“Mayor,” he said, spreading his hands. “You honor us. Did you come for the elevens?”
Juliette checked the small watch she wore around her wrist. “This wasn’t the elevens?” she asked. She was making good time up the levels.
“It was the tens. We added another Sunday. The toppers come down for late service.”
Juliette wondered why those who lived up top would travel so far. She had timed her walk to miss the services entirely, which was probably a mistake. It would be smart for her to hear what was being said that so many found alluring.
“I’m afraid I can only stop for a quick visit,” she said. “I’ll catch a Sunday on my way back down?”
Wendel frowned. “And when might that be? I heard you were returning to the work God and his people chose you for.”
“A few weeks, probably. Long enough to get caught up.”
An acolyte emerged on the landing with an ornate wooden bowl. He showed Wendel its contents, and Juliette heard the chits shift against one another. The boy wore a brown cloak, and when he bowed to Wendel, she saw the center of his scalp had been shaved. When he turned to leave, Wendel grabbed the acolyte’s arm.
“Pay your respects to your mayor,” he said.
“Ma’am.” The acolyte bowed. His face showed no expression. Dark eyes under full and dark brows, his lips colorless. Juliette sensed that this young man spent little time outside of the church.
“You don’t have to ma’am me,” she told him politely. “Juliette.” She extended a hand.
“Remmy,” the boy said. A hand emerged from his cloak. Juliette accepted it.
“See to the pews,” Wendel said. “We have another service yet.”
Remmy bowed to both of them and shuffled away. Juliette felt pity for the boy, but she wasn’t sure why. Wendel peered across the landing and seemed to listen for approaching traffic. Holding the door, he waved Juliette inside. “Come,” he said. “Top up your canteen. I’ll bless your journey.”
Juliette shook her canteen, which sloshed nearly empty. “Thank you,” she said. She followed him inside.
Wendel led her past the reception hall and waved her into the lower chapel, where she’d attended a few Sundays years prior. Remmy busied himself among the rows of benches and chairs, replacing pillows and laying out announcements handwritten on narrow strips of cheap paper. She caught him watching her as he worked.
“The gods miss you,” Father Wendel said, letting her know that he was aware how long it’d been since she’d attended a Sunday. The chapel had expanded since she last remembered it. There was the heady and expensive smell of sawdust, of newly shaped wood made from claimed doors and other ancient timbers. She rested her hand on a pew that must’ve been worth a fortune.
“Well, the gods know where to find me,” she answered, taking her hand off the pew. She smiled as she said this, meant it lightly, but saw a flash of disappointment on the father’s face.
“I sometimes wonder if you aren’t hiding from them as best you can,” he said. Father Wendel nodded toward the stained glass behind the altar. The lights behind the glass were full-bright, shards of color thrown against the floor and ceiling. “I read your announcements for every birth and every death up there in my pulpit, and I see in them that you give credit in all things to the gods.”
Juliette wanted to say that she didn’t even write those announcements. They were written for her.
“But I sometimes wonder if you even believe in the gods, the way you take their rules so lightly.”
“I believe in the gods,” Juliette said, her temper stoked by this accusation. “I believe in the gods who created this silo. I do. And all the other silos—”
Wendel flinched. “Blasphemy,” he whispered, his eyes wide as if her words could kill. He threw a look at Remmy, who bowed and moved toward the hall.
“Yes, blasphemy,” Juliette said. “But I believe the gods made the towers beyond the hills and that they left us a way to discover, a way out of here. We have uncovered a tool in the depths of this silo, Father Wendel. A digging machine that could take us to new places. I know you disapprove, but I believe the gods gave us this tool, and I mean to use it.”
“This digger of yours is the devil’s work, and it lies in the devil’s deep,” Wendel said. The kindness had left his face. He patted his forehead with a square of fine cloth. “There are no gods like those you speak of, only demons.”
This was his sermon, Juliette saw. She was getting his elevens. The people came far to hear this.
She took a step closer. Her skin was warm with anger. “There may be demons among my gods,” she agreed, speaking his tongue. “The gods I believe in … the gods I worship were the men and women who built this place and more like it. They built this place to protect us from the world they destroyed. They were gods and demons, both. But they left us space for redemption. They meant us to be free, Father, and they gave us the means.” She pointed to her temple. “They gave me the means right here. And they left us a digger. They did. There is nothing blasphemous about using it. And I’ve seen the other silos that you continue to doubt. I’ve been there.”
Wendel took another step back. He rubbed the cross hanging around his neck, and Juliette caught Remmy peeking around the edge of the door, his dark brows casting shadows over his dark eyes.
“We should use all the tools the gods gave us,” Juliette said. “Except for the one you wield, this power to make others fear.”
“Me?” Father Wendel pressed one palm to his chest. With his other hand, he pointed at her. “You are the one spreading fear.” He swept his hand at the pews and beyond to the tight rows of mismatched chairs, crates, and buckets at the back of the room. “They crowd in here three Sundays a day to wring their hands over the devil’s work you do. Children can’t sleep at night for fear that you’ll kill us all.”
Juliette opened her mouth, but the words would not come. She thought of the looks on the stairwell, thought of that mother pulling her child close, people she knew who no longer said hello. “I could show you books,” she said softly, thinking of the shelves that held the Legacy. “I could show you books, and then you’d see.”
“There’s only one book worth knowing,” Wendel said. His eyes darted to the large, ornate tome with its gilded edges that sat on a podium by the pulpit, that sat under a cage of bent steel. Juliette remembered lessons from that book. She’d seen its pages with those occasional and cryptic sentences peeking out amid bars of censored black. She also noticed the way the podium was welded to the steel decking, and not expertly. Fat puckers of paranoid welds. The same gods expected to keep men and women safe couldn’t be trusted to look after one book.
