76

　　• Silo 18 •

　　Lukas teetered on the upturned trash can, the toes of his boots denting¹ the soft plastic, feeling as if itcould go flying out from under him or collapse² under his weight at any moment. He steadied himselfby holding the top of server twelve, the thick layer of dust up there telling him it had been years sinceanyone had been in to clean with a ladder and a rag. He pressed his nose up to the air-conditioningvent and took another whiff.

　　The nearby door beeped, the locks clanking as they withdrew into the jamb. With a soft squeal,the massive hinges budged⁴ and the heavy door swung inward.

　　Lukas nearly lost his grip on the dusty server top as Bernard pushed his way inside. The head ofIT looked up at him quizzically.

　　“You’ll never fit,” Bernard said. He laughed as he turned to push the door shut. The locking pinsclunked, the panel beeped, and a red light resumed its watch over the room.

　　Lukas pushed away from the dusty server and leapt from the trash can, the plastic bucket flippingover and scooting across the floor. He wiped his hands together, brushed them on the seat of hispants, and forced a laugh.

　　“I thought I smelled something,” he explained. “Does it look smoky in here to you?”

　　Bernard squinted⁵ at the air. “It always seems hazy⁶ in here to me. And I don’t smell anything. Justhot servers.” He reached into his breast pocket and brought out a few folded pieces of paper. “Here.

　　Letters from your mother. I told her to porter them to me and I’d pass them along.”

　　Lukas smiled, embarrassed, and accepted them. “I still think you should ask about …” He glancedup at the air-conditioning vent³ and realized there was no one in Mechanical to ask. The last that he’dheard from the radio below was that Sims and the others were mopping up. Dozens were dead. Threeto four times that many were in custody⁷. Apartment wings were being prepped in the mids to holdthem all. It sounded like there would be enough people to clean for years.

　　“I’ll have one of the replacement⁸ mechanics look into it,” Bernard promised. “Which reminds me,I’d like to go over some of that with you. There’s going to be a massive shift from green to blue aswe push farmers into Mechanical. I was wondering what you’d think of Sammi heading up the entiredivision down there.”

　　Lukas nodded as he skimmed one of the letters from his mother. “Sammi as head of Mechanical?

　　I think he’s overqualified but perfect. I’ve learned a lot from him.” He glanced up as Bernard openedthe filing cabinet by the door and flipped⁹ through work orders. “He’s a great teacher, but would it bepermanent?”

　　“Nothing’s permanent.” Bernard found what he was looking for and tucked it into his breastpocket. “You need anything else?” He pressed his glasses up his nose. Lukas thought he looked olderfrom the past month. Older and worn down. “Dinner’ll be sent over in a few hours …”

　　Lukas did have something he wanted. He wanted to say that he was ready, that he had sufficientlyabsorbed the horror of his future job, had learned what he needed without going insane. And nowcould he please go home?

　　But that wasn’t the way out of there. Lukas had sorted this out for himself.

　　“Well,” he said, “I wouldn’t mind some more reading material …”

　　The things he had discovered in server eighteen burned in his brain. He feared Bernard would beable to read them there. Lukas thought he knew, but he needed to ask for that folder¹⁰ in order to besure.

　　Bernard smiled. “Don’t you have enough to read?”

　　Lukas fanned the letters from his mother. “These? They’ll keep me busy for the walk to the ladder—”

　　“I meant what you have below. The Order. Your studies.” Bernard tilted¹¹ his head.

　　Lukas let out a sigh. “Yeah, I do, but I can’t be expected to read that twelve hours a day. I’mtalking about something less dense¹².” He shook his head. “Hey, forget it. If you can’t—”

　　“What do you need?” Bernard said. “I’m just giving you a hard time.” He leaned against the filingcabinet and interlocked his fingers across his belly¹³. He peered at Lukas through the bottom of hisglasses.

