Wool by Hugh Howey Page B

frowned. He spread his hands on the folder. “That’s it? Have you been listening? The woman has practically stolen goods, has had items rerouted from my department. It’s not clear if these are even for silo use. They could be for personal gain. God knows, the woman uses more than her allowance of electricity. Maybe she trades for chits—”
    “Is this a formal accusation?” Marnes asked. He made a show of pulling his pad from his pocket and clicking his mechanical pen.
    “Ah, no. As I said, we would not want to trouble your office. But, as you can see, this is not the sort of person to enter a career in high law. It’s what I expect of a mechanic, to be honest, which is where, I’m afraid, this candidate should stay.” He patted the folder as if putting the issue to rest.
    “That’s your suggestion,” Mayor Jahns said.
    “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 deliberately 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 anytime!”
    “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 signaled 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 kept his eyes on this curious and intimate exchange.

11
    They were almost down to the fifties before Jahns could think straight. She imagined she could feel the weight of Peter Billings’s 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 was taken with dread. Dread and yet a new certainty that Juliette was the person for the job. They would have to convince this woman