Part 1 Holston 1
Part 1 Holston
1
The children were playing while Holston climbed to his death; he could hear them squealing as only
happy children do. While they thundered about frantically above, Holston took his time, each step
methodical and ponderous, as he wound his way around and around the spiral staircase, old boots
ringing out on metal treads.
The treads, like his father’s boots, showed signs of wear. Paint clung to them in feeble chips,
mostly in the corners and undersides, where they were safe. Traffic elsewhere on the staircase sent
dust shivering off in small clouds. Holston could feel the vibrations in the railing, which was worn
down to the gleaming metal. That always amazed him: how centuries of bare palms and shuffling feet
could wear down solid steel. One molecule at a time, he supposed. Each life might wear away a
single layer, even as the silo wore away that life.
Each step was slightly bowed from generations of traffic, the edge rounded down like a pouting
lip. In the center, there was almost no trace of the small diamonds that once gave the treads their grip.
Their absence could only be inferred from the pattern to either side, the small pyramidal bumps rising
from the flat steel with their crisp edges and flecks of paint.
Holston lifted an old boot to an old step, pressed down, and did it again. He lost himself in what
the untold years had done, the ablation of molecules and lives, layers and layers ground to fine dust.
And he thought, not for the first time, that neither life nor staircase had been meant for such an
existence. The tight confines of that long spiral, threading through the buried silo like a straw in a
glass, had not been built for such abuse. Like much of their cylindrical home, it seemed to have been
made for other purposes, for functions long since forgotten. What was now used as a thoroughfare for
thousands of people, moving up and down in repetitious daily cycles, seemed more apt in Holston’s
view to be used only in emergencies and perhaps by mere dozens.
Another floor went by—a pie-shaped division of dormitories. As Holston ascended the last few
levels, this last climb he would ever take, the sounds of childlike delight rained down even louder
from above. This was the laughter of youth, of souls who had not yet come to grips with where they
lived, who did not yet feel the press of the earth on all sides, who in their minds were not buried at
all, but alive. Alive and unworn, dripping happy sounds down the stairwell, trills that were
incongruous with Holston’s actions, his decision and determination to go outside.
As he neared the upper level, one young voice rang out above the others, and Holston
remembered being a child in the silo—all the schooling and the games. Back then, the stuffy concrete
cylinder had felt, with its floors and floors of apartments and workshops and hydroponic gardens and
purification rooms with their tangles of pipes, like a vast universe, a wide expanse one could never
fully explore, a labyrinth he and his friends could get lost in forever.
But those days were more than thirty years distant. Holston’s childhood now felt like something
two or three lifetimes ago, something someone else had enjoyed. Not him. He had an entire lifetime
as sheriff weighing heavy, blocking off that past. And more recently, there was this third stage of his
life—a secret life beyond childhood and being sheriff. It was the last layers of himself ground to dust;
three years spent silently waiting for what would never come, each day longer than any month from
his happier lifetimes.
At the top of the spiral stairway, Holston’s hand ran out of railing. The curvy bar of worn steel
ended as the stairwell emptied into the widest rooms of the entire silo complex: the cafeteria and the
adjoining lounge. The playful squeals were level with him now. Darting bright shapes zagged
between scattered chairs, playing chase. A handful of adults tried to contain the chaos. Holston saw
Emma picking up scattered chalk and crayon from the stained tiles. Her husband, Clarke, sat behind a
table arranged with cups of juice and bowls of cornflour cookies. He waved at Holston from across
the room.
Holston didn’t think to wave back, didn’t have the energy or the desire. He looked past the adults
and playing children to the blurry view beyond, projected on the cafeteria wall. It was the largest
uninterrupted vista of their inhospitable world. A morning scene. Dawn’s dim light coated lifeless
hills that had hardly changed since Holston was a boy. They sat, just as they always had, while he had
gone from playing chase among the cafeteria tables to whatever empty thing he was now. And
beyond the stately rolling crests of these hills, the top of a familiar and rotting skyline caught the
morning rays in feeble glints. Ancient glass and steel stood distantly where people, it was suspected,
had once lived aboveground.
A child, ejected from the group like a comet, bumped into Holston’s knees. He looked down and
moved to touch the kid—Susan’s boy—but just like a comet the child was gone again, pulled back
into the orbit of the others.
Holston thought suddenly of the lottery he and Allison had won the year of her death. He still had
the ticket; he carried it everywhere. One of these kids—maybe he or she would be two by now and
tottering after the older children—could’ve been theirs. They had dreamed, like all parents do, of the
double fortune of twins. They had tried, of course. After her implant was removed, they had spent
night after glorious night trying to redeem that ticket, other parents wishing them luck, other lottery
hopefuls silently praying for an empty year to pass.
Knowing they only had a year, he and Allison had invited superstition into their lives, looking to
anything for help. Tricks, like hanging garlic over the bed, that supposedly increased fertility; two
dimes under the mattress for twins; a pink ribbon in Allison’s hair; smudges of blue dye under
Holston’s eyes—all of it ridiculous and desperate and fun. The only thing crazier would have been to
not try everything, to leave some silly séance or tale untested.
But it wasn’t to be. Before their year was even out, the lottery had passed to another couple. It
hadn’t been for a lack of trying; it had been a lack of time. A sudden lack of wife.
Holston turned away from the games and the blurry view and walked toward his office, situated
between the cafeteria and the silo’s airlock. As he covered that ground, his thoughts went to the
struggle that once took place there, a struggle of ghosts he’d had to walk through every day for the
last three years. And he knew, if he turned and hunted that expansive view on the wall, if he squinted
past the ever-worsening blur of cloudy camera lenses and airborne grime, if he followed that dark
crease up the hill, that wrinkle that worked its way over the muddy dune toward the city beyond, he
could pick out her quiet form. There, on that hill, his wife could be seen. She lay like a sleeping
boulder, the air and toxins wearing away at her, her arms curled under her head.
Maybe.
It was difficult to see, hard to make out clearly even back before the blurring had begun anew.
And besides, there was little to trust in that sight. There was much, in fact, to doubt. So Holston
simply chose not to look. He walked through that place of his wife’s ghostly struggle, where bad
memories lay eternal, that scene of her sudden madness, and entered his office.
“Well, look who’s up early,” Marnes said, smiling.
Holston’s deputy closed a metal drawer on the filing cabinet, a lifeless cry singing from its ancient
joints. He picked up a steaming mug, then noted Holston’s solemn demeanor. “You feeling okay,
boss?”
Holston nodded. He pointed to the rack of keys behind the desk. “Holding cell,” he said.
The deputy’s smile drooped into a confused frown. He set down the mug and turned to retrieve
the key. While his back was turned, Holston rubbed the sharp, cool steel in his palm one last time,
then placed the star flat on the desk. Marnes turned and held out the key. Holston took it.
“You need me to grab the mop?” Deputy Marnes jabbed a thumb back toward the cafeteria.
Unless someone was in cuffs, they only went into the cell to clean it.
“No,” Holston said. He jerked his head toward the holding cell, beckoning his deputy to follow.
He turned, the chair behind the desk squeaking as Marnes rose to join him, and Holston completed
his march. The key slid in with ease. There was a sharp clack from the well-built and well-maintained
inner organs of the door. The barest squeak from the hinges, a determined step, a shove and a clank,
and the ordeal was over.
“Boss?”
Holston held the key between the bars. Marnes looked down at it, unsure, but his palm came up to
accept it.
“What’s going on, boss?”
“Get the mayor,” Holston said. He let out a sigh, that heavy breath he’d been holding for three
years.
“Tell her I want to go outside.”
第一部分：出去 01
第一部分：出去
01
霍斯顿一步步爬上楼梯走向死亡，而孩子们正在上面玩。他听到震耳欲聋、肆无忌惮的笑
闹声。只有无忧无虑的孩子才有办法笑得这么开心。霍斯顿步履沉重，绕着螺旋梯，一圈又一
圈，一步步往上爬，老旧的鞋子重重踩在铁梯板上，脚步声在楼梯井嗡嗡回荡。
那双鞋子是父亲留给他的，破旧不堪。破旧的鞋子踩着同样破旧的铁梯板。梯板上的油漆
已经剥落殆尽，只剩角落和梯板底下还有残留，因为鞋子踩不到。楼上楼下还有其他人也在爬
楼梯，楼梯井沙尘飘扬。霍斯顿扶着栏杆，感觉得到那震动。栏杆已经被磨得光滑油亮，那景
象总是令他惊叹。几百年下来，人的手掌就足以把钢铁磨平。
历经了无数世代无数人的踩踏，每片梯板都微微有点弯，而且边缘都被磨圆，乍看之下有
点像突出的嘴唇。看起来，梯板面上本来应该是有防滑用的钻石形小凸起。何以见得？因为左
右两侧的小凸起都还在，可是靠近中央的都不见了，只剩光秃油亮的铁皮和油漆的残迹。
霍斯顿抬起脚，踩上一步，老旧的鞋子重重踩在梯板上，一步又一步。看着眼前的景象，
霍斯顿不由得陷入冥想。多少年了，肉眼看不见的铁分子随着时间磨蚀，层层剥落，而一代代
的生命也随着时间消逝，灰飞烟灭。当然，这样的感慨已经不是第一次了，多年来，他偶尔会
忽然意识到，住在这里的人，也许本来不可能存活这么多年，就像这座螺旋梯，本来也应该撑
不了这么久。狭窄的楼梯井，像一长串绵延不绝的螺旋，深入地底，贯穿整座圆筒形地堡，仿
佛一条长长的吸管竖立在玻璃杯正中央。然而，当初设计这座螺旋梯的人，也许根本没预料到
它会承受这么长时间的损耗，就好像，很久很久以前，这座圆筒形地堡也很可能根本不是为居
住设计的。至于地堡原本是什么用途，如今早已没人记得了。如今，这座螺旋梯已经成为主要
通道，数千居民平日上下楼都依赖它，日复一日，年复一年。在霍斯顿看来，这座楼梯原本的
设计，应该是紧急逃生用的，而且使用人数限定在几十个。
又过了另一层楼——这一层是住宅区。在这个巨大的圆筒形结构里，每一层楼都像是一片
圆圆扁扁的薄饼。霍斯顿跨上最后几级梯板，也是他此生最后一次上这座楼梯。上头孩子们的
笑声越来越响亮，如倾盆大雨轰然而下。那是多么年轻的笑声，多么无忧无虑。他们还没有意
识到自己活在什么样的地方，还没有感觉到那来自四面八方的土壤的压力。他们还没有意识到
自己深埋地底，只感觉得到昂扬的生命力。青春洋溢的生命，未经沧桑，欢乐的笑声向下洒
落，弥漫在楼梯井中。只是，那高亢急促的笑声，相对于霍斯顿此刻的行动，形成强烈对比，
如此的不协调。霍斯顿心意已决，他要“出去”。
当他逐渐接近上面那层楼，发现孩子们的笑声中，有个声音特别高亢嘹亮。此刻，他忽然
回想起自己在地堡里的童年时光——就像这些孩子，他也曾经上学，和他们一样玩耍嬉闹。当
时，在他幼小的心灵中，这座巨大单调的水泥圆筒感觉就像一个浩瀚的宇宙、一个辽阔的世
界，一辈子也探索不完。也可以说，它仿佛一座迷宫，他和其他小朋友迷失在里面，永远出不
来。
只是，那已经是遥远的三十多年前，遥远的过去。霍斯顿忽然感觉，三十多年前的童年时
光，遥远得像是好几辈子的前世，仿佛那是另一个人的美好时光，仿佛那个孩子根本不是他。
他干了一辈子保安官，肩上的重担令他渐渐忘掉美好的过去。而且，这几年，他已经来到人生
的第三个阶段——不再是孩子，也不再是保安官。这几年，他活在一个秘密中。三年来，他默
默等待，然而，他所期待的却一直没有出现，到现在，他仅剩的生命力已经消耗殆尽。日子，
每一天都比从前的一个月更漫长。跟现在比起来，从前还比较快乐。
最后，霍斯顿忽然发觉，他的手已经摸不到楼梯旁的栏杆，这才意识到自己已经爬到螺旋
梯的最顶端。弯弯的铁扶杆，多年来被无数的手磨得光滑油亮，此刻已经到了尽头。出了楼梯
井，眼前豁然开朗，一片宽阔。这个宽敞的大餐厅，还有旁边的大厅，是全地堡最宽敞的地
方。现在，孩子们的嬉笑声已经近在耳边，只见好几个亮晃晃的小身影在零零落落的椅子间窜
来窜去，玩捉迷藏。有几个大人想制止他们玩闹。脏兮兮的磁砖地板上，粉笔、蜡笔散落一
地，霍斯顿看到唐娜弯着腰在捡。她的先生克拉克坐在餐厅另一头的桌子旁，桌上有几杯果汁
和几盘玉米饼干。他向霍斯顿挥挥手。
霍斯顿根本没想到要跟他挥手打招呼。也许是因为他根本提不起劲，也或许是根本没那个
心思。那几个大人小孩身后，是大餐厅的一面大墙，墙上投映着一片模糊的影像。霍斯顿愣愣
地看着那景象。那是他们这个单调荒凉的世界里最辽阔的景观。清晨，死气沉沉的沙丘笼罩在
晨曦的微光中。那是多么熟悉的景象，从他小时候到现在，从来不曾改变过。从在大餐厅的桌
子间玩捉迷藏的童年，到现在哀莫大于心死的他，那些沙丘，永远是那么一成不变的荒凉死
寂。沙丘连绵起伏，丘顶上蜿蜒曲折的天际微光闪烁。而更远处，一座座钢铁与玻璃构成的高
耸建筑刺向天际，在晨曦的微光中若隐若现。据说，很久很久以前，人类曾经居住在那里。
这时候，那群孩子当中忽然有一个猛然窜出来，像颗流星似的撞上霍斯顿的膝盖。他低头
看看那孩子，伸手想去摸摸他的头。应该是苏珊的孩子。但转瞬间那孩子又一溜烟窜向那群孩
子，仿佛流星忽然又飞回轨道。
看着那孩子，霍斯顿忽然想起艾莉森。那一年，他和艾莉森终于抽到签了，然而，也就在
那一年，艾莉森死了。一直到现在，他还留着那张签，不管到哪里，都带在身上。他们本来也
可以有自己的孩子。本来，说不定这群孩子当中就会有他们自己的孩子。说不定，不管是男孩
女孩，现在也该两岁了吧。说不定，此刻他们的孩子会跟在那群大孩子屁股后面。他们，就像
地堡里所有的夫妻一样，都曾经幻想过自己会受到幸运之神的加倍眷顾，生出一对双胞胎。当
然，他们知道运气不会凭空降临。他们非常努力。她体内的避孕器被取出之后，一夜又一夜，
他们想努力兑现那张幸运之签。那些已经有孩子的父母都祝福他们，至于那些希望抽到签的年
轻夫妻则是暗暗祷告，希望这一年他们白费功夫。
他们明白自己只有一年时间，所以，他和艾莉森忽然变得很迷信。只要有助于他们生出孩
子，他们什么都信。在床头挂大蒜，女人会更容易受孕；在床垫底下放两个一毛钱的铜板，女
人会生出双胞胎；艾莉森在头发上绑了一条粉红缎带，霍斯顿把眼袋涂成蓝色……很多荒谬的
把戏他们都玩过，一方面是因为好玩；但另一方面，却是因为他们想要孩子想疯了。不过，还
有更多千奇百怪的方法，像降灵法会，或是各种荒诞不经的民间传说，他们都没有尝试。照理
说，他们应该要试遍所有的方法才对，那才真叫疯了。
然而，他们并没有继续尝试。那一年还没结束，生孩子的权利已经转移给另外一对夫妻
了。但那并不是因为他们不想，而是因为时间不够。因为，霍斯顿已经没有妻子了。
接着，霍斯顿转身走开，离开那些玩耍的孩子，离开那一大片模糊的景象，走向他的办公
室。地堡出口的闸门，就在大餐厅边缘，他的办公室就在那里。要从大餐厅走到闸门的密闭气
闸室，必须经过他的办公室。在走向办公室的途中，他脑海中又浮现出一幕景象：办公室门口
曾经有过一场挣扎拉扯。过去三年来，他每天都要经过那疯狂挣扎的现场。而他也不敢回头，
因为他心里明白，一旦回头，就会看到她那一动也不动的躯体。一旦回头，就会看到墙上那辽
阔的景象。由于地堡外监视器的镜头污垢日积月累，越来越脏，空气中飘散着灰尘，使得画面
一片模糊，但隐约可见一条步满足迹的小径延伸到沙丘上。他知道，如果视线顺着那条小径越
过泥泞的沙丘，看向远处地平线那废弃的城市，可能会看到她，看到她躺在沙丘上，弯曲的双
臂压在头底下，整个人仿佛一颗沉睡的卵石，而空气中的剧烈毒酸不断地腐蚀她。
也许会看到。
其实，很难看得到，很难看得清楚。即使在那件事刚发生不久，镜头还没有开始脏，画面
还很清楚的时候，就已经很难看得清楚。更何况，画面上看到的，是真实的景象吗？其实非常
可疑。于是，霍斯顿决定干脆不看。他走近办公室门口。当年，就是在那里，他太太忽然发
狂，拼命挣扎，那记忆犹如梦魇缠绕不去。他穿过门口，走进办公室。
“唷，谁起得这么早啊？”马奈斯笑着跟他打招呼。马奈斯是他的副手，副保安官。
说着，马奈斯关上档案柜的铁抽屉。由于卡榫太老旧，抽屉发出刺耳的“嘎吱”一声。接
着，他端起一个马克杯，杯口热气蒸腾。这时候，他注意到霍斯顿神情凝重：“老大，你还好
吧？”
霍斯顿点点头，伸手指向办公桌后面的钥匙架。“羁押室的钥匙拿过来。”他说。
副保安官脸上的微笑立刻消失，皱起眉头。他放下杯子，转头扭身去拿钥匙。这时候，他
背后的霍斯顿把警徽拿在手上，手指轻抚着冰冷尖锐的星角。这是他最后一次碰这个警徽了。
然后，他把警徽放到桌上。马奈斯转回头，把钥匙递给霍斯顿。霍斯顿伸手接过去。
“要不要我去拿拖把？”
说着马奈斯抬起手，大拇指朝大餐厅的方向比了一下。通常，只有在两种情况下，他们才
会进羁押室：第一，有人关在里面。第二，打扫。
“不用了。”霍斯顿朝羁押室的方向扭了一下头，意思是要副保安官跟他一起过去。
说完他立刻转身走向羁押室。坐在办公桌后面的马奈斯猛然站起来，椅脚摩擦地面“嘎
吱”一声。他飞快跟到霍斯顿后面，而霍斯顿已经走到羁押室门口，慢慢把钥匙插进钥匙孔。门
锁设计精良，保养得很好，发出清脆的“铿锵”一声，接着，门被拉开，铰链合页“嘎吱”一声，霍
斯顿毅然决然踏进去，“砰”的一声关上门。然后，羁押室陷入一片寂静。
“老大？怎么回事？”
霍斯顿的手从铁栏杆中间伸出来，钥匙在手掌上。马奈斯低头看看钥匙，愣了一下，然后
拿起来。
“老大，你干吗？”
“去请首长来。”说完，霍斯顿深深叹了一口气。这口气他已经憋了三年。
“去告诉她，我要‘出去’。”
Part 1 Holston 2
Part 1 Holston
2
The view from the holding cell wasn’t as blurry as it had been in the cafeteria, and Holston spent his
final day in the silo puzzling over this. Could it be that the camera on that side was shielded against
the toxic wind? Did each cleaner, condemned to death, put more care into preserving the view they’d
enjoyed on their last day? Or was the extra effort a gift to the next cleaner, who would spend their
final day in that same cell?
Holston preferred this last explanation. It made him think longingly of his wife. It reminded him
why he was there, on the wrong side of those bars, and willingly.
As his thoughts drifted to Allison, he sat and stared out at the dead world some ancient peoples
had left behind. It wasn’t the best view of the landscape around their buried bunker, but it wasn’t the
worst, either. In the distance, low rolling hills stood, a pretty shade of brown, like coffee mash with
just the right amount of pig’s milk in it. The sky above the hills was the same dull gray of his
childhood and his father’s childhood and his grandfather’s childhood. The only moving feature on the
landscape was the clouds. They hung full and dark over the hills. They roamed free like the herded
beasts from the picture books.
The view of the dead world filled up the entire wall of his cell, just like all the walls on the silo’s
upper level, each one full of a different slice of the blurry and ever-blurrier wasteland beyond.
Holston’s little piece of that view reached from the corner by his cot, up to the ceiling, to the other
wall, and down to the toilet. And despite the soft blur—like oil rubbed on a lens—it looked like a
scene one could stroll out into, like a gaping and inviting hole oddly positioned across from
forbidding prison bars.
The illusion, however, convinced only from a distance. Leaning closer, Holston could see a
handful of dead pixels on the massive display. They stood stark white against all the brown and gray
hues. Shining with ferocious intensity, each pixel (Allison had called them “stuck” pixels) was like a
square window to some brighter place, a hole the width of a human hair that seemed to beckon
toward some better reality. There were dozens of them, now that he looked closer. Holston wondered
if anyone in the silo knew how to fix them, or if they had the tools required for such a delicate job.
Were they dead forever, like Allison? Would all of the pixels be dead eventually? Holston imagined a
day when half of the pixels were stark white, and then generations later when only a few gray and
brown ones remained, then a mere dozen, the world having flipped to a new state, the people of the
silo thinking the outside world was on fire, the only true pixels now mistaken for malfunctioning
ones.
Or was that what Holston and his people were doing even now?
Someone cleared their throat behind him. Holston turned and saw Mayor Jahns standing on the
other side of the bars, her hands resting in the belly of her overalls. She nodded gravely toward the
cot.
“When the cell’s empty, at night when you and Deputy Marnes are off duty, I sometimes sit right
there and enjoy that very view.”
Holston turned back to survey the muddy, lifeless landscape. It only looked depressing compared
to scenes from the children’s books—the only books to survive the uprising. Most people doubted
those colors in the books, just as they doubted purple elephants and pink birds ever existed, but
Holston felt that they were truer than the scene before him. He, like some others, felt something
primal and deep when he looked at those worn pages splashed green and blue. Even so, when
compared to the stifling silo, that muddy gray view outside looked like some kind of salvation, just
the sort of open air men were born to breathe.
“Always seems a little clearer in here,” Jahns said. “The view, I mean.”
Holston remained silent. He watched a curling piece of cloud break off and move in a new
direction, blacks and grays swirling together.
“You get your pick for dinner,” the mayor said. “It’s tradition—”
“You don’t need to tell me how this works,” Holston said, cutting Jahns off. “It’s only been three
years since I served Allison her last meal right here.” He reached to spin the copper ring on his finger
out of habit, forgetting he had left it on his dresser hours ago.
“Can’t believe it’s been that long,” Jahns murmured to herself. Holston turned to see her squinting
at the clouds displayed on the wall.
“Do you miss her?” Holston asked venomously. “Or do you just hate that the blur has had so
much time to build?”
Jahns’s eyes flashed his way a moment, then dropped to the floor. “You know I don’t want this,
not for any view. But rules are the rules—”
“It’s not to be blamed,” Holston said, trying to let the anger go. “I know the rules better than
most.” His hand moved, just a little, toward the missing badge, left behind like his ring. “Hell, I
enforced those rules for most my life, even after I realized they were bullshit.”
Jahns cleared her throat. “Well, I won’t ask why you chose this. I’ll just assume it’s because you’d
be unhappier here.”
Holston met her gaze, saw the film on her eyes before she was able to blink it away. Jahns looked
thinner than usual, comical in her gaping overalls. The lines in her neck and radiating from her eyes
were deeper than he remembered. Darker. And he thought the crack in her voice was genuine regret,
not just age or her ration of tobacco.
Suddenly, Holston saw himself through Jahns’s eyes, a broken man sitting on a worn bench, his
skin gray from the pale glow of the dead world beyond, and the sight made him dizzy. His head spun
as it groped for something reasonable to latch on to, something that made sense. It seemed a dream,
the predicament his life had become. None of the last three years seemed true. Nothing seemed true
anymore.
He turned back to the tan hills. In the corner of his eye, he thought he saw another pixel die,
turning stark white. Another tiny window had opened, another clear view through an illusion he had
grown to doubt.
Tomorrow will be my salvation, Holston thought savagely, even if I die out there.
“I’ve been mayor too long,” Jahns said.
Holston glanced back and saw that her wrinkled hands were wrapped around the cold steel bars.
“Our records don’t go back to the beginning, you know. They don’t go back before the uprising a
century and a half ago, but since then no mayor has sent more people to cleaning than I have.”
“I’m sorry to burden you,” Holston said dryly.
“I take no pleasure in it. That’s all I’m saying. No pleasure at all.”
Holston swept his hand at the massive screen. “But you’ll be the first to watch a clear sunset
tomorrow night, won’t you?” He hated the way he sounded. Holston wasn’t angry about his death, or
life, or whatever came after tomorrow, but resentment over Allison’s fate still lingered. He continued
to see inevitable events from the past as avoidable, long after they’d taken their course. “You’ll all
love the view tomorrow,” he said, more to himself than the mayor.
“That’s not fair at all,” Jahns said. “The law is the law. You broke it. You knew you were
breaking it.”
Holston looked at his feet. The two of them allowed a silence to form. Mayor Jahns was the one
who eventually spoke.
“You haven’t threatened yet to not go through with it. Some of the others are nervous that you
might not do the cleaning because you aren’t saying you won’t.”
Holston laughed. “They’d feel better if I said I wouldn’t clean the sensors?” He shook his head at
the mad logic.
“Everyone who sits there says they aren’t gonna do it,” Jahns told him, “but then they do. It’s
what we’ve all come to expect—”
“Allison never threatened that she wouldn’t do it,” Holston reminded her, but he knew what Jahns
meant. He himself had been sure Allison wouldn’t wipe the lenses. And now he thought he
understood what she’d been going through as she sat on that very bench. There were larger things to
consider than the act of cleaning. Most who were sent outside were caught at something, were
surprised to find themselves in that cell, their fate mere hours away. Revenge was on their mind when
they said they wouldn’t do it. But Allison and now Holston had bigger worries. Whether or not
they’d clean was inconsequential; they had arrived here because they wanted, on some insane level,
to be here. All that remained was the curiosity of it all. The wonder of the outside world beyond the
projected veil of the wallscreens.
“So, are you planning on going through with it or not?” Jahns asked directly, her desperation
evident.
“You said it yourself.” Holston shrugged. “Everyone does it. There must be some reason, right?”
He pretended not to care, to be disinterested in the why of the cleaning, but he had spent most of
his life, the past three years especially, agonizing over the why. The question drove him nuts. And if
his refusing to answer Jahns caused pain to those who had murdered his wife, he wouldn’t be upset.
Jahns rubbed her hands up and down the bars, anxious. “Can I tell them you’ll do it?” she asked.
“Or tell them I won’t. I don’t care. It sounds like either answer will mean the same to them.”
Jahns didn’t reply. Holston looked up at her, and the mayor nodded.
“If you change your mind about the meal, let Deputy Marnes know. He’ll be at the desk all night,
as is tradition …”
She didn’t need to say. Tears came to Holston’s eyes as he remembered that part of his former
duties. He had manned that desk twelve years ago when Donna Parkins was put to cleaning, eight
years ago when it was Jack Brent’s time. And he had spent a night clinging to the bars, lying on the
floor, a complete wreck, three years ago when it was his wife’s turn.
Mayor Jahns turned to go.
“Sheriff,” Holston muttered before she got out of earshot.
“I’m sorry?” Jahns lingered on the other side of the bars, her gray, bushy brows hanging over her
eyes.
“It’s Sheriff Marnes now,” Holston reminded her. “Not Deputy.”
Jahns rapped a steel bar with her knuckles. “Eat something,” she said. “And I won’t insult you by
suggesting you get some sleep.”
第一部分：出去 02
第一部分：出去
02
羁押室墙上的影像，不像大餐厅那么模糊。为什么？在生命的最后一天，霍斯顿一直在思
索这个问题。会不会是因为羁押室这边的镜头装了防护罩，挡得住风中的毒酸？在地堡里，只
要被判死刑，最后就是被送出去擦拭那些镜头。在小小的羁押室里，墙上的影像，就是他们这
一生最后看到的景象，所以，他们会因此特别用心，把羁押室这边的镜头擦得特别干净？
霍斯顿喜欢最后这种可能性，因为那会令他格外想念妻子。那会让他想起自己为什么会在
这里，为什么会自愿被关进铁栏杆里。
他坐在那里，心里想着艾莉森，眼睛看着外面那死亡的世界。很久很久以前，那个世界就
已经被人类遗弃。在他们这个深埋地底的城堡里，从这个角度看到的，并不是最美好的景象，
不过，也不是最可怕的。远处，那缓缓起伏的低矮沙丘呈现一种土黄色泽，看起来就像牛奶分
量调得刚刚好的咖啡。而沙丘上的天空，始终是那一成不变的灰蒙蒙，从他小时候，或是从他
父亲小时候，或甚至从他祖父小时候到现在，从来不曾变过。外面，唯一会动的东西，就是天
上的云。浓浓的云团遮蔽了整个天空，笼罩在沙丘上，犹如图画书上那些成群流窜的野兽。
那死亡世界的景象，布满了羁押室的整个墙面。其实，不只是羁押室，地堡最上面这整个
楼层，四周环绕的墙上都布满了影像，而每个墙面都是四周辽阔景象的不同片段。模糊的影
像，斑点，污垢，而远处是更模糊的荒野。羁押室里，从床边到衔接另一面墙的墙角，上至天
花板，下至马桶，整个墙面是满满的影像。那模糊的影像，仿佛镜头上沾满了油污，不过，影
像虽然模糊，看起来却依然栩栩如生，仿佛跨一步就可以走出去，仿佛羁押室里那令人生畏的
铁栏杆对面出现一个巨大的洞口，充满诱惑，诱惑你走出去。
不过，那影像只有在远看的时候才会逼真。一靠过去，霍斯顿立刻就注意到巨大的影像上
有一些固定不动的像素点，白白亮亮，在一片黄黄灰灰的影像上显得很突兀。每个像素点都亮
得很刺眼（艾莉森曾经形容那是“贴上去的”像素点），仿佛一扇扇极微小的四方窗，窗里的光
线更明亮。也可以说，那一个个细得像头发一样的小洞，仿佛想泄露出真正的景象。由于他已
经靠得很近，看得很仔细，发现小洞总共有好几十个。整个地堡有谁能修好这个影像吗？有工
具能够执行这么精密的工程吗？霍斯顿很怀疑。这些亮点是否像艾莉森一样，已经死了，永远
不会再活过来了？到最后，是否所有的像素点都会全部死亡？霍斯顿想到，如果有一天，画面
上的像素点有半数以上变成亮点，然后，再过几百年，整个画面上只剩下寥寥无几的灰点和黄
点，到最后，只剩下几十个，那么，呈现的画面就会彻底翻转过来，变成另外一个世界、另外
一种面貌。地堡里的人会以为外面的世界是一片火海，而那些仅剩的灰黄色泽，可能会被误以
为是“坏掉的”像素点。
或者，会不会霍斯顿他们这一代的人正是这样？他们在画面里看到的世界，并不是真正的
世界？
这时候，霍斯顿忽然听到后面有人清了一下喉咙，他立刻转身，看到詹丝首长就站在铁栏
杆外，身上穿着连身工作服，两手交叠平放在小腹前。她朝羁押室那张床的方向点点头，神情
凝重。
“从前，如果羁押室没关人，而你和马奈斯副保安官也下班了，有时候，晚上我会跑进来，
坐在那张床上，看着墙上的景观。”
霍斯顿也跟着回头，看着墙上那泥泞、死寂的辽阔荒野。看着那死亡世界，再想想童话书
里的美丽景象，会更令人沮丧。自从传说中的“暴动”以后，地堡里劫后残存下来的书，就只剩
下童话书了。书中那五彩缤纷的世界真的存在吗？绝大多数人都存疑，就好像，他们也不相信
世上真的有紫色的大象，或粉红色的鸟。不过，比起眼前这个世界，霍斯顿倒觉得书上那些东
西反而比较有可能是真的。每当他看着书上翠绿的大地、蔚蓝的天空，他都会觉得那背后隐含
着某种深沉的意义，隐藏着某个很根本的问题。地堡里还有少数其他人也和他一样。那荒凉的
景象确实令人沮丧，不过，跟闷得令人窒息的地堡比起来，外面的世界倒像是天堂了。外面的
空气，才是人应该呼吸的空气，不管有没有毒。
“坐在这里，可以看得比较清楚。”詹丝说，“呃，我的意思是，景观看起来比较清楚。”
霍斯顿还是没吭声。他看到一团浓云忽然散开，涌向另一个方向。灰暗翻腾的云。
“晚餐，你想吃什么都可以。”首长说，“这是传统——”
“规矩我很清楚，不需要再麻烦你跟我解释。”霍斯顿忽然打断詹丝的话。“三年前，艾莉森
最后的一餐就是我送过来的。才三年，就在这里。”他不自觉地抬起手要去摸手上的铜戒指，忘
了他根本没戴戒指。一个钟头前，他把戒指放在柜子上，忘了戴。这是一种习惯动作。
“真不敢相信，已经这么久了。”詹丝低声嘀咕了一句，像是在自言自语。霍斯顿转头看看
她，发现她正眯着眼睛盯着墙上的云。
“你会想她吗？”霍斯顿的口气有点不怀好意，“还是说，你觉得三年实在太久了，镜头一直
没人擦，才会变那么脏，画面才会那么模糊？”
詹丝瞄了他一眼，但很快又低头看着地上：“你应该明白，我并不希望看到有人被送出去，
我根本不在乎影像清不清楚，不过，法律就是法律——”
“你有你的责任。”霍斯顿想压抑自己的怒气，“法律，我比谁都懂。”他手动了一下，似乎想
去摸胸前的警徽，似乎忘了警徽没有戴在身上，就好像戒指也已经没有戴在手上了：“哼，这辈
子，我都在执行那些法律。就算我已经知道那些法律根本就是狗屁，我还是照样执行。”
詹丝清清喉咙：“呃，我并不打算问你为什么要选择这样做。我想，我只能假设你在这里过
得很不开心。”
霍斯顿看看她，注意到她眼睛微微有点湿润。她还来不及眨眼睛，把眼泪挤掉。詹丝看起
来比从前瘦，而且因为身上那件工作服太宽松，整个人看起来有点滑稽。在他印象中，从前她
脖子上的皱纹并没有那么深，而跟从前比起来，她的眼神也变得更深沉，或者，更沉重。她的
声音有点颤抖嘶哑，但霍斯顿感觉得到，那并不是因为她年纪大了，或是因为烟抽太多，而是
她真情流露，真心的遗憾。
那一刹那，霍斯顿忽然在詹丝的眼中看到了自己。他的身影倒映在詹丝的眼中，憔悴消
沉，坐在一张破烂的长凳上，墙上那死亡世界的灰暗光影映照在他身上，使得他的皮肤也显得
黯淡无光。看到自己的模样，他忽然感到一阵晕眩。他猛然撇开头，眼睛四下扫描，想看看有
没有什么东西可以引开自己的注意。此刻，看到自己落魄的模样，犹如一场梦。他需要看看某
种真实的东西，某种能够理解的东西。过去这三年，感觉不像真的。而且，现在他甚至觉得已
经没有什么东西是真的。
他转头看着那阴暗的沙丘，突然，他眼角似乎瞥见画面上又出现另一个白白亮亮的点。又
有一个像素点坏掉了。仿佛眼前这个越来越可疑的影像上，又有另一扇小窗口打开了，可以让
他们看得更清楚。
霍斯顿愤愤地想：明天就可以解脱了。就算死在外面，至少是真的。
“这个首长，我已经当了太久。”詹丝说。
霍斯顿转头瞥了她一眼，看到她满是皱纹的双手抓着铁栏杆。
“你应该知道，我们的历史档案里找不到地堡的起源，只记载到一百五十年前那次‘暴动’。
根据记录，从那时候开始，历任的首长都曾经送人出去擦监视器的镜头。不过，我任内送出去
的人数，是历任首长中最多的。”
“很遗憾，我又加重了你的负担。”霍斯顿冷冷地说。
“那并不是什么愉快的事。我要强调的就是，那一点都不愉快。”
霍斯顿伸手拂过那巨大的屏幕。
“不过，明天晚上，你一定会是第一个上来看夕阳的人，对吧？明天，风景就可以看得很清
楚了。”他有点后悔，为什么要用这种口气说话。不管明天会面对什么样的命运，不管自己这一
生是多么悲哀，不管明天会不会死，这些都不是令霍斯顿感到愤愤不平的。令他悔恨的，是艾
莉森的死。尽管时间已经过了那么久，尽管当时所经历的一切，都是无可避免的，但他还是觉
得，那一切本来都还有机会可以挽回。“明天，你就可以欣赏美景了。好好享受吧。”这句话，
仿佛不是对首长说的，而是对他自己。
“你这样说很不公平。”詹丝说，“法律就是法律。你触犯了法律。这你自己应该明白。”
霍斯顿低头看着地上，两个人忽然陷入一阵沉默。过了一会儿，詹丝首长先开口打破了沉
默：
“到目前为止，你都还没有开口威胁我们，说你不肯做那件事。有些人觉得很不安，他们认
为你可能不会去擦镜头，因为你没有说你不肯。”
霍斯顿忍不住笑出来：“你的意思是，如果我说我不肯擦镜头，他们反而会比较安心？”他
摇摇头，觉得不可思议。这是什么逻辑？
“从前，只要有人坐在你现在坐的那条长凳上，每个都说他死都不会去擦镜头。”詹丝告诉
他，“可是，他们出去之后，每个人都乖乖擦了镜头。现在，全地堡的人都有这种预期心理
——”
“艾莉森从来没有威胁大家说她不肯擦镜头。”霍斯顿提醒她。不过，其实他知道詹丝的意
思。当初，他自己也认定艾莉森绝对不会去擦镜头。而现在，当他自己也坐在这条长凳上，他
终于明白她当时的心情。还有更重要的东西需要思考，比起来，擦镜头根本就是微不足道的小
事。被送到外面去的人，绝大多数都是因为犯了罪，而且都没想到自己竟然会被送进羁押室，
几个钟头后就会被送出去。他们说，出去之后绝对不会擦镜头，那是基于一种报复心理。然
而，艾莉森和霍斯顿同他们不一样。他们内心的困惑更巨大、更深沉。对他们来说，镜头擦不
擦根本不重要。他们被关进羁押室，是因为他们自己想要进来。这是近乎疯狂的。他们心中只
有好奇，极度的好奇。在墙上那巨大的投影之外，世界究竟是什么模样？
“那么，你到底会不会擦镜头？”詹丝开门见山问他。她显然已经急了。
霍斯顿耸耸肩：“刚刚你自己不是说，每一个出去的人都擦了镜头，这其中必有缘故，不是
吗？”
“为什么”每个出去的人都会擦镜头？他假装不在乎，假装不感兴趣，但事实上，这辈子，
特别是过去这三年来，他饱受折磨，就是因为他绞尽脑汁在想这个问题。为什么？这问题快把
他逼疯了。他不肯回答詹丝的问题，因为，如果这样可以让那些人感到痛苦，那他何乐而不
为？他认为，他太太等于是被那些人害死的。
詹丝两手抓着铁栏杆，上下搓动，显得很焦躁。“我可不可以去告诉他们，你答应要擦镜
头？”她问。
“或者，你也可以告诉他们我不肯。反正我不在乎。好像不管我怎么回答，对他们都没什么
差别。”
詹丝没吭声。霍斯顿抬头看看首长，她对他点点头。
“要是你改变心意，想吃晚饭，那你就告诉马奈斯副保安官。他今天早晚都会守在这里，这
是传统——”
这并不需要她提醒。霍斯顿忽然想起他从前执行过的任务，不由得热泪盈眶。十二年前，
唐娜•帕金斯被送出去的前夕，他就坐在办公室里。八年前，杰克•布兰特被送出去的时候，他也
坐在办公室里。而三年前，他太太要被送出去时，整夜，他一会儿紧抓着栏杆，一会儿倒在地
上，彻底崩溃。
詹丝首长转身准备要走了。
“保安官。”她还没走开，霍斯顿忽然喃喃嘀咕了一句。
“你说什么？”詹丝隔着铁栏杆看着他，迟疑了一下，扬起她那浓密灰白的眉毛。
“现在，保安官是马奈斯。”霍斯顿提醒她，“你刚刚不应该称呼他副保安官。”
詹丝抬起手，指关节狠狠敲在一根铁栏杆上。“吃点东西吧。”她说，“我不想对你说话不客
气，不过，你实在该好好睡一觉了。”
Part 1 Holston 3
Part 1 Holston
3
Three years earlier
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Allison said. “Honey, listen to this. You won’t believe this. Did you
know there was more than one uprising?”
