Wool (8 page)

“It wasn’t until her mother died that she took to blaming the incubator that had failed. Well, not the incubator, but the poor condition it was in. The general state of rot all things become.”

“Your wife died from the complications?” It was another detail Jahns felt she must have missed from the file.

“My wife killed herself a week later.”

Again, the clinical detachment. Jahns wondered if this was a survival mechanism that had kicked in after these events, or a personality trait already in place.

“Seems like I would remember that,” Deputy Marnes said, the first words he’d uttered since introducing himself to the doctor.

“Well, I wrote the certificate myself. So I could put whatever cause I wanted—”

“And you admit to this?” Marnes seemed ready to leap off the bench. To do what, Jahns could hardly guess. She held his arm to keep him in place.

“Beyond the statute of limitations? Of course. I admit it. It was a worthless lie, anyway. Juliette was smart, even at that age. She knew. And this is what drove her—” He stopped himself.

“Drove her what?” Mayor Jahns asked. “Crazy?”

“No.” Dr. Nichols shook his head. “I wasn’t going to say that. It’s what drove her away. She applied for a change in casters. Demanded to move down to Mechanical, to enter the shop as a shadow. She was a year too young for that sort of placement, but I agreed. I signed off on it. I thought she’d go, get some deep air, come back. I was naïve. I thought the freedom would be good for her.”

“And you haven’t seen her since?”

“Once. For her mother’s funeral, just a few days later. She marched up on her own, attended the burial, gave me a hug, then marched back down. All without rest, from what I’ve heard. I try to keep up with her. I have a colleague in the deep nursery who will wire now and then with a bit of news. It’s all focus, focus, focus with her.”

Nichols paused and laughed.

“You know, when she was young, all I saw was her mother in her. But she grew up to be more like me.”

“Is there anything you know that would preclude her from or make her ill suited for the job of silo sheriff? You do understand what’s involved with the job, right?”

“I understand.” Nichols looked over at Marnes, his eye drifting to the copper badge visible through the open, shoddily tied robe, down to the bulge of a pistol at his side. “All the little lawmen throughout the silo have to have someone up top, giving commands, is that it?”

“More or less,” Jahns said.

“Why her?”

Marnes cleared his throat. “She helped us with an investigation once—”

“Jules? She was up here?”

“No. We were down there.”

“She has no training.”

“None of us have,” Marnes said. “It’s more of a … political office. A citizen’s post.”

“She won’t agree to it.”

“Why not?” Jahns asked.

Nichols shrugged. “You’ll see for yourself, I suppose.” He stood. “I wish I could give you more time, but I really should get back.” He glanced at the set of double doors. “We’ll be bringing a family in soon—”

“I understand.” Jahns rose and shook his hand. “I appreciate your seeing us.”

He laughed. “Did I have a choice?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I wish I’d known that sooner.”

He smiled, and Jahns saw that he was joking, or attempting to. As they parted company and walked back down the hallway to collect their things and return the robes, Jahns found herself more and more intrigued by this nomination of Marnes’s. It wasn’t his style, a woman from the down deep. A person with baggage. She wondered if his judgment was perhaps clouded by
other
factors. And as he held the door for her, leading out to the main waiting room, Mayor Jahns wondered if she was going along with him because
her
judgment was clouded as well.

It was lunchtime, but neither of them was powerfully hungry. Jahns nibbled on a cornbar while she walked, priding herself on “eating on the climb” like a porter. They continued to pass these tradesmen, and Jahns’s esteem of their profession grew and grew. She had a strange pang of guilt from heading down under such a light load while these men and women trudged up carrying so much. And they moved so
fast
. She and Marnes pressed themselves against the rail as a downward porter apologetically stomped past. His shadow, a girl of fifteen or sixteen, was right behind him, loaded down with what looked to be sacks of garbage for the recycling center. Jahns watched the young girl spiral out of sight, her sinewy and smooth legs hanging miles out of her shorts, and suddenly felt very old and very tired.

