Hugh Howey - Shift

These were dangerous thoughts. They reminded him of his mother and where she had been sent seventeen years ago to the day.

Past the farms, Mission noted a hint of something burning further down the silo. The air was hazy, and there was the bitter tinge of smoke on the back of his tongue. A trash pile, maybe. Someone who didn’t want to pay the fee to have it ported to recycling. Or someone who didn’t think the silo would be around long enough to need to recycle.

It could be an accident, of course, but Mission doubted it. Nobody thought that way any more. He could see it on the faces of those on the stairwell. He could see by the way belongings were clutched, children sheltered, that the future of the silo hung in the balance. Last night’s fight seemed to prove it.

Mission adjusted his pack and hurried down to the IT levels on thirty-four. When he arrived, there was a crowd gathering on the landing. It was mostly boys his age or a little older, many that he recognised, a lot from the mids. Several stood with computers tucked under their arms, wires dangling, jostling with the throng. Mission picked his way through. Inside, he found a barrier had been set up just beyond the door. Two men from Security manned the temporary gate and allowed only crumpled IT workers through.

‘Delivery,’ Mission shouted. He worked his way to the front, carefully extracting the note Mrs Crowe had written. ‘Delivery for Officer Jeffery.’

One of the security men took the note. Mission was pressed against the barrier by the crush behind him. A woman was waved through. She hurried towards the proper security gate leading into the main hall, smoothing her overalls with obvious relief. There were crowds of young men being given instructions in one corner of the wide hall. They stood to attention in neat rank and file, but their wide eyes gave away their obvious fear.

‘What the hell is going on?’ Mission asked as the barrier was parted for him.

‘What the hell isn’t?’ one of the security guards answered. ‘Power spike last night took out a load of computers. Every one of our techs is pulling a double. There’s a fire down in Mechanical or something, and some kinda violence up in the farms. Did you get the wire?’

Mechanical. That was a long way away to nose a fire. And word was out about last night’s raid, making him self-conscious of the cut on his nose. ‘What wire?’ he asked.

The security guard pointed to the groups of boys. ‘We’re hiring. New techs.’

All Mission saw were young men, and the guy talking to them was with Security, not IT. The security guard handed the note back to Mission and pointed towards the main gate. The woman from earlier was already beeping her way through, a large and familiar bald head swivelling to watch her ass as she headed down the hall.

‘Sir?’ Mission called out as he approached the gate.

Jeffery turned his head, the deep wrinkles and folds of flesh disappearing from his neck.

‘Hmm? Oh—’ he snapped his fingers, trying to place the name.

‘Mission.’

He wagged his finger. ‘That’s right. You need to leave something with me, porter?’ He held out a palm but seemed disinterested.

Mission handed him the note. ‘Actually, I have orders from Mrs Crowe to deliver something in person.’ He pulled the sealed envelope with the crossed-out names from his courier pouch. ‘Just a letter, sir.’

The old guard glanced at the envelope, then continued reading the note addressed to him. ‘Rodny isn’t available.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t give you a timeframe, either. Could be weeks. You wanna leave it with me?’

Again, an outstretched palm, but this time with more interest. Mission pulled the envelope back warily. ‘I can’t. There’s no way I can just hand it to him? This is the Crow, man. If it were the mayor asking me, I’d say no problem.’

Jeffery smiled. ‘You were one of her boys too?’

Mission nodded. The head of Security looked past him at a man approaching the gate with his ID out. Mission stepped aside as the gentleman scanned his way through, nodding good morning to Jeffery.

‘Tell you what. I’m taking Rodny his lunch in a little bit. When I do, you can come with me, hand him the letter with me standing there, and I won’t have to worry about the Crow nipping my hide later. How’s that sound?’

Mission smiled. ‘Sounds good, man. I appreciate it.’

The officer pointed across the noisy entrance hall. ‘Why don’t you go grab yourself some water and hang in the conference room. There’s some boys in there filling out paperwork.’ Jeffery looked Mission up and down. ‘In fact, why don’t you fill out an application? We could use you.’

‘I… uh, don’t know much about computers,’ Mission said.

Jeffery shrugged as if that were irrelevant. ‘Suit yourself. One of the lads will be relieving me in a little bit. I’ll come get you.’

Mission thanked him again. He crossed the large entrance hall where neat columns and rows of young men listened to barked instructions. Another guard waved him inside the conference room while holding out a sheet of paper and a shard of charcoal. Mission saw that the back of the paper was blank and took it with no plan for filling it out. Half a chit right there in usable paper.

There were a few empty chairs around the wide table. He chose one. A number of boys scribbled with their charcoals on the pages, faces scrunched up in concentration. Mission sat with his back to the only window and placed his sack on the table, kept the letter in his hands. He slid the application inside his pack for future use and studied the Crow’s letter for the first time.

The envelope was old but addressed only a handful of times. One edge was worn tissue thin, a small tear revealing a folded piece of paper inside. Peering more closely, Mission saw that it was pulp paper, probably made in the Crow’s Nest by one of her kids — water and handfuls of torn paper blended up, pressed down on screens and left overnight to dry.

‘Mission,’ someone at the table hissed.

He looked up to see Bradley sitting across from him. The fellow porter had his blue ’chief tied around his biceps. Mission had thought he was running a regular route in the down deep.

‘You applying?’ Bradley hissed.

One of the other boys coughed into his fist as if he were asking for quiet. It looked as though Bradley was already done with his application.

Mission shook his head. There was a knock on the window behind him and he nearly dropped the letter as he whirled around. Jeffery stuck his head in the door. ‘Two minutes,’ the security guard said to Mission. He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. ‘I’m just waiting on his tray.’

Mission bobbed his head as the door was pulled shut. The other boys looked at him curiously.

‘Delivery,’ Mission explained to Bradley loud enough for the others to hear. He pulled his pack closer and hid the envelope behind it. The boys went back to their scribbling. Bradley frowned and watched the others.

Mission studied the envelope again. Two minutes. How long would he have with Rodny? He tickled the corner of the sealed flap. The milk paste the Crow had used didn’t stick very well to the months-old — maybe years-old — dried glue from before. He worked one corner loose without glancing down at the envelope. Instead, he watched Bradley as he disobeyed the third cardinal rule of porting, telling himself this was different, that this was two old friends talking and he was just in the room with them, overhearing.

Even so, his hands trembled as he pulled the letter out. He glanced down, keeping the note hidden. Purple and red string lay strewn in with the dark grey of cheap paper. The writing was in chalk. It meant the words had to be big. White powder gathered in the folds as it shivered loose from the words like dust falling from old pipes: