Hugh Howey - Shift

Donald caught sight of himself in the mirror, the joy still on his face. He tended to forget how the corners of his eyes wrinkled up when he smiled. He touched his hair, sprinkles of grey even though he had another five years before he was over that proverbial hill. His job was ageing him prematurely. He had feared it might.

‘Amazing that we built this, huh?’ Mick asked. Donald turned and joined his friend in the tight quarters. He wondered if it was the work they’d been elected to perform that had aged them both or if it had been this one project, this all-consuming build.

‘I appreciate you forcing me down here.’ He almost added that he would love to see the rest, but he figured that would be pushing it. Besides, the crews back in the Georgia tents were probably looking for them already.

‘Look,’ Mick said, ‘there’s something I want to tell you.’

Donald looked at his friend, who seemed to be searching for the words. He glanced at the door. Mick was silent. Donald finally relented and sat at the foot of the bed.

‘What’s up?’ he asked.

But he thought he knew. The Senator had included Mick in his other project, the one that had driven Donald to seek help from the doctor. Donald thought of the thick book he had largely memorised. Mick had done the same. And he’d brought him there not just to let him see what they’d accomplished, but to find a spot of perfect privacy, a place where secrets could be divulged. He patted his pocket where he kept his pills, the ones that kept his thoughts from running off to dangerous places.

‘Hey,’ Donald said, ‘I don’t want you saying anything you’re not supposed to—’

Mick looked up, eyes wide with surprise.

‘You don’t need to say anything , Mick. Assume I know what you know.’

Mick shook his head sadly. ‘You don’t,’ he said.

‘Well, assume it anyway. I don’t want to know anything.’

‘I need you to know.’

‘I’d rather not—’

‘It’s not a secret, man. It’s just… I want you to know that I love you like a brother. I always have.’

The two of them sat in silence. Donald glanced at the door. The moment was uncomfortable, but it somehow filled his heart to hear Mick say it.

‘Look—’ Donald started.

‘I know I’m always hard on you,’ Mick said. ‘And hell, I’m sorry. I really do look up to you. And Helen.’ Mick turned to the side and scratched at his cheek. ‘I’m happy for the two of you.’

Donald reached across the narrow space and squeezed his friend’s arm.

‘You’re a good friend, Mick. I’m glad we’ve had this time together, the last few years, running for office, building this—’

Mick nodded. ‘Yeah. Me too. But listen, I didn’t bring you down here to get all sappy like this.’ He reached for his cheek again, and Donald saw that he was wiping at his eyes. ‘I had a talk with Thurman last night. He — a few months ago, he offered me a spot on a team, a top team, and I told him last night that I’d rather you take it.’

‘What? A committee?’ Donald couldn’t imagine his friend giving up an appointment, any kind of appointment. ‘Which one?’

Mick shook his head. ‘No, something else.’

‘What?’ Donald asked.

‘Look,’ Mick said, ‘when you find out about it, and you understand what’s going on, I want you to think of me right here.’ Mick glanced around the room. There were a few breaths of complete silence punctuated by drips of water from the bathroom sink. ‘If I could choose to be anywhere, anywhere in the coming years, it would be right down here with the first group.’

‘Okay. Yeah, I’m not sure what you mean—’

‘You will. Just remember this, all right? That I love you like a brother and that everything happens for a reason. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. For you or for Helen.’

‘Okay.’ Donald smiled. He couldn’t tell if Mick was fucking with him or if his friend had consumed a few too many Bloody Marys from the hospitality tent that morning.

‘All right.’ Mick stood abruptly. He certainly moved as though he were sober. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here. This place gives me the creeps.’

Mick threw open the door and flicked off the lights.

‘Wimping out, eh?’ Donald called after his friend.

Mick shook his head and the two of them headed back down the hallway. Behind them, they left the small, random apartment in darkness, its little sink dripping. And Donald tried to sort out how he’d gotten turned around, how the Tennessee tent where he’d cut the ribbon had become the one from South Carolina. He almost had it, his subconscious flashing to a delivery of goods, to fifty times more fibre optic than needed, but the connection was lost.

Meanwhile, containers loaded with supplies rumbled down the mammoth shaft. And empty trays rattled up.

TROY WOKE UP in a fog, groggy and disoriented, his head pulsing. He lifted his hands and groped in front of his face, expecting to find the chill of icy glass, the press of domed steel, the doom of a deep freeze. His hands found only empty air. The clock beside his bed showed it was a little after three in the morning.

He sat up and saw that he had on a pair of gym shorts. He couldn’t remember changing the night before, couldn’t remember going to bed. Planting his feet on the floor, he rested his elbows on his knees, sank his head into his palms and sat there a moment. His entire body ached.

After a few minutes slipped by, he dressed himself in the dark, buckling up his overalls. Light would be bad for his headache. It wasn’t a theory he needed to test.

The hallway outside was still dimmed for the evening, just bright enough to grope one’s way to the shared bathrooms. Troy stole down the hall and headed for the lift.

He hit the ‘up’ button, hesitated, wasn’t sure if that was right. Something tugged at him. He pressed the ‘down’ button as well.

It was too early to go into his office, not unless he wanted to fiddle on the computer. He wasn’t hungry, but he could go up and watch the sun rise. The late shift would be up there drinking coffee. Or he could hit the rec room and go for a jog. That would mean going back to his room to change.

The lift arrived with a beep while he was still deciding. Both lights went off, the up and the down. He could take this lift anywhere.

Troy stepped inside. He didn’t know where he wanted to go.

The lift closed. It waited on him patiently. Eventually, he figured, it would whisk off to heed some other call, pick up a person with purpose, someone with a destination. He could stand there and do nothing and let that other soul decide.

Running his finger across the buttons, he tried to remember what was on each level. There was a lot he’d memorised, but not everything he knew felt accessible. He had a sudden urge to head for one of the lounges and watch TV, just let the hours slide past until he finally needed to be somewhere. This was how the shift was supposed to go. Waiting and then doing. Sleeping and then waiting. Make it to dinner and then make it to bed. The end was always in sight. There was nothing to rebel against, just a routine.

The lift shook into motion. Troy jerked his hand away from the buttons and took a step back. It didn’t show where he was going but it felt as if it had started downwards.

Only a few floors passed before the lift lurched to a halt. The doors opened on a lower apartment level. A familiar face from the cafeteria, a man in reactor red, smiled as he stepped inside.

‘Morning,’ he said.

Troy nodded.

The man turned and jabbed one of the lower buttons, one of the reactor levels. He studied the otherwise blank array, turned and gave Troy a quizzical look.