Shift

by Hugh Howey

Page 11

 

  Thurman nodded. ‘He did. Met with him yesterday. He’s a solid boy. ’ The Senator smiled and shook his head. ‘The irony is, this class we just swore in? Probably the best bunch the Hill has seen in a very long time. ’

  ‘The irony?’

  Thurman waved his hand, shooing the question away. ‘You know what I love about this treatment?’

  Practically living for ever? Donald nearly blurted.

  ‘It gives you time to think. A few days in here, nothing with batteries allowed, just a few books to read and something to write on – it really clears your head. ’

  Donald kept his opinions to himself. He didn’t want to admit how uncomfortable the procedure made him, how terrifying it was to be in that room right then. Knowing that tiny machines were coursing through the Senator’s body, picking through his individual cells and making repairs, repelled him. Supposedly, your urine turned the colour of charcoal once all the machines shut down. He trembled at the thought.

  ‘Isn’t that nice?’ Thurman asked. He took a deep breath and let it out. ‘The quiet?’

  Donald didn’t answer. He realised he was holding his breath again.

  Thurman looked down at the book in his lap, then lifted his gaze to study Donald.

  ‘Did you know your grandfather taught me how to play golf?’

  Donald laughed. ‘Yeah. I’ve seen the pictures of you two together. ’ He flashed back to his grandmother flipping through old albums. She had this outmoded obsession with printing the pictures from her computer and stuffing them in books. Said they became more real once they were displayed like that.

  ‘You and your sister have always felt like family to me,’ the Senator said.

  The sudden openness was uncomfortable. A small vent in the corner of the pod circulated some air, but it still felt warm in there. ‘I appreciate that, sir. ’

  ‘I want you in on this project,’ Thurman said. ‘All the way in. ’

  Donald swallowed. ‘Sir. I’m fully committed, I promise. ’

  Thurman raised his hand and shook his head. ‘No, not like—’ He dropped his hand to his lap, glanced at the door. ‘You know, I used to think you couldn’t hide anything any more. Not in this age. It’s all out there, you know?’ He waggled his fingers in the air. ‘Hell, you ran for office and squeezed through that mess. You know what it’s like. ’

  Donald nodded. ‘Yeah, I had a few things I had to own up to. ’

  The Senator cupped his hands into the shape of a bowl. ‘It’s like trying to hold water and not letting a single drop through. ’

  Donald nodded.

  ‘A president can’t even get a blow job any more without the world finding out. ’

  Donald’s confused squint had Thurman waving at the air. ‘Before your time. But here’s the thing, here’s what I’ve found, both overseas and in Washington. It’s the unimportant drips that leak through. The peccadilloes. Embarrassments, not life-and-death stuff. You want to invade a foreign country? Look at D-Day. Hell, look at Pearl Harbor. Or 9/11. Not a problem. ’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, I don’t see what—’

  Thurman’s hand flew out, his fingers thudding shut as he pinched the air. Donald thought for a moment that he meant for him to keep quiet, but then the Senator leaned forward and held the pinched pads of his fingers for Donald to see, as if he had snatched a mosquito.

  ‘Look,’ he said.

  Donald leaned closer, but he still couldn’t make anything out. He shook his head. ‘I don’t see, sir . . . ’

  ‘That’s right. And you wouldn’t see it coming, either. That’s what they’ve been working on, those snakes. ’

  Senator Thurman released the invisible pinch and studied the pad of his thumb for a moment. He blew a puff of air across it. ‘Anything these puppies can stitch, they can unstitch. ’

  He peered across the pod at Donald. ‘You know why we went into Iran the first time? It wasn’t about nukes, I’ll tell you that. I crawled through every hole that’s ever been dug in those dunes over there, and those rats had a bigger prize they were chasing than nukes. You see, they’ve figured out how to attack us without being seen, without having to blow themselves up, and with zero repercussions. ’

  Donald was sure he didn’t have the clearance to hear any of this.

  ‘Well, the Iranians didn’t figure it out for themselves so much as steal what Israel was working on. ’ He smiled at Donald. ‘So, of course, we had to start playing catch-up. ’

  ‘I don’t understa—’

  ‘These critters in here are programmed for my DNA, Donny. Think about that. Have you ever had your ancestry tested?’ He looked Donald up and down as if he were surveying a mottled mutt. ‘What are you, anyway? Scottish?’

