All the Whys of Delilah's Demise

by Neve Maslakovic

  Despite Wayne’s urging, the truth is that his ruby won’t balance out Rick’s onyx—not even close.

  Wayne goes back inside and Dax is left with a new feeling pecking at him. Wayne’s known Scottie for only a short time and he’s concerned about her halo and meeting her for lemonade and whatnot. The feeling—it’s jealousy, he realizes.

  “What did you want to talk to Dax about?” I ask.

  “Nothing important.” Wayne slides into his chair and settles the lemonade back into his hand. “Sorry I made you wait.”

  “As it happens, I had a matter to attend to.”

  After Wayne stepped out, I pushed my glass aside and got to work. I’d managed to catch sight of one name, the first of Wayne’s onyxes—from Delilah’s neighbor, Lucille. It made sense that she’s a suspect. She was resentful of Delilah—how hard would it have been to slip into the next-door suite? Her onyx for Wayne was short and puzzling: “Line cutter!”

  Lucille responded to my query at once and I pictured her expertly trimming someone’s locks as she explained in my direction that Wayne cut in front of her at Pike Place Market. “Bananas, just arrived on a greenhouse train. There was a bit of a crush. He elbowed me out of the way and stepped hard on my foot. He left with his banana but not before I caught a look at his halo and got his name. I know the onyx is petty of me but it was so rude and my toe swelled up. I’ve had to wear soft shoes.”

  “When was this?” I asked.

  “A couple of weeks ago.”

  Before Delilah’s death, then. Must have been just an unintentional run-in. Hoping a bit of good news in the form of one fewer onyx will make Wayne more amenable to pooling our resources, I asked Lucille if it would help if he apologized.

  “Well, I suppose it was crowded at the market, maybe he didn’t see me. And the toe is feeling better.”

  But Wayne, glaring at me across the table, flatly refuses to cooperate. “It was an accident. I’m sorry I injured her. But I have no intention of asking her to pull the onyx.”

  This makes me conclude that there must be more to Lucille’s story. “Why not?”

  “Scottie, can’t you let this go?”

  “We shouldn’t pretend Delilah’s balcony fall means nothing,” I quote his own words back to him. Leaning across the table, I demand in a sharp whisper, “Wayne, you know something, don’t you?”

  He scratches the multi-day growth on his face. “Listen, when Lucille sent the onyx my way, it hit me—I have no control over what other people think of me, not really. Which led to me being more relaxed in my daily interactions, perhaps even to the point of rudeness. These past couple of days I’ve switched to openly insulting people to their face and inviting them to counter with an onyx. It’s been quite freeing… Look, if you really want to know why, ask Dax. The endpoint, it was his idea.”

  I run out to catch up with Dax, who I know can’t walk and drink at the same time. As expected, I find him leaning against a wall, working on the lemonade. He seems pleased to see me, though less so when I demand, “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Wayne said to ask you about the endpoint.”

  “Oh. Wait, is that what he’s been doing?” Dax all but strikes his forehead as if a lightbulb’s just come on. He follows that up with, “Hey, I didn’t want to ask in front of Wayne, but how come you have an onyx from Rick?”

  “Never mind that. Why does Wayne not care about his gems anymore and what does it have to do with Delilah?”

  Dax takes a long sip through the straw. “The other day, when he and I met up at Puget—like you and Lu requested—we got to talking about Delilah’s accident… Have you heard of the Great Seattle Fire of 1889?” At my shake of the head, he continues, “It started in a carpenter’s shop. The business district was all wood and the flames gobbled up twenty-five blocks, just like that. An end. When they rebuilt, they used brick and stone… Then came the Dimming. Pipes burst, ice piled up, brick crumbled. Another end. Things circled around and the construction of Dome buildings relied heavily on wood.”

