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　　Bernard watched the cleaning from the cafeteria while his techs gathered their supplies in Peter’soffice. It was his habit to view these things alone—his techs rarely joined him. They lugged¹ theirequipment out of the office and headed straight for the stairwell. Bernard was ashamed sometimes ofthe superstitions², the fears, he fostered even in his own men.

　　First the dome³ of her helmet, and then the shiny specter of Juliette Nichols staggeredaboveground. She lumbered⁴ up the ramp⁵, her movements stiff and unsure. Bernard checked the clockon the wall and reached for his cup of juice. He settled back to see if he could gauge⁶ anothercleaner’s reaction to what they were seeing: a world crisp, bright, and clean, studded with soaringlife, grass wavering in a fresh breeze, a glimmering⁷ acropolis beckoning⁹ from over the hills.

　　He had watched nearly a dozen cleanings in his day, always enjoying that first pirouette as theytook in their surroundings. He had seen men who had left families behind dance before the sensors,waving as if to beckon⁸ their loved ones out, trying to pantomime all the false goodness displayed ontheir visor screens, all to no avail, to no audience. He had seen people reaching madly for flyingbirds, mistaking them for insects much closer to their faces. One cleaner had even gone back downthe ramp and presumably beaten on the door as if to signal something, before finally getting tocleaning. What were any of these various reactions but the proud reminder¹¹ of a system that worked?

　　That no matter the individual psychology¹², the sight of all their false hopes eventually drove them todo what they promised they wouldn’t.

　　Perhaps that’s why Mayor Jahns could never bear to watch. She had no idea what they wereseeing, feeling, responding to. She would come up with her weak stomach the next morning and takein a sunrise, mourn in her own way, the rest of the silo granting her some space. But Bernardcherished this transformation¹³, this delusion¹⁴ he and his predecessors¹⁵ had honed to perfection. Hesmiled and took a sip¹⁶ of fresh fruit juice and observed this Juliette as she staggered around, coming toher misguided senses. There was the barest coat of grime on the sensor¹⁰ lenses, not even worth a hardscrub, but he knew from double cleanings in the past that she would do it anyway. No one had evernot.

　　He took another sip and turned to the sheriff’s office to see if Peter had summoned the courage tocome watch, but the door was closed all but a crack. He had high hopes for that boy. Sheriff today,and maybe one day mayor. Bernard might hold the post for a short while, maybe an election or two,but he knew he belonged in IT, that this was not the job for him. Or rather, that his other duties werefar more difficult to replace.

　　He turned away from Peter’s office and back to the view—and nearly dropped his paper cup ofjuice.

　　The silvery form of Juliette Nichols was already trudging¹⁷ up the hill. The grime on the sensorswas still in place.

　　Bernard stood abruptly¹⁸, knocking his chair over backward. He staggered toward the wallscreen,almost as if he could chase after her.

　　And then he watched, dumbfounded, as she strode up that dark crease¹⁹ and paused for a momentover the still form of two other cleaners. Bernard checked the clock again. Any moment now. Anymoment. She would collapse²⁰ and fumble²¹ for her helmet. She would roll in the dusty soil, kicking up acloud, sliding down that slope until she came to a dead rest.

　　But the second hand ticked along, and so did Juliette. She left the two cleaners behind, her limbsstill climbing with power, her steady gait guiding her far up to the crest²² of the hill, where she stood,taking in a view of who knew what, before disappearing, impossibly, out of sight.

　　????

　　Bernard’s hand was sticky with juice as he raced down the stairwell. He kept the crushed papercup in his fist for three levels before catching²³ up to his techs and hurling²⁴ it at their backs. The ball oftrash bounced off and went tumbling into space, destined²⁵ to settle on some distant landing below.

　　Bernard cursed the confused men and kept running, his feet dangerously close to tripping overthemselves. A dozen floors down, he nearly collided with the first hopeful climbers ascending²⁶ to seethe²⁷ second crisp sunrise in the past weeks.

　　He was sore and winded when he finally made it down to thirty-four, his spectacles sliding aroundon the sweaty bridge of his nose. He burst through the double doors and yelled for the gate to beopened. A frightened guard complied, scanning the reader with his own ID right before Bernardslammed through the stubby metal arm. He practically ran down the hallway, taking two turns beforehe got to the most heavily fortified²⁸ door in the entire silo.