The two of them fell into a rhythmic pace, the reach of each foot hovering over the next tread, a sort of collapsing of the bones, a resignation to gravity, falling to that foot, sliding the hand, extending the walking stick forward, repeat. Doubt crept into Jahns around the thirtieth floor. What had seemed a fine adventure at sunrise now seemed a mighty undertaking. Each step was performed reluctantly, with the knowledge of how grueling it would be to win that elevation back.

They passed the upper water treatment plant on thirty-two, and Jahns realized she was seeing portions of the silo that were practically new to her. It had been a lifetime ago that she’d been this deep, a shameful thing to admit. And in that time, changes had been made. Construction and repairs were ongoing. Walls were a different color than she remembered. But then, it was hard to trust one’s memory.

The traffic on the stairs lightened as they neared the IT floors. Here were the most sparsely populated levels of the silo, where less than two dozen men and women—but mostly men—operated within their own little kingdom. The silo servers took up almost an entire floor, the machines slowly reloading with recent history, having been wiped completely during the uprising. Access to them was now severely restricted, and as Jahns passed the landing on the thirty-third, she swore she could hear the mighty thrumming of all the electricity they consumed. Whatever the silo had been, or had been originally designed for, she knew without asking or being told that these strange machines were some organ of primacy. Their power draw was a constant source of contention during budget meetings. But the necessity of the cleaning, the fear of even talking about the outside and all the dangerous taboos that went with it, gave IT incredible leeway. They housed the labs that made the suits, each one tailored to the person waiting in the holding cell, and this alone set them apart from all else.

No, Jahns told herself, it wasn’t simply the taboo of the cleaning, the fear of the outside. It was the hope. There was this unspoken, deadly hope in every member of the silo. A ridiculous, fantastical hope. That maybe not for them, but perhaps for their children, or their children’s children, life on the outside would be possible once again, and that it would be the work of IT and the bulky suits that emerged from their labs that would make it all possible.

Jahns felt a shiver even to think it. Living outside. The childhood conditioning was that strong. Maybe God would hear her thoughts and rat her out. She imagined herself in a cleaning suit, a far too common thought, placing herself into the flexible coffin to which she had condemned so many.

On the thirty-fourth, she slipped off onto the landing. Marnes joined her, his canteen in hand. Jahns realized she’d been drinking out of his all day while hers had stayed strapped to her back. There was something childlike and romantic about this, but also something practical. It was more difficult to reach one’s own water than it was to grab that of the other from their pack.

“You need a break?” He passed the canteen, which had two swallows left in it. Jahns took one of them.

“This is our next stop,” she said.

Marnes looked up at the faded number stenciled over the doorway. He had to know what floor they were on, but it was as if he needed to double-check.

Jahns returned his canteen. “In the past, I’ve always wired them to get the okay on my nominations. It was something Mayor Humphries did before me, and Mayor Jeffers before him.” She shrugged. “Way of the world.”

“I didn’t know they had to approve.” He took the last swallow and patted Jahns on the back, twirled his finger for her to turn around.

“Well, they’ve never rejected any of my nominations.” Jahns felt her canteen tugged out of her pouch, Marnes’s canteen shoved in its place. Her pack felt a smidgen lighter. She realized Marnes wanted to carry her water and share it until it too was empty. “I think the unwritten rule is there just so we’ll carefully consider every judge and lawman, knowing there’s some informal oversight.”

“So this time you’re doing it in person.”

She turned back around to face her deputy. “I figured we were passing this way …” She paused while a young couple hurried up the stairs behind Marnes, holding hands and taking the treads two at a time. “And that it might feel even more conspicuous
not
to stop and check in.”

“Check in,” Marnes said. Jahns half expected him to spit over the railing; the tone seemed to require such punctuation. She suddenly felt another of her weaknesses exposed.

“Think of it as a goodwill mission,” she said, turning toward the door.

“I’m gonna think of it as a fact-finding raid,” Marnes muttered, following her.

