Thank you."

He just emitted a grunt in response, though his eyes glistened with moisture.

"I almost don't feel like goin' now." Frizz forced a laugh as she tied the twine around her neck.

"Nah, like you said, you won't get another chance. You'd be too big to fit into that hole for one thing."

Five minutes later, Frizz squeezed into the ventilation duct above her hammock. It was well beyond reach, but she had chipped at the wall with a stone for many days and created handholds. The next challenge was practicing the climb and pulling up her weight with only her fingers and toes. Unscrewing the grate was no easy task either. That had taken as long as the chipping.

She started her laborious crawl in the claustrophobic space. The band on her wrist was trouble, but she had no idea how to get it off. She glanced at it now, and X-770 flickered back at her—the number they identified her by.

She had limited time to escape from the Pens, find the way to the ship and sneak inside before her absence was noticed. Frizz tried not to think about the details, since she had never been outside the Pens, let alone seen an actual ship.

Her breathing grew louder while her quickened heartbeat seemed to bounce off the walls. She attempted to rid her mind of the thoughts and emotions that swirled like a tornado, but to no avail. Her hand itched to pull at the frizzy hair that sprouted around her head like a black halo. She was no better than Nail when it came to her repetitive habit of hair-pulling.

The sight ahead stopped her in her tracks. A mesh grille obstructed the way.

"No crubbin' way," she whispered.

As she crawled closer, her sweaty hand squeaked against the sheet metal. She gave the mesh an experimental shove.

It didn't budge.

Cursing, she shoved again. Panic started to set in, and she hyperventilated.

"We're gettin' through this," she hissed through gritted teeth.

Frizz slammed her hand against the mesh, which only made it sting. Then she pushed with her shoulder, though the cramped space did not allow her to effectively use her body weight.

The mesh didn't move—but something else did.

The vent groaned and yielded to the spin gravity of Nodrog. As if in slow motion, it sagged. She slid an inch.

Then all at once, it gave way. The screech of metal drowned out the scream that ripped from her throat.

A nanosecond later, she crashed to the ground. Pain blossomed on her hip and foot, which bent at an odd angle.

For a good minute, she lay there. Her watering eyes discerned a corridor. To her relief, it was deserted. It occurred to her that Frump or another vomon would be patrolling the place. She had to move fast.

She struggled to move to a sitting position and paused to check what was broken. Her ribs were intact—so were her arms and legs. The worst she had to worry about was massive bruising. Her ankle was a different story, however. It protested with the slightest motion.

Clenching her teeth, Frizz wobbled to her feet, which were bare, though the callouses formed protective padding. She shifted her weight away from her injured foot and limped as fast as she could.

She passed closed doors that led to Pens, and finally arrived at the end of the corridor. A metal barrier stood before her. She ran her hand over it, but had no idea how to open it. The display to the side gave no indication what should be done, and she feared that messing with it would trigger an alarm. 

Frizz blew out a frustrated sigh. Then her wandering eyes landed on the heavy door on one side. She lunged at it and pulled. It creaked open ever so slightly.

After yanking at it for an agonizing minute, the gap widened enough for her to slip through.

She found herself in a dark stairwell. Meager light slanted in through dust-coated windows. She ignored the jab of pain from her ankle and descended the steps.

When she reached the bottom, her vision zeroed in on the exit door. Hope soared within as her clammy hands gripped the door's handle and pushed.

It was locked.

In a fit of anger, she slammed herself at it. "No, no, no! C'mon!"

Her system spiraled to the brink of despair, but she refused to give up. While her brain cogs turned, she wiped the perspiration off her brow. She knew there were pipes that chugged food up to the Pens, as well as other systems in place. However, she had no map or a way to get through the doors. Her meandering gaze snagged on the window—just big enough for a small person to crawl through.

She spun around. Crates and miscellaneous junk stood in one corner.

Within seconds, she rammed a metal rod at the window, and the resultant clang echoed up the stairwell. The pane rattled.

Panting hard, she tried again. This time the pane popped out.

Frizz goggled at the bright opening. Freedom lay before her in all its glory—the moment she dreamed about all her life.

Her heart broke into a jubilant dance as she struggled to hoist herself up. Doubt sprang up in her head—the noise she had made should have attracted attention. Yet, it was strangely empty. Then the reason dawned on her.

Ships were arriving that day, which explained the early lockdown. Frump and most other workers of the Pens had probably gone to see the ships.

When she finally emerged on a stone slab, she lay on her back and sucked in lungfuls of air. A cobbled back road stood waiting for her, dumpsters positioned along its length. Through the distant smog, she could make out the tilted bulks of buildings.

She turned her head and stared at the far end of the gargantuan cylinder that was Nodrog. The end was kilometers away from her location and veiled with grey clouds. She didn't know how she would maneuver the streets. Her initial plan was to run on the rooftops to avoid vomons—at least, on the stacks of slums in the poor district. The injured ankle made that a daunting idea.

Staggering to her feet, she climbed down the slab onto the road. The tang of rubbish assaulted her nose, tinged with rotting flesh. She gagged and fought down the bout of nausea.

Frizz mopped her brow and took a step. Then she came face to face with a vomon.

Crubbin': A swear word used by the humans in Nodrog.

Spin gravity: An O'Neill cylinder rotates to create a centrifugal force, which mimics gravity.