  “And so we have yearly fire drills, fire extinguishers and buckets of water at the ready on all floors, and when Housing Four had their close call the air turbines had to work extra hard to clear out the smoke,” I say. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “The wood rot on Delilah’s balcony is a sign that the endpoint is near for our Seattle. Materials are running out and repairs are getting harder. We used to have a hundred computers and now there are only six left: one for the Listkeeper, a couple in the Birth Lab, and three in CC Central.” Dax pauses for another gulp. “Wayne’s take on Delilah’s accident was that it cemented how meaningless gems ultimately are—even rubies. We agreed that we need to make an effort to learn about the world outside the gates. I may have mused on the fact that the Dimming has been slowly reversing itself over the years, that the temperature might have eased up a bit… The plan we discussed—for down the road, I thought—was to track Oliver down and—”

  “Oliver?” I interrupt. I’m feeling blindsided by this newly revealed side of Dax. “You were going to look for him?”

  “He left his greenhouse. A market trader told me that he made it to one of the villages.”

  The news unclenches one of the knots in my stomach—Oliver’s safe; he’s found a place.

  “The plan—again, for down the road—was to connect with all the bottomers we’ve sent sledding, band together when the Dome reaches its natural end. Maybe Wayne’s right and we are there.” Dax shakes the cup and slurps up the last of the lemonade. “Even if we aren’t, it’s a big world out there—I want to experience things. The sky uncheckered by Dome beams. The wind on my face and snow drifts under my feet. The villagers keep dogs—they’re eager to please apparently, like mid-Listers. Wayne’s heard that down in the Dome of Los Angeles they have cats and that they act as if they sprung into existence in the Top Hundred… When I’m ready, I won’t do what Wayne’s doing, use rank as a push. I’ll just walk out a gate. Nothing in the Code says that’s not allowed, right?”

  My response is a curt, “The endpoint for me will be on Monday.”

  “You don’t know that, Scottie.”

  But I do. Which means that Rick has won.

  13

  The Social Agency

  Hugh knows that wild rumors have been spreading about the birds. A secret additive in their feed. Overpopulation. A new sound at a frequency only they can hear making them fuss. Having finished his lunch, a sandwich and an orange slice, he discards the rind in the garden bed. The Agency roof houses a water tower and a lanky palm under whose sparse shade he keeps a chair. He wipes his hands on a handkerchief before picking up the spotting scope. He trains it on the sliver of the Edge Garden visible from his vantage point and the tree there.

  Other sparrows are chirping nearer than the garden, ones nesting under the eaves and in wall cavities of the Agency building, but Hugh has taken a special interest in Rick and his prospective mate. At the other end of the scope, Rick is flitting around the tree, which is devoid of apples at the moment. He’s sporting breeding plumage, his beak revitalized from a dull yellow to an inky black, his throat dark. A construction project has emerged with the breeding plumage, a sphere of leaves, grass, and the odd scrap of cloth and paper in the V formed by two branches. Hugh scans around for the mate Rick’s been working hard to attract, but Delilah is nowhere to be found today.

  Hugh knows why he comes to the roof. There are no people to judge and rank. The sparrows enjoy small, tidy existences, rather like his own.

  This reminds him of the day his life shrank to the size of his office downstairs. In the sterile environment of Medical One, her illness-weathered body frail under the blankets but her voice still strong, Belinda told him she picked ruby red for the best of the gems “because it’s the color of ripe cherries, my favorite fruit as a child. I remember how it was, you know, before the Dimming. Bags of cherries on the grocery store shelves, year round, juicy and sweet…
Amber—didn’t really have a specific reason there, pulled the color out of a hat.” Here she chuckled. “What’s that, you want to know about jade and onyx? Well, if you must know, it’s because of an ex who left me for a younger lady! His eyes were green in daylight and always seemed darker when night fell.”

  Hugh listened, overwhelmed with fear that he wouldn’t be able to follow in her stead—that he was prone to being too analytical. Over the years he’s learned that what must be kept at bay is emotion. Keeping a distance, that’s the Listkeeper’s job—one he’s been doing for coming up on forty-five years. Otherwise one runs the risk of having so many opinions—so much pain and desire—overload the mind.

  He passed on going to Delilah’s seeding a week ago. The distance he keeps extends to funerals. His task was to send all of Delilah’s gems into a special folder in his computer, the “graveyard,” a flat end to something so connected with life. Same with the bottom person that week, Oliver. The next part of the job was more pleasant: a new youth center graduate, Ty, to add to the List. The thought makes him consider whether it’s time to yield the baton to someone with fresh ideas, live out his remaining days tending greenhouse livestock…

  No, not yet. He has a few years left to give.

