Shadows

by Peter Cawdron

  “Yes,” Charlie replied. “We could rig a swinging arm on each—”

  “Am I the only one that sees this as madness?” Hammond asked, looking at those around him. “The first time one of these loads comes loose and falls it'll kill someone. If a heavy enough load hits the stairs it could rip them out of the wall. There's a reason we do things the same way over and over again. Ours is a simple life, but a life of calculated efficiency and balance. There's nothing wrong with hard work. Sweat is a friend, keeps us fit and healthy.”

  “I—” Charlie began, but Hammond wasn't finished.

  “Hold your tongue before your elders! You're a goddamn shadow! You don't tell me what to do. You don't cast a shadow, you are the shadow! You listen. You learn. You copy. Know your place, young man.”

  “But—” Charlie tried.

  “I will not have you interrupt me, an elder of the silo! You have to earn the right to speak up through years of toil. One day you'll have that right, but not now. For now, you listen. Are we clear?”

  Susan swallowed the lump in her throat. Charlie looked down at his feet. Neither of them nodded or indicated any kind of acceptance of Hammond's fiery rant, and that must have enraged him even more as his voice grew in intensity.

  “You think you know all this stuff,” Hammond cried. “You don't know shit. This isn’t about lifting bags of barley between floors, this is about how the silo functions like a well-oiled machine. You can't just go changing one part without affecting another. And you don't think about that. You don't see the consequence of your actions.

  “Think of the lost wages for the porters carrying that barley. Think of the impact on their families and their standard of living. Think about the delays that will occur on the staircase because your damn machine is blocking two landings at once. If we start using some fancy contraption like this our society will shift and change in ways you can't predict.

  “And what are you going to say to the wife of the first man that dies in an accident involving this piece of junk? Are you going to stand there and tell her that change is good? What will you tell her children? That everything's OK because we've made life easy for a couple of dumb porters?

  “There's a reason we follow the Order. There's a reason we keep things the same, because that's what it takes to survive within the silo. Mark my words, no good will come from fancy tricks.”

  “But,” Charlie interjected, determined to have his say. “But we use technology in other ways to help us. We use computers in IT. We use pumps and generators in the Down Deep. How is this any different?”

  Hammond stepped in front of Charlie and raised his fist. For a split second, Susan thought he was going to hit him, but he stuck a finger barely an inch from his nose, pointing it at Charlie like a dagger. Specks of spittle caught in Hammond's beard.

  “I will not be lectured by a shadow,” he bellowed. “Do you hear me?”

  Gesturing toward the airlock, he added, “You will learn your place or you will leave this place, is that clear? Don’t ask. Don’t think. Don’t question. Just stay in the shadows!”

  Susan was shaking.

  Hammond turned to those around him, saying, “Dismantle this contraption and bring it down to IT, I want every goddamn nut and bolt in my office by dawn. This demonstration is finished, the discussion is over.”

  Hammond stormed off with Mayor Johns by his side.

  Sheriff Cann rested his hand on Charlie's shoulder, patting it gently before he turned and walked away into his office. He said something to Charlie, but Susan didn't catch the words. Several of the men in the crowd began dismantling the scaffolding. Charlie just stood there stunned.

  Susan took his hand, leading him over to one of the tables by the wall-screen. Charlie had tears running down his face, leaving wet tracks on his cheeks. Someone dimmed the lights. Susan sat there silently beside Charlie as he watched his pulley system being dismantled.

  “I only wanted to help,” he said softly.

  “I know.”

  Chapter 07: Trust

  There wasn't anything to talk about after the demonstration. Charlie and Susan sat there quietly for a few minutes before agreeing to call it a night. The walk down the stairs seemed longer than it ever had before. Charlie escorted Susan to her floor, gave her a quiet kiss on the cheek before leaving for his level.

  Susan crept into her apartment, not wanting to wake her parents. Her mother was up, sitting at the kitchen table sipping a warm cup of chicory. She was in her nightgown. A dim light from the kitchenette cast soft shadows around the room. Susan's father was asleep. She could hear him snoring behind the curtain.