Holston looked up from the folder spread across his lap. Around him, scattered piles of paper
covered the bed like a quilt—stacks and stacks of old files to sort through and new complaints to
manage. Allison sat at her small desk at the foot of the bed. The two of them lived in one of the silo
condos that had been subdivided only twice over the decades. It left room for luxuries like desks and
wide nonbunk beds.
“And how would I have known about that?” he asked her. His wife turned and tucked a strand of
hair behind her ear. Holston jabbed a folder at her computer screen. “All day long you’re unlocking
secrets hundreds of years old, and I’m supposed to know about them before you do?”
She stuck out her tongue. “It’s an expression. It’s my way of informing you. And why don’t you
seem more curious? Did you hear what I just said?”
Holston shrugged. “I never would’ve assumed the one uprising we know about was the first—just
that it was the most recent. If I’ve learned one thing from my job, it’s that no crime or crazy mob is
ever all that original.” He picked up a folder by his knee. “You think this is the first water thief the
silo’s known? Or that it’ll be the last?”
Allison’s chair squealed on the tile as she turned to face him. The monitor on the desk behind her
blinked with the scraps and fragments of data she had pulled from the silo’s old servers, the remnants
of information long ago deleted and overwritten countless times. Holston still didn’t understand how
the retrieval process worked, or why someone smart enough to come up with it was dumb enough to
love him, but he accepted both as truth.
“I’m piecing together a series of old reports,” she said. “If true, they mean something like our old
uprising used to take place regularly. Like once every generation or so.”
“There’s a lot we don’t know about the old times,” Holston said. He rubbed his eyes and thought
about all the paperwork he wasn’t getting done. “Maybe they didn’t have a system for cleaning the
sensors, you know? I’ll bet back then, the view upstairs just got blurrier and blurrier until people
went crazy, there’d be a revolt or something, and then they’d finally exile a few people to set things
straight. Or maybe it was just natural population control, you know, before the lottery.”
Allison shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’m starting to think …” She paused and glanced down
at the spread of paperwork around Holston. The sight of all the logged transgressions seemed to make
her consider carefully what she was about to say. “I’m not passing judgment, not saying anyone was
right or wrong or anything like that. I’m just suggesting that maybe the servers weren’t wiped out by
the rebels during the uprising. Not like we’ve always been told, anyway.”
That got Holston’s attention. The mystery of the blank servers, the empty past of the silo’s
ancestors, haunted them all. The erasure was nothing more than fuzzy legend. He closed the folder he
was working on and set it aside. “What do you think caused it?” he asked his wife. “Do you think it
was an accident? A fire or a power outage?” He listed the common theories.
Allison frowned. “No,” she said. She lowered her voice and looked around anxiously. “I think we
wiped the hard drives. Our ancestors, I mean, not the rebels.” She turned and leaned toward the
monitor, running her finger down a set of figures Holston couldn’t discern from the bed. “Twenty
years,” she said. “Eighteen. Twenty-four.” Her finger slid down the screen with a squeak. “Twenty-
eight. Sixteen. Fifteen.”
Holston plowed a path through the paperwork at his feet, putting the files back in stacks as he
worked his way toward the desk. He sat on the foot of the bed, put a hand on his wife’s neck, and
peered over her shoulder at the monitor.
“Are those dates?” he asked.
She nodded. “Just about every two decades, there’s a major revolt. This report cataloged them. It
was one of the files deleted during the most recent uprising. Our uprising.”
She said our like either of them or any of their friends had been alive at the time. Holston knew
what she meant, though. It was the uprising they had been raised in the shadow of, the one that
seemed to have spawned them—the great conflict that hung over their childhoods, over their parents
and grandparents. It was the uprising that filled whispers and occupied sideways glances.
“And what makes you think it was us, that it was the good guys who wiped the servers?”
She half turned and smiled grimly. “Who says we are the good guys?”
Holston stiffened. He pulled his hand away from Allison’s neck. “Don’t start. Don’t say anything
that might—”
“I’m kidding,” she said, but it wasn’t a thing to kid about. It was two steps from traitorous, from
cleaning. “My theory is this,” she said quickly, stressing the word theory. “There’s generational
upheaval, right? I mean for over a hundred years, maybe longer. It’s like clockwork.” She pointed at
the dates. “But then, during the great uprising—the only one we’ve known about till now—someone
wiped the servers. Which, I’ll tell you, isn’t as easy as pressing a few buttons or starting a fire.
There’s redundancies on top of redundancies. It would take a concerted effort, not an accident or any
sort of rushed job or mere sabotage—”
“That doesn’t tell you who’s responsible,” Holston pointed out. His wife was a wizard with
computers, no doubt, but sleuthing was not her bag; it was his.
“What tells me something,” she continued, “is that there were uprisings every generation for all
this time, but there hasn’t been an uprising since.” Allison bit her lip.
Holston sat up straight. He glanced around the room and allowed her observation to sink in. He
had a sudden vision of his wife yanking his sleuthing bag out of his hands and making off with it.
“So you’re saying …” He rubbed his chin and thought this through. “You’re saying that someone
wiped out our history to stop us from repeating it?”
“Or worse.” She reached out and held his hand with both of hers. Her face had deepened from
seriousness to something more severe. “What if the reason for the revolts was right there on the hard
drives? What if some part of our known history, or some data from the outside, or maybe the
knowledge of whatever it was that made people move in here long, long ago — what if that
information built up some kind of pressure that made people lose their marbles, or go stir-crazy, or
just want out?”
Holston shook his head. “I don’t want you thinking that way,” he cautioned her.
“I’m not saying they were right to go nuts,” she told him, back to being careful. “But from what
I’ve pieced together so far, this is my theory.”
Holston gave the monitor an untrusting glance. “Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this,” he said.
“I’m not even sure how you’re doing it, and maybe you shouldn’t be.”
“Honey, the information is there. If I don’t piece it together now, somebody else will at some
point. You can’t put the genie back in the bottle.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve already published a white paper on how to retrieve deleted and overwritten files. The rest of
the IT department is spreading it around to help people who’ve unwittingly flushed something they
needed.”
“I still think you should stop,” he said. “This isn’t the best idea. I can’t see any good coming of it
—”
“No good coming from the truth? Knowing the truth is always good. And better that it’s us
discovering it than someone else, right?”
Holston looked at his files. It’d been five years since the last person was sent to cleaning. The
view of the outside was getting worse every day, and he could feel the pressure, as sheriff, to find
someone. It was growing, like steam building up in the silo, ready to launch something out. People
got nervous when they thought the time was near. It was like one of those self-fulfilling prophecies
where the nerves finally made someone twitch, then lash out or say something regretful, and then
they’d find themselves in a cell, watching their last blurry sunset.
Holston sorted through the files all around him, wishing there was something in them. He would
put a man to his death tomorrow if it meant releasing that steam. His wife was poking some great,
overly full balloon with a needle, and Holston wanted to get that air out of it before she poked too far.
第一部分：出去 03
第一部分：出去
03
•三年前•
“老天！”艾莉森惊呼起来，“老公，你看这个。太不可思议了。暴动并不是只有一次，你知
道吗？”
霍斯顿本来低头盯着腿上的档案夹，一听到她说话，立刻抬头看着她。七零八落的文件，
像一条棉被似的把他们整张床都占满了，东一堆西一堆，有的是旧档案夹，有的是还没处理的
申诉书。床尾有一张小书桌，艾莉森就坐在那里。他们住的这一间独立住宅，是从原先一间更
大的住宅分隔出来的，不过几十年来，他们这一楼层只重新隔过两次，所以还不算太挤，还有
足够的空间可以放得下书桌和有床架的大床。还好，他们不需要睡那种固定在墙上的卧铺。
“我怎么会知道呢？”他反问她。太太转身过来看着他，伸手把一撮头发拨到耳朵后面。霍
斯顿拿起一个档案夹，朝她电脑屏幕的方向挥了一下。“你一直在想办法破解那些几百年前的机
密档案，已经搞了一整天，那么，你觉得我有可能会比你更快知道吗？”
她朝他吐了一下舌头：“那只是我的口头禅嘛。我有事情要告诉你的时候，开头都是这么说
的。可是怎么搞的，你似乎不怎么好奇？你没听到我刚刚说了什么吗？”
霍斯顿耸耸肩。“大家都知道的那次暴动，我从来就不认为那会是第一次。那只不过是最近
的一次。干我这个工作，如果说还学得到什么的话，那大概只有一个道理：犯罪也罢，暴动也
罢，那都是些历史悠久的老玩意儿，不是什么新发明。”说着，他举起膝盖上那个档案夹，“这
是一个偷水的案子，那么，你觉得这会是全地堡第一次吗？会是最后一次吗？”
艾莉森立刻转身看着他，椅脚摩擦瓷砖地板“嘎吱”一声响。她身后书桌上的电脑屏幕上，
布满了一闪一闪的资料文字。那是她从地堡的旧服务器里撷取出来的。那些档案，很久以前就
已经被删除掉了，而且曾经被覆写过好几次，她找到的是一些零碎的残留资料。霍斯顿到现在
还是搞不懂，那些资料怎么有办法复原？她是怎么办到的？还有，她这么聪明的脑袋，怎么会
笨到爱上他？但不管怎么样，这种结果他很乐于接受，而且，他也相信她找到的资料都是真
的。
“这是我从一些旧报告里拼凑出来的。”她说，“如果这些都是真的，那么，那意味着从前的
暴动是定期发生的，大概每隔一个世代就会出现一次。”
“古老的时代，有太多东西是我们不知道的。”霍斯顿边说边揉眼睛，脑子里想的是他没有
处理完的这些文件，“你知道吗，说不定从前，他们没有设备可以用来清洁监视器镜头。我敢跟
你打赌，顶楼的景观一定是变得越来越模糊，后来，大家都受不了，发疯了，所以就起来暴
动。最后，他们终于逼某些人到地堡外面去，把镜头擦干净。或者，那也有可能是因为地堡人
口太多，所以就自然而然地发生暴动，人口才会自然而然地减少。了解了吗？说不定在生育抽
签发明之前，人口都是靠这种方式在控制的。”
艾莉森摇摇头：“我可不这么认为。我开始觉得——”她迟疑了一下，低头瞄瞄霍斯顿旁边
那些文件。看到那些堆积如山的犯罪档案，她似乎小心翼翼在思索接下来该说什么。“我不想太
快下结论，我不敢断言谁对谁错。我只是推测，暴动期间，服务器里那些档案也许不是被暴动
分子删除的。总之，并不是像传言中的那样。”
这时霍斯顿开始全神贯注了。服务器怎会变成一片空白，至今依然是一个谜。为什么世世
代代祖先的历史是一片空白？对此，地堡里的人都很困惑。服务器里的资料被删除，这件事一
直都只是模模糊糊的传说。他合上看了一半的档案夹，丢到一边。“那你认为是谁删掉的？”他
问太太，“是意外吗？火灾？还是电力中断？”他举出了几个常听到的说法。
艾莉森皱起眉头。“都不是。”接着她忽然压低声音，转头看看四周，神情有点紧张，“我认
为，硬盘里的资料是被‘我们’删掉的。不是暴动分子。”说完她又转头凑近屏幕，伸手指向屏幕
上的几个数字。霍斯顿坐在床上，看不见屏幕上那些数字。“二十年。”她说，“十八年。二十四
年。”她的手指划过屏幕，发出刺耳的吱吱声。“二十八年。十六年。十五年。”
霍斯顿把盖在脚上的几张文件拿起来，放到另一堆上面，然后从一堆堆的文件中间挤到书
桌旁边，然后坐到床尾，一手搭在太太脖子后面，头凑到太太肩上看着屏幕。
“那些是日期吗？”他问。
她点点头：“平均大概每隔二十年就会有一次大规模的暴动。这个档案里有统计。上一次‘我
们’暴动的时候，很多档案被删掉了，这个档案就是其中之一。”
她说出“我们”这两个字时，那口气仿佛她和她的亲朋好友都活在那年代。不过，霍斯顿知
道她的意思。在成长的过程中，他们始终活在那次暴动的阴影中。仿佛，他们都是在暴动的孕
育中长大的。仿佛那次大规模的冲突事件像乌云一样笼罩着他们的童年，笼罩着他们的父母，
还有祖父母。只要一提到暴动，就会引来旁人侧目，引来旁人交头接耳指指点点。
“你为什么会认为是‘我们’？我们不是好人吗？为什么要删掉服务器里的资料？”
她微微侧过头冷笑了一下：“谁说我们一定就是‘好人’？”
霍斯顿吓了一跳，搭在她脖子后面的手忽然抬起来：“你又来了！不要再说了，说不定
——”
“跟你开玩笑的啦。”她说。问题是，这种事是不能拿来开玩笑的。再多说两句，可能会招
来“叛乱”的罪名，然后被送出去“清洗镜头”。“我的推论是这样的。”她说出“推论”两个字的时
候，刻意提高音调。“我刚刚说过，每隔一个世代，大概二十年左右，就会发生一次暴动，没错
吧？我的意思是，在一百多年期间，或是更长的时间里，应该会发生好几次暴动，周期性的，
就像时钟一样。”她指着屏幕上那些日期，“一直到现在，我们听说过的暴动，就只有上回那一
次。而那次暴动期间，有人把服务器的资料删掉了。可是我必须告诉你，想删掉服务器的资
料，并没有那么简单，不是按几个按键或是放把火就可以了事。服务器有备援设计，任何一笔
资料都有无穷尽的备份，想删除干净，那是非常麻烦的浩大工程，不是一个简单的动作就可以
删得干净，比如，单纯的意外，或是匆匆忙忙想删掉，或甚至把电脑弄坏——”
“可是你没办法推测是谁干的。”霍斯顿强调。毫无疑问，他太太是电脑天才，可是，推理
办案并不是她的专长。那是他的专长。
“我推论的重点是……”她继续说，“很久以前，每隔二十年左右就会发生暴动，可是，从上
次暴动到现在，已经一百多年……”
艾莉森说到这里就不说了。
霍斯顿猛然抬起头。
他转头看看四周，认真思索她刚刚说的话。他忽然有一种滑稽的感觉，仿佛他推理办案的
能力突然被太太偷走，然后太太用这种能力破了案。
“所以你的意思是——”他搓搓下巴，仔细想了一下，“有人把过去的历史抹灭了，免得我们
再重蹈覆辙？”
“或者，更可怕的……”她伸出双手抓住他的双手，严肃的表情变得更严厉，“说不定，引发
暴动的原因，也在硬盘的资料里，会不会？有没有可能，有一部分的历史档案被他们删掉了？
比如说，和外面世界有关的资料，还有，很久很久以前，我们人类为什么会住进地堡里？诸如
此类的资料。还有，万一地堡里的人看到这些资料，说不定会丧失理智，甚至发疯，或甚至
想‘出去’？会不会？”
霍斯顿摇摇头。“你最好不要再想那些。”他警告她。
“我并不是说他们暴动是对的。”她说话又开始小心了，“不过，根据我拼凑出来的资料，我
的推测就是这样。”
霍斯顿用狐疑的眼神瞄了屏幕一眼。“你最好不要再动那些资料了。”他说，“我搞不懂你怎
么找得到那些资料，而且，我觉得你一开始就不应该去碰那些东西。”
“亲爱的，那些资料并不会凭空消失。它们永远都在那里，就算我现在没有拼凑出来，总有
一天还是会被人发现的。更何况，如果你已经把神灯里的精灵放出来了，那就再也没办法把它
塞回去了。”
“什么意思？”
“我已经印了一本手册，内容就是教大家要怎么复原被删除的档案，或是被覆写的档案。我
资讯区那些同事已经把手册发给大家了，如果有人不小心把重要的档案删掉，那本手册可以帮
得上他们。”
“我还是觉得你最好不要再碰了。”他说，“这实在不是什么好事。我看不出来这样做有什么
好处——”
“真相对我们没有好处？知道真相永远都有好处。而且，如果发现真相的人是我们，或许情
况会比较好，换成是别人，结果就很难预料了，不是吗？”
霍斯顿又回头去看他的档案。五年了。距离上次送人出去清洗镜头，到现在已经五年了。
外面的影像，一天比一天更模糊。身为保安官，他必须赶快找到人送出去。他有压力。那种压
力越来越大，仿佛地堡里充满了蒸汽，随时会有某个人被炸出去。每次大家感觉到时候到了，
就会开始紧张。那就仿佛某种诅咒，时候到了就会应验，到头来，那种紧张的气氛总是会导致
某个人情绪失控，说出令自己遗憾的话。然后，他们就会被关进羁押室，看着墙上那模糊的日
落景象。这辈子最后一次。
霍斯顿逐一翻找身旁那些档案，心里暗暗祈祷，希望能够从里面找到他要的东西。只要能
够让地堡里的蒸汽消散，他愿意明天就送一个人出去面对死亡。此刻，他太太仿佛手上拿着一
根针，刺向一个快要爆炸的巨大气球。霍斯顿迫不及待想赶快把气球里的气放掉，免得她手上
那根针真的刺到气球。
Part 1 Holston 4
Part 1 Holston
4
Present Time
Holston sat on the lone steel bench in the airlock, his brain numb from lack of sleep and the surety of
what lay before him. Nelson, the head of the cleaning lab, knelt in front of him and worked a leg of
the white hazard suit over Holston’s foot.
“We’ve played around with the joint seals and added a second spray-on lining,” Nelson was
saying. “It should give you more time out there than anyone has had before.”
This registered with Holston, and he remembered watching his wife go about her cleaning. The
top floor of the silo with its great screens showing the outside world was usually empty for cleanings.
The people inside couldn’t bear to watch what they’d done—or maybe they wanted to come up and
enjoy a nice view without seeing what it took to get it. But Holston had watched; there was never any
doubt that he would. He couldn’t see Allison’s face through her silver-masked helmet, couldn’t see
her thin arms through the bulky suit as she scrubbed and scrubbed with her wool pads, but he knew
her walk, her mannerisms. He had watched her finish the job, taking her time and doing it well, and
then she had stepped back, looked in the camera one last time, waved at him, then turned to walk
away. Like others before her, she had lumbered toward a nearby hill and had begun climbing up,
trudging toward the dilapidated spires of that ancient and crumbling city just visible over the horizon.
Holston hadn’t moved the entire time. Even as she fell on the side of the hill, clutching her helmet,
writhing while the toxins first ate away the spray-on linings, then the suit, and finally his wife, he
hadn’t moved.
“Other foot.”
Nelson slapped his ankle. Holston lifted his foot and allowed the tech to bunch the rest of the suit
around his shins. Looking at his hands, at the black carbon undersuit he wore against his skin,
Holston pictured it all dissolving off his body, sloughing away like flakes of dried grease from a
generator’s pipe while the blood burst from his pores and pooled up in his lifeless suit.
“If you’ll grab the bar and stand—”
Nelson was walking him through a routine he’d seen twice before. Once with Jack Brent, who had
been belligerent and hostile right up to the end, forcing him as sheriff to stand guard by the bench.
And once with his wife, whom he had watched get ready through the airlock’s small porthole.
Holston knew what to do from watching these others, but he still needed to be told. His thoughts were
elsewhere. Reaching up, he grabbed the trapezelike bar hanging above him and pulled himself
upright. Nelson grabbed the sides of the suit and yanked them up to Holston’s waist. Two empty
arms flapped at either side.
“Left hand here.”
Holston numbly obeyed. It was surreal to be on the other side of this—this mechanical death-walk
of the condemned. Holston had often wondered why people complied, why they just went along.
Even Jack Brent had done what he was told, as foulmouthed and verbally abusive as he’d been.
Allison had done it quietly, just like this, Holston thought as he inserted one hand and then the other.
The suit came up, and Holston thought that maybe people went along with it because they couldn’t
believe it was happening. None of it was real enough to rebel against. The animal part of his mind
wasn’t made for this, to be calmly ushered to a death it was perfectly aware of.
“Turn.”
He did.
There was a tug at the small of his back, and then a noisy zipping sound up to his neck. Another
tug, another zip. Two layers of futility. The crunch of industrial Velcro over the top. Pats and double-
checks. Holston heard the hollow helmet slide off its shelf; he flexed his fingers inside the puffy
gloves while Nelson checked over the dome’s innards.
“Let’s go over the procedure one more time.”
“It’s not necessary,” Holston said quietly.
Nelson glanced toward the airlock door leading back to the silo. Holston didn’t need to look to
know someone was likely watching. “Bear with me,” Nelson said. “I have to do it by the book.”
Holston nodded, but he knew there wasn’t any “book.” Of all the mystic oral traditions passed
through silo generations, none matched the cultlike intensity of the suit makers and the cleaning
techs. Everyone gave them their space. The cleaners might perform the physical act, but the techs
were the people who made it possible. These were the men and women who maintained the view to
that wider world beyond the silo’s stifling confines.
Nelson placed the helmet on the bench. “You got your scrubbers here.” He patted the wool pads
stuck to the front of the suit.
Holston pulled one off with a ripping sound, studied the whorls and curls of the rough material,
then stuck it back on.
“Two squirts from the cleaning bottle before you scrub with the wool, then dry with this towel,
then put the ablating films on last.” He patted the pockets in order, even though they were clearly
labeled and numbered—upside down so Holston could read them—and color-coded.
Holston nodded and met the tech’s eyes for the first time. He was surprised to see fear there, fear
he had learned well to notice in his profession. He almost asked Nelson what was wrong before it
occurred to him: the man was worried all these instructions were for naught, that Holston would walk
out—like everyone in the silo feared all cleaners would—and not do his duty. Not clean up for the
people whose rules, rules against dreaming of a better place, had doomed him. Or was Nelson
worried that the expensive and laborious gear he and his colleagues had built, using those secrets and
techniques handed down from well before the uprising, would leave the silo and rot to no purpose?
“You okay?” Nelson asked. “Anything too tight?”
Holston glanced around the airlock. My life is too tight, he wanted to say. My skin is too tight. The
walls are too tight.
He just shook his head.
“I’m ready,” he whispered.
It was the truth. Holston was oddly and truly very much ready to go.
And he remembered, suddenly, how ready his wife had been as well.
第一部分：出去 04
第一部分：出去
04
•现在•
霍斯顿坐在气闸室里的一条铁凳上。由于昨天晚上没睡，而且即将面对死亡，所以，他脑
海中一片空白，意识模糊。尼尔森跪在他面前，拿着一件白色防护衣要从他的脚开始套进去。
他是“镜头清洗实验室”的负责人。
“我们一直在研究接缝处的密封效果，现在我们用一种喷涂的材质，在防护衣外面加了第二
层保护。”尼尔森说，“这会帮你争取到更多时间，让你可以比从前的人撑得更久。”
这句话惊醒了霍斯顿。他忽然想起当年那一幕：看着他太太走出去清洗镜头。地堡最上面
那层楼有巨大的荧屏，可以看到外面世界的影像，然而，每当有人出去清洗镜头那一天，整层
楼会变得空荡荡的没半个人。那大概是因为地堡里的人不忍心看一个人怎么被送出去面对死
亡，不过，也有可能是因为他们只喜欢上来看漂亮的风景，可是却不想看到那风景背后必须付
出什么代价。然而，霍斯顿看过。毫无疑问，他一定会看。艾莉森的头盔前面是一片银色面
罩，不透明，看不见她的脸，而她身上穿着防护衣，看起来很臃肿，所以她拿着羊毛布擦镜头
的时候，根本看不出她的手臂很细瘦。不过，他认得她走路的模样，她的习惯动作。他看着她
慢条斯理地擦着镜头，擦得干干净净，然后往后退了一步，朝镜头看了最后一眼，跟他挥挥
手，然后就转身走开了。就像先前那些人一样，她踩着沉重的步伐，慢慢走向一座距离最近的
小沙丘，然后开始往上爬，慢慢走向远处地平线那高耸残破的高楼，那座废弃的古老城市。在
那过程中，霍斯顿一动也不动，目不转睛地看着她，一直到后来她终于倒在山坡上，两手紧紧
掐住头盔，浑身抽搐扭曲。空气中的毒酸一开始先侵蚀了外面的喷涂保护层，接着，里面的防
护衣也开始腐蚀，然后是她的身体。过程中，他一动也不动地看着。
“来，换脚。”
尼尔森拍拍他的脚踝。霍斯顿抬起脚，让这个技术员把防护衣拉到他的小腿上。霍斯顿看
着他的手，看着自己身上那套黑色的碳纤维贴身衣，脑海中开始浮现出一些画面，仿佛看得到
那件贴身衣在自己皮肤上渐渐溶解，仿佛发电机线路上那些干掉的油泥一样，渐渐龟裂、粉
碎、剥落。然后，他的毛细孔开始冒出鲜血，他的防护衣上开始汇聚一摊摊的血，而他的身体
已经不再有生命气息。
“抓住吊杆，站起来——”
尼尔森要陪他走完出去前的流程。这个流程，霍斯顿从前已经看过两次。第一次是在杰克•
布兰特被送出去的时候。那一次，杰克从头到尾都很凶悍，一直挑衅，而他身为保安官，不得
不站在铁凳旁边押着他。第二次是他太太。他全程看着她穿好防护衣，走出气闸室那小小的闸
门。霍斯顿看过别人进行流程，所以他知道自己该做什么，可是现在，他还是需要别人提醒
他。他的心思飘到很远的地方。他面前有一根从上面悬垂下来的吊杆，看起来有点像马戏团的
高空秋千。他抬起双手抓住那根吊杆，然后用力一拉，站起来。尼尔森抓住防护衣旁边，用力
往上拉，拉过霍斯顿的腰部，两条空荡荡的袖子在旁边摆荡。
“左手穿进来。”
霍斯顿愣愣地把手穿进去。从前他是旁观者，看别人进行这个例行公事走向死亡的过程，
而现在，他自己身在其中，忽然感到这一切看起来很虚幻，很不真实。从前，霍斯顿常常觉得
很奇怪，为什么他们肯乖乖听话完成动作。就拿杰克•布兰特来说，那个人满嘴脏话，连声咒
骂，可是却还是乖乖完成了所有的动作。至于艾莉森，整个过程，她都很安静，就像此刻的自
己。霍斯顿一手伸进袖子里，然后再伸进另一手，边穿边想这个问题。为什么他们都会变得这
么顺服？防护衣拉到胸口的时候，霍斯顿忽然想到，或许是因为他们都不相信眼前这一切是真
的，所以才会乖乖任人摆布。太虚幻了，所以根本连反抗的念头都没有了。他内心有野性凶悍
的一面，照理说，明知道出去就会死，他应该不会这么顺从，这么平静，这么迫不及待地走向
死亡。
“好了，转过来。”
他乖乖转过去。
他感觉到背后腰部有一个力量在拉扯，然后听到一阵“沙沙”声，拉链被往上拉到颈后。接
着又一次拉扯，另一条拉链也拉上了。双层保护，可惜都是白费功夫。接着，领口的魔鬼毡也
黏上了。尼尔森在他身上拍了几下，再检查一次防护衣穿着是否正确。然后，霍斯顿开始戴上
手套，这时候，他听到一阵“嘎吱”声，看到尼尔森把头盔从架子上拿下来，检查内部。
“来，我们再演练一次流程。”
“不用了。”霍斯顿淡淡地说。
尼尔森转头看看那扇衔接地堡的闸门。霍斯顿心里明白，里面有人在监督他们。“请多包
涵。”尼尔森说，“我必须按照手册的规定做。”
霍斯顿点点头，不过他心里明白，根本没有所谓的“手册”。地堡里有很多神秘的传统，都
是一代代口耳相传，不过，最神秘的莫过于负责制造防护衣和清洗镜头的部门。那个部门很像
某种秘密组织。那个部门的技术人员，在地堡里备受尊崇。尽管实际上出去清洗镜头的不是他
们，不过，要是没有他们，根本没有人有办法出去清洗镜头。地堡犹如一具令人窒息的棺材，
大家都需要外面世界的辽阔景观，而他们负责维护那种景观。
尼尔森把头盔放在铁凳上。“羊毛布放在这里。”他拍拍防护衣前面的口袋，里面塞了几条
羊毛布。
霍斯顿抽出一条羊毛布，仔细打量。羊毛布表面粗糙，蜷曲的羊毛纤维呈现出一种螺旋纹
路。他看了一会儿，然后塞回口袋里。
“记得，清洁剂要先喷两下，然后再用羊毛布擦镜头，擦完之后再用这条毛巾擦干，最后再
贴上防蚀膜。”防护衣上有好几个口袋，分别装着他提到的每一种东西。每个口袋颜色都不一
样，上面都有编号，而且标签贴得清清楚楚，文字上下颠倒，方便霍斯顿低头看。但尽管如
此，尼尔森还是逐一拍拍每个口袋，以示郑重。
霍斯顿点点头，然后看着尼尔森的眼睛。这是他第一次正眼看他。没想到，他发现尼尔森
眼中露出恐惧的神色。他干了一辈子保安官，看过太多那种恐惧的眼神。他本来想问尼尔森怎
么回事，但还没开口就忽然想到：这个人担心的是，刚刚交代了那么多，会不会是白费功夫，
因为，霍斯顿等一下走出去之后，说不定根本不肯去擦镜头。其实，全地堡的人都担心同样的
问题。地堡的人制定了这种法律，禁止大家梦想一个更美好的世界，导致他面对死亡，那么，
他又何必帮他们把镜头擦干净，让他们称心如意？不过，也有可能尼尔森担心的是这套昂贵的
防护衣会白白浪费。制造这种装备的机密技术，历史悠久，从暴动之前的年代流传至今，而且
非常昂贵。尼尔森和他的同事耗费了无数时间心力，好不容易才做出一套，然而，会不会就这
样白白被毒酸空气腐蚀掉，却得不到任何效果？
“穿起来感觉怎么样？”尼尔森问，“会不会太紧？”
霍斯顿转头看看气闸室四周。他本来想说，我的人生被地堡的墙壁包围，包得太紧，我的
灵魂被皮肉包围，包得太紧，紧得令人窒息。
然而，他终究没有说出口，只是摇摇头。
“我准备好了。”他喃喃嘀咕了一句。
这是真的。霍斯顿真的准备好了，他真的迫不及待准备好要出去了。
那一刹那他忽然想到，他太太当时一定也和他一样，真的准备好了，迫不及待。
Part 1 Holston 5
Part 1 Holston
5
Three Years Earlier
“I want to go out. I want to go out. Iwanttogoout.”
