5
• Silo 18 •
“—was the year the Civil War consumed the thirty-three states. More American lives were lost in this conflict than in all the subsequent ones combined, for any death was a death among kin. For four years, the land was ravaged, smoke clearing over battlefields of ruin to reveal brother heaped upon brother. More than half a million lives were lost. Some estimates range to almost twice that. Disease, hunger, and heartbreak ruled the life of man—”
The pages of the book flashed crimson just as Lukas was getting to the descriptions of the battlefields. He stopped reading and glanced up at the overhead lights. Their steady white had been replaced with the throbbing red, which meant someone was in the server room above him. He retrieved the loose silver thread curled up on the knee of his coveralls and laid it carefully into the spine of the book. Closing the old tome, he returned it to its tin case with care, then slid it into the gap on the bookshelf, completing the vast wall of silvery spines. Padding silently across the room, he bent down in front of the computer and shook the mouse to wake the screen.
A window popped up with live views of the servers, only distorted from such wide angles. It was another secret in a room overflowing with them, this ability to see distant places. Lukas searched through the cameras, wondering if it was Sammi or another tech coming to make a repair. His grumbling stomach, meanwhile, hoped it was someone bringing him lunch.
In camera four, he finally spotted his visitor: A short figure in gray coveralls sporting a mustache and glasses. He was slightly stooped, a tray in his hands dancing with silverware, a sloshing glass of water, and a covered plate, all of it partly supported by his protruding belly. Bernard glanced up at the camera as he walked by, his eyes piercing Lukas from a level away, a tight smile curling below his mustache.
Lukas left the computer and hurried down the hallway to get the hatch for him, his bare feet slapping softly on the cool steel grating. He scrambled up the ladder with practiced ease and slid the worn red locking handle to the side. Just as he lifted the grate, Bernard’s shadow threw the ladderway into darkness. The tray came to a clattering rest as Lukas shifted the section of flooring out of the way.
“I’m spoiling you today,” Bernard said. He sniffed and uncovered the plate. A fog of trapped steam billowed out of the metal hood—two stacks of pork ribs revealing themselves underneath.
“Wow.” Lukas felt his stomach rumble at the sight of the meat. He lifted himself out of the hatch and sat on the floor, feet dangling down by the ladder. He pulled the tray into his lap and picked up the silverware. “I thought we had the silo on strict rations, at least until the resistance was over.”
He cut a piece of tender meat free and popped it in his mouth. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.” He chewed and savored the rush of proteins, reminded himself to be thankful for the animal’s sacrifice.
“The rations haven’t been lifted,” Bernard said. He crouched down and waved at the plate. “We had a pocket of resistance flare up in the bazaar, and this poor guy found himself in the crossfire. I wasn’t about to let him go to waste. Most of the meat, of course, went to the wives and husbands of those we’ve lost—”
“Mmm?” Lukas swallowed. “How many?”
“Five, plus the three from that first attack.”
Lukas shook his head.
“It’s not bad, considering.” Bernard brushed his mustache with his hand and watched Lukas eat. Lukas gestured with his fork while he chewed, offering him some, but Bernard waved him away. The older man leaned back on the empty server that housed the uplink and the locking handle for the ladderway. Lukas tried not to react.
“So how long will I need to stay in here?” He tried to sound calm, like any answer would do. “It’s been three weeks, right?” He cut off another bite, ignoring the vegetables. “You think a few more days?”
Bernard rubbed his cheeks and ran his fingers up through his thinning hair. “I hope, but I don’t know. I’ve left it up to Sims, who’s convinced the threat isn’t over. Mechanical has themselves barricaded pretty good down there. They’ve threatened to cut the power, but I don’t think they will. I think they finally get that they don’t control the juice up here on our levels. They probably tried to cut it before they stormed in, and then were surprised to see us all lit up.”
“You don’t think they’ll cut the power to the farms, do you?” He was thinking of the rations, his fear of the silo being starved.
Bernard frowned. “Eventually. Maybe. If they get desperate enough. But that’ll just erode whatever support those greasers have up here. Don’t worry, they’ll get hungry enough and give in. It’s all going by the book.”
Lukas nodded and took a sip of water. The pork was the best he thought he’d ever had.
“Speaking of the book,” Bernard asked, “are you catching up with your studies?”
“Yeah,” Lukas lied. He nodded. In truth, he had hardly touched the book of Order. The more interesting details were found elsewhere.
“Good. When this annoyance is over, we’ll schedule you some extra shifts in the server room. You can spend that time shadowing. Once we reschedule the election, and I don’t think anyone else will run, especially not after all this, I’ll be up-top a lot more. IT will be yours to run.”
Lukas set down the glass and picked up the cloth napkin. He wiped his mouth and thought about this. “Well, I hope you’re not talking weeks from now. I feel like I’ve got years of—”
A buzzing noise cut him off. Lukas froze, the napkin falling out of his hand and flopping to the tray.
Bernard startled away from the server like it had physically shocked him, or as if its black metallic skin had grown suddenly warm.
“Goddammit!” he said, banging the server with his fist. He fumbled inside his coveralls for his master key.
Lukas forced himself to take a bite of food, to act normal. Bernard had grown more and more agitated by the constant ringing of the server. It made him irrational. It was like living with his father again, back before the tub-gin finally bore him a hole beneath the potatoes.
