Shadows

by Peter Cawdron

  “But—” Susan began. Mayor Johns cut her off, raising her hand in a gesture that she should hold her peace.

  “Could he have been trying to help? Or perhaps trying to take cover away from the Great Fall? There was a lot of debris coming down.”

  “He could have,” Hammond admitted, “But he didn't. We found Barney by the back meeting room this morning while conducting a second search with flashlights. At first, it looked as though he'd been struck with a slab of concrete. His head and shoulders were pinned by the concrete, only there was no injury to the back of his head. His throat had been cut.”

  Susan hung her head in silence.

  “But you don't know it was Charlie?” the mayor pointed out.

  “Did you see the blood on him!” Hammond cried. “He's covered in it.”

  “A lot of people are covered in blood,” the mayor replied.

  “But it's not his,” Hammond protested. “He doesn't have a scratch on him.”

  “We'll call a trial,” the mayor said. “Sheriff Cann is going to need time to investigate properly.”

  “Now, come on,” Hammond replied, settling his hands on his hips. “You and I both know that's not possible. The Mids are already up in arms over one of their own being slaughtered by an Upper. How long do you think they're going to sit on that anger?

  “It's going to take at least three months to repair the silo. Sheriff Cann doesn't have the resources to cover a murder investigation while the silo is in a state of confusion, so what are you going to do? Are you going to have Charlie sitting in a prison cell for the next six months waiting until we can assemble a jury? What will have happened to the evidence? What about the distortion of testimony over time? It happens. You know it does.”

  “So what are you proposing?” the mayor asked. “Throw him out of the airlock?”

  “I'm not saying that,” Hammond replied. “I'm saying we need to ensure justice is met. The Order is clear on the subject: Judgement should be swift. A delay could pervert the course of justice. Whether innocent or guilty, judgement should be made, and it should be made now. Any delay will cause unrest within the silo, and after all that's happened with the quake, we can't afford to let discord foment.”

  Mayor Johns had her lips pursed. Her eyes were locked with Hammond's.

  Hammond took a deep breath, adding, “I'm saying, we have all the evidence we're ever going to get, so we let the Quorum decide.”

  “The Quorum?” Susan asked, interjecting into the heated conversation.

  Mayor Johns turned to her, saying, “The Order allows for a quorum to make executive and judicial decisions in a time of crisis. There are five members: the mayor, the sheriff, the head of IT, the head of medical and the head of resources.”

  “Oh, no,” Susan said, she could see where this was going. Hammond was overall head of departments. At best, a quorum vote would be three-to-two in favor of a conviction, and that was only if the mayor and the sheriff saw through Hammond's ruse.

  “It is a time of crisis,” Hammond said calmly. “And look a that screen. We need a cleaning.”

  “NO!” Susan shouted, her eyes wide with fear.

  “Sue, you're not helping,” the mayor said, trying to calm her.

  Sheriff Cann came up behind the mayor, addressing Sue as he approached.

  “Susan, you need to leave this floor immediately.”

  “They're going to kill him,” she said, pleading with the sheriff, looking deep within his eyes.

  “I will ask you one more time to leave and then I will have you forcibly removed. Your presence here, in this discussion, could constitute a perversion of justice. You're too close to the accused. If you want to help Charlie, you need to let the system work. If you interfere with the system, you will disqualify yourself from providing testimony, and right now, Charlie needs all the supporting testimony he can get. Do you understand that?”

  He rested his hand gently on her shoulder, adding, “You've got to let me do my job.”

  Susan had tears in her eyes. She nodded and started to walk away before turning back to the sheriff and asking, “Can I see him?”

  “Not now,” the sheriff replied, his voice stiffening as he added, “Now go.”

  Chapter 10: Trial

  A quorum trial was arranged for two day's time. Those two days seemed like months to Susan, she had nothing to do. Her apartment felt like a prison.

  News of the murder swept through the silo. In the midst of the devastation left by the quake, it seemed incomprehensible that anyone would murder his fellow man when it was clear everyone needed to band together for survival. Susan would hear hushed whispers in the hallway behind her, catch accusing glances on the stairway, and found those she once rubbed shoulders with shunned her as though she had been the one to draw the knife across Barney's throat.

  Her mother sobbed for hours on end, more so for her daughter than either of the boys. Rumors were rife. If they were to be believed, Susan was sleeping with both Barney and Charlie and had been doing so for years. She was a slut, a whore, it was all her fault. Anything she said in her defense only made it look as though she had something to hide, so she said little, even to friends.

  The day of the trial arose and Susan headed up to the cafeteria level before dawn. She wore a brand new pair of coveralls, neatly ironed and starched. Her mother pleaded for her to put on some makeup, something to make her look more soft and feminine, but she thought it would make her look like a tart, and given the innuendo circulating about her, that didn't seem like a good idea to perpetuate. She swept her hair back into a tight ponytail, unable to face wearing her hair-band. Heading up the staircase early allowed her to avoid most people, whether they were porters going about their assignments or curious onlookers wanting to see how the quorum process played out.