Holston arrived at the cafeteria in a sprint. His radio was still squawking, Deputy Marnes yelling
something about Allison. Holston hadn’t even taken the time to respond, had just bolted up three
flights of stairs toward the scene.
“What’s going on?” he asked. He swam through the crowd by the door and found his wife
writhing on the cafeteria floor, held down by Connor and two other food staff employees. “Let her
go!” He slapped their hands off his wife’s shins and was nearly rewarded by one of her boots to his
chin. “Settle down,” he said. He reached for her wrists, which were twisting this way and that to get
out of the desperate grips of grown men. “Baby, what the hell is going on?”
“She was running for the airlock,” Connor said through grunts of exertion. Percy corralled her
kicking feet, and Holston didn’t stop him. He saw now why three men were needed. He leaned close
to Allison, making sure she saw him. Her eyes were wild, peeking through a curtain of disheveled
hair.
“Allison, baby, you’ve gotta settle down.”
“I want to go out. I want to go out.” Her voice had quieted, but the words kept tumbling out.
“Don’t say that,” Holston told her. Chills ran through his body at the sound of the grave
utterances. He held her cheeks. “Baby, don’t say that!”
But some part of him knew, in a jolting flash, what it meant. He knew it was too late. The others
had heard. Everyone had heard. His wife had signed her own death certificate.
The room spun around Holston as he begged Allison to be quiet. It was like he had arrived at the
scene of some horrible accident—some mishap in the machine shop—to find a person he loved
wounded. Arrived to find them alive and kicking, but knowing at a glance that the injury was fatal.
Holston felt warm tears streak down his cheeks as he tried to wipe the hair from her face. Her eyes
finally met his, stopped their fevered swirling and locked on to his with awareness. And for a
moment, just a second, before he could wonder if she’d been drugged or abused in any way, a spark
of calm clarity registered there, a flash of sanity, of cool calculation. And then it was blinked away
and her eyes went wild again as she begged to be let out, over and over.
“Lift her up,” Holston said. His husband eyes swam behind tears while he allowed his dutiful
sheriff-self to intervene. There was nothing for it but to lock her up, even as he wanted no more than
room enough to scream. “That way,” he told Connor, who had both hands under her twisting
shoulders. He nodded toward his office and the holding cell beyond. Just past that, down at the end of
the hall, the bright yellow paint on the great airlock door stood out, serene and menacing, silent and
waiting.
Once in the holding cell, Allison immediately calmed. She sat on the bench, no longer struggling
or blabbering, as if she’d only stopped by to rest and enjoy the view. Holston was now the writhing
wreck. He paced outside the bars and blubbered unanswered questions while Deputy Marnes and the
mayor handled his procedural work. The two of them were treating Holston and his wife both like
patients. And even as Holston’s mind spun with the horror of the past half hour, in the back of his
sheriff brain, where he was always alert for the rising tensions in the silo, he was dimly aware of the
shock and rumors trembling through walls of concrete and rebar. The enormous pent-up pressure of
the place was now hissing through the seams in whispers.
“Sweetheart, you’ve gotta talk to me,” he pleaded again and again. He stopped his pacing and
twisted the bars in his hands. Allison kept her back to him. She gazed at the wallscreen, at the brown
hills and gray sky and dark clouds. Now and then a hand came up to brush hair out of her face, but
otherwise she didn’t move or speak. Only when Holston’s key had gone into the lock, not long after
they had wrestled her in and shut the door, did she utter a single don’t that had convinced him to
remove it.
While he pleaded and she ignored, the machinations of the looming cleaning gyred through the
silo. Techs rumbled down the hallway as a suit was sized and readied. Cleaning tools were prepped in
the airlock. A canister hissed somewhere as argon was loaded into the flushing chambers. The
commotion of it sporadically rumbled past the holding cell where Holston stood gazing at his wife.
Chattering techs went dreadfully silent as they squeezed past; they didn’t even seem to breathe in his
presence.
Hours passed and Allison refused to talk—behavior that created its own stir in the silo. Holston
spent the entire day blubbering through the bars, his brain on fire with confusion and agony. It had
happened in a single moment, the destruction of all that he knew. He tried to wrap his brain around it
while Allison sat in the cell, gazing out at the dismal land, seemingly pleased with her far worse
status as a cleaner.
It was after dark when she finally spoke, after her last meal had been silently refused for the final
time, after the techs had finished in the airlock, closing the yellow door and retiring for a sleepless
night. It was after his deputy had gone for the night, patting Holston on the shoulder twice. What felt
like many hours after that, when Holston was near to passing out in fatigue from his crying and
hoarse remonstrations, long after the hazy sun had settled over the hills visible from the cafeteria and
lounge—the hills that hid the rest of that distant, crumbling city—in the near-dark left in the holding
cell, Allison whispered something almost inaudible: “It’s not real.”
That’s what Holston thought he heard. He stirred.
“Baby?” He gripped the bars and pulled himself up to his knees. “Honey,” he whispered, wiping
the crust from his cheeks.
She turned. It was like the sun changing its mind and rising back over the hills. That she’d
acknowledged him gave him hope. It choked him up, causing him to think this had all been a
sickness, a fever, something they could have Doc write up to excuse her for everything she’d uttered.
She’d never meant it. She was saved just by snapping out of it, and Holston was saved just by seeing
her turn to him.
“Nothing you see is real,” she said quietly. She seemed calm of body even as her craziness
continued, condemning her with forbidden words.
“Come talk to me,” Holston said. He waved her to the bars.
Allison shook her head. She patted the cot’s thin mattress beside her.
Holston checked the time. It was long past visiting hours. He could be sent to cleaning just for
doing what he was about to do.
The key went into the lock without hesitation.
A metallic click rang out impossibly loud.
Holston stepped inside with his wife and sat beside her. It killed him to not touch her, to not wrap
her up or drag her out to some safe place, back to their bed, where they could pretend it had all been a
bad dream.
But he didn’t dare move. He sat and twisted his hands together while she whispered:
“It doesn’t have to be real. Any of this. None of this.” She looked to the screen.
Holston leaned so close he could smell the dried sweat from the day’s struggle. “Baby, what’s
going on?”
Her hair stirred with the breath from his words. She reached out and rubbed the darkening display,
feeling the pixels.
“It could be morning right now and we’d never know. There could be people outside.” She turned
and looked at him. “They could be watching us,” she said with a sinister grin.
Holston held her gaze. She didn’t seem crazy at all, not like earlier. Her words were crazy, but she
didn’t seem to be. “Where did you get that idea?” he asked. He thought he knew, but he asked
anyway. “Did you find something on the hard drives?” He’d heard that she had run straight from her
lab toward the airlock, already barking her madness. Something had happened while she was at work.
“What did you find?”
“There’s more deleted than just from the uprising,” she whispered. “Of course there would be.
Everything is deleted. All the recent stuff, too.” She laughed. Her voice got suddenly loud and her
eyes lost focus. “E-mails you never sent me, I bet!”
“Honey.” Holston dared to reach for her hands, and she didn’t pull away. He held them. “What
did you find? Was it an e-mail? Who was it from?”
She shook her head. “No. I found the programs they use. The ones that make pictures on the
screens that look so real.” She looked back to the quickening dusk. “IT,” she said. “Eye. Tee.
They’re the ones. They know. It’s a secret that only they know.” She shook her head.
“What secret?” Holston couldn’t tell if this was nonsense or important. He only knew that she was
talking.
“But now I know. And you will too. I’ll come back for you, I swear. This’ll be different. We’ll
break the cycle, you and me. I’ll come back and we’ll go over that hill together.” She laughed. “If it’s
there,” she said loudly. “If that hill is there and it’s green, we’ll go over it together.”
She turned to him.
“There is no uprising, not really, there’s just a gradual leak. Just the people who know, who want
out.” She smiled. “They get to go out,” she said. “They get just what they ask for. I know why they
clean, why they say they won’t but why they do. I know. I know. And they never come back, they
wait and wait and wait, but I won’t. I’ll come right back. This’ll be different.”
Holston squeezed her hands. Tears were dripping off his cheeks. “Baby, why are you doing this?”
He felt like she wanted to explain herself now that the silo was dark and they were all alone.
“I know about the uprisings,” she said.
Holston nodded. “I know. You told me. There were others—”
“No.” Allison pulled away from him, but it was only to make space so she could look him in the
eyes. Hers were no longer wild, as before.
“Holston, I know why the uprisings took place. I know why.”
Allison bit her lower lip. Holston waited, his body tense.
“It was always over the doubt, the suspicion, that things weren’t as bad out there as they seemed.
You’ve felt that, right? That we could be anywhere, living a lie?”
Holston knew better than to answer, to even twitch. Broaching this subject led to cleaning. He sat
frozen and waited.
“It was probably the younger generations,” Allison said. “Every twenty years or so. They wanted
to push further, to explore, I think. Don’t you ever feel that urge? Didn’t you when you were
younger?” Her eyes lost focus. “Or maybe it was the couples, newly married, who were driven to
madness when they were told they couldn’t have kids in this damned limited world of ours. Maybe
they were willing to risk everything for that chance …”
Her eyes focused on something far away. Perhaps she was seeing that lottery ticket they had yet to
redeem and now never would. She looked back at Holston. He wondered if he could be sent to
cleaning even for his silence, for not yelling her down as she uttered every one of the great forbidden
words.
“It could even have been the elderly residents,” she said, “cooped up too long, no longer afraid in
their final years, maybe wanting to move out and make room for the others, for the few precious
grandchildren. Whoever it was, whoever, every uprising took place because of this doubt, this
feeling, that we’re in the bad place right here.” She looked around the cell.
“You can’t say that,” Holston whispered. “That’s the great offense—”
Allison nodded. “Expressing any desire to leave. Yes. The great offense. Don’t you see why? Why
is that so forbidden? Because all the uprisings started with that desire, that’s why.”
“You get what you ask for,” Holston recited, those words drilled into his head since youth. His
parents had warned him—their only precious child—never to want out of the silo. Never even to
think it. Don’t let it cross your mind. It was instant death, that thought, and it would be the
destruction of their one and only.
He looked back at his wife. He still didn’t understand her madness, this decision. So she had
found deleted programs that could make worlds on computer screens look real. What did that mean?
Why do this?
“Why?” he asked her. “Why do it this way? Why didn’t you come to me? There has to be a better
way to find out what’s going on. We could start by telling people what you’re finding on those drives
—”
“And be the ones who start the next great uprising?” Allison laughed. Some of the madness was
still there, or maybe it was just an intense frustration and boiling anger. Perhaps a great,
multigenerational betrayal had pushed her to the edge. “No thanks,” she said, her laughter subsiding.
“Damn them if they stay here. I’m only coming back for you.”
“You don’t come back from this,” Holston said angrily. “You think the banished are still out
there? You think they choose not to come back because they feel betrayed by us?”
“Why do you think they do the cleaning?” Allison asked. “Why do they pick up their wool and set
to work without hesitation?”
Holston sighed. He felt the anger in him draining away. “No one knows why,” he said.
“But why do you think?”
“We’ve talked about this,” he said. “How many times have we discussed this?” He was sure all
couples whispered their theories when they were alone. He looked past Allison as he remembered
those times. He looked to the wall and saw the moon’s position and read in it the night’s hour. Their
time was limited. His wife would be gone tomorrow. That simple thought came often, like lightning
from stormy clouds.
“Everyone has theories,” he said. “We’ve shared ours countless times. Let’s just—”
“But now you know something new,” Allison told him. She let go of his hand and brushed the
hair from her face. “You and I know something new, and now it all makes sense. It makes perfect
sense. And tomorrow I’ll know for sure.” Allison smiled. She patted Holston’s hand as if he were a
child. “And one day, my love, you will know it, too.”
第一部分：出去 05
第一部分：出去
05
•三年前•
“我要出去！我要出去！我！要！出！去！”
霍斯顿用最快的速度冲进大餐厅。他的无线电还在“沙沙”作响，听得出来是副保安官马奈
斯在大喊，说艾莉森出事了。霍斯顿一接到通知，想都没想就开始一路猛冲，三步并作两步冲
上楼梯赶往现场。
“怎么回事？”他问。大餐厅门口挤满了人，他一路挤过去，看到太太躺在地上挥舞手脚拼
命挣扎，而康纳和另外两个餐厅的工作人员按着她，想让她安静下来。“放开她！”他挥开他们
的手，霎时他太太的动作失去控制，猛然一脚踢到他下巴。“冷静一下！”他伸手去抓她的手
腕，可是她两手还在拼命挥舞挣扎，因为刚刚太多大男人想按住她。“亲爱的，怎么回事？”
“她刚刚冲到气闸室门口，想开门。”康纳气喘吁吁地说。帕西抓住她乱踢的双腿，霍斯顿
没有阻止他。现在，他终于明白为什么需要三个大男人去抓她。他凑近艾莉森，让她看清楚他
来了。她披头散发，脸都被遮住了，不过，从发丝的隙缝间，可以看得到她恶狠狠的目光。
“艾莉森，亲爱的，冷静一点。”
“我要出去。我要出去。”
她的口气已经缓和下来，变得平静，但还是很坚定。
“不要说这种话。”霍斯顿对她说。听着她那冰冷阴沉的声音，霍斯顿感到背脊窜起一股凉
意。他伸手捧着她的脸。“亲爱的，不要说这种话！”
然而，内心深处，他很清楚这意味着什么。他知道，太迟了，别人都听到了。在场的人都
听到了。他太太已经判了自己死刑。
他一直哀求艾莉森不要再说话，感觉整座餐厅仿佛在天旋地转，仿佛自己来到惨不忍睹的
意外现场，看到自己心爱的人身受重伤。从前，他曾经在机器工厂里看过支离破碎的人体。此
刻，他到了现场，虽然看到太太还活着，还在疯狂挣扎，然而，他看了一眼，心里就已经明
白，太太身上有那种看不见的伤，已经没救了。
霍斯顿伸手把她脸上的头发拨到后面，这时候，他感觉到温热的眼泪沿着自己脸颊往下
流。她终于看着他的眼睛，眼神不再狂乱。她终于意识到他来了，凝视着他的眼睛。他本来还
有点怀疑她是不是嗑了药之类的，然而就在那短短的一刹那，大概一秒钟的瞬间，他注意到她
眼睛炯炯发亮。那是神志清醒、冷静盘算的眼神。但就只有那么一瞬间，她立刻又露出狂乱的
眼神，又开始哭闹不休，哀求说她要出去。
“扶她起来。”霍斯顿说。他是她的丈夫，但也是保安官，所以，他也只能噙着眼泪，履行
他的职责。虽然此刻他只想找个地方躲起来尽情哭喊，但他别无选择，只能把她关起来。“往那
边。”他交代康纳。康纳两手托着她腋下，而她还在挣扎。霍斯顿朝办公室的方向点点头，也就
是，羁押室的方向。走进办公室，经过羁押室门口，最里面的墙上有一扇巨大的门，亮亮的黄
色油漆，非常显眼。那里就是气闸室，气象森然，安静无声，散发出一种虎视眈眈的气息，令
人望而生畏。
艾莉森被拉进羁押室之后，立刻恢复平静。她坐在长凳上，不再拼命挣扎，不再拳打脚
踢，那模样仿佛是走进来休息一下，欣赏风景。现在，浑身抽搐、情绪崩溃的人，是霍斯顿。
他在铁栏杆外走来走去，喃喃自语，一直问为什么为什么，可是却没有人回答。这时候，马奈
斯副保安官和首长忙着代替他处理一些手续。面对霍斯顿和他太太，他们小心翼翼，像在对待
病人。在过去的这半个钟头里，霍斯顿心神散乱，陷入无边的恐惧，但尽管如此，他的脑子依
然有一小部分残留着保安官特有的敏锐，察觉得到地堡里逐渐升高的紧张气氛。此刻，隔着钢
筋水泥的墙壁，他隐约感觉得到大家的震惊，听得到窃窃私语。地堡里，郁积太久的压力已经
快爆发了，那窃窃私语犹如蒸汽一样不断流泄喷发。
“亲爱的，求求你跟我说话。”他不断苦苦哀求。他不再走来走去，两手死命抓着栏杆。艾
莉森依然背对着他，眼睛盯着墙上的景象，那土黄的沙丘、灰灰的天空、浓密沉黯的云层。她
偶尔会抬起手，把脸上的头发拨到后面，但除此之外她几乎是一动也不动，闷不吭声。刚刚她
还在疯狂挣扎，三个大男人费尽力气好不容易才把她拖进来，但羁押室门才刚关上没多久，她
立刻就像变了一个人。霍斯顿终于忍不住了，拿出钥匙插进钥匙孔，那一刹那，她才终于开口
说了两个字：“不要！”霍斯顿就没有再继续开门了。
不管他怎么哀求，她就是不理他，而就在这时候，全地堡各相关部门的人已经开始动员，
为清洁镜头进行准备。技师已经量好尺寸，做好了防护衣，他们一大群人正从大厅那边过来，
要把防护衣送到气闸室。清洁镜头用的工具也已经送到气闸室。另外，附近传来“嘶嘶”声，显
然有人正戴着防毒面具，把氩气填充到冲压槽里，羁押室里可以听得到那一阵阵的“隆隆”声。
而就在这时候，霍斯顿正愣愣地站在那里看着他太太。那些技术人员进来的时候，本来都在窃
窃私语，可是一走到羁押室门口，立刻都安静下来，蹑手蹑脚地从他后面走过去，甚至好像都
屏住气不敢呼吸，悄然无声。
几个钟头过去了，艾莉森还是不肯说话。然而，他却感觉她的沉默犹如一种可怕的轰然巨
响回荡在地堡里。一整天，霍斯顿隔着栏杆对着她啜泣，内心痛苦挣扎，脑海中一片混乱。就
在短暂的片刻，他所熟悉的一切已经彻底瓦解。艾莉森坐在羁押室里，眼睛看着墙上阴暗荒凉
的原野，神情愉悦，好像根本不在乎自己就要被送出去清洗镜头。
天黑了，她拒绝吃最后的晚餐。后来，气闸室里那些技术人员终于忙完了，关上那扇黄色
的门，然后就离开了。这一夜将是一个不眠夜。接着，副保安官拍拍他的肩膀，然后也离开
了。大家都走了，就这样又过了好几个钟头，霍斯顿不停地啜泣哀求，最后已经声嘶力竭，疲
惫虚弱，几乎快昏厥。餐厅和大厅的墙上，那轮模糊的太阳已经隐没在沙丘外，而夜幕已经笼
罩了远处那座废弃的城市。这时候，艾莉森终于开口了。她几乎是喃喃自语，声音微弱得几乎
听不到。
“那是假的。”
霍斯顿觉得她好像是这样说的。他立刻精神一振。
“亲爱的？”他抓住铁栏杆，整个人跪着。“亲爱的。”他嘶哑着嗓子，抬起手抹掉脸上干掉的
鼻涕。
她缓缓转身过来看着他。那一刹那，仿佛太阳突然回心转意，又从沙丘后冒出来。她愿意
跟他说话了，这令他心中又燃起希望。他激动得哽住了，说不出话来，开始认为她只是生病
了，发高烧意识不清，所以只要找医生来诊断一下，证明她说的话都只是意识不清所导致的胡
言乱语。她说那些话都不是有意的。只要能够证明她说那些话都只是因为神志不清，那她就有
救了，不必被送出去，而霍斯顿光是看到她肯转过来面对他，他就已经觉得生命又充满了希
望。
“那些全是假的。”她口气很平静。她的模样看起来很平静，可是说出来的话却依然执迷不
悟。那些话会把她推向死亡。
“过来我这边，我们好好谈一谈。”霍斯顿朝她招招手，要她走过来铁栏杆这边。
艾莉森摇摇头，然后拍拍她旁边的床垫。
霍斯顿看了一下手表。会面的时间已经过了。要是他现在走进去，很可能也会被送出去清
洗镜头。
他把钥匙插进去，毫不迟疑。
铁锁发出惊心动魄的“铿锵”一声巨响。
霍斯顿走进去，坐到他太太旁边。他好想抱住她，带她到一个安全的地方，回到他们的床
上，假装这一切只是一场噩梦。坐在她旁边却不能碰她，那是无比的煎熬。
但他不敢动。他就这样坐着，两手扭绞成一团，听着她喃喃低语：
“那绝不可能是真的。没有一样是真的。全是假的。”她凝视着墙上的影像。霍斯顿坐在她
旁边，闻得到她身上的汗臭味。挣扎了一整天，她满身大汗。
“亲爱的，你到底怎么了？”
他说话的气息喷在她头上，她的发丝摇曳了几下。她伸手摸摸墙上的影像，摸摸那些像素
点。外面的天色越来越暗。
“说不定外面现在是早上，我们永远搞不清楚。说不定外面现在有人走来走去。”她忽然转
头看着他，“说不定他们正在看我们。”她冷笑了一下。
霍斯顿凝视着她的眼睛。先前她整个人像发了疯似的，但现在她看起来非常清醒。她并没
有发疯，但说话像疯子。“你怎么会有这种念头？”他觉得自己心里有数，但还是开口问了。“你
是不是在硬盘里找到什么东西？”他这么问，是因为他听说她是从实验室跑出来，直接冲到气闸
室门口，而且一路疯狂喊叫。显然，她工作的时候一定是出了什么事。“你发现了什么？”
“硬盘资料被删除，不是只有在暴动的时候。后来有人删除了更多资料。”她低声说，“其实
那没什么好奇怪的，他们当然会把所有的资料全部删掉。近代的资料。”她冷笑了一下，突然开
始越说越大声，眼神又开始涣散。“当然包括一些机密邮件！”
“亲爱的。”霍斯顿鼓起勇气握住她的手，而她也没有把手缩回去。他紧紧握住。“你发现了
什么？是电子邮件吗？是谁寄的？”
她摇摇头：“不是。我发现了他们用的程序。他们用那种程序制造墙上那些影像。老天，那
些影像，看起来好像真的，太像了！”说着，她又回头去看墙上那越来越幽暗的夜色。“资讯
区。”她说，“资！讯！区！就是他们。他们知道所有的秘密。只有他们知道。”她猛摇头。
“秘密？什么秘密？”霍斯顿实在没把握那到底是真的，还是胡言乱语。但此刻，那并不重
要，重要的是，她开口说话了。
“不过现在我知道了。而且，你也很快就会知道。我会回来找你的，我对天发誓。这次会和
从前不一样。我们可以打破这种一代又一代不断重复的过程。你和我。我会回来找你，然后，
我们一起爬上那个沙丘。”她忽然笑起来。“如果那边真的有那座沙丘的话。”她越说越大声，“如
果那座沙丘真的在那边，而且绿草如茵，那么，我们就一起爬上去。”
她转过来看着他。
“那根本不是什么暴动，而只不过是少数人的反抗行动。那些知道真相的人。他们想出
去。”她露出笑容。“而他们也真的出去了。”她继续说，“他们的愿望实现了。我知道他们为什么
会擦镜头。他们口口声声说他们打死都不会擦镜头，可是最后都乖乖擦了。我知道为什么。我
知道。而且，他们一直都没有回来，他们在外面等，一直等一直等。不过我不会像他们一样。
我会马上回来，这次会跟以前完全不一样。”
霍斯顿紧紧抓住她的手，泪水沿着脸颊往下滴落。“亲爱的，你为什么要这样做？”他感觉
到她想跟他解释，因为地堡已经夜深人静，这里只剩下他们两个，没有人会来打扰。
“我知道所谓的暴动是怎么回事。”她说。
霍斯顿点点头：“我知道，你刚刚已经说了，有一些人……”
“不对。”艾莉森忽然把手缩回去，不过，她只是想往后退一点，这样才能够看着他的眼
睛。她的眼里，已经不再是先前那种狂乱的眼神。
“霍斯顿，我知道暴动是怎么造成的。我知道为什么。”
艾莉森咬了一下嘴唇。霍斯顿等着她开口，浑身肌肉紧绷。
“总是有人会怀疑，外面的世界并不像看起来那么可怕。你自己也曾经有过那种感觉，不是
吗？你不是也会怀疑，我们生活的这个世界，根本就是假的，有人一直在骗我们？”
霍斯顿不敢回答她，甚至连动都不敢动。他知道那种危险。只要有人敢讨论这种问题，下
场就是被送出去清洗镜头。他坐在那里浑身僵直，等着。
“起来暴动的人，有可能是年轻的一代。”艾莉森说，“大概每隔二十年就会发生，我想，他
们大概是想去尝试，去探索。就拿你来说，难道你都不曾有过那种冲动吗？难道你年轻的时候
没有过吗？”她又开始出现迷惘的眼神。“或者，也可能是年轻的夫妻，刚结婚的。在我们这个
该死的世界里，别人不准他们生孩子，他们简直快发疯了。也许他们愿意不顾一切去冒险，只
要有机会——”
她的视线仿佛落在某个很远的地方。也许她忽然想到当初他们抽到的签，而现在他们再也
没有那个机会了。她回头看看霍斯顿。他一直没吭声，也没有阻止她，叫她不准再说这些触犯
禁忌的话。他不知道自己会不会就因为这样也被送出去清洗镜头。
“说不定也可能是老人家。”她说，“已经在这个小地方关太久，再活也没几年，所以他们什
么都不怕了。说不定他们就是想出去，把里面的空间让出来，让给他们的宝贝孙子孙女。总
之，不管是年轻人还是老人，每次暴动都是因为这种怀疑，这种感觉。他们觉得这个地方很
烂。”她转头看看羁押室四周。
“不能说这种话。”霍斯顿压低声音说，“这是最严重的犯罪——”
艾莉森点点头：“公然宣称自己想出去。没错，这是最严重的犯罪。不过，你知道为什么
吗？为什么会有这种禁忌？因为暴动就是这种欲望所引起的。这就是为什么。”
“想出去，你就真的会被送出去。”霍斯顿轻声嘀咕了一句。那是小时候大人常常告诫他们
的一句话。爸妈警告过他，绝对不可以有离开地堡的念头，连想都不准想。他是他们唯一的宝
贝儿子。只要一说出口，立刻就会面对死亡，而他们就会失去唯一的孩子。
他回头看着太太。他还是搞不懂她为什么突然发疯，突然决定要出去。她说她发现被删除
的程序，而那种程序制造出来的影像，看起来和真实世界一模一样。那是什么意思？她为什么
要这样？
“为什么？”他问她，“你为什么要这样？你为什么不先来找我？一定有更好的办法可以查出
到底是怎么回事。我们可以分成几个步骤，比如一开始，我们先告诉大家你在硬盘里找到那些
——”
“然后呢？掀起另一次大暴动？”艾莉森大笑起来。看样子，可能她的理智还没有完全恢
复，或是因为挫折感太强烈，或是积怨太久，或者，也可能是她觉得自己被欺骗，被蒙在鼓
里，所以才会情绪失控。也许，几十年来，或是几百年来，地堡里世世代代的人都被蒙在鼓
里。“你这种方法我看就免了吧。”她不再笑了，“我已经把我发现的东西删掉了。我不想让别人
知道。就让他们继续留在这里吧，活该。我说我会回来，只是为了要回来找你。”
“你一出去就回不来了。”霍斯顿愤愤地说。“从前那些被送出去的人，你以为他们还在外面
吗？你以为他们是因为觉得被我们背叛，所以决定不回来？”
“你觉得他们为什么会去擦镜头？”艾莉森问，“为什么他们会毫不迟疑地拿起羊毛布，拼命
擦镜头？”
霍斯顿叹了口气。他发觉自己满腔怒火已经渐渐消了。“没有人知道为什么。”他说。
“我问的是你。你觉得呢？”
“这问题我们不是讨论过了吗？”他说，“我们讨论过多少次了，你忘了吗？”他相信，夜深人
静的时候，每一对年轻夫妻都曾经私下揣测过。他转头看着艾莉森后面的墙壁，回想起他们从
前也曾经聊过这些问题。此刻，看着那月亮在天空中的位置，他大概可以估得出来现在是晚上
几点。时间已经不多了，明天，他太太就会被送出去。这个简单的事实，就像暴风雨中偶尔划
过的闪电一样，不断在他脑海中闪现。
“每个人都有自己的揣测。”他说，“我们从前也私下讨论过，不知道多少次了。现在我们就
——”
“不过现在你已经知道新的资料。”艾莉森把手缩回去，拨开脸上的头发，“现在，你和我都
已经知道新的资料。现在，我们总算搞清楚了，从前那些出去的人为什么会有那种反应。完全
搞清楚了。明天，我就可以亲自去证明了。”艾莉森露出笑容，拍拍霍斯顿的手，仿佛在安抚小
孩子。“而且，亲爱的，有一天你自己也会明白的。”
Part 1 Holston 6
Part 1 Holston
6
Present Time
The first year without her, Holston had waited, buying into her insanity, distrusting the sight of her on
that hill, hoping she’d come back. He’d spent the first anniversary of her death scrubbing the holding
cell clean, washing the yellow airlock door, straining for some sound, some knock, that would mean
the ghost of his wife was back to set him free.
When it didn’t happen, he began to consider the alternative: going out after her. He had spent
enough days, weeks, months going through her computer files, reading some of what she had pieced
together, making sense of half of it, to become half-mad himself. His world was a lie, he came to
believe, and without Allison in it he had nothing to live for even if it were truth.
The second anniversary of her departure was his year of cowardice. He had walked to work, the
poisonous words in his mouth—his desire to go out—but he had choked them down at the last
second. He and Deputy Marnes had gone on patrol that day with the secret of how near he’d come to
death burning inside of him. That was a long year of cowardice, of letting Allison down. The first
year had been her failure; last year had been his. But no more.
Now, one more year later, he was alone in the airlock, wearing a cleaning suit, full of doubts and
convictions. The silo was sealed off behind him, that thick yellow door bolted tight, and Holston
thought that this was not how he’d thought he’d die, or what he had hoped would become of him. He
had thought he would remain in the silo forever, his nutrients going as the nutrients of his parents
had: into the soil of the eighth-floor dirt farm. It seemed a lifetime ago that he had dreamed of a
family, of his own child, a fantasy of twins or another lottery win, a wife to grow old with—
A klaxon sounded on the other side of the yellow doors, warning everyone but him away. He was
to stay. There was nowhere else for him to go.
The argon chambers hissed, pumping the room full of the inert gas. After a minute of this, Holston
could feel the pressure of the air as it crinkled the cleaning suit tight around his joints. He breathed
the oxygen circulating inside his helmet and stood before the other door, the forbidden door, the one
to the awful outside world, and waited.
There was a metal groan from pistons deep within the walls. The sacrificial plastic curtains
covering the interior of the airlock wrinkled from the pressure of the built-up argon. These curtains
would be incinerated inside the airlock while Holston cleaned. The area would be scrubbed before
nightfall, made ready for the next cleaning.
The great metal doors before him shuddered, and then a shaft of incredible space appeared at their
joint, widening as the doors withdrew into the jamb. They wouldn’t open all the way, not like they
were once designed to—the risk of invading air had to be minimized.
An argon torrent hissed through the gap, dulling to a roar as the space grew. Holston pressed
close, as horrified at himself for not resisting as he’d previously been perplexed by the actions of
others. Better to go out, to see the world one time with his own eyes, than to be burned alive with the
plastic curtains. Better to survive a few moments more.
As soon as the opening was wide enough, Holston squeezed through, his suit catching and rubbing
at the doors. There was a veil of fog all around him as the argon condensed in the less pressurized air.
He stumbled forward blindly, pawing through the soft cloud.
While he was still in that mist, the outer doors groaned and began closing. The klaxon howls
behind were swallowed by the press of thick steel against thick steel, locking him and the toxins out
while cleansing fires began to rage inside the airlock, destroying any contamination that had leaked
its way inside.
Holston found himself at the bottom of a concrete ramp, a ramp that led up. His time felt short—
there was a constant reminder thrumming in the back of his skull—hurry! Hurry! His life was ticking
away. He lumbered up the ramp, confused that he wasn’t already aboveground, so used as he was to
seeing the world and the horizon from the cafeteria and lounge, which were on the same level as the
airlock.
He shuffled up the narrow ramp, walls of chipped concrete to either side, his visor full of a
confusing, brilliant light. At the top of the ramp, Holston saw the heaven into which he’d been
condemned for his simple sin of hope. He whirled around, scanning the horizon, his head dizzy from
the sight of so much green!
Green hills, green grass, green carpet beneath his feet. Holston whooped in his helmet. His mind
buzzed with the sight. Hanging over all the green, there was the exact hue of blue from the children’s
books, the white clouds untainted, the movement of living things flapping in the air.
Holston turned around and around, taking it in. He had a sudden memory of his wife doing the
same; he had watched her awkwardly, slowly turning, almost as if she were lost or confused or
considering whether to do the cleaning at all.
The cleaning!
Holston reached down and pulled a wool pad from his chest. The cleaning! He knew, in a
dizzying rush, a torrent of awareness, why, why. Why!
He looked where he always assumed the tall circular wall of the uppermost silo floor would be,
but of course that wall was buried. All that stood behind him was a small mound of concrete, a tower
no more than eight or nine feet tall. A metal ladder ran up one side; antennae bristled from the top.
And on the side facing him—on all the sides he saw as he approached—were the wide, curving, fish-
eye lenses of the silo’s powerful cameras.
Holston held out his wool and approached the first. He imagined the view of himself from inside
the cafeteria, staggering forward, becoming impossibly large. He had watched his wife do the same
thing three years ago. He remembered her waving, he had thought at the time for balance, but had she
been telling him something? Had she been grinning like a fool, as wide as he was grinning now,
while she remained hidden behind that silver visor? Had her heart been pounding with foolish hope
while she sprayed, scrubbed, wiped, applied? Holston knew the cafeteria would be empty; there was
no one left who loved him enough to watch, but he waved anyway. And for him, it wasn’t the raw
anger he imagined many might have cleaned with. It wasn’t the knowledge that they in the silo were
condemned and the condemned set free; it wasn’t the feeling of betrayal that guided the wool in his
hand in small, circular motions. It was pity. It was raw pity and unconstrained joy.
The world blurred, but in a good way, as tears came to Holston’s eyes. His wife had been right:
the view from inside was a lie. The hills were the same—he’d recognize them at a glance after so
many years of living with them—but the colors were all wrong. The screens inside the silo, the
programs his wife had found, they somehow made the vibrant greens look gray, they somehow
removed all signs of life. Extraordinary life!
Holston polished the grime off the camera lens and wondered if the gradual blurring was even
real. The grime certainly was. He saw it as he rubbed it away. But was it simple dirt, rather than some
toxic, airborne grime? Could the program Allison discovered modify only what was already seen?
Holston’s mind spun with so many new facts and ideas. He was like an adult child, born into a wide
world, so much to piece together all at once that his head throbbed.
The blur is real, he decided as he cleaned the last of the smear from the second lens. It was an
overlay, like the false grays and browns the program must have used to hide that green field and this
blue sky dotted with puffy white. They were hiding from them a world so beautiful, Holston had to
concentrate not to just stand still and gape at it.
He worked on the second of the four cameras and thought about those untrue walls beneath him,
taking what they saw and modifying it. He wondered how many people in the silo knew. Any of
them? What kind of fanatical devotion would it take to maintain this depressing illusion? Or was this
a secret from before the last uprising? Was it an unknown lie perpetuated through the generations—a
fibbing set of programs that continued to hum away on the silo computers with nobody aware?
Because if someone knew, if they could show anything, why not something nice?
