by Hugh Howey
An empty cleaning suit lay spread across the workbench, one of its arms draped over the edge, elbow bent at an unnatural angle. The unblinking visor of the detached helmet gazed silently up at the ceiling. The small screen inside the helmet had been removed to leave a clear plastic window out on the real world. Juliette leaned over the suit, occasional drops of sweat smacking its surface, as she tightened the hex screws that held the lower collar onto the fabric. She remembered the last time she’d built a suit like this.
Nelson, the young IT tech in charge of the cleaning lab, labored at an identical bench on the other side of the workshop. Juliette had selected him as her assistant for this project. He was familiar with the suits, young, and didn’t appear to be against her. Not that the first two criteria mattered.
“The next item we need to discuss is the population report,” Marsha said. The young assistant — an assistant Juliette had never asked for — juggled a dozen folders until she found the right one. Recycled paper lay strewn across the neighboring workbench, turning an area for building things into a lowly desk. Juliette glanced up and watched as Marsha shuffled through a folder. Her assistant was a slight girl just out of her teens, graced with rosy cheeks and dark hair in tight coils. Marsha had been the assistant to the last two mayors, a short but tumultuous span of time. Like the gold ID card and the apartment on level six, she had come with the job.
“Here it is,” Marsha said. She bit her lip and scanned the report, and Juliette saw that it was printed on one side only. The amount of paper her office went through and repulped could afford to feed an apartment level for a year. Lukas had once joked that it was to keep the recyclers in business. The chance he was right had kept her from laughing.
“Can you hand me those gaskets?” Juliette asked, pointing to Marsha’s side of the workbench.
The young girl pointed to a bin of lock washers. And then an assortment of cotter pins. Finally, her hand drifted over the gaskets. Juliette nodded. “Thanks.”
“So, we’re under five thousand residents for the first time in thirty years,” Marsha said, returning to her report. “We’ve had a lot of… passings.” Juliette could feel Marsha glance up at her, even as she concentrated on seating the gasket into the collar. “The lottery committee is calling for an official count, just so we can get a sense of—”
“The lottery committee would perform a census every week if they could.” Juliette rubbed oil onto the gasket with her finger before seating the other side of the collar.
Marsha laughed politely. “Yes, well, they want to hold another lottery soon. They asked for another two hundred numbers.”
“Numbers,” Juliette grumbled. Sometimes she thought that was all Lukas’s computers were good for, a bunch of tall machines to pull numbers from their whirring butts. “Did you tell them my idea about an amnesty? They do know we’re about to double our space, right?”
Marsha shifted uncomfortably. “I told them,” she said. “And I told them about the extra space. I don’t think they took it so well.”
Across the workshop, Nelson looked up from the suit he was working on. It was just the three of them in the old lab where people had once been outfitted to die. Now they were working on something else, a different reason to send people outside.
“Well, what did the committee say?” Juliette asked. “They do know that when we reach this other silo, I’m going to need people to come with me and get it up and running again. The population here is going to dip.”
Nelson bent back to his work. Marsha closed the folder on the population report and looked at her feet.
“What did they say to my idea of suspending the lottery?”
“They didn’t say anything,” Marsha said. She glanced up, and the overhead lights caught the wet film across her eyes. “I don’t think many of them believe in your other silo.”
Juliette laughed and shook her head. Her hand was trembling as she set the last lock screw into the collar. “It doesn’t really matter what the committee believes, does it?” Though she knew this was true of her as well. It was true of anyone. The world out there was the way it was no matter how much doubt or hope or hate a person breathed into it. “The dig is underway. They’re clearing three hundred feet a day. I suppose the lottery committee will just have to make the trip down to see for themselves. You should tell them that. Tell them to go see.”
Marsha frowned and made a note. “The next thing on the agenda…” She grabbed her ledger. “There’s been a rash of complaints about—”
There was a knock at the door. Juliette turned, and Lukas entered the Suit Lab, smiling. He waved at Nelson, who saluted back with a 3/8 spanner. Lukas seemed unsurprised to see Marsha there. He clasped her on the shoulder. “You should just move that big wooden desk of hers down here,” he joked. “You’ve got the porting budget for it.”
Marsha smiled and tugged at one of her dark springs. She looked around the lab. “I really should,” she said.
Juliette watched her young assistant blush in Lukas’s presence and laughed to herself. The helmet locked into the collar with a neat click. Juliette tested the release mechanism.
“Do you mind if I borrow the mayor?” Lukas asked.
“No, I don’t mind,” Marsha said.
“I do.” Juliette studied one of the suit’s sleeves. “We’re way behind schedule.”
Lukas frowned. “There is no schedule. You set the schedule. And besides, have you even gotten permission for this?” He stood beside Marsha and crossed his arms. “Have you even told your assistant what you’re planning?”
Juliette glanced up guiltily. “Not yet.”
“Why? What’re you doing?” Marsha lowered her ledger and studied the suits for what seemed the first time.
Juliette ignored her. She glared at Lukas. “I’m behind schedule because I want to get this done before they complete the dig. They’ve been on a tear. Hit some soft soil. I’d really like to be down there when they punch through.”