  ‘Maybe Irish, sir. I honestly couldn’t tell you. ’ He didn’t want to admit that it was unimportant to him; it seemed like a topic close to Thurman’s heart.

  ‘Well, these buggers can tell. If they ever get them perfected, that is. They could tell you what clan you came from. And that’s what the Iranians are working on: a weapon you can’t see, that you can’t stop, and if it decides you’re Jewish, even a quarter Jew . . . ’ Thurman drew his thumb across his own neck.

  ‘I thought we were wrong about that. We never found any NBs in Iran. ’

  ‘That’s because they self-destructed. Remotely. Poof. ’ The old man’s eyes widened.

  Donald laughed. ‘You sound like one of those conspiracy theorists—’

  Senator Thurman leaned back and rested his head against the wall. ‘Donny, the conspiracy theorists sound like us. ’

  Donald waited for the Senator to laugh. Or smile. Neither came.

  ‘What does this have to do with me?’ he asked. ‘Or our project?’

  Thurman closed his eyes, his head still tilted back. ‘You know why Florida has such pretty sunrises?’

  Donald wanted to scream. He wanted to beat on the door until they hauled him out of there in a straightjacket. Instead, he took a sip of water.

  Thurman cracked an eye. Studied him again.

  ‘It’s because the sand from Africa blows clear across the Atlantic. ’

  Donald nodded. He saw what the Senator was getting at. He’d heard the same fear-mongering on the twenty-four-hour news programmes, how toxins and tiny machines can circle the globe, just like seeds and pollens have done for millennia.

  ‘It’s coming, Donny. I know it is. I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, even in here. I asked you to meet me here because I want you to have a seat at the after party. ’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘You and Helen both. ’

  Donald scratched his arm and glanced at the door.

  ‘It’s just a contingency plan for now, you understand? There are plans in place for anything. Mountains for the president to crawl inside of, but we need something else. ’

  Donald remembered the congressman from Atlanta prattling on about zombies and the CDC. This sounded like more of that nonsense.

  ‘I’m happy to serve on any committee you think is important—’

  ‘Good. ’ The Senator took the book from his lap and handed it to Donald. ‘Read this,’ Thurman said.

  Donald checked the cover. It was familiar, but instead of French script, it read: The Order. He opened the heavy tome to a random page and started skimming.

  ‘That’s your bible from now on, son. When I was in the war, I met boys no higher than your knee who had the entire Qur’an memorised, every stinkin’ verse. You need to do better. ’

  ‘Memorise?’

  ‘As near as you can. And don’t worry, you’ve got a couple of years. ’

  Donald raised his eyebrows in surprise, then shut the book and studied the spine. ‘Good. I’ll need it. ’ He wanted to know if there would be a raise involved or a ton of committee meetings. This sounded ludicrous, but he wasn’t about to refuse the old man, not with his re-election comin
g up every two years.

  ‘All right. Welcome. ’ Thurman leaned forward and held out his hand. Donald tried to get his palm deep into the Senator’s. It made the older man’s grip hurt a lot less. ‘You’re free to go. ’

  ‘Thank you, sir. ’

  He stood and exhaled in relief. Cradling the book, he moved to the airlock door.

  ‘Oh, and Donny?’

  He turned back. ‘Yessir?’

  ‘The National Convention is in a couple of years. I want you to go ahead and pencil it into your schedule. And make sure Helen is there. ’

  Donald felt goosebumps run down his arms. Did that mean a real possibility of promotion? Maybe a speech on the big stage?

  ‘Absolutely, sir. ’ He knew he was smiling.

  ‘Oh, and I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you about the critters in here. ’

  ‘Sir?’ Donald swallowed. His smile melted. He had one hand on the hatch’s wheel. His mind resumed playing tricks on him, the taste on his tongue metallic, the pricks everywhere on his skin.

  ‘Some of the buggers in here are very much for you. ’

  Senator Thurman stared at Donald for a beat, and then he started laughing.