The uprisings! Maybe it was just to prevent them from happening over and over again. Holston
applied an ablative film to the second sensor and wondered if the ugly lie of an unpleasant outside
world was some misguided attempt to keep people from wanting out. Could someone have decided
that the truth was worse than a loss of power, of control? Or was it something deeper and more
sinister? A fear of unabashed, free, many-as-you-like children? So many horrible possibilities.
And what of Allison? Where was she? Holston shuffled around the corner of the concrete tower
toward the third lens, and the familiar but strange skyscrapers in the distant city came into view.
Only, there were more buildings than usual there. Some stood to either side, and an unfamiliar one
loomed in the foreground. The others, the ones he knew by heart, were whole and shining, not
twisted and jagged. Holston gazed over the crest of the verdant hills and imagined Allison walking
over them at any minute. But that was ridiculous. How would she know he’d been expelled on this
day? Would she remember the anniversary? Even after he’d missed the last two? Holston cursed his
former cowardice, the years wasted. He would have to go to her, he decided.
He had a sudden impulse to do just that, to tear off his helmet and bulky suit and scamper up the
hill in nothing but his carbon undersuit, breathing in deep gulps of crisp air and laughing all the way
to his waiting wife in some vast, unfathomable city full of people and squealing children.
But no, there were appearances to keep, illusions to maintain. He wasn’t sure why, but it was what
his wife had done, what all the other cleaners before him had done. Holston was now a member of
that club, a member of the out group. There was a press of history, of precedent, to obey. They had
known best. He would complete his performance for the in group he had just joined. He wasn’t sure
why he was doing it, only that everyone before him had, and look at the secret they all shared. That
secret was a powerful drug. He knew only to do what he had been told, to follow the numbers on the
pockets, to clean mechanically while he considered the awesome implications of an outside world so
big one couldn’t live to see it all, couldn’t breathe all the air, drink all the water, eat all the food.
Holston dreamed of such things while he dutifully scrubbed the third lens, wiped, applied,
sprayed, then moved to the last. His pulse was audible in his ears; his chest pounded in that
constricting suit. Soon, soon, he told himself. He used the second wool pad and polished the grime
off the final lens. He wiped and applied and sprayed a final time, then put everything back in its place,
back in the numbered pouches, not wanting to spoil the gorgeous and healthy ground beneath his
feet. Done, Holston stepped back, took one last look at the nobodies not watching from the cafeteria
and lounge, then turned his back on those who had turned their backs on Allison and all the others
before her. There was a reason nobody came back for the people inside, Holston thought, just as there
was a reason everyone cleaned, even when they said they wouldn’t. He was free; he was to join the
others, and so he strolled toward that dark crease that ran up the hill, following in his wife’s
footsteps, aware that some familiar boulder, long sleeping, no longer lay there. That, too, Holston
decided, had been nothing more than another awful pixelated lie.
第一部分：出去 06
第一部分：出去
06
•现在•
她走了以后，第一年，霍斯顿一直在等她回来。他变得跟她一样疯。他看得到她的尸体倒
在那座沙丘上，但他相信那景象一定是假的。他一直怀着希望，希望她会回来。她走了以后，
满周年的那一天，他一个人在羁押室里刷地板，清洗那扇黄色的闸门。他迫切渴望会听到门后
传来声音，敲门声，太太的灵魂回来找他，让他得以摆脱这一整年的煎熬。
然而，她并没有回来。后来，他开始思考另一种方式：出去找她。他不断搜寻她的电脑档
案，一天又一天，接连找了好几个月，找到了一些她拼凑出来的资料，一知半解，因此也开始
陷入半疯狂状态。他开始相信，这个世界是假的，更何况，艾莉森已经不在身边了，所以，就
算这个世界是真的，他也没什么好留恋的。
然而，艾莉森出去满两年的那一天，他表现得像个懦夫。他走进办公室，本来想当众宣告
他要出去，但就在快要说出口那一刹那，他忽然又把话吞回去。那一天，他和副保安官马奈斯
一起外出巡逻，而那个秘密就像火焰般在他心头燃烧。那一整年，他表现得很怯弱，他背弃了
艾莉森。第一年，他背弃了她，第二年，他背弃了她。不过，到了第三年，他不打算再继续这
样下去。
现在，第三年过去了，他孤零零地坐在气闸室里，身上穿着防护衣，对眼前的世界满腹狐
疑，对自己的选择充满自信。他身后那扇厚厚的黄色闸门已经紧闭，把他隔绝在地堡之外。霍
斯顿忽然想到，从前，他从来没想过自己会这样死去，也不曾希望自己的人生会是这样的结
局。从前，他总认为自己会在地堡里待一辈子，最后，就像他的父母一样，埋骨在八楼土耕区
的泥土里。他曾经梦想拥有一个自己的家，有自己的孩子，甚至奢望生出双胞胎，或是抽到第
二次签，和妻子白头偕老。
不久，黄色闸门另一头响起了警笛声，警告在场所有的人离开。除了他。他必须待在这
里。他没地方可以去。
氩气槽开始发出“嘶嘶”声，气闸室里开始充满浓浊的氩气，一分钟后，霍斯顿已经感觉到
气压了，因为防护衣的接缝部位变得很紧。他呼吸着防护衣里的氧气，站在另一道闸门门口。
那是禁忌之门，门外就是那可怕的世界。他静静等候。
接着，墙壁内部的活塞忽然发出金属的“嘎吱”声。整个气闸室里覆盖着一层抛弃式胶膜，
现在那层胶膜已经被高压氩气撑得起皱。等霍斯顿出去之后，这层胶膜会被焚毁，然后工作人
员会在天黑之前把气闸室清洗干净，为下一次任务做好准备。
后来，大闸门颤动了一下，两扇门板开始往内缩进门框里，门板间露出缝隙。原本闸门的
设计是可以全开的，不过，他们并不打算完全打开，因为必须尽可能减少毒气渗入，降低危险
性。
高压氩气开始从缝隙往外泄，一开始是尖锐的“嘶嘶”声，后来，缝隙越来越大，渐渐变成
低沉的怒吼。他慢慢靠近那扇门，而且很惊讶地发现自己完全没有退缩的念头。他想起从前那
些人。他曾经感到困惑，为什么那些出去的人面对那扇可怕的闸门都不会退缩。现在他明白
了，待在气闸室里，很快就会跟那层胶膜一样被烧成灰，还不如走出去，亲眼看看外面的世
界。他们宁可多活几分钟。
后来，闸门终于开得够宽了，霍斯顿从门缝挤过去，防护衣擦过门板边缘。他笼罩在一团
雾气中，因为外面的空气比较稀薄，喷出来的氩气都凝结了。他看不见前面，只能在雾气中摸
索着往前走。
雾还没散，闸门就开始“嘎吱”作响，慢慢关上。接着，厚厚的钢板“砰”的一声合上，隔绝了
里面的警笛声，也把他隔绝在充满毒气的外面。气闸室里开始喷火消毒，把渗进去的有毒物质
彻底消除。
后来，雾渐渐散了，霍斯顿发觉自己站在一条水泥通道底端，水泥板斜斜地通向上面。他
脑海中仿佛有一个声音在说——快点！快点！——他知道时间不多了，他的生命正一分一秒流
逝。他挣扎着往上爬，有点困惑，为什么走出闸门之后，并不是面对地平线。先前在大餐厅看
墙上的影像，总觉得脚下踩的地面，就是外面世界的地平线。他已经太习惯那种感觉。
那条窄窄的水泥板通道，两边墙上是一块块凸起的水泥。他拖着脚步往上爬。透过面罩，
他只看到一片白茫茫的光，有点困惑。后来，当霍斯顿爬到斜坡顶端，他看到天空了。不久
前，就是为了一个小小的渴望，渴望看到这片天空，他被判处死刑。他转身四望，扫视着远处
地平线，看到那一望无际的翠绿，他忽然感到有点晕眩。
绿色的山丘，绿色的原野，还有他脚下的绿草如茵。霍斯顿在头盔里惊叹了一声，眼前的
景象令他心情激荡。而在那翠绿的山野之上，是碧蓝如洗的天空，那鲜艳的色泽就和童话书里
一模一样。而那纯白无瑕的云犹如活生生的动物在空中翻涌。
霍斯顿不停地旋转，不停地旋转，享受着眼前的美景。这时候，他蓦然想起，当初他太太
也有同样的举动。当时他看见她笨拙的、缓慢的转身，那模样仿佛迷路了，或是傻住了，或是
在考虑该不该去擦镜头。
镜头！擦镜头！
霍斯顿伸手到胸前，从口袋里掏出一片羊毛布。擦镜头！他终于明白了，刹那间的领悟冲
上他脑门，令他感到一阵晕眩。这就是为什么！这就是为什么！
他转头去寻找那面墙。地堡最上层四周环绕着一面墙。他直觉以为转头就会看到，但很快
就想到，对了，那面墙是在他脚底下。他背后是一座小小的水泥圆丘，大概两米高，侧边有一
道铁梯，顶上有天线。面向他的那一边，有一个口径很大的鱼眼镜头，圆圆的镜面微微凸出。
然而，当他越走越近，发现圆丘四面八方都有镜头。地堡的超级摄影机有很多镜头。
霍斯顿举起羊毛布，慢慢靠近第一个镜头，脑海中开始想象，如果此刻他在大餐厅里，他
会看到自己渐渐靠近，身形越来越巨大。三年前，他看过太太也有同样的举动。他记得她朝他
挥手，当时他以为她只是为了保持平衡，然而，现在回想起来，她是不是想告诉他什么？当
时，在头盔的面罩后面，她脸上是什么表情？是不是像此刻的自己一样，傻兮兮地笑着？他拼
命擦镜头，反复地喷清洁剂，反复地擦，然后擦干镜头，贴上防蚀膜。当时，她是不是像个孩
子似的满怀希望，心脏怦怦狂跳？霍斯顿知道，此刻大餐厅里一定空荡荡的没半个人，因为里
面已经没有人关心他，没有人爱他，没有人会舍不得他，留在那边看。但他还是朝镜头挥挥
手。此刻，他擦着镜头，心情并不是他原先所想象的那样满怀愤恨，也不是幸灾乐祸，认定地
堡里的人都该死，而他这个被判死刑的人反而得到自由。此刻，他手上拿着羊毛布，用一种在
半空中画小圆弧的动作慢慢擦着镜头，而那种动力并不是来自一种遭到背叛的心情。那是怜
悯。怜悯，还有无边的喜悦。
霍斯顿忽然感觉眼前的世界又开始变模糊了，不过，那是一种美妙的模糊，热泪盈眶因为
他已经热泪盈眶。他太太是对的：地堡里的影像果然是假的。眼前的山坡，形状和影像里一模
一样。那景象他已经在地堡里看过不知道多少年了，一眼就认得出来。问题是，颜色完全不一
样。地堡里墙上的景象，就是他太太找到的程序制造出来的。他们不知道用什么方法把鲜艳的
绿色变成暗绿，而且消除掉了所有的生命迹象。
霍斯顿擦掉镜头上污垢，心里有点怀疑，影像越来越模糊，到底是真的还是假的？污垢当
然是真的，因为污垢是他亲手擦掉的，他看得到。不过，那会不会只是一般的灰尘，而不是飘
散在空气中的毒酸？艾莉森发现的程序，会不会只是用来“修饰”真实的景象，把蓝天绿草修改
成灰暗的色调？此刻，太多新的资料和想法在霍斯顿脑海中翻腾，他仿佛变成一个孩子，突然
被丢进一个巨大辽阔的世界，一下子有太多东西必须立刻思索理解，想得头都痛了。
他把第二个镜头上的污垢彻底擦干净，这时候，他推断影像变模糊是真的。镜头上覆盖了
一层污垢，道理就像程序制造出来的效果一样。程序创造出假的灰黄色调，覆盖在绿色的原野
上，覆盖着蔚蓝的天空和翻涌的白云。这么美丽的世界，被他们隐藏起来，不让大家看到。那
景象如此壮丽，霍斯顿会不由自主地站在那里看得目瞪口呆，甚至忘了去擦镜头。他必须刻意
不去看那景象，才有办法专心擦镜头。
总共要擦四个镜头，他正在擦第二个。他忽然想起他脚底下那道墙。那道墙透过镜头捕捉
了真实世界的景象，修饰变造，然后投射出假的影像。接着他又想到，地堡里到底有多少人知
道真相？有人知道吗？要狂热执迷到什么程度，耗费多少心血，才有办法维持这种令人沮丧的
假象？这个秘密是否早在上次暴动之前就已经存在？有没有可能，历经千百年无数个世代，这
个制造假象的程序一直在地堡的电脑里自动运作，根本没半个人知道？如果有人知道，如果他
们有能力创造出任何影像，那么，为什么不让大家看到外面的美丽世界？
因为暴动！也许那就是为了要避免大家一次又一次地起来暴动。霍斯顿在镜头上贴了一层
防蚀膜，脑子里又想到另一个问题。有人把外面的世界变造成恐怖的景象，误导大家，是不是
企图用这种手段压抑大家“想出去”的念头？是不是有人认为真相会导致他丧失权力，无法再控
制别人？或是还有更复杂、更可怕的阴谋？比如说，他害怕大家自由了，解脱了，肆无忌惮地
生孩子，想生几个就生几个？可能性太多了，越想越恐怖。
那么艾莉森呢？她在哪里？霍斯顿沿着水泥圆丘边缘走向第三个镜头，这时候，他看到了
远处地平线那废弃的城市，高耸的大楼，多么熟悉的景象。不过，有些地方不太一样。大楼的
数量比平常看到的多。有些矗立在侧边，有一栋距离比较近，看起来特别突兀。另外那些他熟
悉的大楼，现在看起来都完好无缺，闪闪发亮，完全不像印象中那种残破倾颓的模样。霍斯顿
眺望着前面那几座青翠的山丘，想象艾莉森正沿着山丘间走过来，很快就会出现。不过这种念
头太荒谬了，因为艾莉森怎么可能知道他今天会被赶出来？不过，说不定她记得今天是她出来
满三周年的日子，是不是？说不定第一年和第二年的这个日子，她都在等他出来，可是他却错
过了，会不会？霍斯顿暗暗咒骂自己的懦弱。他浪费了两年时间。他告诉自己，一定要去找
她。
他忽然有一股冲动想立刻去找她。他好想拿掉头盔，脱掉笨重的防护衣，只剩碳纤维内层
衣，然后冲上山丘，深深吸几口清新的空气，大笑几声，然后一路跑到那巨大神秘的城市。说
不定城市里有很多人，有成群的孩子嬉笑玩闹。说不定太太就在那里等他。
可是不行。他还是必须继续穿着防护衣，不能马上揭露真相。他不知道自己为什么会有这
种想法，不过，他太太就是这样，而先前那些出来的人也都一样。他们都没有立刻揭露真相。
现在，霍斯顿已经成为他们那个群体的一员。“外面”的群体。他不能颠覆历史，他不能背叛那
些前行的人，他必须跟他们一样。他们自有道理。他刚刚加入他们的“圈子”里，为了他们，他
必须伪装到底。他不知道自己为什么要这样做，只知道在他之前每个人都这样做，保守他们共
有的秘密。秘密就像高纯度的毒品。此刻，他就只想完成他的任务，按照顺序从不同的口袋里
拿出工具，按程序把镜头擦干净，而脑海中却想着外面那个世界。那世界何其辽阔，一辈子也
浏览不尽，还有无穷尽的空气，无穷尽的水和无穷无尽的食物。那是多么美丽的梦。
霍斯顿让这些美梦在脑海中盘桓，同时继续执行任务，擦第三个镜头。喷清洁剂，擦洗，
一次又一次地擦干净，然后走向最后一个镜头。虽然穿着厚重的防护衣，他依然感觉得到胸
口“怦怦”狂跳，听得到自己的心跳声。他告诉自己，快好了，快好了。他掏出第二片羊毛布，
把最后一个镜头上的污垢擦干净。喷清洁剂，擦洗，最后擦干镜头，然后把工具都塞回口袋
里，免得把地上弄得脏乱不堪。此刻，绿草如茵的地面是如此赏心悦目，他舍不得弄脏。完成
了。霍斯顿往后退开，朝镜头看最后一眼，虽然他知道，此刻大餐厅和大厅里空荡荡的，没有
人在看他。接着，他转身走开。他要背弃他们，因为他们曾经背弃艾莉森，背弃那些被送出去
的人。霍斯顿终于明白，那些人为什么始终没有回来找地堡里的人。那是有原因的。基于同样
的道理，他们都曾经宣称他们不肯清洗镜头，可是最后都完成了任务。他自由了，他即将加入
先前那些人的行列，于是，他迈开大步走上那条布满足迹的小山沟，追寻他太太的足迹。小山
沟一路延伸到山丘上。从前在地堡里看外面的景象，总是会看到他太太的躯体蜷伏在山丘上，
犹如一颗卵石。而此刻他知道，他不会再看到那具尸体了。不会再看到那颗长眠不起的卵石
了。霍斯顿相信，从前看到的那具尸体，只不过是一种触目惊心的假象。
Part 1 Holston 7
Part 1 Holston
7
Holston was a dozen paces up the hill, still marveling at the bright grass at his feet and the brilliant
sky above, when the first pang lurched in his stomach. It was a writhing cramp, something like
intense hunger. At first, he worried he was going too fast, first with the cleaning and now with his
impatient shuffling in that cumbersome suit. He didn’t want to take it off until he was over the hill,
out of sight, maintaining whatever illusion the walls in the cafeteria held. He focused on the tops of
the skyscrapers and resigned himself to slowing down, to calming down. One step at a time. Years
and years of running up and down thirty flights of stairs should have made this nothing.
Another cramp, stronger this time. Holston winced and stopped walking, waiting for it to pass.
When did he eat last? Not at all yesterday. Stupid. When did he last use the bathroom? Again, he
couldn’t remember. He might need to get the suit off earlier than he’d hoped. Once the wave of
nausea passed, he took a few more steps, hoping to reach the top of the hill before the next bout of
pain. He only got another dozen steps in before it hit him, more severe this time, worse than anything
he’d ever felt. Holston retched from the intensity of it, and now his dry stomach was a blessing. He
clutched his abdomen as his knees gave out in a shiver of weakness. He crashed to the ground and
groaned. His stomach was burning, his chest on fire. He managed to crawl forward a few feet, sweat
dripping from his forehead and splashing on the inside of his helmet. He saw sparks in his vision; the
entire world went bright white, several times, like lightning strikes. Confused and senseless, he
crawled ever upward, moving laboriously, his startled mind still focused on his last clear goal:
cresting that hill.
Again and again, his view shimmered, his visor letting in a solid bright light before it flickered
away. It became difficult to see. Holston ran into something before him, and his arm folded, his
shoulder crashing to the ground. He blinked and gazed forward, up the hill, waiting for a clear sight
of what lay ahead, but saw only infrequent strobes of green grass.
And then his vision completely disappeared. All was black. Holston clawed at his face, even as his
stomach tangled in a new torturous knot. There was a glow, a blinking in his vision, so he knew he
wasn’t blind. But the blinking seemed to be coming from inside his helmet. It was his visor that had
become suddenly blind, not him.
Holston felt for the latches on the back of the helmet. He wondered if he’d used up all his air. Was
he asphyxiating? Being poisoned by his own exhalations? Of course! Why would they give him more
air than he needed for the cleaning? He fumbled for the latches with his bulky gloves. They weren’t
meant for this. The gloves were part of his suit, his suit a single piece zipped up twice at the back and
Velcroed over. It wasn’t meant to come off, not without help. Holston was going to die in it, poison
himself, choke on his own gases, and now he knew true fear of containment, a true sense of being
closed in. The silo was nothing to this as he scrambled for release, as he writhed in pain inside his
tailored coffin. He squirmed and pounded at the latches, but his padded fingers were too big. And the
blindness made it worse, made him feel smothered and trapped. Holston retched again in pain. He
bent at the waist, hands spread in the dirt, and felt something sharp through his glove.
He fumbled for the object and found it: a jagged rock. A tool. Holston tried to calm himself. His
years of enforcing calm, of soothing others, of bringing stability to chaos, came back to him. He
gripped the rock carefully, terrified of losing it to his blindness, and brought it up to his helmet. There
was a brief thought of cutting away his gloves with the rock, but he wasn’t sure his sanity or air
would last that long. He jabbed the point of the rock at his armored neck, right where the latch should
have been. He heard the crack as it landed. Crack. Crack. Pausing to probe with his padded finger,
retching again, Holston took more careful aim. There was a click instead of a crack. A sliver of light
intruded as one side of the helmet came free. Holston was choking on his exhalations, on the stale
and used air around him. He moved the rock to his other hand and aimed for the second latch. Two
more cracks before it landed, and the helmet popped free.
Holston could see. His eyes burned from the effort, from not being able to breathe, but he could
see. He blinked the tears away and tried to suck in a deep, crisp, revitalizing lungful of blue air.
What he got instead was like a punch to the chest. Holston gagged. He threw up spittle and
stomach acid, the very lining of him trying to flee. The world around him had gone brown. Brown
grass and gray skies. No green. No blue. No life.
He collapsed to one side, landing on his shoulder. His helmet lay open before him, the visor black
and lifeless. There was no looking through the visor. Holston reached for it, confused. The outside of
the visor was coated silver, the other side was nothing. No glass. A rough surface. Wires leading in
and out of it. A display gone dark. Dead pixels.
He threw up again. Wiping his mouth feebly, looking down the hill, he saw the world with his
naked eyes as it was, as he’d always known it to be. Desolate and bleak. He let go of the helmet,
dropping the lie he had carried out of the silo with him. He was dying. The toxins were eating him
from the inside. He blinked up at the black clouds overhead, roaming like beasts. He turned to see
how far he had gotten, how far it was to the crest of the hill, and he saw the thing he had stumbled
into while crawling. A boulder, sleeping. It hadn’t been there in his visor, hadn’t been a part of the lie
on that little screen, running one of the programs Allison had discovered.
Holston reached out and touched the object before him, the white suit flaking away like brittle
rock, and he could no longer support his head. He curled up in pain from the slow death overtaking
him, holding what remained of his wife, and thought, with his last agonizing breath, what this death
of his must look like to those who could see, this curling and dying in the black crack of a lifeless
brown hill, a rotting city standing silent and forlorn over him.
What would they see, anyone who had chosen to watch?
第一部分：出去 07
第一部分：出去
07
霍斯顿已经快走到山丘顶上了，只差几十步。他看着脚下青翠的草地，仰望天空的碧蓝如
洗，心中暗暗赞叹。就在这时候，他忽然感到胃部一阵紧缩，仿佛胃被铁钳夹了一下，很像一
种难以形容的强烈饥饿感。一开始他以为那只是因为走得太快，才刚费力擦完镜头，又急吼吼
地爬上山坡，而且身上还穿着笨重的防护衣。他本来打算爬过山丘之后，等地堡里的人看不到
他了，他就要脱掉这身防护衣。他要继续维持那种假象，就像大餐厅墙上看到的那样。他全神
贯注看着远处大楼的顶端，强迫自己走慢一点，让情绪恢复平静。一步一步慢慢走。年复一年
在地堡的楼梯上上下下，每天要爬三十层楼，比较起来，爬上山坡应该不费吹灰之力。
接着，胃又抽搐了一下，这次感觉更强烈了。霍斯顿皱起眉头，停下脚步，等那种恶心的
感觉消失。上一餐是什么时候吃的？昨天一整天都没吃。真是干傻事。上次去厕所是什么时
候？他也想不起来了。看样子，他不得不早点脱掉防护衣，没办法再顾虑什么假象不假象了。
过了一会儿，恶心的感觉消失了，他立刻往前走了几步，希望趁胃又开始不舒服之前，快点走
到山丘顶上。才走了十几步，他的胃又抽搐了，这次更猛烈，比前两次更痛苦。霍斯顿痛得呕
起来，还好先前什么都没吃，没东西好吐。他抱着肚子，两腿发软跪到地上，感觉很虚弱，浑
身颤抖。他跪倒在地上，开始呻吟。他的胃和胸口像火在烧。他奋力往前爬了一两米，很快就
满头大汗，汗水滴在头盔里。接着，他发现眼前冒出火花，然后刺眼的亮光一阵一阵，感觉像
闪电。他很困惑，意识开始模糊。他奋力往上爬，爬得很费力，震惊之余，他脑海中还剩一丝
清醒，还记得最后一个清楚的念头：爬到丘顶上。
他眼前的面罩持续闪烁，没多久，忽然亮起一片白光，然后又闪烁了几次，光线越来越
弱，越来越暗。他几乎看不见了。接着，霍斯顿忽然撞上什么东西，手肘一弯，整个人趴倒在
地上。他猛眨眼睛，拼命看着前面，看着丘顶，想看清楚前面的景象，可是却只看到一闪一闪
的草地。
然后，他什么都看不到了。一片漆黑。这时候，他又感觉胃一阵抽搐，仿佛整个胃扭绞成
一团。接着，他看到面罩又是一阵闪烁，所以他知道他并不是瞎了。不过，他发现那闪烁是在
他头盔里，所以，显然是面罩坏了，并不是他瞎了。
霍斯顿伸手去摸头盔后面的卡榫。他怀疑可能是氧气瓶已经空了。他快窒息了吗？二氧化
碳中毒吗？没错！他只是出来清洗镜头，他们干吗给他那么多氧气。他用厚厚的手套去拨那个
卡榫，问题是，手套的设计并没有考虑到这种用途。手套和防护衣连在一起，而防护衣是连身
式的，后面有两层拉链，尾端用魔鬼毡黏着。这种设计没办法自己脱，一定要别人帮忙。霍斯
顿死定了，被自己呼出来的二氧化碳毒死。此刻，他终于体会到什么是真正的“幽闭恐惧症”，
一种彻底被封死的感觉。防护衣犹如一具为他量身定做的棺材。他痛苦得浑身扭曲，双手在颈
后胡乱摸索，拼命想脱掉头盔。他的手在卡榫上胡乱摸索，一阵猛敲，问题是，戴着手套的手
指太粗了。更糟糕的是，他眼睛看不见，令他产生一种窒息的感觉。接着，霍斯顿又痛得呕起
来，弯腰两手撑在地上，十指插进土里。这时候，他的手隔着手套感觉到某种坚硬的东西。
他胡乱摸索了几下，发现那是一块尖锐的石头。有工具了。霍斯顿拼命想冷静下来。干了
多年的保安官，他一直在安抚别人，让别人恢复平静，控制混乱的场面，而此刻，他开始发挥
这种能力。他小心翼翼抓住石头，怕因为眼睛看不见，没抓好弄丢了石头。他慢慢把石头举向
头盔。他本来闪过一个念头，用石头割破手套，可是他不知道剩余的氧气能不能撑那么久。他
把石头的尖角对准头盔下缘颈部连接环的位置，用力敲下去，卡榫就在那里。石头敲下去，他
听到“嘭”的一声。“嘭”，“嘭”，“嘭”。敲了几下，他又开始呕起来，忍着痛苦用手指去摸卡榫的
位置。接着，霍斯顿仔细对准位置，再用力一敲。这次，他听到的不是“嘭”的一声，而是“咔
嚓”一声。头盔的侧边松开了，射进一道强光。头盔里全是浓浊的二氧化碳，他简直快窒息了。
接着，他把石头换到另一只手上，对准另一个卡榫。他敲了两下，头盔就松开了。
霍斯顿看得见了。刚刚太费力，又喘不过气来，他感到眼睛一阵刺痛，不过，现在他看得
见了。他眨眨眼睛，把眼泪挤掉，张开嘴，深深吸一大口气，一大口清新的空气。
没想到，那一刹那，他的胸口仿佛被铁锤重重一击，喉咙忽然哽住。接着，他忽然呕出
来，呕出满嘴的口水和胃酸，感觉仿佛胃都快被吐出来了。他感觉到周围的世界忽然变成一片
土黄，土黄色的草地，灰暗的天空。绿色不见了。蓝天不见了。没有生命，一片死寂。
他倒向一边，肩头撞到地上，头盔滚到旁边。他看得到头盔内部，面罩一片黑，上面什么
都没有。透过面罩，看不见任何东西。霍斯顿伸手去抓头盔，感到很困惑。面罩外面是一层银
色。他翻转头盔看看面罩内面。什么都没有。内面不是玻璃，摸起来粗粗的，上面连接了很多
电线。那是一片显示屏。黑黑的显示屏。像素点都坏了。
他又吐了。他抬起颤抖的手擦擦嘴角，看着山丘底下。他肉眼看到的，却是他如此熟悉的
世界。荒凉死寂。他丢开头盔。原来，戴在他头上的，竟然是制造假象的工具。他快死了。毒
酸正在腐蚀他的体内。他抬起头，猛眨眼睛，看着头顶上的乌云。翻腾汹涌的乌云犹如一群奔
腾的野兽。他转头看看地堡的方向，算算自己走了多远，然后再看看沙丘顶，看看距离多远。
这时候，他忽然看到一个东西。他刚刚在地上爬的时候撞上一颗卵石，但现在，他看到的是一
具尸体。刚刚戴着头盔的时候，透过面罩并没有看到那具尸体。面罩是一个小型的显示屏，而
上面看到的影像，就是艾莉森发现的程序创造出来的。程序设计的影像里没有那具尸体。
霍斯顿伸手去摸，结果，那具躯体上的白色防护衣瞬间化成粉尘，犹如粉碎的石头。他已
经痛苦得连头都抬不起来，痛苦得整个人蜷曲成一团，慢慢被死亡吞噬。他抓住太太的残骸，
在痛苦的煎熬中吸了最后一口气，脑海中闪过最后一个念头：如果有人在地堡里面看，他们会
看到什么？荒凉死寂的土黄色沙丘，一道黑暗的沟槽，一具即将死亡的蜷曲的人体。远处，那
日渐腐朽破败的城市高高耸立，俯视着他。
如果地堡里有人在看，他们会看到什么？
Part 2 Proper Gauge 8
Part 2 Proper Gauge
8
Her knitting needles rested in a leather pouch in pairs, two matching sticks of wood, side by side like
the delicate bones of the wrist wrapped in dried and ancient flesh. Wood and leather. Artifacts like
clues handed down from generation to generation, innocuous winks from her ancestors, harmless
things like children’s books and wood carvings that managed to survive the uprising and the purge.
Each clue stood as a small hint of a world beyond their own, a world where buildings stood
aboveground like the crumbling ruins visible over the gray and lifeless hills.
After much deliberation, Mayor Jahns selected a pair of needles. She always chose carefully, for
proper gauge was critical. Too small a needle, and the knitting would prove difficult, the resulting
sweater too tight and constricting. Too large a needle, on the other hand, would create a garment full
of large holes. The knitting would remain loose. One would be able to see straight through it.
Her choice made, the wooden bones removed from their leather wrist, Jahns reached for the large
ball of cotton yarn. It was hard to believe, weighing that knot of twisted fibers, that her hands could
make of it something ordered, something useful. She fished for the end of the yarn, dwelling on how
things came to be. Right now, her sweater was little more than a tangle and a thought. Going back, it
had once been bright fibers of cotton blooming in the dirt farms, pulled, cleaned, and twisted into
long strands. Even further, and the very substance of the cotton plant itself could be traced to those
souls who had been laid to rest in its soil, feeding the roots with their own leather while the air above
baked under the full glory of powerful grow lights.
Jahns shook her head at her own morbidity. The older she got, the quicker her mind went to death.
Always, in the end, the thoughts of death.
With practiced care, she looped the end of the yarn around the point of one needle and crafted a
triangle-shaped web with her fingers. The tip of the needle danced through this triangle, casting the
yarn on. This was her favorite part, casting on. She liked beginnings. The first row. Out of nothing
comes something. Since her hands knew what to do, she was free to glance up and watch a gust of
morning wind chase pockets of dust down the slope of the hill. The clouds were low and ominous
today. They loomed like worried parents over these smaller darting eddies of windswept soil, which
tumbled like laughing children, twirling and spilling, following the dips and valleys as they flowed
toward a great crease where two hills collided to become one. Here, Jahns watched as the puffs of
dust splashed against a pair of dead bodies, the frolicking twins of dirt evaporating into ghosts, solid
playful children returning once more to dreams and scattered mist.
Mayor Jahns settled back in her faded plastic chair and watched the fickle winds play across the
forbidding world outside. Her hands worked the yarn into rows, requiring only occasional glances to
keep her place. Often, the dust flew toward the silo’s sensors in sheets, each wave causing her to
cringe as if a physical blow were about to land. This assault of blurring grime was difficult to watch
at any time, but especially brutal the day after a cleaning. Each touch of dust on the clouding lenses
was a violation, a dirty man touching something pure. Jahns remembered what that felt like. And
sixty years later, she sometimes wondered if the misting of grime on those lenses, if the bodily
sacrifice needed to keep them clean, wasn’t even more painful for her to abide.
“Ma’am?”
Mayor Jahns turned away from the sight of the dead hills cradling her recently deceased sheriff.
She turned to find Deputy Marnes standing by her side.
“Yes, Marnes?”
“You asked for these.”
Marnes placed three manila folders on the cafeteria table and slid them toward her through the
scattered crumbs and juice stains of last night’s cleaning celebration. Jahns set her knitting aside and
reluctantly reached for the folders. What she really wanted was to be left alone a little longer to watch
rows of knots become something. She wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet of this unspoiled sunrise
before the grime and the years dulled it, before the rest of the upper silo awoke, rubbed the sleep
from their eyes and the stains from their consciences, and came up to crowd around her in their own
plastic chairs and take it all in.
But duty beckoned: she was mayor by choice, and the silo needed a sheriff. So Jahns put aside her
own wants and desires and weighed the folders in her lap. Caressing the cover of the first one, she
looked down at her hands with something between pain and acceptance. The backs of them appeared
as dry and crinkled as the pulp paper hanging out of the folders. She glanced over at Deputy Marnes,
whose white mustache was flecked with the occasional black. She remembered when the colors were
the other way around, when his tall, thin frame was a mark of vigor and youth rather than gaunt
fragility. He was handsome still, but only because she knew him from long ago, only because her old
eyes still remembered.
“You know,” she told Marnes, “we could do this different this time. You could let me promote
you to sheriff, hire yourself a deputy, and do this proper.”
Marnes laughed. “I’ve been deputy almost as long as you’ve been mayor, ma’am. Don’t figure on
being nothing else but dead one day.”
Jahns nodded. One of the things she loved about having Marnes around was that his thoughts
could be so black as to make hers shine gray. “I fear that day is rapidly approaching for us both,” she
said.
“Truer than true, I reckon. Never figured to outlive so many. Sure as sin don’t see me outliving
you.” Marnes rubbed his mustache and studied the view of the outside. Jahns smiled at him, opened
the folder on top, and studied the first bio.
“That’s three decent candidates,” Marnes said. “Just like you asked for. Be happy to work with
any of them. Juliette, I think she’s in the middle there, would be my first pick. Works down in
Mechanical. Don’t come up much, but me and Holston …” Marnes paused and cleared his throat.
Jahns glanced over and saw that her deputy’s gaze had crept toward that dark crook in the hill. He
covered his mouth with a fist of sharp knuckles and faked a cough.
“Excuse me,” he said. “As I was sayin’, the sheriff and me worked a death down there a few years
back. This Juliette—I think she prefers Jules, come to think of it—was a right shiner. Sharp as a tack.
Big help on this case, good at spotting details, handling people, being diplomatic but firm, all that. I
don’t think she comes up past the eighties much. A down-deeper for sure, which we ain’t had in a
while.”
Jahns sorted through Juliette’s folder, checking her family tree, her voucher history, her current
pay in chits. She was listed as a shift foreman with good marks. No history in the lottery.
“Never married?” Jahns asked.
