The radio operator narrowed his eyes. He studied her for a moment, then glanced around the room. “You must mean number two,” he said. “Yeah. The button’s sticky. I’d given up on anyone taking a look.” The chair squeaked as he leaned back and locked his fingers behind his head. His armpits were dark stains. “Last guy said it was minor. Not worth replacing. Said to use it until it gave out.”
Charlotte nodded and went to the machine he had indicated. It was too easy. She attacked the side panel with her driver, her back to the operator.
“You work down on the reactor levels, right?”
She nodded.
“Yeah. Ate across from you in the cafeteria a while back.”
Charlotte waited for him to ask her name again or to resume some conversation he’d had with a different tech. The driver slipped out of her sweaty palm and clattered on the desk. She scooped it back up. She could feel the operator watching her work.
“You think you’ll be able to fix it?”
She shrugged. “I need to take it with me. Should have it back tomorrow.” She pulled the side panel off and loosened the screw holding the microphone’s cord to the casing. The cord itself unplugged from a board inside the machine. On second thought, she undid this board and pulled it out as well. Couldn’t remember if she had one installed already, and it made her look as though she really knew what the hell she was doing.
“You’ll have it tomorrow? That’s great. Really appreciate this.”
Charlotte gathered the parts and stood up straight. Pinching the brim of her hat was enough of a goodbye; she turned and headed out the door, leaving too hastily, she suspected. The side panel and screws had been left on the counter. A real tech would’ve put them back, wouldn’t they? She wasn’t sure. She knew a few pilots from a different life who would’ve laughed to have seen her pretending to be technically inclined, modding drones and building radios, putting grease rather than rouge on her face.
The operator said one last thing, but his words were pinched off as she pulled the door shut. She hurried down the hall and toward the main corridor, expecting to round the bend and find Thurman there with a handful of guards, wide shoulders blocking her way. She slotted the screwdriver back into her pocket and coiled the microphone wire up, cradled it and the board to her chest. When she turned the corner, there was no one in the hall except the guard. It took what felt like hours to walk down that corridor to the security gate. It took days. The walls pressed in and throbbed with her heartbeat. Her coveralls clung to her damp skin. Tools rattled, and the gun weighed heavy at her hip. With each step, the lift doors somehow drew two steps further away from her.
She stopped at the gate, remembered the place on the slate to mark her time out, and made a show of checking the guard’s clock before scratching the time.
“That was quick,” the guard said.
She forced a smile but didn’t look up. “Wasn’t a big deal.” She handed him the tablet and stepped through the clacking gates. Behind her, down the hall, someone closed an office door, boots squeaking on tile. Charlotte marched toward the lifts and jabbed the call button once, twice, wishing the damn thing would hurry. The lift dinged its arrival. There was a clomp of boots behind her.
“Hey!” someone yelled.
Charlotte didn’t turn. She hurried inside the elevator as someone else clacked through the security gates.
“Hold that for me.”
38
A body slammed against the lift doors, a hand jutting inside. Charlotte nearly screamed in fright, nearly slapped at the hand, but then the doors were opening, and a man crowded into the lift beside her, breathing hard.
“Going down, right?”
The name patch on his gray coveralls read Eren. He caught his breath while the doors closed. Charlotte’s hand was trembling. It took two tries to scan her card. She reached for the button marked “54”, but caught herself before pressing it. She had no business being on that level. No one did. The man was watching her, his own card out, waiting for her to decide.
What level for the reactor? She had it written down on a piece of paper inside one of her pockets, but she couldn’t very well pull it out and study it. Suddenly, she could smell the grease on her face, could feel herself damp with sweat. Cradling the radio parts in one arm, she pressed one of the lowest levels, trusting that this man would get off before she did and she would have the elevator to herself.
“Excuse me,” he said, reaching in front of her to swipe his card. Charlotte could smell stale coffee on his breath. He punched the button for level forty-two, and the lift shivered into motion.
“Late shift?” Eren asked.
“Yeah,” Charlotte said, keeping her head down and her voice low.
“You just waking up?”
She shook her head. “Night shift.”
“No, I mean are you just coming out of freeze? Don’t think I’ve seen you around. I’m the on-shift head right now.” He laughed. “For another week, anyway.”
Charlotte shrugged. It was boiling hot inside the lift. The numbers were counting down so damn slowly. She should’ve pressed a nearby floor, gotten off, and waited on the next lift. Too late, now.
“Hey, look at me,” the man said.
He knew. He was standing so close. Too close for anything but suspicious scrutiny. Charlotte glanced up; she could feel her breasts press against her coveralls, could feel hair trailing out from her cap, could feel her cheekbones and stubble-free chin, everything that made her a woman, not least of which was her powerful revulsion at this strange man staring at her, this man who had her trapped and powerless in a small lift. She met his gaze, feeling all of this and more. Helpless and afraid.
“What the fuck?” the man said.
Charlotte threw her knee up between his legs, hoping to cripple him, but he turned his hips and jumped back. She caught him on the thigh, instead. She fumbled for the pistol — but the pouch was snapped shut. Never thought she’d need to draw it in a hurry. She got the pouch open and the pistol free as the man slammed into her, knocking the wind out of her lungs and the gun from her hand. The gun and the radio parts clattered to the floor. Boots squeaked as the two of them wrestled, but she was vastly overpowered. His hands gripped her wrists painfully. She screamed, her high-pitched voice a confession. The elevator slowed to a stop on his level, and the doors dinged open.
“Hey!” Eren yelled. He tried to drag Charlotte through the doors, but she placed a boot on the panel and kicked off, attempting to wrench free of his grip. “Help!” he shouted over his shoulder and down the dim and empty hall. “Guys! Help!”
Charlotte bit his hand at the base of his thumb. There was a pop as her teeth punctured his flesh, and then the bitter taste of blood. He cursed and lost his grip on her wrist. She kicked him back through the door, lost her cap, felt her hair spill down to her neck as she reached for the gun.
The doors began to close, leaving the man out in the hallway. He lurched from his hands and knees and was back through the doors before they could bang shut. He slammed into Charlotte, and she hit the back wall as the elevator continued its merry jaunt down the silo.
A blow caught her in the jaw. Charlotte saw a flash of bright light. She jerked her head back before the next punch landed. The man pressed her against the back of the lift, was grunting like a crazed animal, a sound of fury and terror and startlement. He was trying to kill her, this thing he couldn’t understand. She had attacked him, and now he was trying to kill her. A blow to her ribs, and Charlotte cried out and clutched her side. She felt hands around her neck, squeezing, lifting her off the floor. Her palm settled on a screwdriver slotted into her coveralls.