  Susan may have disagreed with Hammond, but she could see he was right about the level of interest in the murder. In the midst of the reconstruction effort, the trial took center stage. Under normal circumstances, most of the conflict within the silo arose from class privileges, with those Down Deep being the bedrock, the foundation that supported the Mids and the Uppers. For the mechanics, seeing the Mids take on the Uppers was strangely satisfying. Although both she and Charlie technically lived in the Upper, they were mostly shunned; her because of her parents, him because both his father and grandfather had been cleaners, but that didn't matter to those in the Deep. They saw the Uppers getting a taste of their own medicine. Susan had heard that Sheriff Cann had arranged for his deputies to spread word of the outcome throughout the silo. He was clearly worried about unrest and wanted to avoid rumors and conspiracy theories.

  Susan walked out onto the top floor with all these thoughts swirling through her head. The floor was quiet. There were cooks in the kitchen. The lights had come on in the cafeteria but there was no one at the serving line or sitting at the tables. Charlie would have been there if he could have, she thought.

  On the massive wall-screen, smoke continued to billow from beyond the shattered remains of the hillside. The ferocity of that unseen furnace had not abated in the best part of a week. Smoke rose, enfolding itself as it mushroomed into the sky, dusting the hillside in fine ash. Susan wondered what Charlie made of it, She wanted to talk to him about it, if only to distract herself from what had happened to Barney and what might happen to him.

  She sat on the bench seat next to the mayor's office, across from the sheriff's office. Lights were on within both offices, and she caught a glimpse of the sheriff moving around through the horizontal slats covering his windows. She so wanted to ask if she could see Charlie, but that would never happen, not until after the trial.

  Dawn broke above the hills on the wall-screen. Workers began milling around the cafeteria, grabbing breakfast before returning to the levels for the day.

  One of the deputies came and sat with her.

  “Hi Mitch,” she said after he failed to say anything. He must have felt more awkward that she did. Like so many
within the silo, he probably didn't know what to think of the rumors or who to believe. She smiled, trying to be nice.

  “Hey, Sue,” he said. Well, she thought, at least he remembers my name.

  “I'm acting bailiff for the day,” he added. “Sorry, but I'm here to make sure none of the witnesses talk to each other before or after providing testimony.”

  Susan had her hands between her knees. She raised a hand in apology, saying, “No problem. I understand.”

  The morning dragged. From where she sat, she could see the clock above the serving line inside the cafeteria. Slowly, the thin hands beat out the seconds. Minutes dragged into hours.

  Most of those involved in the trial arrived just before nine. Several of the witnesses sat silently beside her under the watchful eye of Deputy Mitch Michelson.

  The quorum members walked silently through the floor, taking their place inside the mayor's office. Hammond walked past her into the office without making eye contact, ignoring her entirely.

  With the door opening and closing several times within a matter of minutes, Susan got a feel for the layout of the room. She'd been in the mayor's spacious office before. There was a desk at one end, and a lounge area for informal discussions at the other. Although the office was open plan, these two areas were separated by the secretary's desk, set proudly in the middle, right in front of the door.

  The layout had changed. From what she could tell, the lounge was gone. Two desks had been pushed together at the far end of the room. Five chairs sat behind the desk, along with five microphones to record the proceeding. A single chair sat in front of the joined desks, set back about ten feet. There were additional chairs lining the wall, but that was all she could make out.

  At a little after nine thirty, the sheriff and the mayor walked out of the sheriff's office with Charlie behind them. He was being led by one of the deputies. Chains clinked around his ankles and he struggled to keep up with the pace of the deputy. His eyes were down. His hands were locked in shiny, chrome handcuffs. He saw Susan, but there was no sense of recognition in his eyes. He looked awful, as though he hadn't slept since he'd been imprisoned. Susan had been in the sheriff's office on several occasions, but only ever as a visitor and not a guest of the sheriff, as prisoners were known. She knew there was a wall-screen in the main cell, showing the poisonous view of the outside world. The constant glare would have made it impossible to get a good night's sleep.

  She wanted to say something to Charlie, to give him some encouragement, but the look on the deputy's face caused her to pause. Charlie shuffled past her without looking at her. It seemed all he could focus on was the handcuffs before him.

  Susan wiped the tears from her eyes.

  As the trial got underway she could hear murmurs from within and different voices talking at various times, but she couldn't make out any distinct words. If the hours before the trial had dragged, the trial itself was torture. Minutes seemed like hours. Witnesses were called, one by one, but for long stretches of time there were no witnesses within the office, just Charlie, the quorum and two deputies. Outside the office, Deputy Michelson seemed more interested in her than anyone else. She could feel him staring at her for hours on end.

  The morning stretched into the afternoon, and still Susan hadn't been called to give her testimony. As much as possible, she tried not to allow any prejudice to blur her thinking, but she invariably found herself rehearsing questions and answers, trying to preempt any possible variation that might arise, not wanting to say anything that would make things worse for Charlie. She resolved to be truthful, but wanted to focus on his character, his desire to help people, like the sheriff. She was unsure whether she should mention the secret level below the IT server room. Would that help his cause or merely muddy the waters?

  A little after four in the afternoon the sheriff walked out of the office alone.