“Nope. Something of a johnboy. A wrencher, you know? We were down there a week, saw how
the guys took to her. Now, she could have her pick of them boys but chooses not to. Kind of person
who leaves an impression but prefers to go it alone.”
“Sure seems like she left an impression on you,” Jahns said, regretting it immediately. She hated
the jealous tone in her own voice.
Marnes shifted his weight to his other foot. “Well, you know me, Mayor. I’m always sizing up
candidates. Anything to keep from bein’ promoted.”
Jahns smiled. “What about the other two?” She checked the names, wondering if a down-deeper
was a good idea. Or possibly worried about Marnes’s having a crush. She recognized the name on the
top folder. Peter Billings. He worked a few floors down in Judicial, as a clerk or a judge’s shadow.
“Honestly, ma’am? They’re filler to make it seem fair. Like I said, I’d work with them, but I think
Jules is your girl. Been a long time since we had a lass for a sheriff. Be a popular choice with an
election comin’ up.”
“That won’t be why we choose,” Jahns said. “Whoever we decide on will probably be here long
after we’re gone—” She stopped herself as she recalled having said the same thing about Holston,
back when he’d been chosen.
Jahns closed the folder and returned her attention to the wallscreen. A small tornado had formed at
the base of the hill, the gathering dust whipped into an organized frenzy. It built some steam, this
small wisp, as it swelled into a larger cone, spinning and spinning on a wavering tip like a child’s top
as it raced toward sensors that fairly sparkled in the wan rays of a clear sunrise.
“I think we should go see her,” Jahns finally said. She kept the folders in her lap, fingers like
rolled parchment toying with the rough edges of handmade paper.
“Ma’am? I’d rather us fetch her up here. Do the interview in your office like we’ve always done.
It’s a long way down to her and an even longer way back up.”
“I appreciate the concern, Deputy, I do. But it’s been a long while since I’ve been much past the
fortieth. My knees are no excuse not to see my people—” The mayor stopped. The tornado of dust
wavered, turned, and headed straight for them. It grew and grew — the wide angle of the lens
distorting it into a monster much larger and more fierce than she knew it to actually be—and then it
blew over the sensor array, the entire cafeteria descending into a brief darkness until the zephyr
caromed past, retreating across the screen in the lounge and leaving behind it a view of the world
now tainted with a slight, dingy film.
“Damn those things,” Deputy Marnes said through gritted teeth. The aged leather of his holster
squeaked as he rested his hand on the butt of his gun, and Jahns imagined the old deputy out on that
landscape, chasing the wind on thin legs while pumping bullets into a cloud of fading dust.
The two of them sat silent a moment, surveying the damage. Finally, Jahns spoke.
“This trip won’t be about the election, Marnes. It won’t be for votes, either. For all I know, I’ll run
again unopposed. So we won’t make a deal of it, and we’ll travel light and quiet. I want to see my
people, not be seen by them.” She looked over at him, found that he was watching her. “It’ll be for
me, Marnes. A getaway.”
She turned back to the view.
“Sometimes … sometimes I just think I’ve been up here too long. The both of us. I think we’ve
been anywhere too long …”
The ringing of morning footsteps on the spiral staircase gave her pause, and they both turned
toward the sound of life, the sound of a waking day. And she knew it was time to start getting the
images of dead things out of her mind. Or at least to bury them for a while.
“We’ll go down and get us a proper gauge of this Juliette, you and me. Because sometimes, sitting
here, looking out on what the world makes us do—it needles me deep, Marnes. It needles me straight
through.”
••••
They met after breakfast in Holston’s old office. Jahns still thought of it as his, a day later. It was
too early for her to think of the room as anything else. She stood beyond the twin desks and old filing
cabinets and peered into the empty holding cell while Deputy Marnes gave last-minute instructions to
Terry, a burly security worker from IT who often held down the fort while Marnes and Holston were
away on a case. Standing dutifully behind Terry was a teenager named Marcha, a young girl with
dark hair and bright eyes who was apprenticing for work in IT. She was Terry’s shadow; just about
half of the workers in the silo had one. They ranged in age from twelve to twenty, these ever-present
sponges absorbing the lessons and techniques for keeping the silo operational for at least one
generation more.
Deputy Marnes reminded Terry how rowdy people got after a cleaning. Once the tension was
released, people tended to live it up a little. They thought, for a few months at least, that anything
went.
The warning hardly needed saying—the revelry in the next room could be heard through the shut
door. Most residents from the top forty were already packed into the cafeteria and lounge. Hundreds
more from the mids and the down deep would trickle up throughout the day, asking for time off work
and turning in holiday chits just to see the mostly clear view of the world outside. It was a pilgrimage
for many. Some came up only once every few years, stood around for an hour muttering that it
looked the same as they remembered, then shooed their children down the stairs ahead of them,
fighting the upward-surging crowds.
Terry was left with the keys and a temporary badge. Marnes checked the batteries in his wireless,
made sure the volume on the office unit was up, and inspected his gun. He shook Terry’s hand and
wished him luck. Jahns sensed it was almost time for them to go and turned away from the empty
cell. She said good-bye to Terry, gave Marcha a nod, and followed Marnes out the door.
“You feel okay leaving right after a cleaning?” she asked as they stepped out into the cafeteria.
She knew how rowdy it would get later that night, and how testy the crowd would become. It seemed
an awful time to drag him away on a mostly selfish errand.
“Are you kidding? I need this. I need to get away.” He glanced toward the wallscreen, which was
obscured by the crowds. “I still can’t figure what Holston was thinking, can’t reckon why he never
talked to me about all that was going on in that head of his. Maybe by the time we get back, I won’t
feel him in the office anymore, ’cause right now I can’t hardly breathe in there.”
Jahns thought about this as they fought through the crowded cafeteria. Plastic cups sloshed with a
mix of fruit juices, and she smelled the sting of tub-brewed alcohol in the air but ignored it. People
were wishing her well, asking her to be careful, promising to vote. News of their trip had leaked out
faster than the spiked punch, despite their hardly telling anyone. Most were under the impression that
it was a goodwill trip. A reelection campaign. The younger silo residents, who only remembered
Holston as sheriff, were already saluting Marnes and giving him that honorific title. Anyone with
wrinkles around their eyes knew better. They nodded to the duo as they passed through the cafeteria
and wished them a different sort of unspoken luck. Keep us going, their eyes said. Make it so my kids
live as long as me. Don’t let it unravel, not just yet.
Jahns lived under the weight of this pressure, a burden brutal on more than knees. She kept quiet
as they made their way to the central stairwell. A handful called for her to make a speech, but the
lone voices did not gain traction. No chant formed, much to her relief. What would she say? That she
didn’t know why it all held together? That she didn’t even understand her own knitting, how if you
made knots, and if you did it right, things just worked out? Would she tell them it took only one snip
for it all to unravel? One cut, and you could pull and pull and turn that garment into a pile. Did they
really expect her to understand, when all she did was follow the rules, and somehow it kept working
out, year after year after year?
Because she didn’t understand what held it together. And she didn’t understand their mood, this
celebration. Were they drinking and shouting because they were safe? Because they’d been spared by
fate, passed over for cleaning? Her people cheered while a good man, her friend, her partner in
keeping them alive and well, lay dead on a hill next to his wife. If she gave a speech, if it weren’t full
of the forbidden, it would be this: that no two better people had ever gone to cleaning of their own
free will, and what did that say about the lot of them who remained?
Now was not the time for speeches. Or for drinking. Or for being merry. Now was the hour of
quiet contemplation, which was one of the reasons Jahns knew she needed to get away. Things had
changed. Not just by the day, but by the long years. She knew better than most. Maybe old lady
McNeil down in Supply knew, could see it coming. One had to live a long time to be sure, but now
she was. And as time marched on, carrying her world faster than her feet could catch up, Mayor
Jahns knew that it would soon leave her completely behind. And her great fear, unspoken but daily
felt, was that this world of theirs probably wouldn’t stagger very far along without her.
第二部分：精准口径 08
第二部分：精准口径
08
她的棒针，就是一组两根同尺寸的细木棒，并排着摆在皮套里，有好几组。乍看之下有点
像古老遗体的手腕，干枯的肌肤包裹着白皙的腕骨。细木棒和皮套，手工艺有点像某种线索，
从很早以前代代相传，历经暴动战火和肃清镇压的洗礼，幸存至今。仿佛祖先很慈祥地对你使
个眼色，暗示你这些东西是没有危险的，例如童话书或木雕之类，一代代流传下来。每一条线
索都可以隐约追溯到地上那个世界。如今，那个世界只剩残破倾颓的大楼，矗立在那灰黄荒凉
的沙丘后。
詹丝首长考虑了半天，最后终于选定了一组棒针。每次选棒针，她都煞费苦心，因为精准
的口径是最关键的。棒针太细很难编织，编出来的棉织衣会太紧，穿了会有压迫感。反过来，
棒针太粗，编出来的衣服会全是孔洞，而且组织松散，穿在身上，肌肤若隐若现。
选好之后，詹丝就把棒针从皮套里抽出来，然后伸手去拿棉线。看着那一大团棉线，她实
在很难想象，就靠自己这双手，那团纠结缠绕的棉线居然会变成能穿的衣服。她从棉线里拉出
线头，脑海中忽然想到，一件衣服诞生的过程实在很神奇。此刻，她的棉织衣还只是一团凌乱
的棉球，一些构想，根本还没成形。更早之前，那团棉线还只是土耕区里一球球的棉花，经过
采收、清洗，最后抽丝缠绕成长长的棉线。再更早之前，那只是一株株的棉树，生长在土耕区
的土壤上，而许多人就长眠在那土壤中，他们的血肉滋养了土壤，滋养了棉树根，而土壤上方
的植物灯散发着温暖辉煌的光芒。也许，那一株株的棉树，是从他们的灵魂里滋长出来的。
詹丝摇摇头，忽然觉得自己实在有点病态。她发觉自己越老越容易想到死亡。一天到头，
总是想到死亡。
她小心翼翼地把棉纱线头缠绕在棒针顶端，然后用手指勾成一个三角形。看得出来那娴熟
的动作是长年累月训练出来的。接着，她把棒针头穿进这个三角形，把棉线织进去。这叫起
针，是她最喜欢的动作。她喜欢起头，起针。从零开始，无中生有。接下来，手的动作已经不
需要再用眼睛看，于是她抬起头看着墙上的影像。清晨，狂暴的风沿着山坡滚滚而下，卷起一
团团的黄沙。今天，阴森森的云团低垂天际，仿佛忧心忡忡的父母俯视着他们的孩子。那一团
团的沙尘翻腾扭滚，掠过洼地，掠过丘谷，犹如一群嬉笑打闹的孩子，最后冲向两座沙丘中间
的的一道小山沟，一路向上窜，直到山沟顶端。在那里，两座沙丘合而为一。詹丝看到一团沙
尘扑上两具尸体，然后四散飞扬，犹如鬼魅，那景象，仿佛两个嬉笑玩闹的孩子忽然消失，化
为一阵烟尘，再次回到梦境里。
詹丝首长坐在一把褪色的塑胶椅上，靠着椅背，看着外面世界变幻莫测的狂风。那里，是
人类的禁地。她的手动个不停，棉线渐渐变成一段棉织布。她只偶尔低头瞄一眼，看看有没有
织错。沙尘常常会扑上镜头，一波接着一波。每次看到沙尘撞上来，她都会不由自主地往后一
缩，仿佛沙尘会扑到她身上。每次沙尘一来，镜头就会变脏，影像就会变得很模糊，而且，每
逢镜头擦干净那一天，那种感觉会特别强烈。每次看着沙尘扑上镜头，就仿佛看到脏兮兮的男
人沾污了少女玉洁冰清的肌肤。那是一种被侵犯的感觉。詹丝还记得那种感觉。到现在，已经
过了六十年，有时候她会想，为什么沙尘要把镜头搞得那么脏？为什么每次把镜头擦干净，都
必须献祭一条人命？那种痛苦，她已经快要无法承受了。
“首长？”
此刻，在那死寂的沙丘上，就有保安官的尸体。昨天，她失去了她手下的保安官。她撇开
头不忍心再看，然后，她看见马奈斯副保安官就站在她旁边。
“什么事，马奈斯？”
“这些就是你要的东西。”
马奈斯把三个文件夹丢在大餐厅的餐桌上，推到她面前。昨天晚上，为了庆祝镜头清洗的
任务圆满完成，大家在大餐厅里大肆庆祝，餐桌上满是糕饼屑和果汁的残渍。詹丝放下手中的
棉织布，不太情愿地伸手去拿文件夹。此刻，她只想一个人在这里多坐一会儿，亲眼看着自己
编织出来的成果。她希望能够多看一眼日出的美景，享受这宁静的时刻。随着时间过去，镜头
又会开始变脏，影像又会开始模糊，所以，她希望在那之前能够多看一眼。而且，再过不久，
地堡上面几个楼层的人就会起床，揉着惺忪的睡眼慢慢清醒过来，然后全部挤到大餐厅，各自
坐到自己的塑胶椅上，观赏日出。
但她毕竟有职责在身。她是大家选出来的首长，而地堡需要一位保安官，她必须赶快找到
人选。于是，詹丝把个人的私念先摆到一边，低头看着大腿上的文件夹。她轻抚着第一个文件
夹的封面，看着自己的手背，表情有点悲伤，却又有点坦然。她手背干枯，而且像文件夹内页
里凸出来的手工纸一样，满是皱纹。她转头看看马奈斯。他的胡子已经差不多全白了，只剩一
点黑。她还记得他当年的模样，浓密的黑胡子，高高瘦瘦，精力充沛，充满青春气息。而如
今，他显得如此衰老憔悴。她觉得他还是很帅，不过，那纯粹只是因为她年轻的时候就认识
他，因为她衰老的眼中还烙印着他昔日的模样。
“其实。”她对马奈斯说，“这件事可以换种方式来处理。我直接晋升你当保安官不就好了
吗？然后你可以自己去找一个副保安官，这样不是比较合乎传统？”
马奈斯笑起来：“首长，这个副保安官，我已经干了太多年，跟你当首长差不多一样久了。
到了这把年纪，我现在唯一有兴趣的，就是想知道自己哪一天会死，至于其他的，我完全没兴
趣。”
詹丝点点头。她之所以喜欢马奈斯待在她身边，其中一个原因就是，他这个人实在悲观得
可怕，相形之下，她就会显得比较开朗明亮。“我想，我们两个距离那一天都不远了。”她说。
“说得太好了。我真没想到自己会多活那么多年。最主要是，我不想活得比你久，因为万一
看到你比我早走，我会有罪恶感。”马奈斯搓搓胡子，打量着外面的景观。詹丝对他嫣然一笑，
然后翻开最上面的文件夹，开始看第一份履历。
“照你的吩咐，我找到了三个还不错的候选人。”马奈斯说，“这三个人当中，任何一个来当
我的上司，我都很乐意。其中有一个叫茱丽叶的，她的档案应该在中间那个文件夹里面。她是
我的头号人选。她在底层的机电区工作，很少上来，不过，我和霍斯顿——”
马奈斯忽然停住了，清清喉咙。詹丝转头瞥了他一眼，发现马奈斯的视线正沿着那道山沟
看向沙丘顶上。他举起拳头掩着嘴，假装咳了一声。他拳头握得好紧，青筋暴露。
“不好意思。”他又继续说，“我刚刚说到，几年前，我和保安官到底下去处理一件死亡案，
这个茱丽叶……呃，我想她比较喜欢别人叫她祖儿……表现得很出色，是个厉害角色，头脑很
清楚，精明得很。那个案子，她帮了很大的忙。什么蛛丝马迹都逃不过她的眼睛，而且领导能
力很强，很会带人，很圆滑，够老练，不过很有原则。就是这样。我认为，她从来没到过八十
楼以上的楼层，所以，她显然很喜欢待在底层。这种人很少见。”
詹丝浏览了一下茱丽叶的档案，看看她的家世背景，看看她的财务记录，还有她目前的薪
资点数。她工作表现优异，被推举为领班。从来没有抽过签。
“她还没结婚？”詹丝问。
“还没。她有点男人婆个性，是操作巨型扳手的技工，没想到吧？我们在底下待了一个礼
拜，亲眼看到那些男的看她的时候是什么眼神。打个比方，那些男人会抢着排队让她挑，不
过，她不太愿意跟男人混。这么说吧，她这个人，男人见了就很难忘得掉，她宁可自己一个人
过日子。”
“你好像也没忘掉她嘛。”话一出口，詹丝立刻就后悔了，她受不了自己那种酸酸的口气。
马奈斯调整了一下站姿，换另一条腿支撑：“呃，首长，你应该知道我的盘算，我随时都在
留意适合的人选，评估他们的能耐。我会想尽办法避免自己被拱上去当保安官。”
詹丝微微一笑。“另外那两个呢？”她翻开文件夹，看看那两个人的姓名。她有点怀疑，喜
欢窝在底层的人，真的适合干保安官吗？不过，也可能是她担心马奈斯会迷上他的上司。第一
个文件夹里，那个人叫彼得•贝尔宁。她知道那个人。他在司法部工作，办公室就在楼下不远，
只隔几个楼层。职务好像是书记，又好像是审判官的“学徒”。
“首长，我还是坦白说吧。按照规定，为了公平起见必须有三个候选人，不过其实，另外那
两个我只是抓来凑数。我刚刚说过，不管是谁来当我的长官，我都很乐意，不过，我个人认为
这个祖儿才是最理想的人选。我们这里已经很久没有年轻的女孩子干保安官了。下次的首长大
选快到了，你推个女孩子出来当保安官，大家会比较有兴趣。”
“我们选保安官，不能基于这种理由。”詹丝说，“不管最后我们选的是谁，这个工作他势必
要干很久，说不定会一直干到我们两个都不在了——”说到这里她停住了，因为她忽然想到霍斯
顿。当初选上霍斯顿的时候，她也说过同样的话。
詹丝合上文件夹，然后转头继续看着墙上的影像。在一座沙丘底下，有一个小龙卷风慢慢
成形，慢慢卷成一团黄沙。没多久，龙卷风越卷越大，越卷越大，拖着尖尖的尾端左右摇曳，
那硕大的上半部乍看之下很像一个小孩子的头，正朝着镜头袭卷而来。在苍白虚弱的晨曦中，
龙卷风看起来灿烂夺目。
“我想，我们去跟她见个面好了。”詹丝作了结论。文件夹还摆在她大腿上，她的手指不断
拨弄着那张手工纸边缘。
“你说什么？我看还是通知她自己上来比较好。就像从前一样，在你的办公室面谈。到底下
去，路程很远，等要上来的时候，你会觉得路程更远。”
“我了解你的顾虑，副保安官。我真的了解。不过，我已经很久没有到最底下去了，最远只
到第四十楼。我应该要常常去看我的同胞，不能老是拿膝盖当借口——”
首长忽然又停住了。那团沙尘龙卷风不断地左右游移，突然间，它转了个方向，朝他们扑
过来。龙卷风越来越大，越来越大。由于外面的广角镜头会扭曲影像，龙卷风看起来变得更巨
大，而且更强劲凶猛，尽管她知道实际上并没有那么大。没多久，龙卷风笼罩了每一个镜头，
整个大餐厅忽然暂时陷入一片黑暗。又过了一会儿，龙卷风移开了，在画面中缓缓移动，渐渐
远去。龙卷风终于走了，问题是，清晰的画面也随着它消失了。现在，墙上的世界又变成一片
昏暗模糊。
“该死的东西。”马奈斯咬牙切齿，手不自觉地握住枪柄。他的皮枪套已经很老旧，“嘎吱”作
响。这时候，詹丝脑海中忽然浮现出一个有趣画面。她仿佛看到副保安官出现在影像里，双腿
细瘦，追着那团龙卷风拼命开枪，只可惜，那团沙尘已经渐渐消散。
两个人坐在那里，陷入一阵沉默，转头看看四周，检查看看大餐厅里有没有损伤。过了一
会儿，詹丝终于开口了。
“马奈斯，这次下去，并不是为了选举，也不是去拉票。我相信，只要我出来选，没有人选
得赢我。所以，这次下去并不是为了有什么好处，而且，我们穿着不用太正式，不要太张扬。
我只是想去看看我的同胞，不是去摆排场。”她转头看看他，发现他也在看她，“这是为了我自
己，马奈斯，就当是逃避吧。”
她又回头去看外面的景观。
“有时候……有时候我会觉得我在上面待太久了。我们两个都是。我觉得，我们已经活太久
了——”
她忽然又停住了，因为她听到螺旋梯那边传来杂沓的脚步声。天亮了。他们两个都转身面
对楼梯的方向，面对那充满生命的声音。那个声音，意味着一个新的日子苏醒了。此刻，她知
道时候差不多了，应该要挥开脑海中那些死亡的意象，至少，暂时抛到脑后。
“这样吧，我们到底下去，看看这个茱丽叶到底有什么本事。我们两个一起去。你知道我为
什么想下去吗？因为，我们被这个世界逼着做了很多不该做的事。有时候，坐在这里，看着外
面，我会看到自己所作所为所造成的后果——我的心很痛，马奈斯，那是锥心的刺痛。”
※ ※ ※
吃过早餐后，他们在霍斯顿的办公室碰面。霍斯顿走了才一天，詹丝潜意识里还是觉得这
里是他的办公室。现在她暂时还没办法把这里当成别人的办公室。里面两张办公桌并排在一
起，旁边有一个老旧的档案柜。她站在那里，跟办公桌隔着一段距离，看着空荡荡的羁押室。
这时候，马奈斯正在跟泰瑞交代一些事情。要离开很长一段时间，事情必须交代清楚。泰瑞是
资讯区的保安人员，身材魁梧，每次马奈斯和霍斯顿要出去办案，就会找泰瑞到办公室来留
守。站在泰瑞后面的，是一个十几岁的女孩子，满头黑发，眼睛炯炯有神。她叫玛莎，在资讯
区见习，是泰瑞的“学徒”。地堡里，半数以上的人都带着一个学徒。他们的年龄大约在十二岁
到二十岁之间，如影随形跟在师父旁边，像海绵一样拼命吸收知识，吸收技术，这样地堡的运
作才能够持续下去，至少，再延续一个世代。
马奈斯特别提醒泰瑞，每次镜头刚洗干净的时候，大家都会变得特别暴躁易怒，因为压力
一旦解除，人就变得比较冲动。至少有一阵子，他们会觉得自己可以为所欲为。
其实根本不需要他特别交代，因为隔壁的大餐厅里，大家正在狂欢庆祝，那种惊天动地的
喧闹声，连门关着都挡不住。地堡最上面四十层楼的居民早就把整个大餐厅和大厅挤得水泄不
通。而且，这一整天，还会有好几百个人从中段楼层和底段楼层爬上来。他们都是请假，用掉
他们的休假点券，专程到顶楼来，目的就是为了观赏外面世界最清晰的景观。对大多数人来
说，那像是一种朝圣。有些人隔好几年才会上来一次，他们会在顶楼盘桓好几个钟头，嘴里喃
喃嘀咕说，外面的世界一点都没变，还是他们记忆中的模样。然后，他们就会催着孩子下楼
梯。上楼的人群把楼梯井挤得水泄不通，他们只好一路挤下去。
马奈斯把所有的钥匙和一枚临时警徽交给泰瑞，然后检查了一下无线电对讲机，看看电池
有没有电，再检查办公室的无线电主机，看看音量开得够不够大，接着掏出手枪检查一下。最
后，他和泰瑞握握手，鼓励了他两句。这时候，詹丝意识到时候差不多了，他们该走了，于是
她撇开头，不再看那空荡荡的羁押室，转身跟泰瑞说了声再见，朝玛莎点点头，然后就跟在马
奈斯后面走出办公室门口。
他们跨出办公室门口正要走进大餐厅的时候，詹丝忽然问：“镜头才刚洗过，你现在就离开
岗位，真的没关系吗？”她知道一到晚上，顶楼的人会多到什么程度，而那些人会冲动到什么程
度。这个节骨眼拖着他一起走，好像时机不太对，因为这项任务骨子里是她的私事。
“那有什么关系？时机正好，我也正想找个地方躲起来。”他瞄瞄墙上的影像，可是人太多
了，遮住了视线，根本看不清楚。“到现在我还是搞不懂霍斯顿到底在想什么。他心里有什么
事，为什么都不告诉我？也许，等我们回来之后，我就比较不会感觉他还在办公室里，因为，
现在待在那里，我连呼吸都有困难。”
詹丝思索着他说的话，同时两人一路挤过满餐厅的人群。大家举着塑胶杯，果汁四散飞
溅，但她闻到空气中飘散着私酿酒的味道，不过，她决定暂时不管他们。大家七嘴八舌向她问
好，祝她一路平安，而且保证会投票给她。他们这次要下去的事，很少人知道，没想到这么快
就泄露了。大多数人都认为，首长这次下去，目的是要跟大家联络感情，为下一次大选热身。
地堡里年轻的一代都向马奈斯道贺，称呼他保安官，因为他们都是在霍斯顿担任保安官期间成
长的，不知道前一任保安官继任人选的内情，不知道是马奈斯主动退让，自甘担任副手。不
过，老一辈的人知道内情，所以，首长和马奈斯从他们面前经过的时候，他们都点头致意，心
里暗暗给他们另外一种祝福。他们的眼神流露出他们内心的盼望：让地堡能够继续保持目前的
平静，让他们的孩子能够活得跟自己一样久。千万不能让地堡崩溃，至少，不要太快。
詹丝一直活在这种压力下。这种压力，比起年龄加诸她膝盖上的压力更残酷。他们朝中央
螺旋梯走过去，一路上她一直沉默不语。有些人大喊要她发表演说，不过还好，众人没有跟着
起哄，她总算松了一口气。她能说什么？难道要告诉他们，她自己都搞不懂地堡为什么还能维
持下去？难道要告诉他们，她连自己的针线活都搞不懂？是不是把棉线交缠在一起，顺序对
了，衣服就可以做出来？难道要告诉他们，只要剪断一根线，整件衣服就散了？只要剪一刀，
线就可以拉出来，越拉越长，最后变成一团棉线？难道他们真以为她懂得该怎么管理地堡？事
实上，她也不过就是按照从前留下来的规定去做，就这样，一年一年过去了，没想到地堡的状
况竟然还能够维持正常。
她根本搞不懂究竟是什么力量在支撑地堡的运作。而且，她也无法体会他们的心情，不明
白他们为什么要庆祝。他们为什么要这样喝酒狂欢？难道是因为他们觉得自己可以安心了，因
为他们庆幸自己逃过一劫，没有被送出去清洗镜头？此刻，有一个好人死了，陈尸在沙丘上，
而他太太的尸体就在他旁边。他是她的好朋友、她的好帮手、好伙伴。他死了，而地堡里的人
竟然在狂欢庆祝？所以，如果真要发表演说，如果她说话不需要顾虑会不会触犯地堡的禁忌，
那么，她会这么说：有两个好人自愿到外面去清洗镜头。全地堡还找得到比他们更好的人吗？
跟他们比起来，我们这些留在地堡里的人算什么？
现在根本不是发表演说的时候，也不是饮酒作乐、狂欢庆祝的时候。现在，该是冷静下来
好好思考的时候。这也就是为什么詹丝会觉得自己需要暂时逃开这一切。一切都变了，而且，
那种改变并不是一天造成的，而是累积了不知道多少年。这一点，她比绝大多数人都清楚。还
有，物资区那位老太太麦克兰可能也很清楚，她也察觉到有事快发生了。人必须活得够久才看
得清楚事情，而现在，她看到了。时间一天天过去，她生存的这个世界，脚步越来越快，她根
本追不上。詹丝首长心里明白，再过不久，这个世界就会把她远远甩在后面。她内心深处潜藏
着一种巨大的恐惧。她没有说出口，可是那种恐惧每天都缠绕着她。那就是：有一天，当她不
在了，这世界恐怕也撑不了多久了。
Part 2 Proper Gauge 9
Part 2 Proper Gauge
9
Jahns’s walking stick made a conspicuous ring as it impacted each metal step. It soon became a
metronome for their descent, timing the music of the stairwell, which was crowded and vibrating
with the energy of a recent cleaning. All the traffic seemed to be heading upward, save for the two of
them. They jostled against the flow, elbows brushing, cries of “Hey, Mayor!” followed by nods to
Marnes. And Jahns saw it on their faces: the temptation to call him sheriff tempered by their respect
for the awful nature of his assumed promotion.
“How many floors you up for?” Marnes asked.
“Why, you tired already?” Jahns glanced over her shoulder to smirk at him, saw his bushy
mustache twisted up in a smile of his own.
“Going down ain’t a problem for me. It’s the going back up I can’t stand.”
Their hands briefly collided on the twisted railing of the spiral staircase, Jahns’s hand trailing
behind her, Marnes’s reaching ahead. She felt like telling him she wasn’t tired at all, but she did feel
a sudden weariness, an exhaustion more mental than physical. She had a childish vision of more
youthful times and pictured Marnes scooping her up and carrying her down the staircase in his arms.
There would be a sweet release of strength and responsibility, a sinking into another’s power, no need
to feign her own. This was not a remembrance of the past—it was a future that had never happened.
And Jahns felt guilty for even thinking it. She felt her husband beside her, his ghost perturbed by her
thoughts—
“Mayor? How many you thinking?”
The two of them stopped and hugged the rail as a porter trudged up the stairs. Jahns recognized
the boy, Connor, still in his teens but already with a strong back and steady stride. He had an array of
bundles strapped together and balanced on his shoulders. The sneer on his face was not from
exhaustion or pain, but annoyance. Who were all these people suddenly on his stairwell? These
tourists? Jahns thought of something encouraging to say, some small verbal reward for these people
who did a job her knees never could, but he was already gone on his strong young feet, carrying food
and supplies up from the down deep, slowed only by the crush of traffic attempting to worm up
through the silo for a peek of the clear and wide outside.
She and Marnes caught their breath for a moment between flights. Marnes handed her his canteen,
and she took a polite sip before passing it back.
“I’d like to do half today,” she finally answered. “But I want to make a few stops on the way.”
Marnes took a swig of water and began twisting the cap back on. “House calls?”
“Something like that. I want to stop at the nursery on twenty.”
Marnes laughed. “Kissin’ babies? Mayor, ain’t nobody gonna vote you out. Not at your age.”
Jahns didn’t laugh. “Thanks,” she said with a mask of false pain. “But no, not to kiss babies.” She
turned her back and resumed walking; Marnes followed. “It’s not that I don’t trust your professional
opinion about this Jules lady. You haven’t picked anything but a winner since I’ve been mayor.”
“Even … ?” Marnes interrupted.
“Especially him,” Jahns said, knowing what he was thinking. “He was a good man, but he had a
broken heart. That’ll take even the best of them down.”
Marnes grunted his agreement. “So what’re we checkin’ at the nursery? This Juliette weren’t born
on the twentieth, not if I recall—”
“No, but her father works there now. I thought, since we were passing by, that we’d get a feel for
the man, get some insight on his daughter.”
“A father for a character witness?” Marnes laughed. “Don’t reckon you’ll get much of an
impartial there.”
“I think you’ll be surprised,” Jahns said. “I had Alice do some digging while I was packing. She
found something interesting.”
“Yeah?”
“This Juliette character still has every vacation chit she’s ever earned.”
“That ain’t rare for Mechanical,” Marnes said. “They do a lot of overtime.”
“Not only does she not get out, she doesn’t have visitors.”
“I still don’t see where you’re going with this.”
Jahns waited while a family passed. A young boy, six or seven probably, rode on his father’s
shoulders with his head ducked to avoid the undersides of the stairs above. The mother brought up
the rear, an overnight bag draped over her shoulder, a swaddled infant cradled in her arms. It was the
perfect family, Jahns thought. Replacing what they took. Two for two. Just what the lottery aimed for
and sometimes provided.
“Well then, let me tell you where I’m going with this,” she told Marnes. “I want to find this girl’s
father, look him in the eyes, and ask him why, in the nearly twenty years since his daughter moved to
Mechanical, he hasn’t visited her. Not once.”
She looked back at Marnes, saw him frowning at her beneath his mustache.
“And why she hasn’t once made her way up to see him,” she added.
••••
The traffic thinned as they made their way into the teens and past the upper apartments. With each
step down, Jahns dreaded having to reclaim those lost inches on the way back up. This was the easy
part, she reminded herself. The descent was like the uncoiling of a steel spring, pushing her down. It
reminded Jahns of nightmares she’d had of drowning. Silly nightmares, considering she’d never seen
enough water to submerge herself in, much less enough that she couldn’t stand up to breathe. But
they were like the occasional dreams of falling from great heights, some legacy of another time,
broken fragments unearthed in each of their sleeping minds that suggested: We weren’t supposed to
live like this.
And so the descent, this spiraling downward, was much like the drowning that swallowed her at
night. It felt inexorable and inextricable. Like a weight pulling her down combined with the
knowledge that she’d never be able to claw her way back up.
They passed the garment district next, the land of multicolored coveralls and the place her balls of
yarn came from. The smell of the dyes and other chemicals drifted over the landing. A window cut
into the curving cinder blocks looked through to a small food shop at the edge of the district. It had
been ransacked by the crowds, shelves emptied by the crushing demand of exhausted hikers and the
extra post-cleaning traffic. Several porters crowded up the stairs with heavy loads, trying their best to
satisfy demand, and Jahns recognized an awful truth about yesterday’s cleaning: the barbaric practice
brought more than psychological relief, more than just a clear view of the outside—it also buttressed
the silo’s economy. There was suddenly an excuse to travel. An excuse to trade. And as gossip
flowed, and family and old friends met again for the first time in months or perhaps years, there was a
vitality injected into the entire silo. It was like an old body stretching and loosening its joints, blood
flowing to the extremities. A decrepit thing was becoming alive again.
“Mayor!”
She turned to find Marnes almost out of sight around the spiral above her. She paused while he
caught up, watching his feet as he hurried.
“Easy,” he said. “I can’t keep up if you take off like that.”
Jahns apologized. She hadn’t been aware of any change in her pace.
As they entered the second tier of apartments, down below the sixteenth floor, Jahns realized she
was already in territory she hadn’t seen in almost a year. There was the rattle here of younger legs
chasing along the stairwell, getting tangled up in the slow climbers. The grade school for the upper
third was just above the nursery. From the sound of all the traffic and voices, school had been
canceled. Jahns imagined it was a combination of knowing how few would turn up for class (with
parents taking their kids up to the view) plus how many teachers would want to do the same. They
passed the landing for the school, where chalk games of Hop and Square-Four were blurred from the
day’s traffic, where kids sat hugging the rails, skinned knees poking out, feet swinging below the
jutting landings, and where catcalls and eager shouts faded to secret whispers in the presence of
adults.
“Glad we’re almost there, I need a rest,” Marnes said as they spiraled down one more flight to the
nursery. “I just hope this feller is available to see us.”
“He will be,” Jahns said. “Alice wired him from my office that we were coming.”
They crossed traffic at the nursery landing and caught their breath. When Marnes passed his
canteen, Jahns took a long pull and then checked her hair in its curved and dented surface.
“You look fine,” he said.
“Mayoral?”
He laughed. “And then some.”
Jahns thought she saw a twinkle in his old brown eyes when he said this, but it was probably the
light bouncing off the canteen as he brought it to his lips.
“Twenty floors in just over two hours. Don’t recommend the pace, but I’m glad we’re this far
already.” He wiped his mustache and reached around to try to slip the canteen back into his pack.
“Here,” Jahns said. She took the canteen from him and slid it into the webbed pouch on the rear of
his pack. “And let me do the talking in here,” she reminded him.