　　“Well, this might sound weird¹⁴, but it’s this case. An old case. The server says it’s filed away inyour office with all the closed investigations—”

　　“An investigation¹⁵?” Bernard’s voice rose quizzically.

　　Lukas nodded. “Yeah. A friend-of-a-friend thing. I’m just curious how it was resolved. Therearen’t any digital copies on the serv—”

　　“This isn’t about Holston, is it?”

　　“Who? Oh, the old sheriff? No, no. Why?”

　　Bernard waved his hand to dismiss the thought.

　　“The file is under Wilkins,” Lukas said, watching Bernard closely. “George Wilkins.”

　　Bernard’s face hardened. His mustache dropped down over his lips like a lowered curtain.

　　Lukas cleared his throat. What he’d seen on Bernard’s face was nearly enough. He started to say,“George died a few years ago down in Mech—”

　　“I know how he died.” Bernard dipped his chin. “Why would you want to see that file?”

　　“Just curious. I have a friend who—”

　　“What’s this friend’s name?” Bernard’s small hands slid off his belly and he tucked them into hisoveralls. He moved away from the filing cabinet and took a step closer.

　　“What?”

　　“This friend, was he involved with George in any way? How close a friend was he?”

　　“No. Not that I know of.” Lukas wanted simply to ask, to ask why he’d done it. “Look, if it’s a bigdeal, don’t worry about—”

　　“It’s a very big deal,” Bernard said. “George Wilkins was a dangerous man. A man of ideas. Thekind we catch in whispers, the kind who poisons the people around him—”

　　“What? What do you mean?”

　　“Section thirteen of the Order. Study it. All insurrections would start right there if we let them,start with men like him.”

　　Bernard’s chin had lowered to his chest, his eyes peering over the rims¹⁷ of his glasses, the truthcoming freely without all the deceit Lukas had planned.

　　Lukas never needed that folder; he had found the travel logs that coincided with George’s death,the dozens of wires asking Holston to wrap things up. There was no shame in Bernard. GeorgeWilkins hadn’t died; he’d been murdered. And Bernard was willing to tell him why.

　　“What did he do?” Lukas asked quietly.

　　“I’ll tell you what he did. He was a mechanic, a greaser. We started hearing chatter¹⁸ from theporters about these plans circulating, ideas for expanding the mine, doing a lateral¹⁹ dig. As you know,lateral digs are forbidden—”

　　“Yeah, obviously.” Lukas had a mental image of miners from silo eighteen pushing through andmeeting miners from silo nineteen. It would be awkward, to say the least.

　　“A long chat with the old head of Mechanical put an end to that nonsense, and then GeorgeWilkins came up with the idea of expanding downward. He and some others drew up schematics fora level one-fifty. And then a level one—sixty.”

　　“Sixteen more levels?”

　　“To begin with. That was the talk, anyway. Just whispers and sketches²⁰. But some of thesewhispers landed in a porter’s ear, and then ours perked²¹ up.”

　　“So you killed him?”

　　“Someone did, yes. It doesn’t matter who.” Bernard adjusted his glasses with one hand. The otherstayed in the belly of his overalls¹⁶. “You’ll have to do these things one day, son. You know that, don’tyou?”

　　“Yeah, but—”

　　“No buts.” Bernard shook his head slowly. “Some men are like a virus. Unless you want to see aplague break out, you inoculate²² the silo against them. You remove them.”

　　Lukas remained silent.

　　“We’ve removed fourteen threats this year, Lukas. Do you have any idea what the average lifeexpectancy would be if we weren’t proactive about these things?”

　　“But the cleanings—”

　　“Useful for dealing²³ with the people who want out. Who dream of a better world. This uprisingwe’re having right now is full of people like that, but it’s just one sort of sickness we deal with. Thecleaning is one sort of cure. I’m not sure if someone with a different illness would even clean if wesent them out there. They have to want to see what we show them for it to work.”

