Hugh Howey - Shift

He wanted to say tremors, but that sounded too severe. And while he appreciated the Senator’s concern — this feeling as if the man was family — he was uncomfortable discussing his sister’s problems. He remembered the last time she was home, the disagreement they’d had while going through his and Helen’s photographs from Mexico. He had asked Charlotte if she remembered Cozumel from when they were kids, and she had insisted she’d never been. The disagreement had turned into an argument, and he had lied and said his tears were ones of frustration. Parts of his sister’s life had been erased, and the only way the doctors could explain it was to say that it must’ve been something she wanted to forget. And what could be wrong with that?

Thurman rested a hand on Donald’s arm. ‘Trust me on this,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll talk to her. I know what she’s going through.’

Donald bobbed his head. ‘Yeah. Okay. I appreciate it.’ He almost added that it wouldn’t do any good, could possibly cause harm, but the gesture was a nice one. And it would come from someone his sister looked up to, rather than from family.

‘And hey, Donny, she’s piloting drones.’ Thurman studied him, seemed to be picking up on his worry. ‘It’s not like she’s in any physical danger.’

Donald rubbed the spine of a shelved book. ‘Not physical, no.’

They fell silent, and Donald let out a heavy breath. He could hear the chatter from the cafe, the clink of a spoon stirring in some sugar, the clang of bells against the old wooden door, the squeal and hiss of milk being steamed.

He had seen videos of what Charlotte did, camera feeds from the drones and then from the missiles as they were guided in to their targets. The video quality was amazing. You could see people turning to look up to the heavens in surprise, could see the last moments of their lives, could cycle through the video frame by frame and decide — after the fact — if this had been your man or not. He knew what his sister did, what she dealt with.

‘I spoke with Mick earlier,’ Thurman said, seeming to sense that he’d brought up a sore topic. ‘You two are going to head down to Atlanta and see how the excavation is going.’

Donald snapped to. ‘Of course. Yeah, it’ll be good to get the lay of the land. I got a nice head start on my plans last week, gradually filling in the dimensions you set out. You do realise how deep this thing goes, right?’

‘That’s why they’re already digging the foundations. The outer walls should be getting a pour over the next few weeks.’ Senator Thurman patted Donald’s shoulder and nodded towards the end of the aisle, signalling that they were finished looking through books.

‘Wait. They’re already digging ?’ Donald walked alongside Thurman. ‘I’ve only got an outline ready. I hope they’re saving mine for last.’

‘The entire complex is being worked on at the same time. All they’re pouring are the outer walls and foundations, the dimensions of which are fixed. We’ll fill each structure from the bottom up, the floors craned down completely furnished before we pour the slabs between. But look, this is why I need you boys to go check things out. It sounds like a damned nightmare down there with the staging. I’ve got a hundred crews from a dozen countries working on top of one another while materials pile up everywhere. I can’t be in ten places at once, so I need you to get a read on things and report back.’

When they reached the Secret Service agent at the end of the aisle, the Senator handed him the old book with the French embossing. The man in the dark shades nodded and headed towards the counter.

‘While you’re down there,’ Thurman said, ‘I want you to meet up with Charlie Rhodes. He’s handling delivery of most of the building materials. See if he needs anything.’

‘ Charles Rhodes? As in the governor of Oklahoma?’

‘That’s right. We served together. And hey, I’m working on transitioning you and Mick into some of the higher levels of this project. Our leadership team is still short a few dozen members. So keep up the good work. You’ve impressed some important people with what you’ve put together so far, and Anna seems confident you’ll be able to stay ahead of schedule. She says the two of you make a great team.’

Donald nodded. He felt a blush of pride — and also the inevitability of extra responsibilities, more bites out of his ever-dwindling time. Helen wouldn’t like hearing that his involvement with the project might grow. In fact, Mick and Anna might be the only people he could share the news with, the only ones he could talk to. Every detail about the build seemed to require convoluted layers of clearance. He couldn’t tell if it was the fear of nuclear waste, the threat of a terrorist attack or the likelihood that the project would fall through.

The agent returned and took up a position beside the Senator, shopping bag in hand. He looked over at Donald and seemed to study him through those impenetrable sunglasses. Not for the first time, Donald felt watched.

Senator Thurman shook Donald’s hand and said to keep him posted. Another agent materialised from nowhere and formed up on Thurman’s flank. They marched the Senator through the jangling door, and Donald only relaxed once they were out of view.

THE BOOK OF the Order lay open on his desk, the pages curling up from a spine stitched to last. Troy studied the upcoming procedure once again, his first official act as head of Operation Fifty, and it brought to mind a ribbon-cutting ceremony, a grand display where the man with the shears took credit for the hard work of others.

The Order, he had decided, was more recipe book than operations manual. The shrinks who had written it had accounted for everything, every quirk of human nature. And like the field of psychology, or any field that involved human nature, the parts that made no sense usually served some deeper purpose.

It made Troy wonder what his purpose was. How necessary his position. He had studied for a much different job, was meant to be head of a single silo, not all of them. He had been promoted at the last minute, and that made him feel arbitrary, as if anyone could be slotted into his place.

Of course, even if his office was mostly titular, perhaps it served some symbolic purpose. Maybe he wasn’t there to lead so much as to provide an illusion to the others that they were being led .

Troy skipped back two paragraphs in the Order. His eyes had passed over every word, but none of them had registered. Everything about his new life made him prone to distraction, made him think too much. It had all been perfectly arranged — all the levels and tasks and job descriptions — but for what? For maximum apathy ?

Glancing up, he could see Victor sitting at his desk in the Office for Psychological Services across the hall. It would be easy enough to walk over there and ask. They, more than any one architect, had designed this place. He could ask them how they had done it, how they had managed to make everyone feel so empty inside.

Sheltering the women and the children played some part; Troy was sure of that. The women and children of silo one had been gifted with a long sleep while the men stayed and took shifts. It removed the passion from the plans, forestalled the chance that the men might fight among themselves.

And then there was the routine, the mind-numbing routine. It was the castration of thought, the daily grind of an office worker who drooled at the clock, punched out, watched TV until sleep overtook him, slapped an alarm three times, did it again. It was made worse by the absence of weekends. There were no free days. It was six months on and decades off.