“I should leave you to get ready for your elevens,” she said, feeling sorry for her outburst.
Wendel uncrossed his arms. She could sense that they had both gone too far and that both knew it. She had hoped to allay doubts and had only worsened them.
“I wish you’d stay,” Wendel told her. “At least fill your canteen.”
She reached behind her back and unclipped the canteen. Remmy returned with a swish of his heavy brown cloaks, the shaved circle on his head glimmering with perspiration. “I will, Father,” Juliette said. “Thank you.”
Wendel nodded. He waved to Remmy and said nothing else to her as his acolyte drew water from the chapel fountain. Not a word. His earlier promise to bless her journey had gone forgotten.
10
Juliette participated in a ceremonial planting at the mids farm, had a late lunch, and continued her laconic pace up the silo. By the time she reached the thirties, the lights were beginning to dim, and she found herself looking forward to a familiar bed.
Lukas was waiting for her on the landing. He smiled a greeting and insisted on taking her shoulder bag, however light.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” she said. But in truth, she found it sweet.
“I just got here,” he insisted. “A porter told me you were getting close.”
Juliette remembered the young girl in light blue coveralls who’d overtaken her in the forties. It was easy to forget that Lukas had eyes and ears everywhere. He held the door open, and Juliette entered a level packed with conflicting memories and feelings. Here was where Knox had died. Here was where Mayor Jahns had been poisoned. Here was where she had been doomed to clean and where doctors had patched her back up.
She glanced toward the conference room and remembered being told that she was mayor. That was where she had suggested to Peter and Lukas that they tell everyone the truth: that they were not alone in the world. She still thought it a good idea, despite their protestations. But maybe it was better to show people rather than tell them. She imagined families taking a grand journey to the Down Deep the way they used to hike up to gaze at the wallscreen. They would travel to her world, thousands of people who had never been, who had no idea what the machines that kept them alive looked like. They would travel down to Mechanical so that they could then pass through a tunnel and see this other silo. On the way, they might marvel at the main generator that now hummed, perfectly balanced. They could marvel at the hole in the ground her friends had made. And then they could contemplate the thrill of filling an empty world so very much like their own, remaking it how they saw fit.
The security gate beeped as Lukas scanned his pass, and Juliette returned from her daydreams. The guard behind the gate waved at her, and Juliette waved back. Beyond him, the halls of IT sat quiet and empty. Most of the workers had gone home for the night. With no one there, Juliette was reminded of Silo 17. She imagined Solo walking around the corner, half a loaf of bread in his hand, crumbs caught in his beard, a happy grin on his face as he spotted her. That hall looked just like this hall, except for the busted light that dangled from its wires in Silo 17.
These two sets of memories jumbled in her head as she followed Lukas back to his private residence. Two worlds with the same layout, two lives lived, one here and one there. The weeks spent with Solo felt like an entire lifetime, such was the bond that formed between two people under strain. Elise might dart out of that office where the kids had set up their home and cling to Juliette’s leg. The twins would be arguing over found spoils around the bend. Rickson and Hannah would be stealing a kiss in the dark and whispering of another child.
“—but only if you agree.”
Juliette turned to Lukas. “What? Oh, yes. That’s fine.”
“You didn’t hear a word of that, did you?” They reached his door, and he scanned his badge. “It’s like you’re off in another world sometimes.”
Juliette heard concern in his voice, not anger. She took her bag from him and stepped inside. Lukas turned on the lights and threw his ID on the dresser by the bed. “You feeling okay?” he asked.
“Just tired from the climb.” Juliette sat on the edge of the bed and untied her laces. She worked her boots off and left them in their usual place. Lukas’s apartment was like a second home, familiar and cozy. Her own apartment on level six was a foreign land. She had seen it twice but had never spent a night there. To do so would be to fully accept her role as mayor.
“I was thinking about having a late dinner delivered.” Lukas rummaged in his closet and brought out the soft cloth robe that Juliette loved to pull on after a hot shower. He hung it from the hook on the bathroom door. “Do you want me to run you a bath?”
Juliette took a heavy breath. “I reek, don’t I?” She sniffed the back of her hand and tried to nose the grease. There was the acidic hint of her cutting torch, the spice of exhaust fumes from the digger – a perfume as tattooed on her flesh as the markings oilmen cut and inked into their arms. All this, despite the fact that she had showered before she left Mechanical.
“No—” Lukas appeared hurt. “I just thought you’d enjoy a bath.”
“In the morning, maybe. And I might skip dinner. I’ve been snacking all day.” She smoothed the sheets beside her. Lukas smiled and sat down next to her on the bed. His face bore an expectant grin, that glow in his eyes she saw after they made love – but the look dissipated with her next words: “We need to talk.”
His face fell. His shoulders sagged. “We’re not going to register, are we?”
Juliette seized his hand. “No, that’s not it. Of course we are. Of course.” She pressed his hand to her chest, remembering a love that she’d kept hidden from the Pact once before and how that had wrenched her in half. She would never make that mistake again. “It’s about the digging,” she said.
Lukas took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then laughed. “Only that,” he said, smiling. “Amazing that your digging could come as the lesser of two harms.”
“I have something else I want to do that you aren’t going to like.”
He raised an eyebrow. “If this is about trying to spread news of the other silos, about telling people what’s out there, you know where Peter and I stand on that. I don’t think those words are safe. People won’t believe you, and those who do will want to cause trouble.”
Juliette thought of Father Wendel and how people could believe amazing things crafted from mere words, how beliefs could form from books. But perhaps they had to want to believe those things. And maybe Lukas was right that not everyone would want to believe the truth.
“I’m not going to tell them anything,” she told Lukas. “I want to show them. There’s something I want to do up top, but it requires help from you and your department. I’m going to need some of your men.”