  Surprising himself, he aims the scope toward Work One, where the Tenner meeting is to be held with Ben joining in for the first time. Hugh can see figures settling into chairs. Ten people deciding the fate of so many small beings, including his Rick. Hugh’s worried the birds will be sent out permanently.

  Reminding himself that the Dome itself is not much more than a vast glass cage, he pulls the scope back to the tree. There—Delilah has arrived. Plainer than Rick, with a drab gray-brown body and beak, but with more pep and personality, she gives the nest a sharp tap as if testing its worthiness. Rick, who’s been hopping around with his chest puffed out, flies away to return a few minutes later with a new offering, a bit of dried grass for the nest. Delilah is not easily pleased.

  A blur of wings crosses Hugh’s scope—a piebald female with white patches on its body. Its arrival seems to spur Delilah into commitment and she and Rick drive the intruder bird away with angry chirps and wing flapping. An argument of this sort, over territory, happens occasionally. Hugh watches the intruder disappear from view behind Housing Twenty-One.

  An in-thought makes him set the scope down on one knee. It’s Bodi with news. “An Outsider has come in and is asking to stay.”

  Hugh reminds the security chief that the town count is down by one at the moment—because of Delilah.

  “Right,” Bodi says. “I’m about to interview the Outsider—we’ll see if she’s a good candidate.”

  The timing of this, on the heels of the intruder sparrow in his sliver of the Edge Garden, doesn’t surprise Hugh. It’s not the first time that the avian world has mirrored the human one. The creatures are his daily friends and if there’s something wrong, he feels that he should be the first to know. It bothers him that he hasn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary about the birds’ behavior—not a thing. But perhaps he’s just too close.

  14

  The Tenner Meeting Room

  Jada has managed it so Ben is in the chair next to hers. The number shining bright in her halo today is a six, though not for long, if she can help it. Over at the food table, Sue approaches the new number one. “Lookin’ good, Rick.”

  Rick’s reply, in between the shoveling in of cheese chunks, is flippant. “Had my first dose of Eternal Life. Of course I look good. Are you coming to watch my big scene, Sue? Opening night, tomorrow at eight. We just got through the last rehearsal with Vicky—no idea how she’ll do, but I’m planning on knocking it out of the park.” He throws a lazy glance over one shoulder. “Everyone else coming?”

  He receives perfunctory nods. They’ll all be there. Not to watch Rick but to be seen.

  Sue changes the subject, having found something in Rick’s gems to make her jealous. “Rick, why are you feuding with a low-Lister? The careless one.”

  “I have my reasons. A man’s gotta have some fun, Sue.” Rick plops into the armchair at the head of the table and sweeps his hair behind one shoulder, a gesture of vanity, not of utility. “Let me open the meeting by saying how grateful I am that the town has placed their trust in me. I have many ideas for improving the lives of all Seattleites.”

  Poulsbo claps. If the speech sounds rehearsed, it’s because it is. Jada suggested the phrasing. But Rick’s overdoing it—she’ll have to remind him that he’s not on a stage. This room is not the place to exaggerate your own importance; staying smart, on your toes, aware—that’s what’s required.

  “Yes, yes,” Chase says. “We can save your many ideas for down the road. Let’s try to stick to the agenda. I have places to be.”

  Ben rises to his feet. “Before we begin, I wish to say a few words. I know some of you think I pushed my way in, but I’m here to stay and you all might as well get used to it.”

  “Pushed? More like halo-padded,” Chase mutters under his breath. It’s a rumor Jada has heard too, but she knows it isn’t true. Chase adds, “What are you proposing we do about the birds? What’s this big plan of yours?”

  Ben remains on his feet. “It’s simple—we make it an official town hobby. Volunteers will trap the sparrows and move them out the gates, along with any nests.”

  “That’s your grand plan? A hobby?” Chase’s incredulity is almost comical. “And we send the birds sledding? Then again, I suppose it’s not as if we can cook ‘em and turn them into cafeteria mix. They’re too small, it’d be hardly worth the effort.”

