by Ann Christy
As the deputy held the box toward the Mayor to be unlocked, the atmosphere grew palpably thick, like she could taste the anticipation seeping out of the pores of everyone around her. There was nothing more that she could do to influence anything at this point, but she still felt the tension build inside. A new bead of sweat broke free and trickled down her back, almost making her shiver. It was unbearable. She wanted to reach forward and simply snatch a route number out and get it over with.
Greg must have sensed this, standing as he was to her side the same way Zara stood for Leo. She felt his hand reach out, warm and calming, to touch her back just above the waist. No one could see it and his face remained impassive when she glanced back, but the touch did the trick and she let out the breath she had been holding inside.
The Mayor produced a small key from a cord around his neck and the click of the lock opening was almost lost in the sound of so many people breathing in one spot. He pocketed the lock and then lifted the lid, removing the jar and raising it for everyone to see. Folded blue slips of paper inside fluttered as the jar was raised and passed in front of the assembled crowd.
No one would be able to tell how many papers were in the jar. Nor could they discern whether or not all 99 routes were included inside. For all anyone knew there were just 99 slips of paper with the same number written on each. The passing of the jar in front of the crowd was a part of the lottery ritual and their acceptance of the pass was their affirmation of trust in the Mayor and all the leadership of the silo. Anyone could have challenged the jar and a count of the papers and the numbers on them would have been required. No one did.
Genet had started to bounce a little on her steps as the Mayor did his thing, but she stopped in mid-bounce when he turned to her. He smiled at her in that warm way he had and held out the jar to her. “Here you go, Genet.”
He said it like he was passing her a plate at dinner or returning a dropped kerchief. It was exactly the right tone to take. Genet, with a natural flair for drama, made a great show of swirling her hand around in the jar while grinning at the crowd. She drew out the slip and Lillian couldn’t help but crane her neck and try to glimpse what was written on it, but there was nothing to see from where she was. She heard Leo’s sharp inhale and knew he felt the same as she.
The Mayor accepted the blue paper and opened it without any further fanfare. He held it up between his fingers so that the number could be seen by those in the front of the crowd and called out, “Eleven!”
Lillian looked at Leo to see if he knew anything about that route because she certainly didn’t. His expression told her he didn’t and they both looked to the trainers. Their expressions were closed. They would have to wait. She sighed as she faced forward again.
Her eye was drawn to some irregular movement in the sea of heads toward the middle of the crowd. Whereas most were leaning forward or content to stand at their spots, there was a ripple of movement as people repositioned themselves. She nudged Leo with her elbow and jerked her head in the direction of the movement.
He rose up on his toes for a moment and looked, then whispered, “That looks like those betting guys we saw before.”
Lillian nodded, recognizing the tall man and his shiny bald head now. “I bet he knows the route.”
Leo huffed and said, “He probably knows all the routes that have ever been drawn. I wonder what it means that he’s leaving like that.”
“Well. I think we can safely say that it is either good, bad or that it doesn’t matter.”
Fourteen
It took forever for the landing on 72, and the adjoining levels where the crowd had spilled, to clear enough for them to take their leave. While the procedure for leaving the area was supposed to allow the racing team and the various council members to leave first, in practice that isn’t what ever happened. People used this occasion to get some face time with the council members or visit with friends and family that came from far away. Added to that was the sheer volume of people that needed to clear the spaces above and below.
Lillian was shuffled to the side of the space along with all the rest of the racing team to clear as much space as possible. Some of the others who had been on the dais clustered around the outside of their little group to keep people away from the racers. Still others stepped forward and started the quick process of breaking down the dais into easily portable pieces. It took no more than a few minutes for it to appear as if it had never been there. Even the bunting that had been draped so artfully around it was gone, swept up into a trailing armful and bagged for transport to wherever it was stored between events.
Greg and Zara pulled her and Leo into a little huddle and she felt her stomach give a lurch. The race route was as important to winning as the racer because everyone had their own talents. Vertical routes that went over many levels were a far different thing than routes that took advantage of long stretches along the outer edge of some of the levels. Greg was smiling. That was good.
“Alright, you two. Let’s put you out of your misery,” Zara said, her face a little shiny from the heat of so many people pressed in one spot. She pulled out the little book she always carried in her pocket and Greg mimicked the motion. Those were their race books. Lillian didn’t have one yet, but she had a collection of papers where she had written down the routes of the races she had watched in her lifetime. No doubt she would have one of those little books in the future.
Both trainers flipped through their books, Greg finishing first. He grinned again as he read the page he stopped at. That could only mean it was a good route for her. She stole a quick glance at Leo. The set line of his mouth meant he thought the same so she bumped him with her arm and smiled her encouragement. He bumped her back though his smile looked strained. Greg and Zara compared notes, then he said, “Eleven is near the up top and goes over four levels.”