Jahns could tell that, unlike at the nursery, they would not be buzzed through and sent back into the mysterious depths of IT. While they waited to be seen, she watched as even a member of the staff, identifiable from their silver overalls, was patted down and searched just to
leave
the wing and exit toward the stairs. A man with a wand—a member of IT’s own internal security detail—seemed to have the job of checking everyone who passed through the metal gates. The receptionist on the outside of the gates was deferent enough, however, and seemed pleased to have the mayor for a visit. She expressed her condolences for the recent cleaning, an odd thing to say but something Jahns wished she heard more often. They were shown to a small conference room attached to the main foyer, a place, she supposed, for meeting with various departments without putting them through the hassle of passing through security.

“Look at all this space,” Marnes whispered once they were alone in the room together. “Did you see the size of that entrance hall?”

Jahns nodded. She looked around the ceiling and walls for some peephole, something to confirm the creepy sensation that she was being watched. She set her bag and walking stick down and collapsed wearily into one of the plush chairs. When it moved, she realized the thing was on wheels. Nicely oiled wheels.

“Always wanted to check this place out,” Marnes said. He peered through the glass window that looked back into the wide foyer. “Every time I’ve passed this place—and it’s only been a dozen times or so—I’ve been curious to see what’s inside.”

Jahns nearly asked him to stop talking but worried that it would hurt his feelings.

“Boy, he’s coming in a hurry. Must be because of you.”

Jahns turned and looked out the window to see Bernard Holland heading their way. He disappeared from view as he approached the door, the handle flicked down, and the small man whose job it was to keep IT running smoothly strode into the room.

“Mayor.”

Bernard was all teeth, the front ones crooked. He had a wispy mustache that hung down in a weak attempt to hide this flaw. Short, portly, and with a pair of glasses perched on his small nose, he looked every bit the technical expert. Above all, to Jahns at least, he looked
smart
.

He reached for Jahns’s hand as she rose from the chair, the blasted thing nearly scooting out from underneath her as she pressed down on the armrests.

“Careful,” Bernard said, grabbing her elbow to steady her. “Deputy.” He nodded toward Marnes while Jahns regained her balance. “It’s an honor to have you down. I know you don’t take these trips often.”

“Thanks for seeing us on short notice,” Jahns said.

“Of course. Please, make yourselves comfortable.” He swept his hand over the lacquered conference table. It was nicer than the one in the mayor’s office, though Jahns assuaged herself by assuming it was shiny from being less frequently employed. She sat in the chair warily, then reached into her bag and produced the set of files.

“Straight to business, as always,” Bernard said, sitting beside her. He pushed his small round spectacles up his nose and glided forward on the chair until his plump belly met the desk. “Always appreciated that about you. We are, as you can imagine with yesterday’s unfortunate events, as busy as ever. Lots of data to go through.”

“How’s that going?” Jahns asked while she arranged the material in front of her.

“Some positives and negatives, as always. Readouts from some of the seal sensors showed improvement. Atmospheric levels of eight of the known toxins have declined, though not by much. Two have risen. Most have remained unchanged.” He waved his hand. “It’s a lot of boring technical stuff, but it’ll all be in my report. I should have it ported up before you get back to your office.”

“That’ll be fine,” Jahns said. She wanted to say something else, to acknowledge his department’s hard work, to let him know that another cleaning had been successful, God knew why. But it was Holston out there, the closest thing she’d ever had to a shadow, the only man she’d ever seen running for her office when she was dead and feeding the roots of the fruit trees. It was too soon to mention it, much less applaud it.

“I normally wire this sort of thing to you,” she said, “but since we were passing by, and you won’t be up for the next committee meeting for, what, another three months … ?”

“The years go fast,” Bernard said.

“I just figured we could informally agree to this now, so I could offer our best candidate the job.” She glanced up at Marnes. “Once she accepts, we can finish the paperwork on our way back up, if you don’t mind.” She slid the folder toward Bernard and was surprised when he produced one of his own, rather than accept hers.

“Well, let’s go over this,” Bernard said. He opened his folder, licked his thumb, and flipped through a few pieces of high-quality paper. “We were wired about your visit, but your list of candidates didn’t hit my desk until this morning. Otherwise, I would have tried to save you the trip down and back up.” He pulled out a piece of paper devoid of creases. It didn’t even look bleached. Jahns wondered where IT got such things while her office was held together with cornflour paste. “I’m thinking, of the three names listed here, that Billings is our man.”