  A slow nod from McKinsey, who seems to have forgotten her stance from last time the subject was discussed, that the Edge Garden is where the birds should be lured. “Why not? We haven’t had a new hobby in—well, I don’t know how long. We can call it Bird Control or something of that sort. I might join in myself! To look for nests, not in moving them out… Which brings up a problem. Only those in the Top Hundred will be able to participate in that part of it.”

  “Will be able?” Chase scoffs. “To what, risk frostbite?”

  Ben sits down and, apparently having anticipated all the objections, explains that the hobbyists will be well protected by suits and perhaps an exception can be made for those not in the Top Hundred.

  “Won’t that…endanger…the sparrows and their young?” Poulsbo pipes up. “They’ll be vulnerable…to the elements, snowmobiles, predators… And if you move a nest with eggs in it…how will the parents find it?”

  Chase makes a mock-crying face behind Poulsbo’s back but Ben takes the question seriously. “We can make sure that adults and hatchlings are relocated together, perhaps build a protective hut. Is this something you can do, Poulsbo, or will you need extra help?”

  Poulsbo’s reaction to having additional tasks piled onto his plate is a compliant nod. “Depends on how fast you want it…done. We’ll need lumber… We can add a feeding station…too. I can ask Blank Jack what materials work best in the cold… Or the new Outsider.”

  This gets everyone’s attention.

  “What’s this? Another Outsider?” Rick tut-tuts. “Yes, there it is on the agenda. Didn’t we just let Blank Jack in? We might have to start charging an entrance fee.”

  “Blank Jack’s been here two full years now,” Bonnie points out dryly, her first words of the meeting. There are dark circles under her eyes and daggers in her stare.

  “Really, has it been that long?” Rick says airily. “The agenda doesn’t give any information other than a name—Renee—and that she’s passed the initial health exam. So who are they, this new Outsider? Tell us what you know, Poulsbo.”

  “Someone on the Commons said…she came in through…the west gate.”

  Bonnie thaws enough to add more information. “Yesler—he’s the guard at that gate—said she came in at dawn.”

  “Well, there is room in the List count,” McKinsey supplies. “The Agency was going to ask the youth center to pro
vide an extra grad, but it’s up to us, really, whether we want the Outsider or not.”

  “Eh,” Chase says, “she’s here already.”

  They vote to let Renee fill the available spot—pending a yes from Bodi, not at all a certainty—and Chase adds a follow-up comment. “At least there’s no other Renee in town or she’d have to be Blank Renee, which is a mouthful.”

  Outsiders who come knocking on gates are of little interest to Jada. Her attention is on Rick, who’s been sneaking winks at Sue. He ought to know better, with Samm watching…and Bonnie, who’s barely hiding her fury at having been forced to endorse Rick for number one. He must think that he doesn’t have to bother hiding the affair now that Delilah can’t hold it over his head, as if Bonnie can’t do the same. Jada knew about Rick’s weakness going in—he likes other people’s women; Delilah’s notes on him hold a dozen names. She’ll have to warn him to be less obvious. If Rick can’t get his act together, she might have to drop him. Fast.

  Franz comes in and slides into the last armchair. “My apologies. A mediating session ran long but ended well for all parties. What did I miss?”

  “A new hobby and a new Outsider,” Jada supplies, but it’s Rick, who’s sneaking another wink at Sue, that her eyes linger on.

  15

  Yesterday I was at the theater as part of a cleaning crew and today I’m filing into the auditorium with Dax by my side. Unlike the back part of the building that houses the dressing rooms, the auditorium is open air—and uncarpeted, so it’s my first time seeing it beyond a quick peek. A three-level circular gallery faces the stage and its crimson curtain, which hangs down from what I’ve heard Delilah and the others refer to as the heavens, a nook where props, ropes and lighting hide. Dax and I take our seats directly across from the stage, on the second level. We’re out of place in the expensive seats, surrounded by a Top Hundred crowd sporting the latest fashions, though Dax’s tennis fame nets him a couple of nodded greetings. The box right above us is reserved for the Tenners. Jada and Ben are there, stiffly chatting.