  “Sheriff?” Deputy Michelson asked, getting to his feet, clearly surprised to see the sheriff emerging by himself.

  “They're calling for you, son,” he said to the deputy as he walked away.

  “I ... I don't understand,” Susan said, watching as the deputy disappeared inside the door to the mayor's office. Sheriff Cann walked in the other direction. He was crying.

  “What's going on?” she asked, catching up to him. She couldn't figure out why the quorum would want to talk to a deputy that hadn't been involved in the case. Why hadn't she been called?

  The sheriff stopped and turned toward her, wiping his eyes as he said, “I'm sorry, Sue. I did everything I could.”

  “But they haven't heard from me,” she cried. “They can't decide anything without hearing from me, can they?”

  The sheriff spoke with slow deliberation. “Charlie waived his right to defense.”

  “What? Why would he do that?”

  “Because he doesn't want to draw you any deeper into this mess,” the sheriff replied.

  “You can't do this,” Susan protested. “You can't send Charlie to clean.”

  “I know,” the sheriff said with a weary voice. “I couldn't and I won't. I resigned. I'm so sorry, Sue. There was nothing more I could do. The quorum is demanding that murder be paid for with a cleaning.”

  “There must be something we can do!” she cried.

  “Honey,” the sheriff said. “I've spent my whole life upholding the will of the Order. There's a reason we prescribe laws in advance of a crime. It's to avoid any bias. Without the rule of law, there's only chaos and anarchy. There's nothing more I can do. When men take the law into their own hands, there's nothing but injustice.

  “I don't have to like what happened in there, but I have to live with it, anything less would be just as wrong. Anything else would cause far more lives to be lost. Charlie understands that. I understand that. You need to accept that.”

  Susan stood there shaking her head.

  “They're going to let you see him tomorrow morning,” the sheriff continued. “You'll get five minutes before the cleaning.”

  Susan dropped her head in her hands and sobbed.

  The old sheriff put his arms around her and she buried herself in his chest.

  Behind them, the door opened again. Deputy Michelson was the first person to emerge. Instead of a bronze badge, he now wore a golden badge on his chest. He marched over toward Susan and the old sheriff with his hand out, signaling that they should stop and remain where they were. He had one hand resting on his revolver, which Susan thought was an unusually callous gesture toward her and former Sheriff Cann. Neither of them represented a threat, let alone a threat that would warrant the use of lethal force. They were both in tears. That they were shattered by the decision was plain to see. There was no need for such an overt show of force other than to allow the new sheriff to exercise his position over the older man, reinforcing the change in authority. He clearly wanted to avoid either of them making a scene as the verdict was read.

  One of the deputies walked out of the office and stood on the dais, holding a paper scroll in front of him. The sheer amount of paper rolled up at either end of the scroll was absurd by the silo's standards. Paper was a scarce resource. A full twenty chits would only get you a meager scrap, perhaps half a page. Aficionados like Charlie saved for months to buy small notebooks, and here was more paper in once place than Susan had ever seen in her life.

  “Hear, hear,” the deputy began, calling attention to himself in a manner that echoed down through dozens of generations within the silo. “In the matter of the court verses Charlie Pritchard in the murder of Barney McIntyre, the quorum has reached a majority decision of three-to-two, finding the defendant guilty of first-degree murder. The prisoner will be sent to clean at dawn.”

  Susan held her hand over her mouth, trying not to cry out in anguish.

  Another deputy escorted Charlie back to the sheriff's office as the acting bailiff rolled up the scroll. Charlie was still bound in leg irons and handcuffs. He didn't look up, and Susan understood why. As Sheriff Cann had sa
id, he was protecting her. He'd accepted his fate and could only fight to protect her from being drawn in as well. It must have broken his heart as much as it broke hers to be so close and yet so far apart.

  Susan stood there with the old sheriff, wrapped safely in his arms as the members of the quorum left. Not one of them looked up, none of them dared make eye contact with either her or Sheriff Cann, not even Mayor Johns, who was probably the other dissenting voice. They were subdued, leaving as though they were scurrying away in defeat, which Susan found peculiar. Conscience, it seemed, could not rewrite justice so easily.

  Susan wanted to yell at the quorum, to scream at them, to call them cowards, to curse them as murderers, to banish them with cries of liar and hypocrite, but she didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing her driven into a rage. They'd already condemned themselves in the eyes of those that stood by. No one was fooled by this prostitution of justice. Besides, they still held the power to prevent her seeing Charlie one last time. No, for his sake she chose to remain silent. She would have her day, she determined, but not today. She didn't know how, but she swore she would find a way to expose them to the silo as the vile impostors they were. Somehow, she'd find a way to expose this miscarriage of justice.

  “I know what you're feeling,” the old sheriff said, and he probably did, she figured. “I feel the same way: cheated.”

  “What will you do?” she asked.

  “Me? Oh, don't worry about me. With good legs and a physique like mine, I'll get a job porting.”

  She grabbed at his waist, tickling him, forcing him to let go of her to escape her torment. She appreciated his humor. He was trying to help her deal with what had happened.

  “Sheriff,” she said in a serious tone, refusing to call him anything other than the title he deserved. “Thank you.”