Marnes lifted his hands and showed his palms, as if no other thought had ever crossed his mind.
He stepped past her and pulled one of the heavy metal doors open, the customary squeal of rusted
hinges not coming as expected. The silence startled Jahns. She was used to hearing the chirp of old
doors up and down the staircase as they opened and closed. They were the stairwell’s version of the
wildlife found in the farms, ever present and always singing. But these hinges were coated in oil,
rigorously maintained. The signs on the walls of the waiting room reinforced the observation. They
demanded silence in bold letters, accompanied by pictures of fingers over lips and circles with slashes
through open mouths. The nursery evidently took its quietude seriously.
“Don’t remember so many signs last time I was here,” Marnes whispered.
“Maybe you were too busy yapping to notice,” Jahns replied.
A nurse glared at them through a glass window, and Jahns elbowed Marnes.
“Mayor Jahns to see Peter Nichols,” she told the woman.
The nurse behind the window didn’t blink. “I know who you are. I voted for you.”
“Oh, of course. Well, thank you.”
“If you’ll come around.” The woman hit a button on her desk and the door beside her buzzed
faintly. Marnes pushed on the door, and Jahns followed him through.
“If you’ll don these.”
The nurse—Margaret, according to the hand-drawn tag on her collar—held out two neatly folded
white cloth robes. Jahns accepted them both and handed one to Marnes.
“You can leave your bags with me.”
There was no refusing Margaret. Jahns felt at once that she was in this much younger woman’s
world, that she had become her inferior when she passed through that softly buzzing door. She leaned
her walking stick against the wall, took her pack off and lowered it to the ground, then shrugged on
the robe. Marnes struggled with his until Margaret helped, holding the sleeve in place. He wrestled
the robe over his denim shirt and held the loose ends of the long fabric waist tie as if its working was
beyond his abilities. He watched Jahns knot hers, and finally made enough of a mess of it for the robe
to hold fairly together.
“What?” he asked, noticing the way Jahns was watching him. “This is what I’ve got cuffs for. So I
never learned to tie a knot, so what?”
“In sixty years,” Jahns said.
Margaret pressed another button on her desk and pointed down the hall. “Dr. Nichols is in the
nursery. I’ll let him know you’re coming.”
Jahns led the way. Marnes followed, asking her, “Why is that so hard to believe?”
“I think it’s cute, actually.”
Marnes snorted. “That’s an awful word to use on a man my age.”
Jahns smiled to herself. At the end of the hall, she paused before a set of double doors before
pushing them open a crack. The light in the room beyond was dim. She opened the door further, and
they entered a sparse but clean waiting room. She remembered a similar one from the mid levels
where she had waited with a friend to be reunited with her child. A glass wall looked into a room that
held a handful of cribs and bassinets. Jahns’s hand dropped to her hip. She rubbed the hard nub of her
now-useless implant, inserted at birth and never removed, not once. Being in that nursery reminded
her of all she had lost, all she had given up for her work. For her ghosts.
It was too dark inside the nursery to see if any of the small beds stirred with newborns. She was
notified of every birth, of course. As mayor, she signed a letter of congratulations and a birth
certificate for each one, but the names ran together with the days. She could rarely remember what
level the parents lived on, if it was their first or second. It made her sad to admit it, but those
certificates had become just more paperwork, another rote duty.
The shadowy outline of an adult moved among the small cribs, the shiny clamp of a clipboard and
the flash of a metal pen winking in the light of the observation room. The dark shape was obviously
tall, with the gait and build of an older man. He took his time, noting something as he hovered over a
crib, the two shimmers of metal uniting to jot a note. When he was done, he crossed the room and
passed through a wide door to join Marnes and Jahns in the waiting room.
Peter Nichols was an imposing figure, Jahns saw. Tall and lean, but not like Marnes, who seemed
to fold and unfold unsure limbs to move about. Peter was lean like a habitual exerciser, like a few
porters Jahns knew who could take the stairs two at a time and make it look like they’d been
expressly designed for such a pace. It was height that lent confidence. Jahns could feel it as she took
Peter’s outstretched hand and let him pump it firmly.
“You came,” Dr. Nichols said simply. It was a cold observation. There was only a hint of surprise.
He shook Marnes’s hand, but his eyes returned to Jahns. “I explained to your secretary that I
wouldn’t be much help. I’m afraid I haven’t seen Juliette since she became a shadow twenty years
ago.”
“Well, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” Jahns glanced at the cushioned benches
where she imagined anxious grandparents, aunts, and uncles waited while parents were united with
their newborns. “Could we sit?”
Dr. Nichols nodded and waved them over.
“I take each of my appointments for office very seriously,” Jahns explained, sitting across from
the doctor. “At my age, I expect most judges and lawmen I install to outlive me, so I choose
carefully.”
“But they don’t always, do they?” Dr. Nichols tilted his head, no expression on his lean and
carefully shaven face. “Outlive you, I mean.”
Jahns swallowed. Marnes stirred on the bench beside her.
“You must value family,” Jahns said, changing the subject, realizing this was just another
observation, no harm meant. “To have shadowed so long and to choose such a demanding line of
work.”
Nichols nodded.
“Why do you and Juliette never visit? I mean, not once in twenty years. She’s your only child.”
Nichols turned his head slightly, his eyes drifting to the wall. Jahns was momentarily distracted by
the sight of another form moving behind the glass, a nurse making the rounds. Another set of doors
led off to what she assumed were the delivery rooms, where right now a convalescing new mother
was probably waiting to be handed her most precious possession.
“I had a son as well,” Dr. Nichols said.
Jahns felt herself reaching for her bag to procure the folders within, but it wasn’t by her side. This
was a detail she had missed, a brother.
“You couldn’t have known,” Nichols said, correctly reading the shock on Mayor Jahns’s face.
“He didn’t survive. Technically, he wasn’t born. The lottery moved on.”
“I’m sorry …”
She fought the urge to reach over and hold Marnes’s hand. It had been decades since the two of
them had purposefully touched, even innocently, but the sudden sadness in the room punctured that
intervening time.
“His name was going to be Nicholas, my father’s father’s name. He was born prematurely. One
pound eight ounces.”
The clinical precision in his voice was somehow sadder than an outpouring of emotion might have
been.
“They intubated, moved him into an incubator, but there were … complications.” Dr. Nichols
looked down at the backs of his hands. “Juliette was thirteen at the time. She was as excited as we
were, if you can imagine, to have a baby brother on the way. She was one year out from shadowing
her mother, who was a delivery nurse.” Nichols glanced up. “Not here in this nursery, mind you, but
in the old mid-level nursery, where we both worked. I was still an intern then.”
“And Juliette?” Mayor Jahns still didn’t understand the connection.
“There was a failure with the incubator. When Nicholas—” The doctor turned his head to the side
and brought his hand halfway to his eyes but was able to compose himself. “I’m sorry. I still call him
that.”
“It’s okay.”
Mayor Jahns was holding Deputy Marnes’s hand. She wasn’t sure when or how that had
happened. The doctor didn’t seem to notice or, more likely, care.
“Poor Juliette.” He shook his head. “She was distraught. She blamed Rhoda at first, an
experienced delivery nurse who had done nothing but work a miracle to give our boy the slim chance
he had. I explained this. I think Juliette knew. She just needed someone to hate.” He nodded to Jahns.
“Girls that age, you know?”
“Believe it or not, I remember.” Jahns forced a smile and Dr. Nichols returned it. She felt Marnes
squeeze her hand.
“It wasn’t until her mother died that she took to blaming the incubator that had failed. Well, not
the incubator, but the poor condition it was in. The general state of rot all things become.”
“Your wife died from the complications?” It was another detail Jahns felt she must have missed
from the file.
“My wife killed herself a week later.”
Again, the clinical detachment. Jahns wondered if this was a survival mechanism that had kicked
in after these events, or a personality trait already in place.
“Seems like I would remember that,” Deputy Marnes said, the first words he’d uttered since
introducing himself to the doctor.
“Well, I wrote the certificate myself. So I could put whatever cause I wanted—”
“And you admit to this?” Marnes seemed ready to leap off the bench. To do what, Jahns could
hardly guess. She held his arm to keep him in place.
“Beyond the statute of limitations? Of course. I admit it. It was a worthless lie, anyway. Juliette
was smart, even at that age. She knew. And this is what drove her—” He stopped himself.
“Drove her what?” Mayor Jahns asked. “Crazy?”
“No.” Dr. Nichols shook his head. “I wasn’t going to say that. It’s what drove her away. She
applied for a change in casters. Demanded to move down to Mechanical, to enter the shop as a
shadow. She was a year too young for that sort of placement, but I agreed. I signed off on it. I thought
she’d go, get some deep air, come back. I was naïve. I thought the freedom would be good for her.”
“And you haven’t seen her since?”
“Once. For her mother’s funeral, just a few days later. She marched up on her own, attended the
burial, gave me a hug, then marched back down. All without rest, from what I’ve heard. I try to keep
up with her. I have a colleague in the deep nursery who will wire now and then with a bit of news.
It’s all focus, focus, focus with her.”
Nichols paused and laughed.
“You know, when she was young, all I saw was her mother in her. But she grew up to be more
like me.”
“Is there anything you know that would preclude her from or make her ill suited for the job of silo
sheriff? You do understand what’s involved with the job, right?”
“I understand.” Nichols looked over at Marnes, his eye drifting to the copper badge visible
through the open, shoddily tied robe, down to the bulge of a pistol at his side. “All the little lawmen
throughout the silo have to have someone up top, giving commands, is that it?”
“More or less,” Jahns said.
“Why her?”
Marnes cleared his throat. “She helped us with an investigation once—”
“Jules? She was up here?”
“No. We were down there.”
“She has no training.”
“None of us have,” Marnes said. “It’s more of a … political office. A citizen’s post.”
“She won’t agree to it.”
“Why not?” Jahns asked.
Nichols shrugged. “You’ll see for yourself, I suppose.” He stood. “I wish I could give you more
time, but I really should get back.” He glanced at the set of double doors. “We’ll be bringing a family
in soon—”
“I understand.” Jahns rose and shook his hand. “I appreciate your seeing us.”
He laughed. “Did I have a choice?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I wish I’d known that sooner.”
He smiled, and Jahns saw that he was joking, or attempting to. As they parted company and
walked back down the hallway to collect their things and return the robes, Jahns found herself more
and more intrigued by this nomination of Marnes’s. It wasn’t his style, a woman from the down deep.
A person with baggage. She wondered if his judgment was perhaps clouded by other factors. And as
he held the door for her, leading out to the main waiting room, Mayor Jahns wondered if she was
going along with him because her judgment was clouded as well.
第二部分：精准口径 09
第二部分：精准口径
09
詹丝首长拄着拐杖下楼梯，每走一步，拐杖就会在铁梯板上撞一下，那声音非常响亮，就
这样，他们一步步走下楼梯。由于镜头刚清洗过，大家都精神一振，抢着到顶楼去欣赏美景，
螺旋梯人潮汹涌，轰轰的脚步声回荡在楼梯井中，就像某种音乐。没多久，拐杖的撞击声仿佛
节拍器一样，为那闹哄哄的音乐声加上节奏。楼梯井中的人潮，绝大多数都是要上楼，除了他
们两个。他们和众人擦身而过，在人潮中逆流而行，偶尔会听到有人大喊“首长好”，也有人会
朝马奈斯点点头。詹丝注意到他们的表情，看得出来他们都差点脱口叫保安官。那是一种理所
当然的预期心理，他本来就应该晋升为保安官。
“你打算下几层楼？”马奈斯问。
“你为什么问这个，累了吗？”詹丝回头朝他笑了一下，做个鬼脸，然后看到他也笑了。
“下楼梯难不倒我，不过，上楼梯就会要我的老命。”
他们的手都搭在螺旋梯的栏杆上，詹丝的手往后伸，马奈斯的手往前伸，两人的手偶尔会
碰触到。她本来想对他说她一点也不累，不过，她突然感到一种莫名的疲惫，但那并不是肉体
上的累，而是她的心已经筋疲力尽。此刻，她忽然有一个很孩子气的念头，脑海中浮现一幕画
面：她又变回年轻时的模样，而马奈斯把她横抱在胸前，抱着她下楼梯。这样一来，她就可以
卸下责任，放松自己，依赖别人的力量，自己不需要再费力。那种感觉多美好。然而，那并不
是过去真实的记忆，而是对未来的一种虚幻的想象。詹丝忽然有一种罪恶感，因为她根本不该
有一丝丝这种念头。她忽然感觉丈夫仿佛就在她旁边，而她这种念头使得他的灵魂骚动不安
——
“首长，说真的，你打算下到几楼？”
这时候，忽然有个运送员沿着楼梯走上来，两个人立刻停下脚步，扶着栏杆。詹丝认得那
个男孩。他叫康纳，才十几岁，不过却已经是虎背熊腰，健步如飞。好几个包裹用绳子串成一
串，套在他颈后，从肩头垂挂下来，平衡两边的重量。他皱着眉头，不过，那并不是因为他太
累，或是不舒服，而是因为他很不高兴。对他来说，这座楼梯井就是他的地盘，可是却突然间
冒出这么多人。哪来这么多人？出来玩的吗？詹丝脑海中闪过几句鼓励的话，想安慰安慰他。
这种工作很辛苦，她简直不敢想象自己的膝盖有办法承受这种摧残。但她还来不及说出口，他
就已经一溜烟不见了。年轻人的腿就是不一样。他扛着食物和生活用品，从很底下的楼层爬上
来，如果一路畅通，他就可以快点抵达目的地，提早卸下肩上的重担，偏偏全地堡的人突然都
冒出来，为了到上面去看漂亮的风景，他们挤满了楼梯，挡住了他的去路，害他爬不快。
到一个楼层平台的时候，她和马奈斯停下来喘口气。马奈斯把水壶递给她，她接过来，很
客气地喝了一小口，立刻又还给他。
“我打算今天走完一半的路程，到中段楼层。”她终于回答他了，“不过，半路上我打算到几
个地方去看看，停留一下。”
马奈斯啜了一小口水，把水壶盖转回去：“去拜访谁吗？”
“类似吧。我准备到二十楼的育儿区去看看。”
马奈斯大笑起来：“怎么，你还需要找个婴儿来抱一抱、亲一亲，塑造形象吗？报告首长，
还有人会不投票给你吗？尤其你已经到了这把年纪，谁忍心不投票给你？”
詹丝没有笑。“谢了。”她假装生气，“不过，我并不是要去找个婴儿来抱。”说完她又转身继
续下楼，马奈斯跟在她后面。“其实，我并不是不信任你。你干了这么久的副保安官，我相信你
对这个祖儿小姐，一定不会看走眼。自从我上任当首长以来，你从来没有挑错过人。”
“可是他……”马奈斯忽然插嘴。
“特别是他。”詹丝知道他说的是谁，“他是个很了不起的人，只可惜伤心过度。铁打的人也
经不起这种打击。”
马奈斯嗯了一声表示同意。“那么，你去育儿区有什么用意？如果我没记错的话，茱丽叶并
不是在二十楼出生的——”
“没错，不过她爸爸目前在那里工作。我想，既然我们刚好路过，那么我们就顺便去看看他
是个什么样的人，这样可以对她有更深入的了解。”
“你想找一个爸爸，问他对自己的女儿有什么看法？”马奈斯大笑起来，“你觉得他有办法客
观公正，不偏心吗？”
“有些事可能会出乎你意料之外。”詹丝说，“刚刚在整理行李的时候，我叫艾莉丝去帮我查
了一些资料。我发现了一些很有意思的东西。”
“哦？”
“这个茱丽叶得到很多休假点券，可是却完全没用过。”
“这没什么稀奇，她是机电区的技工。”马奈斯说，“他们一天到晚加班。”
“另外，她不但从来没有离开过机电区，甚至也没半个人去找过她。”
“我还是不太懂，这代表什么？”
这时候有一家人正好从他们旁边经过，詹丝暂时没开口。有个小男孩，大概六七岁左右，
坐在爸爸肩膀上，压低着头，以免撞到上面的楼梯板，而妈妈跟在后面走，肩上背着一个行李
袋，怀里抱着一个婴儿。詹丝心里想，这是一个完美的家庭。两个大人生出两个小孩，完美的
替代。这就是生育抽签的理想目标，而有时候也真的有人抽得到两次签。
“嗯，那我就告诉你这代表什么。”她对马奈斯说，“我想亲眼看看这个茱丽叶的父亲，看着
他的眼睛，问他一个问题。将近二十年前，他女儿离开他，搬到机电区，而这么长的时间以
来，他为什么从来没去看过她？一次都没有。”
她转头看看马奈斯，发现他皱起眉头看着她。
“还有，为什么她也从来没上来找过他。”她又补了一句。
※ ※ ※
他们下了十几层楼，而过了高段楼层的住宅区之后，上楼的人潮就变少了。这时候，詹丝
越走越胆战心惊，因为每下一级楼梯，就代表回程的时候就要多上一级。不过她安慰自己，上
楼比较不可怕。下楼梯，就仿佛上面有弹簧顶着她，一股力量推着她往下坠，那种感觉，让詹
丝回想起她做过的噩梦，梦见自己溺水。这种噩梦，说起来有点滑稽，因为她这辈子根本没碰
过很深的水。她接触过的水，就算躺下来也还不至于整个人埋在水里，那么站起来更不可能淹
到头顶上。但那就像梦见自己从很高的地方坠落一样，人睡觉的时候，潜意识总是会创造某些
光怪陆离的零碎梦境，唤起过去某个时间残留的记忆。而这一切仿佛在提醒她：我们不应该活
在这种地方。
下楼梯也一样。沿着螺旋梯往下，那种感觉，就仿佛深夜时在噩梦里被大水吞噬，无力抗
拒，无处可逃，仿佛有一个沉重的巨物拖着她往下坠，而且心里很清楚自己再也爬不上来了。
接下来，他们经过制衣区楼层。那里到处都是五颜六色的连身工作服，她的棉线就是从这
里拿的。楼梯井的平台飘散着染料和其他化学药品的气味。弧形的煤渣砖墙上有一个窗口，可
以看到制衣区最里面有一间小食品店，店门口挤得人山人海，架上的食品已经被扫掠一空。镜
头清洗后，突然涌现大量人潮，而他们爬楼梯爬得筋疲力尽，每个人都饿昏了。好几个运送员
成群往上爬，肩上扛着沉重的货物，用最快的速度送往目的地，这时候，詹丝才猛然想到，昨
天清洗镜头所代表的真正意义。这种让人出去送死的杀人行径，并非只是解除了大家的心理压
力，让大家能够清楚看到外面的风景而已。事实上，还刺激了地堡的经济活动。突然间，大家
忽然有机会放假，离开工作岗位，到外地去消费。当消息一传开，几个月没见面或甚至多年未
见的亲戚朋友，忽然又有机会可以聚在一起，这样一来，整个地堡突然活络起来，仿佛一个老
人伸伸懒腰，活动手脚，全身的血流忽然顺畅起来。某种衰老的东西忽然恢复了活力。
“首长！”
她转头一看，发现马奈斯还在上面，落后她很远，回旋的楼梯遮蔽了视线，根本看不到
他。她停下脚步，过了一会儿他才赶上来。他脚步很慢，每走一步都小心翼翼看着脚下的梯
板。
“慢一点。”他说。“你这种速度，我根本跟不上。”
詹丝说了声不好意思。她没有意识到自己越走越快。
他们已经过了十六楼的住宅区，来到十七楼。这里也是住宅区。这时候，詹丝才意识到她
已经将近一年没来过这里了。好几个孩子正沿着楼梯井往上冲，互相追逐，差点撞上那些爬得
慢的人。十九楼是学校区，就在育儿区楼上。那些上楼的人边走边聊，有人提到学校放假了。
詹丝猜得出来，那除了因为老师预料到很少学生会来上课（因为爸妈要带孩子上去看风景）之
外，其实老师自己也不太想上课，所以就干脆放假。他们经过学校区的楼层平台时，看到地上
有粉笔画的跳格子游戏，不过被人踩来踩去，已经模糊了。有好几个孩子坐在梯板内侧边缘，
抱着栏杆，两脚悬在半空中荡来荡去，看得到破了皮的膝盖。他们本来都大声尖叫，互相叫
骂，可是一看到大人就立刻安静下来，变成窃窃私语。
他们走下最后一级楼梯，踏上育儿区的平台，这时候马奈斯说：“还好到了，我需要休息一
下。你确定他在吗？但愿这位老先生没有上去看风景。”
“他一定在。”詹丝说，“艾莉丝已经发过电子邮件给他，通知他我们会来。”
他们挤过平台上的人群，停下来喘气。马奈斯又把水壶递给她，她灌了一大口，然后把水
壶拿到眼前，从凹凸不平的金属壶身上看着自己的倒影。
“没问题啦，你样子看起来很不错啊。”他说。
“哦，你是说我看起来有首长的样子吗？”
他大笑起来：“不光是有首长的样子而已，还有别的。”
马奈斯说这话的时候，詹丝注意到他苍老的棕色眼珠里闪过一丝异样的光芒，不过，也许
是她看错了，说不定那只是他把水壶拿回去凑到嘴上的时候，水壶的反光照在他眼睛上。
“两个钟头走了二十层楼，好像走得太快了点，不过，我还是很高兴我们有这样的进
度。”他擦掉胡子上的水渍，然后反手伸到身体后面，想把水壶塞进背包里。
“我来吧。”詹丝拿走他手上的水壶，塞进他背包上的网袋里。“还有，等一下进去，你不要
开口，让我来跟他说。”她提醒他。
马奈斯两手一摊，意思是他本来就没打算开口，接着他站到一边，拉开那扇厚重的铁门。
他本来以为生锈的铰链一定会发出刺耳的“嘎吱”一声，但没想到，一点声音都没有。詹丝也吓
了一跳，这扇门竟然没声音。全地堡上上下下的门，每一扇都已经很老旧，开开关关都很刺
耳，她已经习惯了。这种门每一楼都有，而且都很吵。不过，这扇门的铰链加了润滑油，显然
有人很用心在保养，要保持绝对安静。另外，等候区墙上的标志更证明了他们观察得没错。标
志上用粗体字写着“保持肃静”的字样，旁边还有一个手指抵在嘴唇上的图案，上面有一个红色
的圈圈，圈圈里有一条斜线。这个育儿区显然严格要求安静。
“上次我来的时候，好像没这么多标志。”马奈斯嘀咕了一句。
“说不定你太忙了，根本没注意。”詹丝说。
这时有个护士隔着玻璃窗看了他们一眼。詹丝用手肘顶了马奈斯一下。
“我是詹丝首长，我要见彼得•尼克斯。”她对那个护士说。
护士看着她，眼睛眨也没眨：“我知道你是谁。我的票是投给你的。”
“噢，对了，呃，谢谢你。”
“请进。”护士按下桌上的一个按钮，旁边那扇门立刻发出蜂鸣声。马奈斯推开门走进去，
詹丝跟在他后面。
“麻烦一下。”护士举起两件折得很整齐的白袍。詹丝伸手接过来，递了一件给马奈斯。护
士领口别了一个名牌，上面有一个手写的名字。她叫玛格丽特。
“麻烦把袋子交给我。”
玛格丽特口气有一种至高无上的威严。詹丝忽然觉得自己已经闯进这个小女孩的地盘。刚
刚“哔哔”声一响，她走进那扇门的时候，她就已经矮了一截。她把拐杖靠在墙上，卸下背包放
在地上，然后穿上白袍。马奈斯挣扎了半天，怎么穿都穿不好，玛格丽特实在看不下去，就走
过去帮忙，帮他拉直袖子。后来，他费了九牛二虎之力，好不容易把白袍套在他的牛仔布衬衣
上，然后两手抓住布腰带的两头，左右看了半天，好像不知道该怎么绑。后来，他先看着詹丝
在腰带上打了一个结，然后，他自己手上一阵忙乱，终于勉强绑好腰带，束紧白袍。
“干吗？”他注意到詹丝用一种奇怪的眼神看着他，忍不住就发作了，“所以我才要用手铐
嘛！我就是一直学不会打绳结嘛！怎么样？”
“六十年了。”詹丝说。
这时玛格丽特又按下桌上的另一个按钮，伸手指向门厅：“尼克斯大夫在育儿室。我会通知
他你们来了。”
詹丝走在前面，马奈斯跟在后面。他还是不罢休，继续追问：“这有什么好奇怪的吗？”
“我只是觉得你很可爱，真的。”
马奈斯哼了一声：“都这把年纪了，什么可爱不可爱。”
詹丝暗自笑了一下。走廊的尽头是一道双扇门。她走到门口，停了一下，轻轻推了一下
门，推开一道缝。育儿室里灯光昏暗。接着她把门推开，两个人走进去。里面是等候室，看起
来很简陋，不过很干净。她忽然想到，她曾经去过中段楼层的育儿室，陪一个朋友等着抱回新
生儿。印象中，那间育儿室和这里很像。隔着一扇玻璃墙，可以看到隔壁房间里有几座婴儿床
和摇篮。詹丝不自觉地伸手去摸摸髋关节，那里有一个小硬块。那是她一出生被就植入的避孕
器，一辈子都没有取出来。一次都没有。此刻，站在观察室前面，她忽然想到，这一生她失去
了什么。为了她的工作，她放弃了什么。
观察室里灯光太暗，看不清楚，看不到那些婴儿床里是否有哪个小婴儿正在挥舞着小手小
脚。当然，地堡里只要有婴儿出生，一定会通知她。身为首长，每个孩子出生的时候，她一定
会签署出生证明，致赠一张签名贺卡。然而，随着岁月的累积，她已经分不清楚哪个孩子叫什
么名字，想不起来哪一对父母住在哪一楼，想不起来某个孩子是他们的第一个还是第二个。她
不得不承认，在她脑海中，那一张张的出生证明已经渐渐变成单纯的一张文件，一种例行公
事。想到这个，她心里有点难过。
这时候，她看到婴儿床和摇篮间有个人影。那个人正朝她走过来，手上拿着一个写字板。
在观察室昏暗的灯光下，板上的金属夹和金属笔闪闪发亮。那个人显然很高，不过走路的姿态
和身形看起来像个老人。他慢慢走着走着，走到一个摇篮旁边，好像注意到什么东西，立刻弯
腰去看。一片幽暗中，只见金属夹和笔的光芒微微晃动，看得出来是他在写字板上做笔记。后
来，他做好了笔记，然后就走到房间另一头，打开一扇很大的门，来到等候室找马奈斯和詹
丝。
这时候，詹丝发现彼得•尼克斯看起来很有威严，高高瘦瘦，不过，那种瘦和马奈斯不一
样。马奈斯的肢体动作有点迟钝，但彼得却是精瘦结实，身材像个运动员，看起来很像她见过
的几个运送员，他们一步就可以跨上两级楼梯，那种身材会让人觉得他们天生就是这么强健有
力。另外，大概是因为个子很高，所以会让人觉得他充满自信。彼得伸出手，詹丝握住他的
手，那一刹那，从他握手的劲道，詹丝感觉得到他的自信。
“你还是来了。”尼克斯大夫就只简单说了一句。他口气很冷漠，感觉得出来他有点意外。
他和马奈斯握手的时候，眼睛还是看着詹丝，“我跟你的秘书说明过了，我恐怕帮不上什么忙。
自从二十年前茱丽叶去当学徒之后，我就没有再见过她了。”
“嗯，我就是想跟你谈这件事。”詹丝转头瞄瞄旁边的长椅，脑海中又开始浮现一幕幕画
面，仿佛看到有人坐在那张长椅上迫不及待地等着，有的是老爷爷老奶奶，或是一些叔叔阿
姨，他们陪孩子的爸爸来抱回小婴儿。“我们在这里坐一下吧？”
尼克斯大夫点点头，抬起手比了个手势，请他们过去坐。
“每次在招募人员之前，我都会非常谨慎。”詹丝面对着大夫，仔细说明，“到我这个年纪，
我想，我任命的每一个审判官和保安官，很可能在我死后都还在任，所以我必须谨慎挑选。”
“但不一定每个都这样吧。”尼克斯大夫微微仰起头，他那清瘦的脸上看不出任何表情的变
化，“我的意思是，不一定每个都还在任。”
詹丝咽了一口唾液。马奈斯在座位上不安地挪动了一下。
“你一定很在乎自己的家人。”詹丝赶紧转移话题。她知道他只是说出自己注意到的事，没
什么特别的意思。“因为你宁愿选择这么艰苦困难的工作，而且之前还当了很久的学徒才能正式
工作。”
尼克斯点点头。
“那么，为什么你和茱丽叶从来不见面？我的意思是，你们二十年都没见过面。她不是你唯
一的孩子吗？”
尼克斯微微撇开头，眼睛看着墙上。这时候，詹丝的注意力也被引开了，因为她看到玻璃
墙里有另一个人影在动。有个护士正在巡房。詹丝心里想，观察室一定还有另外一扇门通向产
房，而此刻一定有个刚生产完的妈妈在里面。她一定很疲惫，正在休息，满心期待医生赶快把
她的心肝宝贝交还给她。
“我另外还有一个儿子。”尼克斯大夫说。
詹丝忽然忍不住想去拿她的背包，把里面的文件夹拿出来看。不过，此刻背包并不在身
边。这一家人的资料，有某个细节她没有注意到。茱丽叶还有个兄弟。
“你不可能会知道。”尼克斯显然看穿了詹丝首长的表情，“他死了。技术上来说，他根本还
没有生下来。抽签的机会只好让给别人。”
“很遗憾——”
她忽然有一股冲动想去握住马奈斯的手，但她还是忍住了。几十年来，他们两个始终不曾
再有过那种亲昵的碰触动作，就连不小心碰到的情况都很少。但此刻，那种哀伤的气息几乎打
破两人之间多年的禁忌。
“我们本来想帮他取名叫尼可拉斯，那是我祖父的名字。他早产了，体重才六百八十克。”
先前他说话的时候，是很典型的医生口气，冷静不带感情，但此刻，他的声音忽然流露出
莫名的哀伤。
“他们帮他插管，把他放进保温箱，可是因为……并发症。”尼克斯低头看着自己的手
背，“当时茱丽叶才十二岁。你应该不难想象，她跟我们夫妇一样，好兴奋，因为她快要有个小
弟弟了。原本再过一年，她就要去当她妈妈的学徒。她妈妈是接生护士。”说到这里，尼克斯抬
头看着她。“不是在这个育儿区。这个我要说明一下。而是中段楼层那个旧育儿区。当年我们都
在那里工作，当时我还只是实习医师。”
“那茱丽叶怎么样了？”詹丝首长还是不懂他说的这些有什么关联。
“结果保温箱失效了，所以尼可拉斯——”大夫撇开头，抬起手想去揉眼睛，但最后还是放
下手，克制住自己的情绪，“不好意思，我还是会不自觉地叫他尼可拉斯。”
“没关系。”
詹丝首长已经握着马奈斯的手。她不知道自己究竟是什么时候去握他的手，也不知道自己
怎么会有这种举动。不过，大夫似乎并没有注意到，或者说，他根本不当一回事。
“可怜的茱丽叶。”他摇摇头，“她非常懊恼，简直像发疯了一样。一开始她认定那都是露妲
害的。露妲是一个很有经验的接生护士，可惜我们的儿子本来就希望渺茫，除非奇迹出现。她
已经尽力了。我跟茱丽叶解释过，而我想她应该也懂，不过，她还是需要找个人来恨，来泄
愤。”说到这里，他对詹丝点点头。“女孩子在那个年纪，你应该懂吧？”
“虽然已经这把年纪了，不过我还记得自己年轻的时候，你信不信？”詹丝故作轻松地对尼
克斯大夫微笑了一下，而大夫也对她苦笑了一下。这时候，她感觉到马奈斯紧紧握了一下她的
手。
“一直到后来，她妈妈也死了，她才认定一切都要怪那个坏掉的保温箱。嗯，说起来，也不
能怪那个保温箱，应该要怪的是，保温箱太老旧，无法保养，状况很不好。其实，不光是保温
箱，几乎所有的东西都快坏掉了。”
“你太太是怎么死的？因为那个并发症吗？”詹丝怪自己太粗心，资料档案看得不够仔细。
“我太太是自杀的。一个礼拜后，她就自杀了。”
这时，大夫讲话的口气又恢复那种医生特有的冷静而不带感情。詹丝心里想，这会不会是
一种心理防卫机制？是不是经历过这样的悲惨伤痛之后，他必须用这种冷静来武装自己，才活
得下去？或者，那是他天生的性格？
“我好像记得那件事。”副保安官马奈斯忽然开口了。从刚刚进门跟大夫打招呼之后，到现
在他没说过半句话。
“死亡证明是我自己写的，这样我才能够改写一个死因——”
“你…你承认你篡改死因？”马奈斯好像快要跳起来了。詹丝大概猜得出来他想干什么，于
是赶快用手按住他。
“违法吗？当然，我承认。不过，就算我篡改死因想隐瞒，也是白费功夫。虽然茱丽叶年纪
还小，但她实在太聪明了。她知道真相，所以她才会受不了——”
他忽然停住了。
“才会怎么样？”詹丝首长问，“发疯了吗？”
“不是。”尼克斯大夫摇摇头，“不是发疯。她受不了才会跑掉。她申请转换见习项目，要求
到最底层的机电区见习，到工厂当学徒。本来她年纪还太小，还差一岁才能去工厂，但我还是
同意了。我签了字。本来我以为，她去了之后，尝过底层生活的滋味后，自己就会回来。可是
我错了，我实在太天真。我还以为放她自由对她会有好处。”
“所以，从那以后，你就没有再见过她了？”
“见过一次。几天后，她妈妈葬礼的时候，她回来了。她自己一个人上来，参加葬礼，拥抱
了我一下，然后就下去了。后来我听说，她一路上都没有休息。后来，我一直想办法打听她的
消息。我有个同事在底段楼层的育儿区，他偶尔会发电子邮件给我，告诉我一些消息。没想
到，她竟然成为底段楼层的风云人物，永远都有她的消息。”
说到这里，尼克斯停下来，忍不住笑起来。
“你知道吗？她小时候，我只觉得她很像她妈妈，没想到，她长大以后反而越来越像我。”
“我打算任命她当保安官。那么，据你所知，她个性上有没有什么缺点会导致她无法胜任保
安官的工作，或者根本不适合当保安官？保安官的工作性质，你应该知道吧？”
“我知道。”尼克斯转头看看马奈斯，打量他全身上下。马奈斯身上的白袍很凌乱，胸前敞
开，露出那枚铜质的警徽，还有绑在腋下的手枪套。“她要负责管理全地堡的保安人员，发号施
令，对吧？”
“差不多。”詹丝说。
“为什么会找上她？”
马奈斯清清喉咙，“她帮我们查过一个案子——”
“祖儿？她跑到上面来？”
“没有。是我们到底下去查案子。”
“她没有受过训练。”
“没有任何一位保安官真正受过训练。”马奈斯说，“那种工作有点像是……行政管理。监督
地堡的居民。”
“她不会答应的。”
“为什么？”詹丝问。
尼克斯耸耸肩。“见过她之后，你就会明白了。”说着他站起来，“我是很希望能够多陪你们
一下，可惜，我得回去做事了。”他瞄了那道双扇门一眼。“很快就会有一家人要进来，我们必
须——”
“我了解。”詹丝站起来和他握握手，“谢谢你跟我们见面，耽搁你那么多时间。”
他忽然笑起来：“我还有别的选择吗？我可以拒绝跟你们见面吗？”
“当然可以。”
“呃，要是早点知道就好了。”
他微微一笑，詹丝知道他是在开玩笑。或者，他是想故作轻松。于是，他们走出等候室，
回到大门口，拿回他们的背包，把白袍还给护士。詹丝心里暗暗纳闷，越来越好奇，马奈斯为
什么会推举这个女孩子。一个深居底段楼层的女孩子，而且心理好像有点问题。这实在不太像
他的作风。她有点怀疑，会不会有其他“因素”蒙蔽了他的判断。马奈斯推开门，让她先走出去
到外面的等候室。这时候，詹丝首长开始怀疑自己是否已经被他影响，因为她发觉自己好像也
不知道该怎么判断了。
Part 2 Proper Gauge 10
Part 2 Proper Gauge
10
It was lunchtime, but neither of them was powerfully hungry. Jahns nibbled on a cornbar while she
walked, priding herself on “eating on the climb” like a porter. They continued to pass these
tradesmen, and Jahns’s esteem of their profession grew and grew. She had a strange pang of guilt
from heading down under such a light load while these men and women trudged up carrying so
much. And they moved so fast. She and Marnes pressed themselves against the rail as a downward
porter apologetically stomped past. His shadow, a girl of fifteen or sixteen, was right behind him,
loaded down with what looked to be sacks of garbage for the recycling center. Jahns watched the
young girl spiral out of sight, her sinewy and smooth legs hanging miles out of her shorts, and
suddenly felt very old and very tired.
