Wool Omnibus Edition (Wool 1-5)

“Think of it as a goodwill mission,” she said, turning toward the door.

“I’m gonna think of it as a fact-finding raid,” Marnes muttered, following her.

••••

Unlike at the nursery, Jahns could tell that they would not be buzzed through and sent back into the mysterious depths of IT. While they waited to be seen, she watched as even a member of the staff, identifiable from their red coveralls, was patted down and searched just to leave the wing and exit toward the stairs. A man with a wand—like Terry, a member of IT’s own internal security detail—seemed to have the job of checking everyone who passed through the metal gates. The receptionist on the outside of the gates was deferent enough and seemed pleased to have the Mayor for a visit. She expressed her condolences for the recent cleaning, an odd thing to say but something Jahns wished she heard more often. They were shown to a small conference room attached to the main foyer, a place, she supposed, for meeting with various departments without putting them through the hassle of passing through security.

“Look at all this space,” Marnes whispered, once they were alone in the room together. “Did you see the size of that entrance hall?”

Jahns nodded. She looked around the ceiling and walls for some peephole, something to confirm the creepy sensation that she was being watched. She set her bag and walking stick down and collapsed wearily into one of the plush chairs. When it moved, she realized the thing was on wheels. Nicely oiled wheels.

“Always wanted to check this place out,” Marnes said. He peered through the glass window that looked back into the wide foyer. “Every time I’ve passed this place—and it’s only been a dozen times or so—I’ve been curious to see what’s inside.”

Jahns nearly asked him to stop talking, but worried that it would hurt his feelings.

“Boy, he’s coming in a hurry. Must be because of you.”

Jahns turned and looked out the window to see Bernard Holland heading their way. He disappeared from view as he approached the door, the handle flicked down, and the small man whose job it was to keep IT running smoothly strode into the room.

“Mayor.”

Bernard was all teeth, the front ones crooked. He reached for Jahns’ hand as she rose from the chair, the blasted thing nearly scooting out from underneath her as she pressed down on the arm rests.

“Careful,” Bernard said, grabbing her elbow to steady her. “Deputy.” He nodded toward Marnes while Jahns steadied herself. “It’s an honor to have you down. I know you don’t take these trips often.”

“Thanks for seeing us on short notice,” Jahns said.

“Of course. Please, make yourselves comfortable.” He swept his hand over the lacquered conference table. It was nicer than the one in the Mayor’s office, though Jahns assuaged herself by assuming it was shiny from being less frequently employed. She sat, approaching the chair warily, then reached into her bag and produced the set of files.

“Straight to business, as always,” Bernard said, sitting beside her. He pushed his glasses up his nose and glided forward on the chair until his plump little belly met the desk. “Always appreciated that about you. We are, as you can imagine with yesterday’s unfortunate events, as busy as ever. Lots of data to go through.”

“How’s that going?” Jahns asked, while she arranged the material in front of her.

“Some positives and negatives, as always. Readouts from some of the seal sensors showed improvement. Atmospheric levels of eight of the known toxins have declined, though not by much. Two have risen. Most have remained unchanged.” He waved his hand. “It’s a lot of boring technical stuff, but it’ll all be in my report. I should have it ported up before you get back to your office.”

“That’ll be fine,” Jahns said. She wanted to say something else, to acknowledge his department’s hard work, to let him know that another cleaning had been successful, God knew why. But it was Holston out there, the closest thing she’d ever had to a shadow, the only man she ever saw running for her office when she was dead and feeding the roots of the fruit trees. It was too soon to mention it, much less applaud it.

“I normally wire this sort of thing to you,” she said, “but since we were passing by, and you won’t be up for the next committee meeting for, what, another three months?”

“The years go fast,” Bernard said.

“I just figured we could informally agree to this now, so I could offer our best candidate the job.” She glanced up at Marnes. “Once she accepts, we can finish the paperwork on our way back up, if you don’t mind.” She slid the folder toward Bernard, and was surprised when he produced one of his own, rather than accept hers.

“Well, let’s go over this,” Bernard said. He opened his folder, licked his thumb, and flipped through a few pieces of high quality paper. “We were wired about your visit, but your list of candidates didn’t hit my desk until this morning. Otherwise, I would have tried to save you the trip down and back up.” He pulled out a piece of paper devoid of creases. It didn’t even look bleached. Jahns wondered where IT got such things while her office was held together with cornstarch paste. “I’m thinking, of the three names listed here, that Billings is our man.”

“We may consider him next—” Deputy Marnes started to say.

“I think we should consider him now.” He slid the paper toward Jahns. It was an acceptance contract. There were signatures at the bottom. One line was left blank, the Mayor’s name neatly printed underneath.

She had to catch her breath.

“You’ve already contacted Peter about this?”

“He accepted. The judge’s robe was going to be a little stifling for him, being so young and full of energy. I thought he was a fine choice for that role, but I think he’s an even better one now for the job of sheriff.”

Jahns remembered Peter’s nomination process. It had been one of the times she’d gone along with Bernard’s suggestion, seeing it as a trade for a future pick of her own. She studied the signature, Peter’s hand familiar from his various notes sent up on behalf of Judge Wilson. She imagined one of the porters who had flown past them on the steps that day, apologizing as they went, rushing this very piece of paper down.

“I’m afraid Peter is currently third on our list,” Mayor Jahns finally said. Her voice suddenly felt tired. It sounded frail and weak in the cavernous and wasteful space of that underused and outsized conference room. She looked up at Marnes, who was glaring at the contract, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

“Well, I think we both know Donald’s name is on this list for flattery. He’s too old for the job—”

“Younger than me,” Marnes spat. “I hold up just fine.”

Bernard tilted his head. “Yes, well, your first choice simply won’t do, I’m afraid.”

“And why is that?” Jahns asked.

“I’m not sure how… thorough your background check has been, but we’ve had enough problems with this candidate that I recognized her name. Even though she is from Maintenance.”

Bernard said this last word like it was full of nails and might gut him to spit it out.

“What kinda problem?” Marnes demanded to know.

Jahns shot the deputy a look of warning.

“Nothing we would have wanted to report, mind you.” Bernard turned to Marnes. There was venom in the small man’s eyes, a raw hatred for the Deputy, or perhaps for the star on his chest. “Nothing worth involving the law. But there have been some… creative requisitions from her office, items rerouted from our use, improper claims of priority and the like.” Bernard took a deep breath and folded his hands together on top of the folder in front of him. “I wouldn’t go as far as calling it stealing, per se, but we have filed complaints with Deagan Knox as head of Mechanical to inform him of these… irregularities.”

“That’s it?” Marnes growled. “Requisitions?”

Bernard frowned. He spread his hands on the folder. “That’s it? Have you been listening? The woman has practically stolen goods, has had items rerouted from my department. It’s not clear if these are even for silo use. They could be for personal gain. God knows, the woman uses more than her allowance of electricity. Maybe she trades for chits—”

“Is this a formal accusation?” Marnes asked. He made a show of pulling his pad from his pocket and clicking his mechanical pen.

“Ah, no. As I said, we would not want to trouble your office. But, as you can see, this is not the sort of person to enter a career in high law. It’s what I expect of a mechanic, to be honest, which is where, I’m afraid, this candidate should stay.” He patted the folder as if putting the issue to rest.

“That’s your suggestion,” Mayor Jahns said.