Free Shift - Omnibus Edition by Hugh Howey Page A

care. The good state of Oklahoma’ll have another load for ya in a few weeks.’
    ‘Sounds good,’ Mick said, grasping and pumping that huge Midwestern paw.
    Donald shook the governor’s hand as well, and he and Mick trudged off toward their rental. Overhead, against the bright blue Southern sky, vapor trails like stretched ropes of white yarn revealed the flight lines of the numerous jets departing the busy hub of Atlanta International. And as the throaty noise of the construction site faded, the chants from the anti-nuke protestors could be heard outside the tall mesh of security fences beyond. They passed through the security gate and into the parking lot, the guard waving them along.
    ‘Hey, you mind if I drop you off at the airport a little early?’ Donald asked. ‘It’d be nice to get a jump on traffic and get down to Savannah with some daylight.’
    ‘That’s right,’ Mick said with a grin. ‘You’ve got a hot date tonight.’
    Donald laughed.
    ‘Sure, man. Abandon me and go have a good time with your wife.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    Mick fished out the keys to the rental. ‘But you know, I was really hoping you’d invite me to come along. I could join you two for dinner, crash at your place, hit some bars like old times.’
    ‘Not a chance,’ Donald said.
    Mick slapped the back of Donald’s neck and squeezed. ‘Yeah, well, happy anniversary anyway.’
    Donald winced as his friend pinched his neck. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ll be sure to give Helen your regards.’

10
    2110
    Silo 1
     
    Troy played a hand of solitaire while Silo Twelve collapsed. There was something about the game that he found blissfully numbing. The repetition held off the waves of depression even better than the pills. The lack of skill required moved beyond distraction and into the realm of complete mindlessness. The truth was, the player won or lost the very moment the computer shuffled the deck. The rest was simply a process of finding out.
    For a computer game, it was absurdly low-tech. Instead of cards, there was just a grid of letters and numbers with an asterisk, ampersand, percent, or plus sign to designate the suit. It bothered Troy not to know which symbol stood for hearts or clubs or diamonds. Even though it was arbitrary, even though it didn’t really matter, it frustrated him not to know.
    He had stumbled upon the game by accident while digging through some folders. It took a bit of experimenting to learn how to flip the draw deck with the space bar and place the cards with the arrow keys, but he had plenty of time to work things like this out. Besides meeting with department heads, going over Merriman’s notes, and refreshing himself on the Order, all he had was time. Time to collapse in his office bathroom and cry until snot ran down his chin, time to sit under a scalding shower and shiver, time to hide pills in his cheek and squirrel them away for when the hurt was the worst, time to wonder why the drugs weren’t working like they used to, even when he doubled the dosage on his own.
    Perhaps the game’s numbing powers were the reason it existed at all, why someone had spent the effort to create it, and why subsequent heads had kept it secreted away. He had seen it on Merriman’s face during that lift ride at the end of his shift. The chemicals only cut through the worst of the pain, that indefinable ache. But lesser wounds resurfaced. The bouts of sudden sadness had to be coming from somewhere.
    The last few cards fell into place while his mind wandered. The computer had shuffled for a win, and Troy got all the credit for verifying it. The screen flashed good job! in large block letters. It was strangely satisfying to be told this by a home-made game – told that he had done a good job. There was a sense of completion, of having done something with his day.
    He left the message flashing and glanced around his office for something else to do. There were amendments to be made in the Order, announcements to write