Wool Omnibus Edition (Wool 1 - 5)

by Hugh Howey

  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?”

  6

  • Silo 18 •

  Walker waved his arms over his head as he attempted to explain his new theory for how the radio probably worked.

  “So the sound, these transmissions, they’re like ripples in the air, you see?” He chased the invisible voices with his fingers. Above him, the third large antenna he’d built in two days hung suspended from the rafters. “These ripples run up and down the wire, up and down—” He gesticulated the length of antenna. “—which is why longer is better. It snags more of them out of the air.”

  But if these ripples are everywhere, then why aren’t we catching any?

  Walker bobbed his head and wagged his finger in appreciation. It was a good question. A damn good question. “We’ll catch them this time,” he said. “We’re getting close.” He adjusted the new amplifier he’d built, one much more powerful than the tiny thing in Hank’s old hip radio. “Listen,” he said.

  A crackling hiss filled the room, like someone twisting fistfuls of plastic sheeting.

  I don’t hear it.

  “That’s because you aren’t being quiet. Listen.”

  There. It was faint, but a crunch of transmitted noise emerged from the hiss.

  I heard it!

  Walker nodded with pride. Less from the thing he was building and more for his bright understudy. He glanced at the door, made sure it was still closed. He only spoke with Scottie when it was closed.

  “What I don’t get is why I can’t make it clearer.” He scratched his chin. “Unless it’s because we’re too deep in the earth—”

  We’ve always been this deep, Scottie pointed out. That sheriff we met years ago, he was always talking on his radio just fine.

  Walker scratched the stubble on his cheek. His little shadow, as usual, had a good point.

  “Well, there is this one little circuit board I can’t figure out. I think it’s supposed to clean up the signal. Everything seems to pass through it.” Walker spun around on his stool to face the workbench, which had become dominated by all the green boards and colorful tangles of wires needed for this most singular project. He lowered his magnifier and peered at the board in question. He imagined Scottie leaning in for a closer inspection.

  What’s this sticker?

  Scottie pointed to the tiny dot of a white sticker with the number “18” printed on it. Walker was the one who had taught Scottie that it’s always okay to admit when you didn’t know something. If you couldn’t do this, you would never truly know anything.

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But you see how this little board slotted into the radio with ribbon cables?”

  Scottie nodded.

  “It’s like it was meant to be swapped out. Like maybe it burns up easy. I’m thinking this is the part that’s holding us up, like a blown fuse.”

  Can we bypass it?

  “Bypass it?” Walker wasn’t sure what he meant.

  Go around it. In case it’s burned out. Short it.

  “We might blow something else. I mean, it wouldn’t be in here if it weren’t truly needed.” Walker thought for a minute. He wanted to add th
at the same could be said of Scottie, of the boy’s calming voice. But then, he never was good at telling his shadow how he felt. Only what he knew.

  Well, that’s what I would try—

  There was a knock at the door followed by the squeal of hinges left purposefully loud. Scottie melted into the shadows beneath the workbench, his voice trailing off in the hiss of static from the speakers.

  “Walk, what the hell’s going on here?”

  He swiveled around on his stool, the lovely voice and harsh words soldered together as only Shirly could fuse them. She came into his workshop with a covered tray, a thin-lipped frown of disappointment on her face.

  Walker lowered the volume on the static. “I’m trying to fix the—”

  “No, what’s this nonsense I hear about you not eating?” She set the tray in front of him and pulled off the cover, releasing the steam off a plate of corn. “Did you eat your breakfast this morning, or did you give it to someone else?”

  “That’s too much,” he said, looking down at three or four rations of food.

  “Not when you’ve been giving yours away it isn’t.” She slapped a fork into his hand. “Eat. You’re about to fall out of your coveralls.”

  Walker stared at the corn. He stirred the food with his fork, but his stomach was cramped beyond hunger. He felt like he’d gone long enough that he’d never be hungry again. The cramp would just tighten and tighten into a little fist and then he’d be just fine forever—

  “Eat, dammit.”

  He blew on a bite of the stuff, had no desire to consume it, but put some in his mouth to make Shirly happy.

  “And I don’t want to hear that any of my men are hanging around your door sweet-talking you, okay? You are not to give them your rations. Got that? Take another bite.”

  Walker swallowed. He had to admit, the burn of the food felt good going down. He gathered up another small bite. “I’ll be sick if I eat all this,” he said.

  “And I’ll murder you if you don’t.”

  He glanced over at her, expecting to see her smiling. But Shirly didn’t smile anymore. Nobody did.

  “What the hell is that noise?” She turned and surveyed the workshop, hunting for the source of it.

  Walker set down his fork and adjusted the volume. The knob was soldered onto a series of resistors; the knob itself was called a potentiometer. He had a sudden impulse to explain all of this, anything to keep from eating. He could explain how he had figured out the amplifier, how the potentiometer was really just an adjustable resistor, how each little twist of the dial could hone the volume to whatever he—

  Walker stopped. He picked up his fork and stirred his corn. He could hear Scottie whispering from the shadows.