“I fucking swear,” Bernard grumbled, working the series of locks in sequence. He glanced over at Lukas, who slowly chewed a piece of meat, unable suddenly to even taste it.
“I’ve got a project for you,” he said, wiggling the last lock free—which Lukas knew could stick a bit. “I want you to add a panel on the back here, just a simple LED array. Figure out some code so we can see who’s calling us. I wanna know if it’s important or if we can safely ignore it.”
He yanked the back panel off the server and set it noisily against the front of server forty, behind him. Lukas took another sip of water while Bernard peered into the machine’s dark and cavernous interior, studying the blinking lights above the little communication jacks. The black guts of the server tower and its frantic buzzing drowned out Bernard’s whispered curses.
He pulled his head out, which was bright red with anger, and turned to Lukas, who set his cup on his tray. “In fact, what I want right here is two lights.” Bernard pointed to the side of the tower. “A red light if it’s silo 17 calling. Green if it’s anyone else. You got that?”
Lukas nodded. He looked down at his tray and started cutting a potato in half, thinking suddenly of his father. Bernard turned and grabbed the server’s rear panel.
“I can pop that back on.” Lukas mumbled this around a hot mouthful of potatoes; he breathed out steam to keep his tongue from burning, swallowed, and chased it with water.
Bernard left the panel where it was. He turned and glared angrily into the pit of the machine, which continued to buzz and buzz, the overhead lights winking in alarm. “Good idea,” he said. “Maybe you can knock this project out first thing.”
Finally, the server quit its frantic calls, and the room fell silent save for the clinking of Lukas’s fork on his plate. This was like the moments of rye-stench quiet from his youth. Soon—just like his father passing out on the kitchen floor or in the bathroom—Bernard would leave.
As if on cue, his caster and boss stood, the head of IT again throwing Lukas into darkness as he blocked the overhead lights.
“Enjoy your dinner,” he said. “I’ll have Peter come by later for the dishes.”
Lukas jabbed a row of beans with his fork. “Seriously? I thought this was lunch.” He popped them into his mouth.
“It’s after eight,” Bernard said. He adjusted his coveralls. “Oh, and I spoke with your mother today.”
Lukas set his fork down. “Yeah?”
“I reminded her that you were doing important work for the silo, but she really wants to see you. I’ve talked with Sims about allowing her in here—”
“Into the server room?”
“Just inside. So she can see that you’re okay. I’d set it up elsewhere, but Sims thinks it’s a bad idea. He’s not so sure how strong the allegiance is among the techs. He’s still trying to ferret out any source of leaks—”
Lukas scoffed. “Sims is paranoid. None of our techs are gonna side with those greasers. They’re not going to betray the silo, much less you.” He picked up a bone and picked the remaining meat with his teeth.
“Still, he has me convinced to keep you as safe as possible. I’ll let you know if I can set something up so you can see her.”
Bernard leaned forward and squeezed Lukas’s shoulder. “Thanks for being patient. I’m glad to have someone under me who understands how important this job is.”
“Oh, I understand completely,” Lukas said. “Anything for the silo.”
“Good.” Another squeeze of his hand, and Bernard stood. “Keep reading the Order. Especially the sections on insurrections and uprisings. I want you to learn from this one just in case, God forbid, it ever happens on your watch.”
“I will,” Lukas said. He set down the clean bone and wiped his fingers on the napkin. Bernard turned to go.
“Oh—” Bernard stopped and turned back to him. “I know you don’t need me to remind you, but under no circumstances are you to answer this server.” He jabbed his finger at the front of the machine. If his hand had been a gun like Peter Billings carried, Lukas could imagine him emptying it into the thing. “I haven’t cleared you with the other IT heads yet, so your position could be in…well, grave danger if you were to speak with any of them before the induction.”
“Are you kidding?” Lukas shook his head. “Like I want to talk with anyone who makes you nervous. No frickin’ thanks.”
Bernard smiled and wiped at his forehead. “You’re a good man, Lukas. I’m glad I’ve got you.”
“And I’m glad to serve,” Lukas said. He reached for another rib and smiled up at his caster while Bernard beamed down at him. Finally, the older man turned to go, his boots ringing across the steel grates and fading toward that massive door that held Lukas prisoner among the machines and all their secrets.
Lukas ate and listened as Bernard’s new code was keyed into the lock, a cadence of familiar but unknown beeps—a code Lukas no longer possessed.
For your own good, Bernard had told him. He chewed a piece of fat as the heavy door clanged shut, the red lights below his feet and down the ladderway blinking off.
Lukas dropped the bone onto his plate. He pushed the potatoes aside, fighting the urge to gag at the sight of them. Setting the tray on the grating, he pulled his feet out of the ladderway and moved to the back of the open and quiet server.
The headphones slid easily out of their pouch. He pulled them down over his ears, his palms brushing the three-week growth of beard on his face. Grabbing the cord, he slotted it into the jack labeled “17.”
There was a series of beeps as the call was placed. He imagined the buzzing on the other side, the flashing lights.
Lukas waited, unable to breathe.
“Hello?”
The voice sang in his earphones. Lukas smiled.
“Hey,” he said.
He sat down, leaned back against server 40, and got more comfortable.
“How’s everything going over there?”