Lillian’s heart soared at that news. A four level race was considered a vertical one and anything near the up top had fewer straightaways unless it was near the residence levels that had long passageways and their border runs near the edge. She could feel Leo shrink a little next to her but she felt him brace up just as quickly. He had that knack for taking in information and then pushing it aside before it could mess with his mindset. She envied him that.
Zara winked at Leo and added, “Not to worry. This race is going to challenge both of you. It does go up four levels but it also takes two outer perimeter runs on Levels 5 and 6. It does have some agility sprints on Levels 7 and 8, but on the plus side, it is a downward vertical run.”
That surprised Lilian and she saw that Leo felt the same. She’d never seen a race that had the main vertical elements in a downward direction. They were always climbs. Then again, she had only watched half a dozen races in her life so she didn’t have a huge sample size. How would that change things for her? Would it let her keep her advantage? She found herself clenching her fists in the pockets of her coveralls and her shoulders drew up tight like she was already starting her run, even if only in her mind.
Greg reached out and gave her shoulder a squeeze, exactly where the muscles bunched together, so she took a deep breath and tried to release all the tension she was holding in. He let go and his arm dropped back to his side as if he had done nothing, his focus still on the other pair. Zara closed her little book with a sigh and crammed it back into her breast pocket. Her eyes moved about like she was visualizing the run in her mind and she muttered little disconnected bits of information about the route as she thought of them.
Bedie interrupted their talk when the landing had cleared some. It was a far more subdued group that left to make the long climb upward.
Fifteen
As soon as they returned to the training level and had a meal, they were called into one of the rooms and treated to an astonishing sight. There were no furnishings in the room at all aside from racks of shelves around the perimeter and a table in the middle of the room. On the table was a model—or a partial model—of what could only be th
e silo. A metal frame held it and tall metal bars where more levels could be stacked inside the frame rose almost to the ceiling.
Lillian went directly for it but was stopped by a sharp word from Zara, who motioned both racers toward the only bare spot of wall, next to the door. She backed up against it next to Leo. Next to her the tall shelves started their procession around the room and she could see the contents between the metal supports. Each deep shelf seemed to hold a section of each level, rendered in tiny detail. Lillian leaned closer, so she could see more of the model, but Greg stopped her with a word and shook his head. It was with reluctance that she slid back toward Leo along the smooth concrete of the wall.
Both trainers looked strange under the very bright lights in the confines of this room. Perhaps it was the gray walls or the dull floor, but their skin had a gray cast to it and their eyes were dark hollows under the light from above. It was unsettling to see them like that, with their faces so different. When Greg looked up at the runners and the shadows changed, exposing his eyes and highlighting the planes of his cheeks, she felt better. Suddenly, he was familiar again. The curve of his smile was once more his.
“Okay, guys, come on over here but don’t touch anything. And by that, I mean you, Lillian.” At that last, Leo chuckled so she gave him a sour look. The warning worked though, because she shoved her hands in her pockets as she walked around the table to join the trainers. Zara let them come through to stand directly beside the table for the best view of the model and Lillian shoved her hands deeper into her pockets. She wanted to reach out and touch the huge model so badly her fingers itched. She’d always been that way, needing to touch things and not just look at them.
Zara stepped to the side and waved a hand over the table and then around the room to include the shelves in her wave. “This is the model of your run and those are all the other levels of the silo. You can see there is a lot of it and yes, it is the entire silo, though you couldn’t put it together in this room completely because it would be too tall.”
She pointed toward the open top of the uppermost level nested on the table— the tiny rooms and passageways all rendered in perfect miniature—and swirled her finger about in a circle while she explained. “You’ve seen the model in the Memoriam, no doubt, but this is different. It is as close to a perfect model as we have. It was meant to go in the Memoriam, but all the detail is missed when it is stacked, so a better use has been found for it.”
When she peered closer at the area where Zara’s finger had made its tiny circles, she saw the red thread snaking through the level outlining their route. On the real route, red signs posted the way for the runners and she had always assumed that they were just told the route, or maybe they walked it before the race or something like that. This was so much better. It was like being a huge bug and flying above it. It gave a whole new perspective. There were even tiny clusters of people, carved in groups from a single piece, at some of the points to show places where the crowds would congregate.
Lillian pointed to one of the little people clusters and whispered to Leo, “That looks like your mom and I think she is pissed off.” The one she pointed to had a mere suggestion of a face, but it was leaning forward with both arms in the air.
Leo gave her a little laugh and snapped back with, “Yeah, she’s pissed you just fell down and I didn’t stop to help you up.”
“Settle down, you two,” Zara instructed with an exasperated shake of her head. “I swear you both need your head’s examined.” To Greg, she added, “Remind me to let the council know that they should never pick close relatives for the same race ever again, will you?” It was only half a joke and both racers settled down after that.