“And I’d like for you to be at that meeting today, which you’re going to miss if you don’t get a move on.”
“I’m not going,” Juliette said.
Lukas shot a look at Nelson, who set down his spanner, gathered Marsha, and slid out the door. Juliette watched them leave and realized her young Lukas had more authority than she gave him credit for.
“It’s the monthly town hall,” Lukas said. “The first since your election. I told Judge Picken you’d be there. Jules, you’ve gotta play mayor or you won’t be one for much longer—”
“Fine.” She raised her hands. “I’m not mayor. I so decree it.” She scrawled the air with a driver. “Signed and stamped.”
“Not fine. What do you think the next person will make of all this?” He waved his hand at the workbenches. “You think you’ll be able to play these games? This room will go right back to what it was built for in the first place.”
Juliette bit down the urge to snap at him, to tell him these weren’t games she was playing, that it was something far worse.
Lukas looked away from whatever face she was making. His eyes settled on the stack of books piled up by the cot she had brought in. She slept there sometimes when the two of them were disagreeing or when she just needed a place to be alone. Not that she’d slept much recently. She rubbed her eyes and tried to remember the last time she’d gotten four hours in a row. Her nights were spent welding in the airlock. Her days were spent in the Suit Lab or down behind the comm hub. She didn’t really sleep anymore — she just passed out here and there.
“We should keep those locked up,” Lukas said, indicating the books. “Shouldn’t keep them out.”
“No one would believe them if they opened them,” Juliette said.
“For the paper.”
She nodded. He was right. She saw information; others would see money. “I’ll take them back down,” she promised, and the anger drained away like oil from a cracked casing. She thought of Elise, who had told her over the radio of a book she w
as making, a single book from all her favorite pages. Juliette needed a book like that. Except where Elise’s was probably full of pretty fish and bright birds, Juliette’s would catalog darker things. Things in the hearts of men.
Lukas took a step closer. He rested a hand on her arm. “This meeting—”
“I hear they’re thinking about a revote,” Juliette said, cutting him off. She wiped a loose strand of hair off her face, tucked it behind her ear. “I’m not going to be mayor for long anyway. Which is why I need to get this done. By the time everyone votes again, it shouldn’t matter.”
“Why? Because you’ll be the mayor of a different silo by then? Is that your plan?”
Juliette rested a hand on the domed helmet. “No. Because I’ll have my answers by then. Because people will see by then. They’ll believe me.”
Lukas crossed his arms. He took a deep breath. “I’ve got to get down to the servers,” he said. “If no one’s there to answer the call, the lights eventually start flashing in the offices and everyone asks what the hell they’re for.”
Juliette nodded. She’d seen it for herself. She also knew that Lukas liked the long talks behind the server as much as she did. Except that he was better at it. All her talks led to arguments. He was good at smoothing things over, figuring things out.
“Please tell me you’ll go to the meeting, Jules. Promise me you’ll go.”
She scanned the suit on the other table to see how far along Nelson was. They’d need one more suit for the extra person in the second airlock. If she worked through the night and all day tomorrow—
“For me,” he pleaded.
“I’ll go.”
“Thank you.” Lukas glanced at the old clock on the wall, its red arms visible behind hazed plastic. “I’ll see you for dinner?”
“Sure.”
He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. When he turned to go, Juliette began arranging her tools on the leather pad, setting them aside for later. She picked up a clean cloth and wiped her hands. “Oh, and Luke?”
“Yeah?” He paused at the door.
“Tell that fucker I said hello.”
14
Lukas left the Suit Lab and headed toward the server room on the other side of thirty-four. He passed a tech room that sat empty. The men and women who used to work in there now took up slack in the Down Deep and in Supply where mechanics and workers had lost their lives. People from IT sent to replace those they’d killed.
Juliette’s friend Shirly had been left in charge of the aftermath down in Mechanical. She was forever complaining to his office about skeleton shifts, and then complaining again when Lukas reassigned anyone to help. What did she want from him? People, he supposed. Just not his people.
A handful of techs and security personnel standing outside the break room fell silent as Lukas approached. He waved, and hands went up politely. “Sir,” someone said, which made him cringe. The chatter resumed only after he rounded the corner, and Lukas remembered being in on conversations like that as his former boss had stormed past.
Bernard. Lukas used to think he understood what it meant to be in charge. You did what you wanted. Decisions were arbitrary. You were cruel for the sake of being cruel. And now he found himself agreeing to worse things than he had ever imagined. Now he knew about a world of such horrors, that maybe men of his ilk weren’t suited to lead. It wasn’t a thing he could ever say out loud, but perhaps a revote would be for the best. Juliette would make a great lab tech there in IT. Soldering and welding weren’t all that different, just matters of scale. And then he tried to imagine her building a suit for someone to clean in, or her sitting idly by while they took orders from another silo on how many births were allowed that week.