　　Swiping his card and punching in his security code, he hurried inside, past the thick wall of solidsteel. It was hot in the room full of servers. The identical black cases rose from the tiled floor likemonuments to what was possible, to the craft and engineering of human endeavor. Bernard walkedamong them, the sweat gathering²⁹ in his eyebrows³⁰, light glittering in his vision, his upper lip wet withperspiration. He ran his hands along the faces of the machines, the flashing lights like happy eyestrying to dispel³¹ his anger, the electrical hum like whispers to their master, hoping to calm him.

　　Their soothing³² efforts were in vain. All Bernard felt was a surge of fear. He went over and overwhat could have gone wrong. It wasn’t as if she would survive, she couldn’t possibly survive, but hismandate, second only to preserving the data on these machines, was never to let anyone out of sight.

　　It was the highest order. He understood why and trembled from the repercussions³³ of the morning’sfailure.

　　He cursed the heat as he reached the server on the far wall. The vents³⁴ overhead carried cool airfrom the down deep and deposited it into the server room. Large fans in the back whisked the heataway and pumped it through more ducts down the silo, keeping the cool and dingy³⁵ nastiness of thetriple-digit levels humanely³⁶ warm. Bernard glared at the vents, remembering the power holiday, theweek of rising temperatures that had threatened his servers, all for some generator³⁷, and all because ofthis woman he had just let out of his sight. The memory stoked the flames under his collar. He cursedthe design flaw that left the control of those vents down in Mechanical with those grease monkeys,those uncivilized tinkerers. He thought of the ugly and loud machines down there, the smell ofleaking exhaust and burning oil. He had only needed to see it once—to kill a man—but even that wastoo much. Comparing those noisy engines with the sublime³⁸ servers was enough to make him neverwant to leave IT. Here was where silicon³⁹ chips released their tangy scent⁴⁰ as they heated under thestrain of crunching⁴¹ data. Here was where one could smell the rubber coating the wires, running inparallel, neatly⁴² bundled, labeled and coded, and streaming with gigabits of glorious data everysecond. Here was where he oversaw⁴³ the refilling of their data drives with all that had been deletedfrom the last uprising. Here, a man could think, surrounded by machines quietly doing the same.

　　Somewhere down those vents, however, was the stench of the unclean. Bernard wiped the sweatfrom his head and rubbed it on the seat of his overalls⁴⁴. The thought of that woman, first stealing fromhim, then rewarded by Jahns with the highest office of law, and now daring to not clean, to wanderoff … It raised his temperature dangerously.

　　He reached the server at the end of the row and squeezed between it and the wall to the back. Thekey kept around his neck slid into the greased innards of the case locks. As he turned each one, hereminded himself that she couldn’t have gotten far. And how much trouble could this really cause?

　　More importantly, what had gone wrong? The timing⁴⁵ should always be impeccable. It always hadbeen.

　　The back of the server came free, revealing the mostly empty innards behind. Bernard slipped thekey back into his overalls and set the panel of black steel aside, the metal warm to the touch. Therewas a cloth case fastened inside the server’s belly⁴⁶. Bernard loosened the flap and reached inside,extracting the plastic headset. He pulled it down over his ears, adjusted the mic, and unspooled thecord.

　　He could keep this under control, he thought to himself. He was head of IT. He was mayor. PeterBillings was his man. People liked stasis, and he could maintain the illusion of it. They were afraid ofchange, and he could conceal⁴⁷ it. With him in both offices, who would oppose him? Who was betterqualified? He would explain this. Everything would be okay.

　　Still, he was mightily⁴⁸, uniquely afraid as he located the correct jack⁴⁹ and plugged in the cord.

　　There was an immediate⁵⁰ beeping sound in the headphones, the connection automatically taking place.

　　He could still oversee⁵¹ IT from a distance, make sure this never happened again, be more on top ofhis reports. Everything was under control. He told himself this as his headphones clicked and thebeeping stopped. He knew someone had picked up, even if they refused anything in the way of agreeting. He felt there was annoyance⁵² hanging in the silence.

　　Bernard dispensed⁵³ with the pleasantries as well. He jumped right into what he needed to say.

　　“Silo one? This is silo eighteen.” He licked the sweat off his lips and adjusted his mic. His palmssuddenly felt cold and clammy, and he needed to pee.

　　“We, uh … we might have a, uh … slight problem over here …”

 

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