  “I heard what happened,” her mother said gently. There was no condemnation in her voice. If anything, it sounded as though she understood the anguish Susan felt inside.

  Susan nodded her head, sitting down at the table, being careful not to scrape the chair on the floor.

  “Are you OK?”

  “Yeah,” Susan said with a sigh. “I'll be fine ... Charlie took it pretty hard.”

  “I bet ... Men always do ... I remember when your dad found that digger. He was so excited. He had so many ideas about what could be done with it. He was going to build a new silo, well, probably not a complete silo, but he thought we could double the size of our silo, get rid of the lottery for a while, build new levels, expand out to the side of the stairwell.”

  She sighed, adding, “And I thought was a great idea. We were going to change the world.”

  Susan hadn't noticed, but her mother had taken her hand and was holding her fingers gently. She had tears in her eyes.

  “He's going to need you. It will take some time for him to see. You've got to help him through.”

  Susan nodded, struggling to hold back her own tears.

  “Give him time,” her mother said, looking her in the eye. “Men want everything now. You've got to help him see past this and to the future.”

  Susan's head dropped. She felt a sense of conflict within. She loved Charlie. She loved his vision, his excitement, his passion, but her mother was right. Her mother had been there before. Susan knew she needed to listen to her.

  She got up slowly, saying, “Thanks Mom.”

  Morning came too soon. Susan felt as though her head had barely hit the pillow before her father was cooking up some grits for breakfast. He never was one for a fancy cafeteria breakfast of biscuits and gravy or scrambled eggs.

  Susan woke with a start. She had wanted to head up to the cafeteria before first light as she knew Charlie would be there, sitting alone in the darkness, and she felt guilty about not being there for him.

  Getting up, she tossed her hair, running her fingers through her long locks and looking for her hair-band. She couldn't remember where she'd left it, but it had her name etched on the inside. Someone would find it and return it to her, so she didn't worry about misplacing it. The silly thing was probably in the porter's office, she thought. For now, a hair-tie and a pony tail would have to do.

  “Morning sunshine,” her father said.

  She smiled. She loved being called sunshine. The world outside might have been poisonous, but the sun always rose, there was always a new day, and with a new day came new hope. She splashed water on her face, went to the bathroom, changed from her pajamas into some coveralls and grabbed an apple for breakfast.

  “What?” her father asked. “My cooking not good enough for you?”

  “It's not that, Dad,” she replied, kissing him on the cheek. “My caster strained her back on our haul to the Deep so we're on light duties today, staying in the Mids.”

  “And that means you can't eat a decent breakfast?” he asked.

  “No,” she replied. “That means I'm late for an early start.”

  Susan stepped out of the apartment feeling light and breezy. She was aware her feelings were a contradiction of all that had happened the night before, and she knew it was because of her mother's advice. Susan had struggled to know quite what to say to Charlie, but her m
other's words gave her direction. She no longer worried about Charlie. She saw the bigger picture, 'the long climb' as porters would say. She needed to convince him to look beyond the moment. Susan felt confident she could help him through this difficult time.

  As she closed the door behind her, she was shocked to see Charlie sitting in the hallway with his back against the wall. The narrow hallway was crowded, with people coming and going, all in a rush, all stepping over Charlie as he sat there sullen and morose. Her mother was right.

  “Charlie,” she said with genuine surprise.

  He got to his feet as someone bumped into her from behind.

  “What are you doing here?”

  They got caught up in the current, swept along until they found themselves on the landing by the great stairway. The smooth, flowing curve of the stairs stretched up above them, corkscrewing down below them as they stood by the railing looking over the edge into the vertigo-inducing Great Fall. Porters and builders, farmers and weavers scurried past, peeling off and either heading up to the factories or down to the fields.

  “How are you?” he asked, but Susan understood the reflective nature of his question.

  “Listen,” she said. “I've got to get to work ... Are you going to be OK?”