It was more likely that a new mayor would mean time apart. Or that he would have to file for a transfer to Mechanical and learn to turn a wrench. From head of IT to a third-shift greaser. Lukas laughed. He coded open the server room door and thought there might be something romantic about that, giving up his job and life to be with her. Maybe something more romantic than going up at night to hunt for stars. He would have to get used to Juliette bossing him around, but that wouldn’t be a stretch. Enough degreaser, and her old room down there could be livable. As he wove his way through the servers, he thought of how he had lived in far worse, right there beneath his feet. It was being together that mattered.
The lights overhead weren’t yet blinking. He was early or the man named Donald was late. Lukas made his way toward the far wall, passing by several servers with their sides off and wires streaming out. With Donald’s help, he was figuring out how to fully access the machines, see what was on them. Nothing exciting yet, but he was making progress.
He stopped at the comm server, which had been his home within a home some lifetime ago. Now it was a different sort of conversation he fell into behind that server. It was a different sort of person on the other end of the line.
One of the rickety wooden chairs from below had been brought up. Lukas remembered climbing the ladder and pushing it ahead of him, Juliette yelling at him that they should lower a rope, the two of them arguing like young porters. Beside the chair, a stack of book tins made a side table of sorts. One of the Legacy books was splayed out on top. Lukas made himself comfortable and picked up the book. He had marked pages by creasing the corners. There were small dots in the margins where he had questions. He flipped through the book and scanned the material while he waited on the call.
What once had been boring about the books was now all he cared about. During his imprisonment — his Rite — he had been forced to read the parts of the Order on human behavior. Now he pored over these sections. And Donald, the voice on the other end of the line, had him fairly convinced that these were more than mere stories, these Robbers Cave boys and Milgrams and Skinners. Some of these things had truly happened.
He had graduated from these stories to find even more lessons in the Legacy books. It was the history of the old world that now commanded his attention. Episodic uprisings had occurred over thousands of years. He and Jules argued over whether or not there could be an end to such cyclic violence. The books suggested such hope was folly. And then Lukas had discovered an entire chapter on the dangers of an uprising’s aftermath, the very situation in which they now found themselves. He read about men with strange names — Cromwell, Napoleon, Castro, Lenin — who fought to liberate a people and then enslaved them into something even worse.
They were legends, Juliette insisted. Myths. Like the ghouls parents use to make their children behave. She saw those chapters to mean that tearing a world down was a simple affair; the gravity of human nature tugged willingly. It was the building up afterward that proved complex. It was what to replace injustice with that very few gave thought to. Always with the tearing down, she said, as if the scraps and ashes could be pieced back together.
Lukas disagreed. He thought, and Donald said, that these stories were real. Yes, the revolutions were painful. There would always be a period when things were worse. But eventually, they get better. People learn from their mistakes. This is what he had tried to convince her of one night after a call from Donald had kept them up through the dim time. Jules, of course, had to get in the last word. She had taken him up to the cafeteria and had pointed to the glow over the horizon, to the lifeless hills, to the rare glint of sunlight on decrepit towers. “Here is your world made better,” she had told him. “Here is man well learned from his mistakes.”
Always with the last word, though Lukas had more to say. “Maybe this is the bad time that comes before,” he had whispered into his coffee. And Juliette, for her part, had pretended not to hear.
The pages beneath Lukas’s fingers pulsed red. He glanced up at the lights overhead, now flashing with the incoming call. There was a buzzing from the comm server, a blinking indicator over the very first slot. He gathered the headset and untangled the cord, slotted it into the receiver.
“Hello?” he said.
“Lukas.” The machine removed all intonation from the voice, all emotion. Except for disappointment. That it was not Juliette who answered elicited a letdown that could be felt if not quite heard. Or perhaps it was all in Lukas’s head.
“Just me,” he said.
“Very well. Just so you know, I have pressing matters here. Our time is short.”
“Okay.” Lukas found his place in the book. He skipped down to where they’d previously left off. These talks reminded him of his studies with Bernard, except now he had graduated from the Order to the Legacy. And Donald was swifter than Bernard, more open with his answers. “So… I wanted to ask you something about this Rousseau guy—”
“Before we do,” Donald said, “I need to implore you again to stop with the digging.”
Lukas closed the book on his finger, marking his place. He was glad Juliette had agreed to attend the Town Hall. She got animated whenever this topic came up. Because of an old threat she’d made, Donald seemed to think they were digging toward him, and she made Lukas vow to leave the lie alone. She didn’t want them finding out about her friends in 17 or her plans to rescue them. Lukas found the ruse uncomfortable. Where Juliette distrusted this man — who had warned them both that their home could be shut down at any time through mysterious means — Lukas saw someone trying to help them at some cost to himself. Jules thought Donald was scared for his own life. Lukas thought Donald was frightened for them.
“I’m afraid that the digging will have to continue,” Lukas said. He nearly blurted out: She won’t stop, but best for there to be some sense of solidarity.
“Well, my people can pick up the vibrations. They know something is happening.”
“Can you tell them we’re having trouble with our generator? That it’s misaligned again?”
There was a disappointed sigh that the computers couldn’t touch. “They’re smarter than that. What I’ve done is ordered them not to waste their time looking into it, which is all I can do. I’m telling you, nothing good can come of this.”