When she had their attention, Zara leaned over the edge of the table. She pointed at the landing space in the top level of the model. “This is where you’ll start the race. Crowds will be here and here. It will be loud so you’ll need to really focus because if you let it distract you it will carry on throughout the run. It’s much harder to get back your concentration once it’s lost.”
Greg broke in, motioned with a finger along the path of the first turn, down a residence main passageway and toward the edge of the silo. “Find a spot to focus on rather than look around. You’ve got a good one for this route because all you have to do is get to this entry and the crowds will be gone. Just focus on that and forget everything else.”
Lillian nodded and could see Leo’s matching nod out of the corner of her eye. She tried to put herself on that landing, one she wasn’t particularly familiar with, and see the distance to that first turn when she was there.
After giving them a moment to consider the path, Zara drew a path with her finger along the outer edge of the silo. “The route goes along four sectors and then comes back up this passageway. These are all good, straight runs.” Lillian knew that last was for Leo’s benefit since he could beat her on any straight run.
Greg moved to the other side of the table and took over from there. “Here’s where it gets tricky. Once you get back to the landing you’re going to need to thread the needle through the crowd to the stairs.” His finger traced a wavering path through what should be the open space of the landing, but was instead a tight trail between stanchions. Crowds had to stay behind those lines, but runners always stayed as close to the center as possible to avoid anyone that might reach in at them.
The stairs of the model were rendered in less perfect detail, all a perfectly even gray so dark it was almost black instead of their mottled individuality. The red thread was anchored in place along the circle of stairs and disappeared. Zara cranked a handle on the frame that held the sections and the top level began to lift. She kept cranking until the level rose above their heads with little ratcheting noises. Lillian peered up at the shaded underside and saw a mish mash of wires and tabs where the parts of the level were anchored. Someone, or perhaps many someones, had spent a whole lot of time creating this work of art. She thought it was a shame that it turned to be too big and too nice for its original purpose.
The newly revealed level was a little in shadow since the upper level blocked some light from directly above, and they all moved a bit to allow more light to reach in. Level 6 was almost a duplicate of the one above with residences taking up most of the level. This time, both Lillian and Leo took out pieces of scrap paper and made notes. How well they paid attention might mean the difference between winning and a trip outside and losing that chance forever.
Sixteen
Her mother was surprisingly well behaved during their visit before the race. Lillian didn’t know if she was surprised in a good way or a bad way by that. Her mother had every reason for not wanting her daughter to compete and Lillian tried to be mindful of that. The pain of losing a young husband to the outside, without even the comfort of knowing his body and soul would join with the silo to nourish future generations, was a terrible one. It was both natural and expected that she would be whole-heartedly against Lillian, or Leo for that matter, trying to do the same. It seemed she had accepted it because she was pleasant and supportive, adding to the conversation with a smile on her lips and laughter in her voice.
Lillian half expected there to be a knock on her door that night from her mother wanting to spend just a little more time with her, perhaps holding hair pins again, but there was nothing. It actually made it harder to sleep so eventually she slipped out of bed, scuffed into her slippers and wrapped up in her coverlet. She eased open her door and made her way toward the guest rooms where the families had been berthed, moving as quietly as possible. No one was up that she saw, but there was a light visible under her mother’s door so she knocked softly.
Her mother’s face was so pulled into lines of worry and strain that Lillian felt her heart would melt. She let herself be folded into her arms and Lillian wrapped them both in the warmth of the coverlet so they had a small space that belonged only to them. A single spot in the world that belonged only to her mother and herself.
When R
uby released Lillian and pushed her back to arm’s length, Lillian shivered as the cool air of the room took her mother’s place.
“I’ll be okay, honey. You know how it is with me and this race.”
Lillian nodded and gathered both ends of her coverlet in one hand at her throat, then reached for her mother’s hand with the now free one. She squeezed the fingers, trying to push her love and understanding through to her in that squeeze. “I know, Mom. But you understand, right?”
Ruby took a deep breath and let it out like a sigh. “I do. I really do. You’re so much like him. He had that same desire burning inside him and I knew it even when we first met. It’s like a thirst that nothing can quench except the exact thing you’re yearning for.” She gave Lillian a sad smile. “I just never expected to lose him and I can’t bear the thought of losing you the same way.”
She knew that if she were a good daughter, she would tell her mother that if she really wanted her too, she would withdraw or lose the race on purpose. She wanted to be that good daughter, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. Even if she did offer, she knew that it might not actually be in her to withdraw or lose, even under the pressure of a promise. That would be worse.
Ruby almost seemed to know what she was thinking because she let her hand go and reached up to tuck Lillian’s mussed hair behind her ears. She smoothed the worry lines from her brow with a gentle finger and said, “I know. I know. If you could, you would. “
Tears stung Lillian’s eyes at the kindness and generosity of her mother. Even with the loss the race had already imposed upon her, she was giving her blessing. She let herself be enfolded in her mother’s arms once more knowing she would finally be able to sleep.