  “That’s better,” Shirly said, referring to the reduced hiss. “That’s a worse sound than the old generator used to make. Hell, if you can turn that down, why ever have it up so loud?”

  Walker took a bite. While he chewed, he set down his fork and grabbed his soldering iron from its stand. He rummaged in a small parts bin for another scrap potentiometer.

  “Hold these,” he told Shirly around his food. He showed her the wires hanging off the potentiometer and lined them up with the sharp silver prods from his multimeter.

  “If it means you’ll keep eating.” She pinched the wires and the prods together between her fingers and thumbs.

  Walker scooped up another bite, forgetting to blow on it. The corn burned his tongue. He swallowed without chewing, the fire melting its way through his chest. Shirly told him to slow down, to take it easy. He ignored her and twisted the knob of the potentiometer. The needle on his multimeter danced, letting him know the part was good.

  “Why don’t you take a break from this stuff and eat while I’m here to watch?” Shirly slid a stool away from the workbench and plopped down on it.

  “Because it’s too hot,” he said, waving his hand at his mouth. He grabbed a spool of solder and touched it to the tip of the hot soldering iron, coating it with bright silver. “I need you to hold the black wire to this.” He lightly touched the iron to the tiny leg of a resistor on the board labeled “18.” Shirly leaned over the bench and squinted at the one he was indicating.

  “And then you’ll finish your dinner?”

  “Swear.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him as if to say that she took this promise seriously, then did as he had shown her.

  Her hands weren’t as steady as Scottie’s, but he lowered his magnifier and made quick work of the connection. He showed her where the red wire went and tacked that one on as well. Even if none of this worked, he could always remove it and tinker with something else.

  “Now don’t let it get cold,” Shirly told him. “I know you won’t eat it if it cools, and I’m not going back to the mess hall to warm it up for you.”

  Walker stared at the little board with the numbered sticker on it. He grudgingly took up the fork and scooped a sizable bite.

  “How’re things out there?” he asked, blowing on the corn.

  “Things are shit,” Shirly said. “Jenkins and Harper are arguing over whether or not they should kill the power to the entire silo. But then some of the guys who were there, you know, when Knox and—”

  She looked away, left the sentence unfinished.

  Walker nodded and chewed his food.

  “Some of them say the power in IT was on to the max that morning, even though we had it shut down from here.”

  “Maybe it was rerouted,” Walker said. “Or battery backups. They have those, you know.” He took another bite, but was dying to spin the potentiometer. He was pretty sure the static had changed when he’d made the second connection.

  “I keep telling them it’ll do us more harm than good to screw with the silo like that. It’ll just turn the rest of them against us.”

  “Yeah. Hey, can you adjust this? You know, while I eat?”

  He turned the volume up on the static, needing two hands to work the loose knob as it dangled from its bright wires. Shirly seemed to shrink from the noise crackling out of his homebuilt speakers. She reached for the volume knob as if to turn it down—

  “No, I want you to spin the one we just installed.”

  “What the hell, Walk? Just eat your damn food already.”

  He took another bite. And for all her cussing and protests, Shirly began adjusting the knob.

  “Slowly,” he said around his food.

  And sure enough, the static from the speakers modulated. It was as if the crunching plastic had begun to move and bounce around the room.

  “What am I even doing?”

  “Helping an old man—”

  “—yeah, I might need you up here on this one—”

  Walker dropped his fork and held out his hand for her to stop. She had gone past it though, into the static once more. Shirly seemed to intuit this. She bit her lip and wiggled the knob the other way until the voices returned.

  “Sounds good. It’s quiet down here anyway. You need me to bring my kit?”

  “You did it,” Shirly whispered to Walker, as if these people could hear her if she spoke too loudly. “You fixed—”

  Walker held up his hand. The chatter continued.

  “Negative. You can leave the kit. Deputy Roberts is already here with hers. She’s sweeping for clues as I speak—”

  “What I’m doing is working while he does nothing!” a faint voice called out in the background.

  Walker turned to Shirly while laughter rolled through the radio, more than one person enjoying the joke. It had been a long time since he’d heard anyone laugh. But he wasn’t laughing. Walker felt his brows furrow in confusion.

  “What’s wrong?” Shirly asked. “We did it! We fixed it!” She got off her stool and turned as if to run and tell Jenkins.

  “Wait!” Walker wiped his beard with his palm and jabbed his fork toward the strewn collection of radio parts. Shirly stood a pace away, looking back at him, smiling.

  “Deputy Roberts?” Walk
er asked. “Who in all the levels is that?”

  7

  • Silo 17 •

  Juliette flicked the lights on in the Suit Lab as she hauled in her latest load from Supply. Unlike Solo, she didn’t take the constant source of power for granted. Not knowing where it came from made her nervous that it wouldn’t last. So while he had the habit, the compulsion even, of turning every light on to full and leaving it there, she tried to conserve the mysterious energy as much as possible.