Hugh Howey - Dust

“Calm down,” Juliette told him. “Take it easy. Who did you say called? And why are you looking for Nelson?”

“I was going to have him talk to this guy, pretend he’s Bernard, at least to buy us some time. I don’t know who’s calling. It sounds like the same guy, but it’s not.”

“What did he say?”

“He said to get Bernard, said he was the one who dreamed up Operation Fifty. Dammit, Nelson’s not here.” Lukas glanced around the workbenches and tool cabinets. He remembered passing Sims. The old Security chief had clearance to the server room. Lukas left the Suit Lab and rushed back down the hall.

“Lukas, you aren’t making any sense.”

“I know, I know. Hey, I’ll call you back. I need to catch Sims—”

He jogged down the hallway. Offices flew past, most of them empty, workers who had transferred out of IT or those at dinner. He spotted Sims turning a corner toward the security station.

“Sims!”

The Security chief peered back around the corner, stepped into the hall, and studied Lukas as he ran at him. Lukas wondered how many minutes had passed, how strict this man was going to be.

“I need your help,” he said. He pointed to the server room door, which stood at the junction of the two halls. Sims turned and studied the door with him.

“Yeah?”

Lukas entered his code and pushed the door open. Inside, the lights were back to throbbing red. No way it’d been fifteen minutes already. “I need a huge favor,” he told Sims. “Look, it’s… complicated, but I need you to talk to someone for me. I need you to pretend to be Bernard. You knew him well enough, right?”

Sims pulled up. “Pretend to be who?”

Lukas turned and grabbed the larger man’s arm, urged him along. “No time to explain. I just need you to answer this guy’s questions. It’s like a drill. Just be Bernard. Tell yourself that you’re Bernard. Act angry or something. And get off the line as quickly as you can. In fact, say as little as possible.”

“Who am I talking to?”

“I’ll explain afterward. I just need you to get through this. Fool this guy.” He guided Sims to the open server and handed him the headphones. Sims studied them as though he’d never seen a pair. “Just put those over your ears,” Lukas said. “I’m going to plug you in. It’s like a radio. Remember, you are Bernard. Try to sound like him, okay? Just be him.”

Sims nodded. His cheeks were red, a bead of sweat running down his brow. He looked ten years younger and nervous as hell.

“Here you go.” Lukas slotted the cord into the jack, thinking that Sims was probably even better for this than Nelson. This would buy them some time until he could figure out what was going on. He watched as Sims flinched, must’ve heard a greeting in the headphones.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Confident,” Lukas hissed. The radio in his hand crackled with Juliette’s voice, and he turned down the volume, didn’t want it overheard. He would have to call her back.

“Yes, this is Bernard.” Sims talked through his nose, high and tight. It sounded more like a man doing a woman’s voice than a fair approximation of the former silo head. “This is Bernard,” Sims said again, more insistently. He turned to Lukas and pleaded with his eyes, looked absolutely helpless. Lukas waved his hand in a small circle. Sims nodded as he listened to something, then pulled the headset off.

“Okay?” Lukas hissed.

Sims held the headset out to Lukas. “He wants to speak to you. I’m sorry. He knows it isn’t him.”

Lukas groaned. He tucked the radio under his arm, Juliette’s voice tiny and distant, and pulled on the headset, slick with sweat.

“Hello?”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Bernard is… I couldn’t reach him.”

“He’s dead. Was it an accident, or was he murdered? What’s going on over there? Who’s in charge? We’ve got no feeds over here.”

“I’m in charge,” Lukas said. He was painfully aware that Sims was studying him. “Everything is just fine over here. I can have Bernard call you—”

“You’ve been talking with someone over here.”

Lukas didn’t respond.

“What did he tell you?”

Lukas glanced at the wooden chair and the pile of books. Sims followed his gaze, and his eyes widened at the sight of so much paper.

“We’ve been talking about population reports,” Lukas said. “We put down an uprising. Yes, Bernard was injured during the fighting—”

“I have a machine here that tells me when you’re lying.”

Lukas felt faint. It seemed impossible, but he believed the man. He turned around and collapsed into the chair. Sims studied him warily. His Security chief could tell that things weren’t right.

“We’re doing the best we can,” Lukas said. “Everything’s in order over here. I am Bernard’s shadow. I passed the Rite—”

“I know. But I think you’ve been poisoned. I’m very sorry, son, but this is something I should have done a long time ago. It’s for the good of everyone. I truly am sorry.” And then, cryptically and softly, almost as if to someone else, the voice uttered the words: “Shut them down.”

“Wait—” Lukas said. He turned to Sims, and now they looked helplessly at one another. “Let me—”

Before he could finish, there was a hissing sound above him. Lukas glanced up to find a white cloud billowing down from the vents. An expanding mist. He remembered exhaust fumes like this from long ago, back when he was locked inside the server room and the people in Mechanical tried to divert gas to choke him out. He remembered the feeling that he was going to suffocate inside that room. But this fog was different. It was thick and sinister.

Lukas pulled his undershirt over his mouth and yelled for Sims to come with him. They both dashed through the server room, dodging between the tall black machines, avoiding the cloud where they could. They got to the door that led out to IT, which Lukas figured was airtight. The red light on the panel blinked happily. Lukas didn’t remember locking the door. Holding his breath, he punched in his code and waited for the light to turn green. It didn’t. He punched it in again, concentrating, feeling lightheaded from not enough air, and the keypad buzzed and blinked at him with its red and solitary eye.

Lukas turned to Sims to complain and saw the large man peering down at his palms. His hands were covered in blood. Blood was pouring from Sims’s nose.

Juliette cursed the radio and finally let Walker have a try. Courtnee watched them both with concern. Lukas had come through a couple of times, but all they’d heard was the patter of boots and the hissing of his breathing or some kind of static.

Walker examined the portable. The radio had grown needlessly complex with the knobs and dials he’d added. He fiddled with something and shrugged. “Looks okay to me,” he said, tugging on his beard. “Must be on the other end.”

One of the other radios on the bench barked. It was the large unit he’d built, the one with the wire dangling from the ceiling. There was a familiar voice followed by a burst of static: “Hello? Anyone? We’ve got a problem down here.”

Juliette raced around the workbench and grabbed the mic before Walker or Courtnee could. She recognized that voice. “Hank, this is Juliette. What’s going on?”

“We’ve got… ah, reports from the Mids of some kind of vapor leak. Are you still in that area?”

“No, I’m down in Mechanical. What kind of vapor leak? And from where?”

“In the stairwell, I think. I’m out on the landing right now and don’t see anything, but I hear a racket above me. Sounds like a ton of traffic. Can’t tell if it’s heading up or down. No fire alarm, though.”