  “Yeah, I'm fine,” he said, his hand lingering on hers as she held onto the rail, feeling the pulse of boots on the stairs reverberating through the cold steel.

  “Charlie,” she said, her voice stiffening, preempting the sober words to come. “You've got to let this go.”

  “I can't, Sue.”

  “You have to. If you don't, it will eat you up.”

  “I can't turn my back on what I've seen,” he said, and she understood what he meant. He wasn't implying she was turning her back, but rather that his nature compelled him to do something about all he'd learned.

  “No one's asking you to,” she replied, suddenly realizing how poor her choice of words were. Hammond was, so was Mayor Johns from the look of things. She rephrased her comment. “I'm not asking you to, but you need to be patient. Change takes time. You can't change the silo overnight. I thought your pulley system was a great idea, but I can see what Hammond's saying, he's worried about the consequence of change.”

  “That's bullshit,” Charlie snapped.

  “Is it?” Susan asked, fighting to get him to make eye contact with her. “What would happen if someone died? With loads coming up the fall, people leaning over the railing and swinging weights back and forth, it's bound to happen. What then? Would you face the widow? Because that's what Mayor Johns and Sheriff Cann will have to do.”

  She sighed.

  “Charlie,” she pleaded, her voice rising in frustration. “It's a good idea. It's just too far, too soon. You've got to plant seeds. You've got to water the ground, pull the weeds, keep the grow-lights on. You can't have a harvest overnight.”

  He looked up from his bootlaces, looking her in the eye.

  “Please,” she said, looking deep into his dark brown eyes.

  Charlie nodded.

  “You can't do this overnight,” she added. “And you can't do it alone, but together we can make a difference, OK? But we need to take baby steps.”

  Charlie raised her hand to his lips, kissing gently at her fingers as he said, “I'm so thankful for you. If anything ever happened to you, I don't know what I do.”

  “Nothing's happening to me,” she reassured him. “Now go. You're late for work. I'm late for work.”

  Charlie started to move away. Looking back, he pointed at her saying, “Tonight? Up top?”

  Susan smiled, waving as she replied, “Tonight. Up top.”

  She waited until he disappeared into the swarm of people on the staircase and then she turned and headed down to the porter's station on thirty. Normally, she would have met Lisa at the main station on ten, but Lisa had sent word they were working the Mids.

  Traffic was bad on the stairs. It took her almost an hour to get to the station. Lisa was not impressed, that much was clear when Susan walked through the door.

  “Who is the caster?” Lisa asked.

  “You are,” Susan replied, catching her breath and avoiding eye contact.

  “Shadows are cast by an elder. If you're off on your own all the time, you're not a shadow. If you don't want to shadow, just say so.”

  Susan's head dropped.

  Lisa stepped up to her and placed her hand on Susan's shoulder, saying, “Boys?”

  Susan nodded.

  “Ha,” Lisa cried. “we'll, at least you've got a decent excuse and aren't whining about sleeping in.”

  “I slept in as well.”

  “Ha ha ha,” Lisa replied, smiling. “Well, you're honest, I'll give you chits for that. Don't make it a habit. OK?”

  “OK,” Susan replied. If only she could get chits for being honest, she'd be rich.

  “We've got IT today,” Lisa said, handing Susan an empty porting pack as they walked out the door. “There's a bunch of stuff they want brought to the porting station for distribution tomorrow. If we drag our feet and take plenty of breaks, should take us all day.”

  Susan smiled. She knew what Lisa was saying. Her caster was goading her. Neither Lisa nor Susan were slow about their tasks. They were well suited as caster and shadow as they both shared a drive to get things done.

  The stairs had cleared. Typical, she thought, and not more than a minute after she no longer needed them clear. Lisa skipped down the stairs. For someone with a sore back, she didn't show it.

  “I thought you were—”

  “Nah,” Lisa said, accurately guessing what Susan was referring to as she replied, “they're shifting the entire refit section of mechanical from 140 to 138. I didn't feel like spending the next four days Down Deep, especially as we'd just been there, so I elaborated on a slight twinge in my back, and slight might be overstating the injury a tad.”

