Hugh Howey - Shift

Part of an old nursery rhyme. Beat your wings , Mission whispered silently, remembering the rest, a story about a young crow learning to be free.

He started to check the back for a real note, something beyond this fragment of a rhyme, when someone banged on the window again. Several of the other boys dropped their charcoals, visibly startled. One boy cursed under his breath. Mission whirled around to see Jeffery on the other side of the glass, a covered meal tray balanced on one palm, his bald head jerking impatiently.

Mission folded the letter up and stuffed it back in the envelope. He raised his hand over his head to let Jeffery know he’d be right there, licked one finger and ran it across the sticky paste, resealing the envelope as best he could. ‘Good luck,’ he told Bradley, even though he had no clue what the kid thought he was doing. He dragged his pack off the table, was careful to wipe away the chalk dust that had spilled, and hurried out of the conference room.

‘Let’s go,’ Jeffery said, clearly annoyed.

Mission hurried after him. He glanced back once at the window, then over at the noisy crowd jostling against the temporary barriers by the door. An IT tech approached the crowd with a computer, wires coiled neatly on top, and a woman reached out desperately from behind the barrier like a mother yearning for her baby.

‘Since when did people start bringing their own computers up?’ he asked, his profession having made him curious about how things got from there to here and back again. It felt as though this was yet another loop the porters were being cut out of. Roker would have a fit.

‘Yesterday. Wyck decided he wouldn’t be sending his techs out to fix them any more. Says it’s safer this way. People are being robbed out there and there’s not enough security to go around.’

They were waved through the gates and wound in silence through the hallways, every office full of clacking sounds or people arguing. Mission saw electrical parts and paper strewn everywhere. He wondered which office Rodny was in and why nobody else was having their food delivered. Maybe his friend was in trouble. That was it. That would make sense of everything. Maybe he had pulled one of his stunts. Did they have a holding cell on thirty-four? He didn’t think so. He was about to ask Jeffery if Rodny was in the pen when the old security guard stopped at an imposing steel door.

‘Here.’ He held the tray out to Mission, who stuck the letter between his lips and accepted it. Jeffery glanced back, blocked Mission’s view of the door’s keypad with his body and tapped in a code. A series of clunks sounded in the jamb of the heavy door. Fucking right, Rodny was in trouble. What kind of pen was this?

The door swung inward. Jeffery grabbed the tray and told Mission to wait there. Mission still had the taste of milk paste on his lips as he watched the Security chief step inside a room that seemed to go back quite a way. The lights in-side pulsed as if something was wrong, red warning lights like a fire alarm. Jeffery called out for Rodny while Mission tried to peek around the guard for a better look.

Rodny arrived a moment later, almost as if he were expecting them. His eyes widened when he saw Mission standing there. Mission fought to close his own mouth, which he could feel hanging open at the sight of his friend.

‘Hey.’ Rodny pulled open the heavy door a little further and glanced down the hallway. ‘What’re you doing here?’

‘Good to see you too,’ Mission said. He held out the letter. ‘The Crow sent this.’

‘Ah, official business.’ Rodny smiled. ‘You’re here as a porter, eh? Not a friend?’

Rodny smiled, but Mission could see that his friend was beat. He looked as if he hadn’t slept for days. His cheeks were sunk in, dark rings under his eyes, and there was the shadow of a beard on his chin. Hair that Rodny had once taken pains to keep in style had been chopped short. Mission glanced into the room, wondering what they had him doing in there. Tall black metal cabinets were all he could see. They stretched out of sight, neatly spaced.

‘You learning to fix refrigerators?’ Mission asked.

Rodny glanced over his shoulder. He laughed. ‘Those are computers.’ He still had that condescending tone. Mission nearly reminded his friend that today was his birthday, that they were the same age. Rodny was the only one he ever felt like reminding. Jeffery cleared his throat impatiently, seemed annoyed by the chatter.

Rodny turned to the Security chief. ‘You mind if we have a few seconds?’ he asked.

Jeffery shifted his weight, the stiff leather of his boots squeaking. ‘You know I can’t,’ he said. ‘I’ll probably get chewed out for allowing even this.’

‘You’re right.’ Rodny shook his head as if he shouldn’t have asked. Mission studied the exchange. Even though it had been months since he’d last seen him, he sensed that Rodny was the same as always. He was in trouble for something, probably being forced to do the most reviled task in all of IT for a brash thing he’d said or done. He smiled at the thought.

Rodny tensed suddenly, as though he’d heard something deep inside the room. He held up a finger to the others and asked them to wait there. ‘Just a second,’ he said, rushing off, bare feet slapping on the steel floors.

Jeffery crossed his arms and looked Mission up and down unhappily. ‘You two grow up down the hall from each other?’

‘Went to school together,’ Mission said. ‘So what did Rod do? You know, Mrs Crowe used to make us sweep the entire Nest and clean the blackboards if we cut up in class. We did our fair share of sweeping, the two of us.’

Jeffery appraised him for a moment. And then his expressionless face shattered into tooth and grin. ‘You think your friend is in trouble?’ he said. He seemed on the verge of laughing. ‘Son, you have no idea.’

Before Mission could question him, Rodny returned, smiling and breathless.

‘Sorry,’ he said to Jeffery. ‘I had to get that.’ He turned to Mission. ‘Thanks for coming by, man. Good to see you.’

That was it?

‘Good to see you too,’ Mission sputtered, surprised that their visit would be so brief. ‘Hey, don’t be a stranger.’ He went to give his old friend a hug, but Rodny stuck out a hand instead. Mission looked at it for a pause, confused, wondering if they’d grown apart so far, so fast.

‘Give my best to everyone,’ Rodny said, as if he expected never to see any of them again.

Jeffery cleared his throat, clearly annoyed and ready to go.

‘I will,’ Mission said, fighting to keep the sadness out of his voice. He accepted his friend’s hand. They shook like strangers, the smile on Rodny’s face quivering, the folds of the note hidden in his palm digging sharply into Mission’s hand.

IT WAS A miracle Mission didn’t drop the note as it was passed to him, a miracle that he knew something was amiss, to keep his mouth closed, to not stand there like a fool in front of Jeffery and say, ‘Hey, what’s this?’ Instead, he kept the wad of paper balled in his fist as he was escorted back to the security station. They were nearly there when someone called ‘Porter!’ from one of the offices.

Jeffery placed a hand on Mission’s chest, forcing him to a stop. They turned, and a familiar man strode down the hallway to meet them. It was Mr Wyck, the head of IT, familiar to most porters. The endless shuffle of broken and repaired computers kept the Upper Dispatch on ten as busy as Supply kept the Lower Dispatch on one-twenty. Mission gathered that may have changed since yesterday.