　　This reminded Lukas of what he’d learned of the helmets, the visors. He had assumed this was theonly kind of sickness there was. He was beginning to wish he’d read more of the Order and less ofthe Legacy²⁴.

　　“You’ve heard this latest outbreak on the radio. All of this could have been prevented if we’dcaught the sickness earlier. Tell me that wouldn’t have been better.”

　　Lukas looked down at his boots. The trash can lay nearby, on its side. It looked sad like that. Nolonger useful for holding things.

　　“Ideas are contagious²⁵, Lukas. This is basic Order material. You know this stuff.”

　　He nodded. He thought of Juliette, wondered why she hadn’t called in what felt like forever. Shewas one of these viruses Bernard was talking about, her words creeping in his mind and infecting himwith outlandish dreams. He felt his entire body flush with heat as he realized he’d caught some of ittoo. He wanted to touch his breast pocket, feel the lumps of her personal effects there, the watch, thering, the ID. He had taken them to remember her in death, but they had become even more preciousknowing that she was still alive.

　　“This uprising hasn’t been nearly as bad as the last one,” Bernard told him. “And even after thatone, things were eventually smoothed over, the damage welded back together, the people made toforget. The same thing will happen here. Are we clear?”

　　“Yessir.”

　　“Excellent. Now, was that all you wished to know from this folder?”

　　Lukas nodded.

　　“Good. It sounds like you need to be reading something else, anyway.” His mustache twitchedwith half a smile. Bernard turned to go.

　　“It was you, wasn’t it?”

　　Bernard stopped but didn’t turn to face him.

　　“Who killed George Wilkins. It was you, right?”

　　“Does it matter?”

　　“Yeah. It matters to— To me— It means—”

　　“Or to your friend?” Bernard turned to face him. Lukas felt the temperature in the room go up yetanother notch²⁷. “Are you having second thoughts, son? About this job? Was I wrong about you?

　　Because I’ve been wrong before.”

　　Lukas swallowed. “I just want to know if it’s something I’d ever have to … I mean, since I’mshadowing for …”

　　Bernard took a few steps toward him. Lukas felt himself back up half a step in response.

　　“I didn’t think I was wrong about you. But I was, wasn’t I?” Bernard shook his head. He lookeddisgusted. “Goddamn it,” he spat²⁸.

　　“Nosir. You weren’t. I think I’ve just been in here too long.” Lukas brushed his hair off hisforehead. His scalp was itchy. He needed to use the bathroom. “Maybe I just need some air, youknow? Go home for a while? Sleep in my bed. What’s it been, a month? How long do I need—?”

　　“You want out of here?”

　　Lukas nodded.

　　Bernard peered down at his boots and seemed to consider this awhile. When he looked up, therewas sadness in his eyes, in the droop²⁹ of his mustache, across the wet film of his eyes.

　　“Is that what you want? To get out of here?”

　　He adjusted his hands inside his overalls.

　　“Yessir.” Lukas nodded.

　　“Say it.”

　　“I want out of here.” Lukas glanced at the heavy steel door behind Bernard. “Please. I want you tolet me out.”

　　“Out.”

　　Lukas bobbed his head, exasperated³⁰, sweat tickling³¹ his cheek as it followed the line of his jaw³². Hewas suddenly very afraid of this man, this man who all of a sudden reminded him even more of hisfather.

　　“Please,” Lukas said. “It’s just … I’m starting to feel cooped up. Please let me out.”

　　Bernard nodded. His cheeks twitched²⁶. He looked as if he were about to cry. Lukas had never seenthis expression on the man’s face.

　　“Sheriff Billings, are you there?”

　　His small hand emerged from his overalls and raised the radio to his sad, quivering mustache.

　　Peter’s voice crackled back. “I’m here, sir.”

　　Bernard clicked the transmitter. “You heard the man,” he said, tears welling up in his eyes.

　　“Lukas Kyle, IT engineer first class, says he wants out …”

 

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