The two of them fell into a rhythmic pace, the reach of each foot hovering over the next tread, a
sort of collapsing of the bones, a resignation to gravity, falling to that foot, sliding the hand,
extending the walking stick forward, repeat. Doubt crept into Jahns around the thirtieth floor. What
had seemed a fine adventure at sunrise now seemed a mighty undertaking. Each step was performed
reluctantly, with the knowledge of how grueling it would be to win that elevation back.
They passed the upper water treatment plant on thirty-two, and Jahns realized she was seeing
portions of the silo that were practically new to her. It had been a lifetime ago that she’d been this
deep, a shameful thing to admit. And in that time, changes had been made. Construction and repairs
were ongoing. Walls were a different color than she remembered. But then, it was hard to trust one’s
memory.
The traffic on the stairs lightened as they neared the IT floors. Here were the most sparsely
populated levels of the silo, where less than two dozen men and women—but mostly men—operated
within their own little kingdom. The silo servers took up almost an entire floor, the machines slowly
reloading with recent history, having been wiped completely during the uprising. Access to them was
now severely restricted, and as Jahns passed the landing on the thirty-third, she swore she could hear
the mighty thrumming of all the electricity they consumed. Whatever the silo had been, or had been
originally designed for, she knew without asking or being told that these strange machines were some
organ of primacy. Their power draw was a constant source of contention during budget meetings. But
the necessity of the cleaning, the fear of even talking about the outside and all the dangerous taboos
that went with it, gave IT incredible leeway. They housed the labs that made the suits, each one
tailored to the person waiting in the holding cell, and this alone set them apart from all else.
No, Jahns told herself, it wasn’t simply the taboo of the cleaning, the fear of the outside. It was the
hope. There was this unspoken, deadly hope in every member of the silo. A ridiculous, fantastical
hope. That maybe not for them, but perhaps for their children, or their children’s children, life on the
outside would be possible once again, and that it would be the work of IT and the bulky suits that
emerged from their labs that would make it all possible.
Jahns felt a shiver even to think it. Living outside. The childhood conditioning was that strong.
Maybe God would hear her thoughts and rat her out. She imagined herself in a cleaning suit, a far too
common thought, placing herself into the flexible coffin to which she had condemned so many.
On the thirty-fourth, she slipped off onto the landing. Marnes joined her, his canteen in hand.
Jahns realized she’d been drinking out of his all day while hers had stayed strapped to her back.
There was something childlike and romantic about this, but also something practical. It was more
difficult to reach one’s own water than it was to grab that of the other from their pack.
“You need a break?” He passed the canteen, which had two swallows left in it. Jahns took one of
them.
“This is our next stop,” she said.
Marnes looked up at the faded number stenciled over the doorway. He had to know what floor
they were on, but it was as if he needed to double-check.
Jahns returned his canteen. “In the past, I’ve always wired them to get the okay on my
nominations. It was something Mayor Humphries did before me, and Mayor Jeffers before him.” She
shrugged. “Way of the world.”
“I didn’t know they had to approve.” He took the last swallow and patted Jahns on the back,
twirled his finger for her to turn around.
“Well, they’ve never rejected any of my nominations.” Jahns felt her canteen tugged out of her
pouch, Marnes’s canteen shoved in its place. Her pack felt a smidgen lighter. She realized Marnes
wanted to carry her water and share it until it too was empty. “I think the unwritten rule is there just
so we’ll carefully consider every judge and lawman, knowing there’s some informal oversight.”
“So this time you’re doing it in person.”
She turned back around to face her deputy. “I figured we were passing this way …” She paused
while a young couple hurried up the stairs behind Marnes, holding hands and taking the treads two at
a time. “And that it might feel even more conspicuous not to stop and check in.”
“Check in,” Marnes said. Jahns half expected him to spit over the railing; the tone seemed to
require such punctuation. She suddenly felt another of her weaknesses exposed.
“Think of it as a goodwill mission,” she said, turning toward the door.
“I’m gonna think of it as a fact-finding raid,” Marnes muttered, following her.
••••
Jahns could tell that, unlike at the nursery, they would not be buzzed through and sent back into
the mysterious depths of IT. While they waited to be seen, she watched as even a member of the staff,
identifiable from their silver overalls, was patted down and searched just to leave the wing and exit
toward the stairs. A man with a wand—a member of IT’s own internal security detail—seemed to
have the job of checking everyone who passed through the metal gates. The receptionist on the
outside of the gates was deferent enough, however, and seemed pleased to have the mayor for a visit.
She expressed her condolences for the recent cleaning, an odd thing to say but something Jahns
wished she heard more often. They were shown to a small conference room attached to the main
foyer, a place, she supposed, for meeting with various departments without putting them through the
hassle of passing through security.
“Look at all this space,” Marnes whispered once they were alone in the room together. “Did you
see the size of that entrance hall?”
Jahns nodded. She looked around the ceiling and walls for some peephole, something to confirm
the creepy sensation that she was being watched. She set her bag and walking stick down and
collapsed wearily into one of the plush chairs. When it moved, she realized the thing was on wheels.
Nicely oiled wheels.
“Always wanted to check this place out,” Marnes said. He peered through the glass window that
looked back into the wide foyer. “Every time I’ve passed this place—and it’s only been a dozen times
or so—I’ve been curious to see what’s inside.”
Jahns nearly asked him to stop talking but worried that it would hurt his feelings.
“Boy, he’s coming in a hurry. Must be because of you.”
Jahns turned and looked out the window to see Bernard Holland heading their way. He
disappeared from view as he approached the door, the handle flicked down, and the small man whose
job it was to keep IT running smoothly strode into the room.
“Mayor.”
Bernard was all teeth, the front ones crooked. He had a wispy mustache that hung down in a weak
attempt to hide this flaw. Short, portly, and with a pair of glasses perched on his small nose, he
looked every bit the technical expert. Above all, to Jahns at least, he looked smart.
He reached for Jahns’s hand as she rose from the chair, the blasted thing nearly scooting out from
underneath her as she pressed down on the armrests.
“Careful,” Bernard said, grabbing her elbow to steady her. “Deputy.” He nodded toward Marnes
while Jahns regained her balance. “It’s an honor to have you down. I know you don’t take these trips
often.”
“Thanks for seeing us on short notice,” Jahns said.
“Of course. Please, make yourselves comfortable.” He swept his hand over the lacquered
conference table. It was nicer than the one in the mayor’s office, though Jahns assuaged herself by
assuming it was shiny from being less frequently employed. She sat in the chair warily, then reached
into her bag and produced the set of files.
“Straight to business, as always,” Bernard said, sitting beside her. He pushed his small round
spectacles up his nose and glided forward on the chair until his plump belly met the desk. “Always
appreciated that about you. We are, as you can imagine with yesterday’s unfortunate events, as busy
as ever. Lots of data to go through.”
“How’s that going?” Jahns asked while she arranged the material in front of her.
“Some positives and negatives, as always. Readouts from some of the seal sensors showed
improvement. Atmospheric levels of eight of the known toxins have declined, though not by much.
Two have risen. Most have remained unchanged.” He waved his hand. “It’s a lot of boring technical
stuff, but it’ll all be in my report. I should have it ported up before you get back to your office.”
“That’ll be fine,” Jahns said. She wanted to say something else, to acknowledge his department’s
hard work, to let him know that another cleaning had been successful, God knew why. But it was
Holston out there, the closest thing she’d ever had to a shadow, the only man she’d ever seen running
for her office when she was dead and feeding the roots of the fruit trees. It was too soon to mention it,
much less applaud it.
“I normally wire this sort of thing to you,” she said, “but since we were passing by, and you won’t
be up for the next committee meeting for, what, another three months … ?”
“The years go fast,” Bernard said.
“I just figured we could informally agree to this now, so I could offer our best candidate the job.”
She glanced up at Marnes. “Once she accepts, we can finish the paperwork on our way back up, if
you don’t mind.” She slid the folder toward Bernard and was surprised when he produced one of his
own, rather than accept hers.
“Well, let’s go over this,” Bernard said. He opened his folder, licked his thumb, and flipped
through a few pieces of high- quality paper. “We were wired about your visit, but your list of
candidates didn’t hit my desk until this morning. Otherwise, I would have tried to save you the trip
down and back up.” He pulled out a piece of paper devoid of creases. It didn’t even look bleached.
Jahns wondered where IT got such things while her office was held together with cornflour paste.
“I’m thinking, of the three names listed here, that Billings is our man.”
“We may consider him next—” Deputy Marnes started to say.
“I think we should consider him now.” He slid the paper toward Jahns. It was an acceptance
contract. There were signatures at the bottom. One line was left blank, the mayor’s name neatly
printed underneath.
She had to catch her breath.
“You’ve already contacted Peter Billings about this?”
“He accepted. The judge’s robe was going to be a little stifling for him, being so young and full of
energy. I thought he was a fine choice for that role, but I think he’s an even better one now for the job
of sheriff.”
Jahns remembered Peter’s judicial nomination process. It had been one of the times she’d gone
along with Bernard’s suggestion, seeing it as a trade for a future pick of her own. She studied the
signature, Peter’s hand familiar from his various notes sent up on behalf of Judge Wilson, under
whom he currently shadowed. She imagined one of the porters who had flown past them on the steps
that day, apologizing as they went, rushing this very piece of paper down.
“I’m afraid Peter is currently third on our list,” Mayor Jahns finally said. Her voice suddenly felt
tired. It sounded frail and weak in the cavernous and wasteful space of that underused and outsized
conference room. She looked up at Marnes, who was glaring at the contract, his jaw clenching and
unclenching.
“Well, I think we both know Murphy’s name is on this list for flattery. He’s too old for the job—”
“Younger than me,” Marnes interrupted. “I hold up just fine.”
Bernard tilted his head. “Yes, well, your first choice simply won’t do, I’m afraid.”
“And why is that?” Jahns asked.
“I’m not sure how … thorough your background check has been, but we’ve had enough problems
with this candidate that I recognized her name. Even though she’s from Maintenance.”
Bernard said this last word like it was full of nails and might gut him to spit it out.
“What kinda problems?” Marnes demanded.
Jahns shot the deputy a look of warning.
“Nothing we would have wanted to report, mind you.” Bernard turned to Marnes. There was
venom in the small man’s eyes, a raw hatred for the deputy, or perhaps for the star on his chest.
“Nothing worth involving the law. But there have been some … creative requisitions from her office,
items rerouted from our use, improper claims of priority and the like.” Bernard took a deep breath
and folded his hands together on top of the folder in front of him. “I wouldn’t go as far as calling it
stealing, per se, but we have filed complaints with Deagan Knox as head of Mechanical to inform
him of these … irregularities.”
“That’s it?” Marnes growled. “Requisitions?”
Bernard 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.
第二部分：精准口径 10
第二部分：精准口径
10
吃中饭的时间到了，不过他们两个都没什么胃口。詹丝手上拿着一根玉米，食不知味地啃
着，边吃边下楼梯。她很得意，因为她可以像那些运送员一样“边爬楼梯边吃”。一路上，好几
个运送员跟他们擦身而过，詹丝越来越佩服他们能够从事这种工作。她忽然有一种很深的罪恶
感，因为自己身上背的东西这么轻，而这些年轻运送员却能够背着这么重的东西爬上楼，而
且，还能走得这么快。这时有个运送员从上面走下来，她和马奈斯赶紧靠到栏杆上，让路给
他，那运送员从他们旁边经过的时候，嘴里还低声说了声抱歉。而他的学徒紧紧跟在他后面。
那是一个女孩子，大概十六七岁，身上背着一个大袋子，里面似乎装满了回收的瓶瓶罐罐，准
备送去资源回收中心。詹丝看着那女孩沿着螺旋梯往下走，那修长强健的双腿消失在视线之
外，她心中忽然无限感伤，想到自己如此老迈，如此疲惫。
走到后来，两人的步伐变成一种固定的节奏，每踏一步，那只脚都会在半空中缓缓移动，
然后仿佛关节松脱，脚掌如重物坠落般重重落在梯板上，接着，手抓着栏杆往下滑动，然后拐
杖往下伸，就这样，一步接着一步。走到大约三十楼的时候，詹丝开始疑惑了。今天早上，她
还觉得下楼很有趣，好像要去探险，可是现在，她开始觉得这根本就是艰巨到难以承担的任
务。每踏出一步，她都很犹豫，因为她知道，每一步都会加重回程上楼的负担。
接着，他们来到三十二楼，这里是水处理区。这时候，詹丝赫然发现，地堡的这个区域变
得如此陌生，已经不再是她印象中的模样。这么深的楼层，她年轻的时候曾经来过一次，而这
辈子就那么一次。说起来很惭愧。而在这么长的时间里，一切都变了。新建筑和修复工作持续
在进行，墙壁的颜色和她印象中完全不一样。不过话说回来，人的记忆不一定靠得住。
他们已经快走到资讯区的楼层，上下楼的人变少了。这里是全地堡人口最稀疏的区域，男
男女女加起来只有十几个，不过多数还是男人。他们统治着这个小小王国。光服务器就占了地
堡的一整层楼。服务器记录了地堡所有的资料，随着时间一年年过去，资料不断累积，可是在
上次暴动期间，所有的资料全数遭到删除。现在，服务器的资料严禁存取。走到三十三楼平台
的时候，詹丝觉得自己真的听得到一种“嗡嗡”声。那是大量电流通过那些仪器时所发出的声
音。她不知道地堡一开始是做什么用的，也不知道它原先设计的用途是什么，不过，用不着开
口问，也用不着别人告诉她，她就可以确定，这些奇怪的机器一定是整个地堡的核心。每次召
开预算审查会议的时候，他们消耗电力所需的费用，永远是争论不休的焦点。问题是，清洗镜
头是不可或缺的，而大家都不敢开口提到外面的世界，还有一些危险的禁忌话题，所以，资讯
区就享有压倒性的谈判空间。因为，每个被送出去清洗镜头的人，都必须量身定做一件防护
衣，而负责制造防护衣的实验室，是资讯区负责管理的。光是这一点，他们就拥有至高无上的
地位。
不对。詹丝提醒自己，并不只是因为清洗镜头需要依赖他们，也不只是因为大家畏惧外面
的世界。而是因为，除此之外，大家还抱着一丝希望。整个地堡，每个人心中都潜藏着一种说
不出的、迫切的希望，一种荒谬不切实际的希望。也许，自己这辈子没有机会实践那个希望，
不过，他们的孩子也许有机会，或是孩子的孩子。也许有一天，他们会有机会再到外面世界去
生活，而唯一能够让这个梦想成真的，只有资讯区，还有资讯区的实验室制造出来的笨重的防
护衣。
想到这里，詹丝不由得打了个冷战。生活在外面的世界。从小爸妈就严厉告诫她，绝对不
能有任何出去外面的念头，因为，万一上帝察觉到她有这种念头，真的会把她送出去。小时
候，她脑海中常常会浮现出一种想象，看到自己穿着防护衣。那就像一具活动的棺材。这些年
来，她曾经亲手把很多人送进那具棺材。
来到三十四楼，她走下最后一级楼梯，轻轻踩上楼层平台，悄无声息。马奈斯跟在她后
面，手上拿着水壶。这时候，詹丝才猛然想到，这一整天她一直在喝他的水，把他的水喝光
了，而她的水壶却还好端端地塞在背包后面。这个小动作，带有那么一点纯情浪漫的气息，但
也是很实际的。要从自己的背包后面把水壶拿出来，比较不顺手，而相对的，从对方的背包里
把水壶拿出来就容易多了。
“需要休息一下吗？”他把水壶递给她。水壶里的水大概只剩下两口了。詹丝喝了一小口。
“我本来就打算在这里停留一下。”她说。
马奈斯抬头去看门口上方，那里有一个褪色的数字。他当然知道这里是几楼，不过，他好
像觉得自己有必要再确认一下。
詹丝把水壶还给他。“从前，每次要做职务任命的时候，我都是直接发电子邮件给他们，请
他们签署同意。我的前任韩福瑞首长也是这样做，而更早之前的杰佛斯首长也一样。”她耸耸
肩，“地堡的传统。”
“这种东西还要经过他们同意？这我倒不晓得。”他喝掉水壶里的最后一口水，然后拍拍詹
丝肩膀，举起一根手指在半空中绕了一圈，意思是叫她转身。
“呃，他们倒是从来没有否决过我提名的人选——”詹丝感觉到马奈斯把她背包后面的水壶
抽出来，然后把他自己的水壶放进去。她忽然感觉背包变轻了，立刻就明白马奈斯想替她背水
壶，然后一路上两个人分着喝，到喝光为止。“我想，那是一种不成文规定，用意是，如果我们
知道有人用一种非正式的方式在监督我们，那么，我们就会审慎选择每一个审判官和保安人
员。”
“所以说，这次你要当面请他们签署同意。”
她转身过来看着她的副保安官。“我只是想，他们知道我们会路过——”说到一半她忽然停
住了，因为有一对年轻男女正匆匆忙忙从他们旁边跑上去，两人手牵着手，三步并作两步。“所
以，如果我们不进去报到，感觉会有点奇怪。”
“报到？”马奈斯哼了一声。听他那种不屑的口气，詹丝以为接下来他很可能会朝栏杆外面
吐口水。那一刹那，她才发觉自己无意间又暴露了自己软弱的一面。
“就把它当成是礼貌性的拜访吧。”说着她转身走向那扇门。
“我宁愿认为这是突击检查。”马奈斯愤愤嘀咕了一句，然后跟在她后面。
※ ※ ※
詹丝看得出来，这里和育儿区完全不一样。不会有人按钮让他们进门，让他们走进资讯区
那深不可测的内部。他们在门厅等的时候，她注意到，任何一个资讯区的工作人员，只要从那
扇门出来，都会被搜身，然后才能够上下楼梯。资讯区的人都穿着银色的连身工作服，一眼就
看得出来。有一个人站在门口，手上拿着一根探测棒，只要看到有人从那扇铁门进出，他就会
拿探测棒搜身。他应该是资讯区内部的安全人员。另外，有一个接待人员站在门厅，她看起来
很客气，而且似乎很高兴看到首长莅临访问。她提到最近清洗镜头的事，而且表达了哀悼之
意。听她说这些，詹丝觉得有点突兀，不过，内心深处，她却很奇怪地希望有机会多听到这样
的话。门厅旁边有一间会议室，那位接待人员请他们先进去等一下。詹丝心里想，这里应该是
用来接待其他部门的人，这样一来，外来的访客就不需要被安全人员搜身，免得麻烦。
他们走进会议室之后，那位接待人员就关上了门。这时候，里面只剩下他们两个人了，马
奈斯立刻压低声音说：“老天，这地方真是大。你看到那个门厅了吗？大得吓人。”
詹丝点点头。她转头看看四周、天花板、墙壁，看看有没有监视孔。她心里有点毛毛的，
总觉得好像有人在监视他们。她把拐杖和背包放下来，整个人跌坐在一张绒毛椅上，感觉筋疲
力尽。没想到椅子竟然滑了一下，她才发觉椅脚底下有滚轮。显然滚轮上过润滑油，保养得很
好。
“我一直很想好好搜查一下这地方。”马奈斯说。他隔着玻璃窗看着外面宽敞的门厅，“这个
地方，我大概路过了十几次，每次经过，都很好奇这里面到底在搞什么把戏。”
詹丝很想开口叫他不要再说，但还是按捺住了，因为怕他难堪。
“老天，他竟然这么快就来了。看样子，你面子还真大。”
詹丝转头看看窗外，发现白纳德•霍兰正朝他们走过来。过了一会儿，当他快走到门口的时
候，他的身影已经隐没在玻璃窗边缘。接着门把转动了一下，他开门走进来。这个矮个子是资
讯区的头头。
“你好，首长。”
白纳德咧嘴一笑，露出扭曲的门牙。他嘴唇上方蓄着浓密的胡须，好像就是为了要掩盖他
难看的牙齿。他矮矮胖胖，鼻梁上架着一副眼镜，看起来就像典型的科技专家。而且，就詹丝
自己的感觉，从外表就看得出来这个人绝顶聪明。
他伸出手要和詹丝握手，詹丝从椅子上站起来，但才一起身，两手往扶手上一按，那张椅
子立刻往后滑，害她差点摔倒。
“小心。”白纳德赶紧托住她的手肘，免得她摔倒。等她一站稳，他又朝马奈斯点点头。“你
好，副保安官。很荣幸，两位大驾光临，据我所知，首长，你好像很少到下面来。”
“谢谢你这么快就亲自来接待我们。”詹丝说。
“那是应该的，来，我们可以轻松一点，不要太拘束。”说着，他伸手拂过桌面。亮晶晶的
漆面会议桌光可鉴人，比她首长办公室的桌子还高级。不过，詹丝安慰自己，那或许只是因为
这张桌子比较少人用吧。她走到桌子旁边，小心翼翼坐下，然后从背包里掏出几个文件夹。
“还是老样子，开门见山。”白纳德笑着说。他坐在她旁边，抬起手推推鼻梁上的圆眼镜，
然后动了一下身体，滚轮椅立刻往前滑，圆圆的肚子靠到桌子边缘。“我一直都很欣赏你这种风
格。昨天发生了那件不幸的事，我想，你应该不难想象我们会忙到什么程度。有很多资料要处
理。”
“目前状况怎么样？”詹丝边说边整理桌上的文件。
“跟从前一样，有好有坏。根据建筑结构密封状态感应器的数据资料，状况已经有改善。空
气中八种已知的毒素，比例已经降低，不过降低得不多。另外，两种毒素比例增高，至于其他
的，没有变化。”说着他忽然挥挥手，“都是些无聊的技术资料，不过，我还是会记录在报告
里。等你回来的时候，我的报告应该已经送到你办公室了。”
“那太好了。”詹丝说。接着，她忽然想多说几句话，称赞他们资讯区表现很好，而且清洗
镜头的任务再次圆满完成。她自己也觉得莫名其妙，为什么会想跟他说这些，因为，这次被送
出去的人，是霍斯顿。在她心目中，他几乎就是她的学徒，她的接班人。当有一天她死了，遗
体被埋进土耕区的土壤里，滋养果树，到时候，唯一有能力接替她担任首长的人，就只有霍斯
顿。在这样的时刻，她不忍心太快提到这件事，更不应该说什么庆贺任务圆满完成。
“职务任命之类的事，通常我会发电子邮件给你，请你签署。”她说，“不过，既然我们正好
路过，而且，下次委员会你也不出席，所以我就自己上门了。我没记错的话，好像再过三个月
就要召开委员会了，没错吧？”
“时间过得真快啊。”白纳德说。
“我们已经锁定一个非常好的人选，所以我想，干脆现在我们私下先取得共识，这样一来，
等我们到了下面，就可以立刻征询她的意愿。”她瞥了马奈斯一眼，“一旦她接受任命，我们回
程的时候就可以先到你这里来，补完行政手续。你觉得这样可以吗？”她把文件夹推到白纳德面
前。没想到，他并没有接受她提名的人选。他提出自己的人选。
“好，我们就来好好研究一下。”白纳德说。他翻开他的文件夹，舔了一下拇指，翻了几
页。他文件夹里的纸看起来很高级。“我们接到电子邮件通知说你要来，不过，邮件里并没有附
带候选人的名单，一直到今天早上我才看到。另一方面，我觉得我应该想办法帮你节省时间，
免得你还要亲自到底下去跑一趟，来回奔波，太辛苦了。”说着他从文件夹里抽出一张纸。那张
纸好平滑，完全没有皱褶，而且看得出来完全没有经过漂白处理。詹丝很纳闷，为什么资讯区
用的是这么高级的纸，而她的办公室却只能用那种玉米浆造出来的纸。“名单里三个候选人，我
是觉得，这个贝尔宁是比较理想的人选。”
“我们等一下再讨论他——”马奈斯副保安官立刻接着说。
“我想，我们现在就讨论他比较好。”他把文件推到詹丝面前。那是一份同意书，底下已经
有人签了名，旁边还有一个空栏，空栏底下清清楚楚印着首长的姓名。
她不由得倒抽了一口气。
“你已经和彼得•贝尔宁谈过这件事了？”
“他已经接受了。他还太年轻，而且很外向，暂时还不适合当审判官。我相信，有一天他会
成为很好的审判官，不过目前，他比较适合先担任保安官。”
詹丝忽然回想起当初彼得被提名担任审判官学徒的过程。他是白纳德提名的。先前有几次
职务任命的时候，白纳德曾经推荐过人选，而她都同意了，因为她把那当成一种政治交换筹
码，卖白纳德一个人情，等下次她提名自己人选的时候，他也必须同意。而她同意彼得担任审
判官学徒，就是其中的一次。她仔细看看同意书上的签名。那确实是彼得的亲手签名。彼得的
笔迹她看过很多次，因为他是威尔森审判官的学徒，帮威尔森做过很多备忘录，而那些备忘录
会呈上来给她。她又想到，刚刚在楼梯上，有一个运送员匆匆忙忙下楼，从他们旁边经过还跟
他们说了声不好意思。现在想想，他应该就是急着要把这份同意书送到资讯区。
“可是，在我们这份名单上，彼得排在第三顺位。”詹丝首长终于开口了。这间会议室很宽
敞，可是却很少人进来，犹如一个空荡荡的巨大洞穴。在这个闲置的巨大空间里，她那疲惫的
声音听起来好微弱，好单薄。她抬头看看马奈斯。他怒气冲冲看着那份同意书，看得出来他正
暗暗咬牙切齿。
“呃，我想我们都心里有数，排第二的那个唐纳只是拿来凑数。干保安官，他好像嫌太老了
点——”
“他还没我老。”马奈斯忽然打断他，“而且，我干副保安官好像没什么问题。”
白纳德歪歪头：“嗯，也对啦，不过问题是，你们名单上的头号人选，恐怕无法胜任。”
“哦，怎么说？”詹丝问。
“我不知道你怎么会……她的背景，你应该都调查得很清楚了才对。一看到你的名单，我立
刻就认出她的名字。虽然她只不过是维修部的一个小技工，可是她已经给我们资讯区造成很大
的困扰。”
白纳德提到“维修部”这三个字的时候，几乎是咬牙切齿。
“什么样的困扰？”马奈斯追问。
詹丝瞥了马奈斯一眼，暗示他说话小心点。
“坦白说，事关机密，所以不便向你报告。”接着，白纳德转头看着马奈斯。那个矮个子的
眼中露出凶狠怨毒的目光，毫无保留地显露出他对副保安官的恨意，不过，也可能他痛恨的是
马奈斯胸口的警徽。“没什么大不了的事，跟法律扯不上关系。不过，她的部门提出……呃，提
出很古怪的申请，要求物资区把我们部门用的东西转送到他们那边，说他们有优先权。这根本
就违反规定。”白纳德深深吸了一口气，两手压住面前的文件夹。“本质上，我不敢说那叫偷
窃，不过，我已经向机电区的负责人狄根•诺克斯提出申诉，说明这种……违规行为。”
“就这么点小事？”马奈斯几乎是在咆哮，“申请材料？”
白纳德立刻皱起眉头，两手一摊：“什么叫作这么点小事？你到底有没有在听我说话？那个
女的根本就是盗窃物资，把我们部门的东西转送到他们那边。更何况，那些东西，他们真的是
拿去作为地堡公务用的吗？搞不好根本是他们私人要用的。还有，那个女的用掉的电力已经超
过规定的配额，天晓得她是不是用来换点数——”
“现在你是在正式提出控诉吗？”马奈斯手伸到口袋前面，作势要掏出他的笔记本，而且用
拇指按下原子笔尾端的按钮，让笔尖冒出来。
“噢，没有没有。我刚刚不是说过，我们不希望这件事麻烦到你们保安部门。不过，你们应
该看得出来，这样的人不适合担任高级执法人员。坦白说，像她这种人，也不过就是当技工的
料，所以，你的头号人选还是留在底下比较好。”说着他拍拍文件夹，仿佛这就是定论。
“所以这就是你的建议？”詹丝首长说。
“对，而且，既然已经有彼得这么优秀的候选人自告奋勇，而且他还是住在上面的楼层
——”
“我会仔细考虑你的建议。”詹丝拿起桌上那张同意书，对折，用指甲把折线从头到尾压
平，然后拿起来塞进她的文件夹里。白纳德看着她的动作，眼中露出畏惧的神色。
“另外，既然你并不打算对我的头号人选正式提出控诉，那么，我就只好认定你是默许，同
意我任命她担任保安官。”詹丝站起来，拿起背包，把文件夹塞进背包外侧口袋里，盖好袋口，
然后拿起靠在桌缘的拐杖。“谢谢你的接待，不好意思耽搁了你这么多时间。”
“不客气，可是——”白纳德赶紧站起来，绕过桌子跟在詹丝后面。詹丝正要走向门口，马
奈斯也站起来跟在她后面，一脸得意的笑。
“可是我怎么跟彼得交代？他还以为他随时都要上任了！”
“你本来就不应该自作主张跟他谈这件事。”詹丝走到门厅，她忽然停下脚步，瞪着白纳德
说，“我把名单交给你的时候，本来还信心满满，相信你一定会同意，可是你却让我失望了。说
真的，我很感激你对地堡的贡献，从前，我们也一直都合作愉快，携手领导所有的居民创造了
一个大家公认的最繁荣美好的年代——”
“这也就是为什么——”白纳德又开口了。
“这也就是为什么这次我会原谅你侵犯我的权力。”詹丝首长说，“这是我的职权。我有权任
命任何人。大家选我当首长，就是要我来做这种决定。所以，我和副保安官现在就要下去，找
我们的头号人选，好好面试她。而且，回程的时候，我一定会到你这里来，因为可能会有文件
需要你签个字。”
白纳德两手一摊，一脸无奈。“好吧。”他说，“我要向你道歉。我只是希望能帮得上忙，让
进度能够快一点。对了，你们应该好好休息一下吧。既然来了，就应该让我好好招待一下。想
不想吃点什么？吃点水果怎么样？”
“我们还是快点赶路比较好。”詹丝说。
“那好吧。”他点点头，“不过，最起码让我帮你们把水壶灌满，好不好？”
詹丝忽然想到，他们两个水壶，有一个已经喝干了，而且接下来还要走很久的楼梯。
“那就谢谢你的好意了。”说完她朝马奈斯挥挥手，叫他向后转，抽出他背包后面的水壶，
然后自己也向后转，让他把她背包后面的水壶也拿出来。白纳德挥挥手，叫他一个手下过来拿
水壶去把水装满，而同一时间，他眼睛一直盯着他们，仔细观察他们那种奇特的亲昵的举动。
Part 2 Proper Gauge 11
Part 2 Proper Gauge
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 from Mechanical to take the post, if only to show Bernard, if only to keep this arduous
journey from becoming a total waste.
Jahns was old, had been mayor a long time, partly because she got things done, partly because she
prevented worse things from happening, but mostly because she rarely made a ruckus. She felt like it
was about time—now, while she was old enough for the consequences not to matter. She glanced
back at Marnes and knew the same went for him. Their time was almost up. The best, the most
important thing they could do for the silo was to make sure their legacy endured. No uprisings. No
abuses of power. It was why she had run unopposed the last few elections. But now she could sense
that she was gliding to the finish while stronger and younger runners were preparing to overtake her.
How many judges had she signed off on at Bernard’s request? And now the sheriff, too? How long
before Bernard was mayor? Or worse: a puppet master with strings interwoven throughout the silo.
“Take it easy,” Marnes huffed.
Jahns realized she was going too fast. She slowed her pace.
“That bastard’s got you riled up,” he said.
“And you better be as well,” she hissed back at him.
“You’re passing the gardens.”
Jahns checked the landing number and saw that he was right. If she’d been paying attention, she
would’ve noticed the smell. When the doors on the next landing flew open, a porter bearing sacks of
fruit on each shoulder strode out, the scent of lush and wet vegetation accompanying him and
overpowering her.
It was past dinnertime, and the smell was intoxicating. The porter, even though overburdened, saw
that they were leaving the stairwell for the landing and held the door open with a planted foot as his
arms bulged around the weight of the large sacks.
“Mayor,” he said, bowing his head and then nodding to Marnes as well.
Jahns thanked him. Most of the porters looked familiar to her: she’d seen them over and over as
they delivered throughout the silo. But they never stayed in one place long enough for her to catch
and remember a name, a normally keen skill of hers. She wondered, as she and Marnes entered the
hydroponic farms, if the porters made it home every night to be with their families. Or did they even
have families? Were they like the priests? She was too old and too curious not to know these things.
But then, maybe it took a day on the stairwell to appreciate their job, to notice them fully. The porters
were like the air she breathed, always there, always serving, so necessary as to be ubiquitous and
taken for granted. But now the weariness of the descent had opened her senses completely to them. It
was like a sudden drop in the oxygen, triggering her appreciation.
“Smell those oranges,” Marnes said, snapping Jahns out of her thoughts. He sniffed the air as they
passed through the low garden gates. A staff member in green overalls waved them through. “Bags
here, Mayor,” he said, gesturing to a wall of cubbies sporadically filled with shoulder bags and
bundles.
Jahns complied, leaving her kit in one of the cubbies. Marnes pushed hers to the back and added
his to the same one. Whether it was to save space or merely his habitual protectiveness, Jahns found
the act as sweet as the air inside the gardens.
“We have reservations for the evening,” Jahns told the worker.
He nodded. “One flight down for the rooms. I believe they’re still getting yours ready. Are you
here just for a visit or to eat?”
“A little of both.”
The young man smiled. “Well, by the time you’ve had a bite, your rooms should be available.”
Rooms, Jahns thought. She thanked the young man and followed Marnes into the garden network.
“How long since you were here?” she asked the deputy.
“Wow. A while back. Four years or so?”
“That’s right.” Jahns laughed. “How could I forget? The heist of the century.”
“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” Marnes said.
At the end of the hallway, the twisting spiral of the hydroponic gardens diverted off both ways.
This main tunnel snaked through two levels of the silo, curving mazelike all the way to the edges of
the distant concrete walls. The constant sound of water dripping from the pipes was oddly soothing,
the splatters echoing off the low ceiling. The tunnel was open on either side, revealing the bushy
green of plants, vegetables, and small trees growing amid the lattice of white plastic pipes, twine
strung everywhere to give the creeping vines and stems something to hold. Men and women with
their young shadows tended to the plants, all in green overalls. Sacks hung around their necks bulged
with the day’s harvest, and the cutters in their hands clacked like little claws that were a biological
part of them. The pruning was mesmerizingly adroit and effortless, the sort of ability that came only
from day after week after year of practice and repetition.
