Wool Omnibus Edition (Wool 1-5)

“Why, yes. And I think since we have such a fine candidate ready and willing to serve and already living in the up-top—”

“I’ll take your suggestion into account.” Jahns took the crisp contract from the table and conspicuously folded it in half, pinching the crease with her fingernails as she slid them down its length. She stuck the piece of paper in one of her folders while Bernard watched, horrified.

“And since you have no formal complaints about our first candidate, I will take this as tacit approval to speak with her about the job.” Jahns stood and grabbed her bag. She slid the folders into the outside pouch and secured the flap, then grabbed her walking stick from where it leaned against the conference table. “Thank you for seeing us.”

“Yes, but—” Bernard scooted away from the table and hurried after her as Jahns made for the door. Marnes got up and followed, smiling.

“What should I tell Peter? He’s of the assumption that he starts any time!”

“You should never have told him anything,” Jahns said. She stopped in the foyer and glared at Bernard. “I gave you my list in confidence. You betrayed that. Now, I appreciate all you do for the silo. You and I have a long and peaceable history working together, overseeing what might be the most prosperous age our people have known—”

“Which is why—” Bernard began.

“Which is why I’m forgiving this trespass,” Mayor Jahns said. “This is my job. My people. They elected me to make these kinds of decisions. So my deputy and I will be on our way. We will give our top choice a fair interview. And I will be sure to stop by on my way up in case there is anything to sign.”

Bernard spread his hands in defeat. “Very well,” he said. “I apologize. I only hoped to expedite the process. Now please, rest a little, you are our guests. Let me get you some food, maybe some fruit?”

“We’ll be on our way,” Jahns said.

“Fine.” He nodded. “But at least some water? Top up your canteens?”

Jahns remembered one of them was already empty, and they had a few more flights to go.

“That would be a kind gesture,” she said. She waved to Marnes, who turned so she could grab his canteen from his pack. Then she turned her back so he could grab hers as well. Bernard waved to one of his workers to come fetch them and fill them up, but the entire time, he had his eyes on this curious and intimate exchange.

4

They were almost down to the fifties before Jahns could think straight. She imagined she could feel the weight of Peter Billings’ contract in her pack. Marnes muttered his own complaints from a few steps behind, bitching about Bernard and trying to keep up, and Jahns realized she was fixated, now. The weariness in her thighs and calves had become compounded by the growing sense that this trip was more than a mistake: it was probably futile. A father who warns her that his daughter won’t accept. Pressure from IT to choose another. Now, each step of their descent could be taken with dread. Dread and yet a new certainty that Juliette was their man. This woman from Mechanical would be convinced to take the job, if only to show Bernard, if only to keep the arduous journey from becoming a total waste.

Jahns was old, had been Mayor a long time, partly because she got things done, partly because she prevented worse things from happening, but mostly because she made little turmoil. She felt like it was about time. Now, while she was old enough for it to not matter the consequences. She glanced back at Marnes and knew the same went for him. Their time was almost up. The best, the most important thing they could do for the silo, was to make sure their legacy endured. No uprisings. No abuses of power. It was why she ran unopposed the last few elections. But now she could sense that she was gliding to the finish while stronger and younger runners were preparing to overtake her. How many judges had she signed off on at Bernard’s request? And now the sheriff, too? How long before Bernard was mayor? Or worse: a puppet master with strings interwoven throughout the silo.

“Take it easy,” Marnes huffed.

Jahns realized she was going too fast. She slowed her pace.

“That bastard’s got you riled up,” he said.

“And you better be as well,” she hissed back at him.

“You’re passing the gardens.”

Jahns checked the landing number and saw that he was right. If she’d been paying attention, she would’ve noticed the smell. When the doors on the next landing flew open, a porter bearing sacks of fruit on each shoulder strode out, the scent of lush and wet vegetation accompanying him and overpowering her.

It was past dinner time, and the smell was intoxicating. The porter, even overburdened, saw that they were leaving the stairwell for the landing and held the door open with a planted foot as his arms bulged around the weight of the large sacks.

“Mayor,” he said, bowing his head and then nodding to Marnes as well.

Jahns thanked him. Most of the porters looked familiar to her, having seen them over and over as they delivered throughout the silo. But they never stayed in one place long enough for her to catch and remember a name, a normally keen skill of hers. She wondered, as she and Marnes entered the hydroponic farms, if the porters made it home every night to be with their families. Or did they even have families? Were they like the priests? She was too old and too curious not to know these things. But then, maybe it took a day on the stairwell to appreciate their job, to fully notice them. The porters were like the air she breathed, always there, always serving, so necessary as to be ubiquitous and taken for granted. But now the weariness of the climb had opened her senses fully to them. It was like a sudden drop in the oxygen, triggering her appreciation.

“Smell those oranges,” Marnes said, snapping Jahns out of her thoughts. He sniffed the air as they passed through the low garden gates. A staff member in green coveralls waved them through. “Bags here, Mayor,” he said, gesturing to a wall of cubbies sporadically occupied with shoulder bags and bundles.

Jahns complied, leaving her kit in one of the cubbies. Marnes pushed hers to the back and added his to the same one. Whether it was to save space or merely his habitual protectiveness, Jahns found the act as sweet as the air inside the gardens.

“We have reservations for the evening,” Jahns told the worker.

He nodded. “One flight down for the rooms. I believe they’re still getting yours ready. Are you here just for a visit or to eat?”

“A little of both.”

The young man smiled. “Well, by the time you’ve had a bite, your rooms should be available.”

Rooms, Jahns thought. She thanked the young man and followed Marnes into the garden network.

“How long since you were here?” she asked the Deputy.

“Wow. A while back. Four years or so?”

“That’s right.” Jahns laughed. “How could I forget? The heist of the century.”

“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” Marnes said.

At the end of the hallway, the twisting spiral of the hydroponic gardens diverted off both ways. This main tunnel snaked through two levels of the silo, curving maze-like all the way to the edges of the distant concrete walls. The constant sound of water dripping from the pipes was oddly soothing, the splatters echoing off the low ceiling. The tunnel was open on either side, revealing the bushy green of plants, vegetables, and small trees growing amid the lattice of white plastic pipes, twine strung everywhere to give the creeping vines and stems something to hold. Men and women with their young shadows tended to the plants, all in green coveralls. Sacks hung around their necks bulged with the day’s harvest, and the cutters in their hands clacked like little claws that were a biological part of them. The pruning was mesmerizingly adroit and effortless, the sort of task that only came from day after week after year of practice and repetition.

“Weren’t you the first one to suggest the thievery was an inside job?” Jahns asked, still laughing to herself. She and Marnes followed the signs pointing toward the tasting and dining halls.

“Are we really going to talk about this?”

“I don’t know why it’s embarrassing. You’ve got to laugh about it.”