  Donald turned, sweat glassy on his brow as he worked the wheel in the door with a free hand. It wasn’t until he secured the airlock, the seals deadening the Senator’s laughter, that he could breathe again.

  The air around him buzzed, a jolt of static to kill any strays. Donald blew out his breath, harder than usual, and unsteadily walked away.

  14

  2110

  • Silo 1 •

  THE SHRINKS KEPT Troy’s door locked and delivered his meals while he went through the silo twelve reports alone. He spread the pages across his keyboard – safely away from the edge of his desk. This way, when stray tears fell, they didn’t smudge the paper.

  For some reason, Troy couldn’t stop crying. The shrinks with the strict meal plans had taken him off his meds for the last two days, long enough to compile his findings with Troy sober, free from the forgetfulness the pills brought about. He had a deadline. After he put his final notes together, they would get him something to cut through the pain.

  Images of the dying interfered with his thoughts, the picture of the outside, of people suffocating and falling to their knees. Troy remembered giving the order. What he regretted most was making someone else push the button.

  Coming off his meds had brought back other random haunts. He began to remember his father, events from before his orientation. And it worried him that the billions who had been wiped out could be felt as an ache in his gut while the few thousand of silo twelve who had scrambled to their deaths made him want to curl up and die.

  The reports on his keyboard told a story of a shadow who had lost his nerve, an IT head who couldn’t see the darkness rising at her feet, and an honest enough Security chief who had chosen poorly. All it took was for a lot of seemingly decent people to put the wrong person in power, and then pay for their innocent choice.

  The keycodes for each video feed sat in the margins. It reminded him of an old book he had once known; the references had a similar style.

  Jason 2:17 brought up a slice of the feed from the IT head’s shadow. Troy followed the action on his monitor. A young man, probably in his late teens or early twenties, sat on a server-room floor. His back was to the camera, the corners of a plastic tray visible in his lap. He was bent over a meal, the bony knots of his spine casting dots of shadow down the back of his overalls.

  Troy watched. He glanced at the report to check the timecode. He didn’t want to miss it.

  In the video, Jason’s right elbow worked back and forth. He looked to be eating. The moment was coming. Troy willed himself not to blink, could feel tears coat his eyes from the effort.

  A noise startled Jason. The young IT shadow glanced to the side, his profile visible for a moment, an angular and gaunt face from weeks of privation. He grabbed the tray from his lap; it was the first time Troy could spot the rolled-up sleeve. And there, as he fought with the cuff to roll it back down, were the dark parallel lines across his forearm, and nothing on his tray that called for a knife.

  The rest of the clip was of Jason speaking to the IT head, her demeanour motherly and tender, a touch on his shoulder, a squeeze of his elbow. Troy could imagine her voice. He had spoken to her once or twice to take down a report. In a few more weeks, they would’ve scheduled a time to speak with Jason and induct him formally.

  The clip ended with Jason descending back into the space beneath the server-room floor, a shadow swallowing a shadow. The head of IT – the true head of silo twelve – stood alone for a moment, hand on her chin. She looked so alive. Troy had a childlike impulse to reach out and brush his fingers across the monitor, to acknowledge this ghost, to apologise for letting her down.

  Instead, he saw something the reports had missed. He watched her body twitch towards the hatch, stop, freeze for a moment, then turn away.

  Troy clicked the slider at the bottom of the video to see it again. There she was rubbing her shadow’s shoulder, talking to him, Jason nodding. She squeezed his elbow, was concerned about him. He was assuring her everything was fine.

  Once he was gone, once she was alone, the doubts and fears overtook her. Troy couldn’t know it for sure, but he could sense it. She knew a darkness was brewing beneath her feet, and here was her chance to destroy it. It was a mask of concern, a twitch in that direction, reconsidering, turning away.

  Troy paused the video and made some notes, jotted down the times. The shrinks would have to verify his findings. Shuffling the papers, he wondered if there was anything he needed to see again. A decent woman had been murdered because she could not bring herself to do the same, to kill in order to protect. And a Security chief had let loose a monster who had mastered the art of concealing his pain, a young man who had learned how to manipulate others, who wanted out.