  With Charlie in such a fragile state, Susan was glad to avoid a long run in the deep. She felt responsible for him, as though she owed him care and understanding.

  As they signed in to IT one of the guards recognized Susan. He was on the night Charlie brought her down to the hidden level. She could feel herself sweating. She felt like she was returning to the scene of a murder. He grinned, but didn't say anything when she looked swiftly away, with a mixture of embarrassment and guilt.

  “There's mail in dispatch,” another guard said, “along with a bunch of stuff for Down Deep in Hammond's office, but you don't need to port it there today. Mr. Hammond just wants it off the floor.”

  “It's OK for us to go into his office?” Lisa queried.

  Susan felt her heart skip a beat.

  “Sure. It's gonna take you a few loads to clear.”

  They were waved through the turnstile. In her mind's eye, Susan could see Charlie just ahead of her, grinning as they snuck into IT at night. Guilt hung over her.

  As they were escorted through the level, Susan looked out at the sea of heads sitting at the computer consoles stretching across the floor. For the life of her, she couldn't imagine what they all did. Nothing was computerized within the silo. Why did they need so many people? What were they working on?

  “You get the mail,” Lisa said. “I'll check out the haul from Hammond's office.”

  Susan stopped at the secretary's desk outside the meeting rooms near the back of the floor as Lisa and the guard walked on. She was shaking. She felt like a traitor, as though she'd done something violently wrong.

  “Can I help you?” the secretary asked, and Susan jumped.

  “Ah, I'm here for the mail,” she said, composing herself. Her eyes darted around, scanning the floor, looking to see if anyone was staring back at her. No one was, but she felt as though there were eyes upon her, as though someone were reading her thoughts, waiting for that soft voice inside her head to betray her.

  The secretary rummaged around in a large drawer under her desk. Susan peered around the corner. She could just make out the dark edge
of the server room. The door was open. The hum coming from within set her nerves on end. She could hear Hammond's voice as well as Barney's, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. Hammond, though, sounded angry.

  “Here you go,” the secretary said, handing Susan several bundles of letters. Susan slipped her pack off one shoulder, allowing it to slide around in front of her and packed the letters inside. Then she stood there, still trying to hear what Hammond was saying.

  “Is there something else?” the secretary asked.

  “No. No,” Susan replied, her eyes wide with fear. She swallowed the lump in her throat and started walking nervously back along the walkway that lead through the open plan floor. There were concrete pillars spaced every thirty feet. She expected someone to jump out from behind each one.

  Her senses were on edge. She could smell the crisp, zing of electronics, the damp, musty tinge from the air conditioning, the starch from the neatly ironed white coveralls of the workers sitting at their stations. Why was it so quiet? Why wasn't anyone talking? Someone dropped a pencil on a desk and she flinched. The sound seemed to be amplified. Behind her she could hear Hammond and Barney talking with the secretary. Suddenly, Hammond's voice rose.

  “Is that her?”

  Susan quickened her pace. Her palms were sweaty. Everyone seemed to be looking at her. Whether they were or not, she didn't know. She couldn't take her eyes off the end of the hallway. Her fingers were trembling. She grabbed at the straps of the pack over her shoulder as though she were bearing a heavy load and leaned forward, pushing on with the gait of a porter on a mission.

  “Hey,” came a cry from behind her, but she ignored it, lengthening her stride as she approached the security station. The guard tipped his hat and smiled. She couldn't smile back. She could hear footsteps behind her, running up after her.

  “Just a little further,” she muttered to herself, as though somehow clearing the security station would make any difference. Her thinking wasn't rational, and deep down she understood that, but somehow the other side of that barrier represented freedom. She was afraid. Susan had never known a fear like this, where the fine hairs on her arms bristled and flexed. She didn't even know what she was scared of as she hadn't done anything wrong, but that guard could identify her movements from a couple of days ago. Why was it wrong to look for answers? What was so bad about that? Why did she feel guilty for the pleasure of seeking knowledge?