“Weren’t you the first one to suggest the thievery was an inside job?” Jahns asked, still laughing
to herself. She and Marnes followed the signs pointing toward the tasting and dining halls.
“Are we really going to talk about this?”
“I don’t know why it’s embarrassing. You’ve got to laugh about it.”
“With time.” He stopped and gazed through the mesh fencing at a stand of tomatoes. The
powerful odor of their ripeness made Jahns’s stomach grumble.
“We were really hyped up to make a bust at the time,” Marnes said quietly. “Holston was a mess
during all of this. He was wiring me every night for an update. I’ve never seen him want to take
someone down so bad. Like he really needed it, you know?” He wrapped his fingers in the protective
grate and stared past the vegetables as if into the years gone by. “Looking back, it’s almost like he
knew something was up with Allison. Like he saw the madness coming.” Marnes turned to Jahns.
“Do you remember what it was like before she cleaned? It had been so long. Everyone was on edge.”
Jahns had long since stopped smiling. She stood close to Marnes. He turned back to the plants,
watched a worker snip off a red ripe tomato and place it in her basket.
“I think Holston wanted to let the air out of the silo, you know? I think he wanted to come down
and investigate the thefts himself. Kept wiring me every day for reports like a life depended on it.”
“I’m sorry to bring it up,” Jahns said, resting a hand on his shoulder.
Marnes turned and looked at the back of her hand. His bottom lip was visible below his mustache.
Jahns could picture him kissing her hand. She pulled it away.
“It’s fine,” he said. “Without all that baggage, I guess it is pretty funny.” He turned and continued
down the hallway.
“Did they ever figure out how it got in here?”
“Up the stairwell,” Marnes said. “Had to be. Though I heard one person suggest that a child
could’ve stolen one to keep as a pet and then released it up here.”
Jahns laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “One rabbit,” she said, “confounding the greatest
lawman of our time and making off with a year’s salary of greens.”
Marnes shook his head and chuckled a little. “Not the greatest,” he said. “That was never me.” He
peered down the hallway and cleared his throat, and Jahns knew perfectly well who he was thinking
of.
••••
After a large and satisfying dinner, they retired a level down to the guest rooms. Jahns had a
suspicion that extra pains had been taken to accommodate them. Every room was packed, many of
them double- and triple-booked. And since the cleaning had been scheduled well before this last-
minute interview adventure of theirs, she suspected rooms had been bumped around to make space.
The fact that they had been given separate rooms, the mayor’s with two beds, made it worse. It
wasn’t just the waste, it was the arrangement. Jahns was hoping to be more … inconvenienced.
And Marnes must’ve felt the same way. Since it was still hours before bedtime, and they were
both buzzing from a fine meal and strong wine, he asked her to his small room so they could chat
while the gardens settled down.
His room was tastefully cozy, with only a single twin bed, but nicely appointed. The upper
gardens were one of just a dozen large private enterprises. All the expenses for their stay would be
covered by her office’s travel budget, and that money as well as the fares of the other travelers helped
the establishment afford finer things, like nice sheets from the looms and a mattress that didn’t
squeak.
Jahns sat on the foot of the bed. Marnes took off his holster, placed it on the dresser, and plopped
onto a changing bench just a few feet away. While she kicked off her boots and rubbed her sore feet,
he went on and on about the food, the waste of separate rooms, brushing his mustache down with his
hand as he spoke.
Jahns worked her thumbs into the soreness in her heels. “I feel like I’m going to need a week of
rest at the bottom before we start the climb up,” she said during a pause.
“It’s not all that bad,” Marnes told her. “You watch. You’ll be sore in the morning, but once you
start moving, you’ll find that you’re stronger than you were today. And it’s the same on the way up.
You just lean into each step, and before you know it, you’re home.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Besides, we’ll do it in four days instead of two. Just think of it as an adventure.”
“Trust me,” Jahns said. “I already am.”
They sat quietly for a while, Jahns resting back on the pillows, Marnes staring off into space. She
was surprised to find how calming and natural it was, just being in a room, alone, with him. The talk
wasn’t necessary. They could just be. No badge, no office. Two people.
“You don’t take a priest, do you?” Marnes finally asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “Do you?”
“I haven’t. But I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Holston?”
“Partly.” He leaned forward and rubbed his hands down his thighs like he was squeezing the
soreness out of them. “I’d like to hear where they think his soul has gone.”
“It’s still with us,” Jahns said. “That’s what they’d say, anyway.”
“What do you believe?”
“Me?” She pushed herself up from the pillows and rested on one elbow, watching him watch her.
“I don’t know, really. I keep too busy to think about it.”
“Do you think Donald’s soul is still here with us?”
Jahns felt a shiver. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had uttered his name.
“He’s been gone more years than he was ever my husband,” she said. “I’ve been married more to
his ghost than to him.”
“That don’t seem like the right thing to say.”
Jahns looked down at the bed, the world a little blurry. “I don’t think he’d mind. And yes, he’s
still with me. He motivates me every day to be a good person. I feel him watching me all the time.”
“Me too,” Marnes said.
Jahns looked up and saw that he was staring at her.
“Do you think he’d want you to be happy? In all things, I mean?” He stopped rubbing his legs and
sat there, hands on his knees, until he had to look away.
“You were his best friend,” Jahns said. “What do you think he’d want?”
He rubbed his face, glanced toward the closed door as a laughing child thundered down the
hallway. “I reckon he only ever wanted you to be happy. That’s why he was the man for you.”
Jahns wiped her eyes while he wasn’t looking and peered curiously down at her wet fingers.
“It’s getting late,” she said. She slid to the edge of the small bed and reached down for her boots.
Her bag and stick were waiting for her by the door. “And I think you’re right. I think I’ll be a little
sore in the morning, but I think I’ll feel stronger, eventually.”
第二部分：精准口径 11
第二部分：精准口径
11
快到五十楼的时候，詹丝已经累得有点意识不清，脑海中一片空白。背包里那张彼得•贝尔
宁的同意书仿佛变得有千斤重。马奈斯跟在她后面几步，嘴里不停嘀咕，咒骂白纳德，然后努
力加快脚步，想跟上詹丝。这时候，詹丝终于明白自己已经陷入困境，无路可退了。她大腿小
腿的肌肉早已酸软无力，而且，更因为她心里明白这次决定走这一趟，根本就是一个天大的错
误，甚至是致命的错误，所以心理上的绝望导致她更虚弱。那女孩的爸爸已经警告过她，说他
的女儿会拒绝接受任命。另外，资讯区的负责人另有他属意的人选，这也对她造成压力。现
在，每往下多走一步，她内心的恐惧就会更加深。不过，尽管笼罩在恐惧的阴霾中，她内心却
越来越笃定，深信茱丽叶就是他们需要的人。他们一定要想办法说服这女孩子，叫她离开机电
区，接受任命。这样做，至少可以给白纳德一点颜色看，或者，至少不至于让这次艰巨的任务
完全白费。
詹丝已经当了很久的首长，甚至，她都已经这么老了，大家还是选她当首长，究竟为什
么？一方面是因为她很有效率，把地堡管理得很好，另一方面，也是因为她能够预防灾难发
生。不过，最主要的原因是，她很少引发纷争。然而，她忽然觉得现在时候到了，她不得不和
别人正面对决。现在，她已经够老了，已经没什么顾虑。她转头看看马奈斯，心里明白他的情
况也跟她一样。他们的日子不多了，而现在，如果说他们还能够为地堡做出一个重大的决定，
作出最大的贡献，那么，那就是让他们辛辛苦苦创造的成果能够延续下去。预防暴动发生，防
止滥权。这就是为什么后来的几次大选，她都能够以压倒性的票数当选。可是现在，她感觉到
她的时代已经到了尽头，年轻的一代已经准备要取代她了。她任命了那么多审判官，有多少个
是白纳德推荐的？现在，他还想操纵保安官的人选？白纳德大概用不了多久就会当上首长吧？
或者更可怕的，他会躲在幕后操纵他手下的傀儡，控制整个地堡。
“冷静一点好不好？”马奈斯有点不高兴。
詹丝这才意识到她走太快了，于是立刻放慢脚步。
“你是不是被那个王八蛋气昏头了，情绪太激动？”他说。
“我看你也差不多。”她立刻反唇相讥。
“你快要走过头了。水耕区快到了。”
詹丝转头看看平台上的数字，发现他说得没错。她怎么会没注意到那股香味？这时候，底
下平台那扇门忽然打开，有个运送员走出来，两肩扛着好几袋水果，一股甜美多汁的果菜香立
刻扑鼻而来。
已经过了晚餐时间，那股香味实在太诱人了。那个运送员好像扛得太重了，但尽管如此，
当他注意到他们准备要进门，立刻就伸出一条腿顶住门，两手还是扶着肩上沉重的货袋。
“首长，你好。”他打了声招呼，弯腰点点头，接着也朝马奈斯点点头。
詹丝向他道谢。绝大多数的运送员，她都认得出来，因为他们跑遍整座地堡，常常会跟她
碰面。不过，他们一向都来了就走，所以她总是来不及问他们叫什么名字，记在心里。通常，
只要见过一次面，她就有办法记住那个人的名字。这是她的专长。接着，她和马奈斯走进水耕
区，这时候，她忽然有点好奇，这些运送员是不是每天晚上都有办法回到家，陪伴自己的家
人？或者，他们到底有没有家人？他们会不会都像神父一样单身？她已经老到一个年纪，对年
轻的生命变得非常好奇，所以她很渴望能够多了解他们。也许，她应该在楼梯井的平台站个一
整天，欣赏他们搬东西的模样，仔细观察他们。在她心目中，这些运送员就像她呼吸的空气一
样，无所不在，永远在供应她需要的东西，如此不可或缺，然而，也正因为他们总是无所不
在，反而会令人觉得理所当然。而现在，一路走下楼梯，她终于体会到什么叫作筋疲力尽，也
终于真正体会到他们是多么了不起。那种感觉，就仿佛突然吸了一口纯氧，才终于体会到空气
的美好。
“你看那些橘子，闻到香味了吗？”马奈斯的声音惊醒了她，詹丝这才回过神来。果园外面
那道低矮的围栏上有一道门，他们进门的时候，他抬起鼻头在半空中猛嗅。他们看到一个穿着
绿色连身工作服的水耕区员工。他朝他们挥挥手，叫他们进来。“首长，背包可以放在这
里。”他指向一面墙。那整面墙是由无数方格组成的，零零落落塞着背包或是捆包。
詹丝遵照他的指示，把背包塞进一个方格里。马奈斯把她的背包推到最里面，然后把自己
的背包塞进同一格里。这是为了节省空间呢，还是他无意间显露出来的保护她的本能？詹丝无
法确定，不过，那种感觉就像果园里的气味一样甜美。
“我们有预约，今天晚上要在这里过夜。”詹丝对那个员工说。
他点点头：“房间在下一楼。我相信他们应该还在帮你们准备房间。你们只是要住宿吗？还
是也要吃点东西？”
“都要。”
那年轻人对她笑了一下。“嗯，那你们就先吃吧，等你们吃饱了，你们的两间房应该也准备
好了。”
两个房间。詹丝暗暗感谢那个年轻人，然后跟着马奈斯走进错综复杂的果园。
“你已经多久没来过这里了？”她问马奈斯。
“哇，好久了。大概有四年了吧。”
“没错。”詹丝笑起来，“我这辈子永远忘不了那件事。本世纪最大的窃案。”
“你以为那很好玩吗？”马奈斯说。
他们走到大厅最里面，到这里，如蜘蛛网般错综复杂的水耕区开始分成两边，中央的通道
蜿蜒曲折，一路通往下一层楼。走在这条通道上，有点像走在迷宫里，一步步走向远处的水泥
墙。上面的水管不停地洒水，水花喷洒的声音在低矮的天花板下回荡着，听起来有一种莫名的
安慰。中央通道两边是一望无际的果园菜园，茂盛的枝叶绿意盎然，白色的塑胶管构成无数的
格架，遍布着一丛丛蔬菜，一株株小树，格架上还串连着密密麻麻的细绳，交缠着无数的枝叶
和藤蔓。里面有一些工作人员正忙着照料那些果菜，他们都穿着绿色的连身工作服，脖子上挂
着一个袋子，里面装满了采收的作物。他们手上拿着大剪刀，乍看之下仿佛他们身上长着巨大
的爪子。他们剪下果菜的动作如此熟练，仿佛毫不费力，令人神迷。这种功夫，只有靠长年累
月不断的操作才有可能训练得出来。
“当年，有一个人最先认定那些东西是水耕区里的人偷的。那个人不就是你吗？”詹丝还在
自顾自笑着。一路上他们看到好几个标志指示大餐厅的方向，于是就跟着标志一直走。
“你一定要扯这件事吗？”
“这有什么好难为情的？你不觉得很好笑吗？”
“再过几年，也许吧。”他忽然停下脚步，隔着一面绳子编成的网墙，看着一棵番茄树。那
熟透的番茄香气四溢，詹丝的胃不由得咕噜作响。
“当年，我们真的太激动了，搞得天翻地覆。”马奈斯口气很平静，“为了办这个案子，霍斯
顿简直像疯了一样。他每天晚上都会发邮件给我，要我跟他报告进展。这辈子我从来没有看过
他那样，不顾一切拼命想抓到一个人。你知道吗，那种感觉，就好像他真的迫切需要。”说到这
里，他伸出手，手指扣住一面护栏，眼睛看着满地蔬菜后面那不知名的远方，仿佛看得到从前
的那一幕。“回想起来，感觉上很像他已经发现艾莉森怪怪的，好像他已经感觉得到她快要发疯
了。”马奈斯转过来看着詹丝，“她被送出去清洗镜头之前，地堡里的状况，你还记不记得？已
经持续了好久，所有的人都已经快要情绪失控了。”
詹丝已经好一会儿没笑了。她站在马奈斯旁边。马奈斯转身回来看着那棵番茄树，看着工
人剪下一颗红透的番茄，放进篮子里。
“你知道吗，我觉得霍斯顿是拼命想缓解地堡里的压力。我认为，当时他很想亲自下来抓那
个偷东西的人。他每天发邮件给我，要我报告进展，那种感觉就好像他要靠我的报告才活得下
去。”
“对不起，我实在不应该扯这件事。”詹丝伸手搭在他肩上。
马奈斯忽然转头看着她的手背。在浓密的胡须下，依稀看得到他的下唇似乎动了一下。詹
丝感觉他那种动作很像是在亲吻她的手，赶紧把手缩回来。
“没关系。”他说，“可惜那个时候大家心理压力太大，要不然，想想确实是很好笑。”说完他
转身继续沿着通道往前走。
“后来他们到底有没有查出来，它是怎么有办法跑进水耕区？”
“应该是从楼梯井上来的吧。”马奈斯说，“一定是。不过，我倒是听到有人推测，很可能是
有个小孩偷了一只，想养来当宠物，可是后来却把它放到水耕区里。”
詹丝大笑起来。她实在忍不住。“一只兔子。”她说，“水耕区的作物不见了，大家要抓贼，
搞了半天却是一只兔子。当代最伟大的执法人员竟然被一只兔子搞得人仰马翻。被它吃掉的蔬
菜水果，差不多值他一年的薪水点数。”
马奈斯摇摇头，苦笑了一下。“我不是最伟大的。”他说，“从来就不是我。”他愣愣看着通道
的尽头，清清喉咙。詹丝很清楚他心里想到的人是谁。
※ ※ ※
他们吃了一顿很丰盛的晚餐，然后心满意足地走到楼下的客房。詹丝有点怀疑，为了腾出
房间让他们住，很可能有人必须忍受很多不便。所有的房间都客满了，其中不少房间都已经有
人排队预约，要等到隔天甚至后天才能住进来。由于先前清洗镜头任务的时间确定之后，很多
人都已经排好时间要上去看风景，早就预约了房间，而他们却是临时决定要下来面试，所以，
她不难猜到，为了把房间让给她，有人的预约势必要被挤掉。另外，他们两个人就要占掉两间
房，而且首长住的那间必须有两张床，这样一来，情况就更糟糕了。更何况，倒不光是浪费空
间而已，而是那种安排本身就有问题。詹丝本来希望自己……不要受到这种特殊接待。
马奈斯显然也有同样的感觉。既然现在还不到睡觉时间，而且因为刚刚吃过大餐，多喝了
两杯葡萄酒，两个人精神还很好，所以，他邀她到他的小房间坐一下，多聊一会儿。反正现在
水耕区里闹哄哄的，等安静下来了再睡还不迟。
他的房间很舒服，虽然只有一张小小的双人床，但整理得又干净又整齐。地堡里大约有十
几种私人经营的产业，楼上的水耕区就是其中之一。这次他们住宿饮食所需的费用，将会用她
办公室的旅行预算来支付，而那笔钱，还有那些上顶楼看风景的人的花费，都有助于水耕区建
构更好的设施，比如更高级的床单，或是更坚固的弹簧床垫。
詹丝坐在床尾。马奈斯把身上的枪套解下来，放在矮柜上，然后走到距离一米外的墙边，
把固定在墙上的活动长凳拉下来，坐到上面。她脱掉长靴，揉揉酸痛的脚，而他则开始滔滔不
绝，说今天吃得有多过瘾，还有两个房间实在很浪费，边说边搓着胡子。
詹丝用两只拇指搓揉酸痛的脚跟。“我想，等我们到了底下之后，我恐怕需要在那里休息一
个礼拜，才有力气往上爬。”她说。
“其实没你想的那么可怕。”马奈斯对她说，“你明天早上起床的时候，也许会浑身酸痛，不
过，一旦你开始下楼梯，你就会发觉自己体力越来越好，绝对不会像今天这样。然后，等我们
回程要上楼的时候，也是一样。你就一步一步慢慢往上踩，然后，不知不觉就到家了。”
“但愿如此。”
“更何况，回去的时候，我们不再用两天走完全程。我们分成四天。就像去旅游探险一
样。”
“告诉你。”詹丝说，“其实我现在就已经在探险了。”
接下来，两人忽然陷入一阵沉默。詹丝往后一仰靠在枕头上，马奈斯愣愣地望着外面的水
耕区出神。此刻，孤男寡女在同一个房间里，那感觉却是如此平静，如此自在，令詹丝感到有
点意外。而且，两人甚至还不需要刻意找话讲。他们可以就这样在一起。没有警徽，没有首长
的头衔，就只是两个平平凡凡的人。
“你一定从来没有去找过神父，对吧？”马奈斯终于开口了。
“没有。”她摇摇头，“你呢？”
“我也没有，不过，现在我开始有这种念头了。”
“因为霍斯顿的缘故？”
“这是其中一个原因。”说着他忽然弯腰往前倾，两手在大腿上搓来搓去，仿佛这样搓两条
腿就不会酸。“他死了以后，灵魂到什么地方去了？我很想听听神父的说法。”
“他的灵魂永远与我们同在。”詹丝说，“他们说来说去都是这一套。”
“那你的信仰是什么？”
“我？”她翻身抬起上身，手肘撑着床垫，凝视着他的眼睛，而他也凝视着她。“老实说，我
不知道该相信什么。我太忙了，根本没时间想这个。”
“你会不会觉得唐纳的灵魂现在就在这里，就在我们旁边？”
詹丝忽然打了个寒战。已经很久没有人当她的面提到她丈夫的名字了。
“他已经走了很久，已经不知道多少年了，说不定已经比他陪在我身边的时间还长了。”她
说，“感觉上，我嫁的好像不是他的人，而是他的灵魂。”
“这样说好像有点那个。”
詹丝低头看看床铺，感觉周遭世界忽然变得有点虚无缥缈。“我不觉得他会在意我怎么说。
还有，没错，我感觉他的灵魂还在我身边，随时都在督促我要当一个好人。我觉得他好像随时
都在看着我。”
“我也是同样的感觉。”马奈斯说。
詹丝抬头看看他，发现他也正凝视着她。
“你觉得他会不会希望我们两个过得幸福快乐？呃，我的意思是，有一个美满的人生，事事
顺心。”说到这里，他的手已经停止搓揉大腿，而是撑在膝盖上。过了一会儿，他撇开视线，不
敢再看她的眼睛。
“你是他最要好的朋友。”詹丝说，“他当然希望你过得幸福快乐。”
他抬起手搓搓脸。这时候，有个孩子在走廊上大吼大叫，他立刻转头去看看那扇关着的
门。“我想，他这辈子唯一的愿望，就是看到你过得幸福快乐。这也就是为什么，他会成为你生
命中的男人。”
詹丝趁他没注意的时候抬起手揉揉眼睛，然后低头看着自己的手指。不知道为什么，手指
头湿湿的。
“时间不早了。”说着她坐到床边，弯腰去拿鞋子。她的背包和拐杖摆在门边，“还有，我认
为你说得没错，明天早上我可能会觉得全身有点酸痛，不过，用不了多久，我一定会觉得自己
又充满了活力。”
Part 2 Proper Gauge 12
Part 2 Proper Gauge
12
On the second and final day of their descent into the down deep, the novel gradually became the
habitual. The clank and thrum of the great spiral staircase found a rhythm. Jahns was able to lose
herself in her thoughts, daydreaming so serenely that she would glance up at the floor number,
seventy-two, eighty-four, and wonder where a dozen landings went. The kink in her left knee was
even soothed away, whether by the numbness of fatigue or an actual return to health, she didn’t
know. She took to using the walking stick less, finding it only held up her pace as it often slipped
between the treads and got caught there. With it tucked under her arm, it felt more useful. Like
another bone in her skeleton, holding her together.
When they passed the ninetieth floor, with the stench of fertilizer and the pigs and other animals
that produced this useful waste, Jahns pressed on, skipping the tour and lunch she’d planned, thinking
only briefly of the small rabbit that somehow had escaped from another farm, made it twenty floors
up without being spotted, and ate its fill for three weeks while it confounded half a silo.
Technically, they were already in the down deep when they reached ninety-seven. The bottom
third. But even though the silo was mathematically divided into three sections of forty-eight floors
each, her brain didn’t work that way. Floor one hundred was a better demarcation. It was a milestone.
She counted the floors down until they reached the first landing with three digits and stopped for a
break.
Marnes was breathing deeply, she noticed. But she felt great. Alive and renewed in the way she
had hoped the trip would make her feel. The futility, dread, and exhaustion from the day before were
gone. All that remained was a small twinge of fear that these dour feelings could return, that this
exuberant elation was a temporary high, that if she stopped, if she thought on it too long, it would
spiral away and leave her dark and moody once more.
They split a small loaf of bread between them, sitting on the metal grating of the wide landing
with their elbows propped up on the railings, their feet swinging over empty space, like two kids
cutting class. Level one hundred teemed with people coming and going. The entire floor was a
bazaar, a place for exchanging goods, for cashing in work chits for whatever was needed or merely
coveted. Workers with their trailing shadows came and went, families yelled for one another among
the dizzying crowds, merchants barked their best deals. The doors remained propped open for the
traffic, letting the smells and sounds drift out onto the double-wide landing, the grating shivering with
excitement.
Jahns reveled in the anonymity of the passing crowd. She bit into her half of the loaf, savoring the
fresh yeastiness of bread baked that morning, and felt like just another person. A younger person.
Marnes cut her a piece of cheese and a slice of apple and sandwiched them together. His hand
touched hers as he passed it to her. Even the bread crumbs in his mustache were part of the moment’s
perfection.
“We’re way ahead of schedule,” Marnes said before taking a bite of fruit. It was just a pleasant
observation. A pat on their elderly backs. “I figure we’ll hit one-forty by dinner.”
“Right now, I’m not even dreading the climb out,” Jahns said. She finished the cheese and apple
and chewed contentedly. Everything tasted better while climbing, she decided. Or in pleasant
company, or amid the music leaking out of the bazaar, some beggar strumming his uke over the noise
of the crowd.
“Why don’t we come down here more often?” she asked.
Marnes grunted. “Because it’s a hundred flights down? Besides, we’ve got the view, the lounge,
the bar at Kipper’s. How many of these people come up to any of that more than once every few
years?”
Jahns chewed on that and on her last bite of bread.
“Do you think it’s natural? Not wandering too far from where we live?”
“Don’t follow,” Marnes said around a bite of food.
“Pretend, just as a hypothetical, mind you, that people lived in those ancient aboveground silos
poking up over the hillside. You don’t think they would move around so little, do you? Like stay in
the same silo? Never wander over here or up and down a hundred flights of stairs?”
“I don’t think on those things,” Marnes said. Jahns took it as a hint that she shouldn’t, either. It
was impossible sometimes to know what could and couldn’t be said about the outside. Those were
discussions for spouses, and maybe the walk and the day together yesterday had gotten to her. Or
maybe she was as susceptible to the post-cleaning high as anyone else: the sense that some rules
could be relaxed, a few temptations courted, the release of pressure in the silo giving excuse for a
month of jubilant wiggling in one’s own skin.
“Should we get going?” Jahns asked as Marnes finished his bread.
He nodded, and they stood and collected their things. A woman walking by turned and stared, a
flash of recognition on her face, gone as she hurried to catch up with her children.
It was like another world down here, Jahns thought to herself. She had gone too long without a
visit. And even as she promised herself not to let that happen again, some part of her knew, like a
rusting machine that could feel its age, that this journey would be her last.
••••
Floors drifted in and out of sight. The lower gardens, the larger farm in the one-thirties, the
pungent water treatment plant below that. Jahns found herself lost in thought, remembering her
conversation with Marnes the night before, the idea of Donald living with her more in memory than
reality, when she came to the gate at one-forty.
She hadn’t even noticed the change in the traffic, the preponderance of blue denim overalls, the
porters with more satchels of parts and tools than clothes, food, or personal deliveries. But the crowd
at the gate showed her that she’d arrived at the upper levels of Mechanical. Gathered at the entrance
were workers in loose blue overalls spotted with age- old stains. Jahns could nearly peg their
professions by the tools they carried. It was late in the day, and she assumed most were returning
home from repairs made throughout the silo. The thought of climbing so many flights of stairs and
then having to work boggled her mind. And then she remembered she was about to do that very
thing.
Rather than abuse her station or Marnes’s power, they waited in line while the workers checked
through the gate. As these tired men and women signed back in and logged their travel and hours,
Jahns thought of the time she had wasted ruminating about her own life during the long descent, time
she should’ve spent polishing her appeal to this Juliette. Rare nerves twisted her gut as the line
shuffled forward. The worker ahead of them showed his ID, the card colored blue for Mechanical. He
scratched his information on a dusty slate. When it was their turn, they pushed through the outer gate
and showed their golden IDs. The station guard raised his eyebrows, then seemed to recognize the
mayor.
“Your Honor,” he said, and Jahns didn’t correct him. “Weren’t expecting you this shift.” He
waved their IDs away and reached for a nub of chalk. “Let me.”
Jahns watched as he spun the board around and wrote their names in neat print, the side of his
palm collecting dust from the old film of chalk below. For Marnes, he simply wrote “Sheriff,” and
again, Jahns didn’t correct him.
“I know she wasn’t expecting us until later,” Jahns said, “but I wonder if we could meet with
Juliette Nichols now.”
The station guard turned and looked behind him at the digital clock that recorded the proper time.
“She won’t be off the generator for another hour. Maybe two, knowing her. You could hit the mess
hall and wait.”
Jahns looked at Marnes, who shrugged. “Not entirely hungry yet,” he said.
“What about seeing her at work? It would be nice to see what she does. We’d try our best to stay
out of the way.”
The guard lifted his shoulders. “You’re the mayor. I can’t say no.” He jabbed the nub of chalk
down the hall, the people lined up outside the gate shifting impatiently as they waited. “See Knox.
He’ll get someone to run you down.”
The head of Mechanical was a man hard to miss. Knox amply filled the largest set of overalls
Jahns had ever seen. She wondered if the extra denim cost him more chits and how a man managed
to keep such a belly full. A thick beard added to his scope. If he smiled or frowned at their approach,
it was impossible to know. He was as unmoved as a wall of concrete.
Jahns explained what they were after. Marnes said hello, and she realized they must’ve met the
last time he was down. Knox listened, nodded, and then bellowed in a voice so gruff, the words were
indistinguishable from one another. But they meant something to someone, as a young boy
materialized from behind him, a waif of a kid with unusually bright orange hair.
“Gitemoffandowntojules,” Knox growled, the space between the words as slender as the gap in his
beard where a mouth should have been.
The young boy, young even for a shadow, waved his hand and darted away. Marnes thanked
Knox, who didn’t budge, and they followed after the boy.
The corridors in Mechanical, Jahns saw, were even tighter than elsewhere in the silo. They
squeezed through the end-of-shift traffic, the concrete blocks on either side primed but not painted,
and rough where they brushed against her shoulder. Overhead, parallel and twisting runs of pipe and
wire conduit hung exposed. Jahns felt the urge to duck, despite the half foot of clearance; she noticed
many of the taller workers walking with a stoop. The lights overhead were dim and spaced well apart,
making the sensation of tunneling deeper and deeper into the earth overwhelming.
The young shadow with the orange hair led them around several turns, his confidence in the route
seemingly habitual. They came to a flight of stairs, the square kind that made right turns, and went
down two more levels. Jahns heard a rumbling grow louder as they descended. When they left the
stairwell on one-forty-two, they passed an odd contraption in a wide open room just off the hallway.
A steel arm the size of several people end to end was moving up and down, driving a piston through
the concrete floor. Jahns slowed to watch its rhythmic gyrations. The air smelled of something
chemical, something rotten. She couldn’t place it.
“Is this the generator?”
Marnes laughed in a patronizing, uniquely manly way.
“That’s a pump,” he said. “Oil well. It’s how you read at night.”
He squeezed her shoulder as he walked past, and Jahns forgave him instantly for laughing at her.
She hurried after him and Knox’s young shadow.
“The generator is that thrumming you hear,” Marnes said. “The pump brings up oil, they do
something to it in a plant a few floors down, and then it’s ready to burn.”
Jahns vaguely knew some of this, possibly from a committee meeting. She was amazed, once
again, at how much of the silo was alien to even her, she who was supposed to be—nominally at least
—running things.
The persistent grumbling in the walls grew louder as they neared the end of the hall. When the
boy with the orange hair pulled open the doors, the sound was deafening. Jahns felt wary about
approaching further, and even Marnes seemed to stall. The kid waved them forward with frantic
gestures, and Jahns found herself willing her feet to carry her toward the noise. She wondered,
suddenly, if they were being led outside. It was an illogical, senseless idea, born of imagining the
most dangerous threat she could possibly summon.
As she broke the plane of the door, cowering behind Marnes, the boy let the door slam shut,
trapping them inside with the onslaught. He pulled headphones—no wires dangling from them—
from a rack by the wall. Jahns followed his lead and put a pair over her own ears. The noise was
deadened, remaining only in her chest and nerve endings. She wondered why, for what cause, this
rack of ear protection would be located inside the room rather than outside.
The boy waved and said something, but it was just moving lips. They followed him along a
narrow passageway of steel grating, a floor much like the landings on each silo floor. When the
hallway turned, one wall fell away and was replaced with a railing of three horizontal bars. A
machine beyond reckoning loomed on the other side. It was the size of her entire apartment and office
put together. Nothing seemed to be moving at first, nothing to justify the pounding she could feel in
her chest and across her skin. It wasn’t until they fully rounded the machine that she saw the steel rod
sticking out of the back of the unit, spinning ferociously and disappearing into another massive metal
machine that had cables as thick as a man’s waist rising up toward the ceiling.
The power and energy in the room were palpable. As they reached the end of the second machine,
Jahns finally saw a solitary figure working beside it. A young-looking woman in overalls, a hard hat
on, brown braided hair hanging out the back, was leaning into a wrench nearly as long as she was
tall. Her presence gave the machines a terrifying sense of scale, but she didn’t seem to fear them. She
threw herself into her wrench, her body frightfully close to the roaring unit, reminding Jahns of an
old children’s tale where a mouse pulled a barb out of an imaginary beast called an elephant. The
idea of a woman this size fixing a machine of such ferocity seemed absurd. But she watched the
woman work while the young shadow slipped through a gate and ran up to tug on her overalls.
The woman turned, not startled, and squinted at Jahns and Marnes. She wiped her forehead with
the back of one hand, her other hand swinging the wrench around to rest on her shoulder. She patted
the young shadow on the head and walked out to meet them. Jahns saw that the woman’s arms were
lean and well defined with muscle. She wore no undershirt, just blue overalls cut high up over her
chest, exposing a bit of olive skin that gleamed with sweat. She had the same dark complexion as the
farmers who worked under grow lights, but it could have been as much from the grease and grime if
her denims were any indication.
She stopped short of Jahns and Marnes, and nodded at them. She smiled at Marnes with a hint of
recognition. She didn’t offer a hand, for which Jahns was grateful. Instead, she pointed toward a door
by a glass partition and then headed that way herself.
Marnes followed on her heels like a puppy, Jahns close behind. She turned to make sure the
shadow wasn’t underfoot, only to see him scurrying off the way he had come, his hair glowing in the
wan overhead lights of the generator room. His duty, as far as he was concerned, was done.
Inside the small control room, the noise lessened. It dropped almost to nothing as the thick door
was shut tight. Juliette pulled off her hard hat and earmuffs and dropped them on a shelf. Jahns took
hers away from her head tentatively, heard the noise reduced to a distant hum, and removed them all
the way. The room was tight and crowded with metal surfaces and winking lights unlike anything she
had ever seen. It was strange to her that she was mayor of this room as well, a thing she hardly knew
existed and certainly couldn’t operate.
While the ringing in Jahns’s ears subsided, Juliette adjusted some spinning knobs, watching little
arms waver under glass shields. “I thought we were doing this tomorrow morning,” she said,
concentrating intently on her work.
“We made better time than I’d hoped.”
Jahns looked to Marnes, who was holding his ear protection in both hands, shifting
uncomfortably.
“Good to see you again, Jules,” he said.
She nodded and leaned down to peer through the thick glass window at the gargantuan machines
outside, her hands darting over the large control board without needing to look, adjusting large black
dials with faded white markings.
“Sorry about your partner,” she said, glancing down at a bank of readouts. She turned and studied
Marnes, and Jahns saw that this woman, beneath the sweat and grime, was beautiful. Her face was
hard and lean, her eyes bright. She had a fierce intelligence you could measure from a distance. And
she peered at Marnes with utmost sympathy, visible in the furrow of her brows. “Really,” she said.
“I’m terribly sorry. He seemed like a good man.”
“The best,” Marnes sputtered, his voice cracking.
Juliette nodded as if that was all that needed saying. She turned to Jahns.
“That vibration you feel in the floor, Mayor? That’s a coupling when it’s barely two millimeters
off. If you think it feels bad in here, you should go put your hands on the casing. It’ll jiggle your
fingers numb immediately. Hold it long enough, and your bones will rattle like you’re coming apart.”
She turned and reached between Jahns and Marnes to throw a massive switch, then turned back to
the control board. “Now imagine what that generator is going through, shaking itself to pieces like
that. Teeth start grinding together in the transmission, small bits of metal shavings cycle through the
oil like sandpaper grit. Next thing you know, there’s an explosion of steel and we’ve got no power
but whatever the backup can spit out.”
Jahns held her breath.
“You need us to get someone?” Marnes asked.
Juliette laughed. “None of this is news or different from any other shift. If the backup unit wasn’t
being torn down for new gaskets, and we could go to half power for a week, I could pull that coupler,
adjust the mounts, and have her spinning like a top.” She shot a look at Jahns. “But since we have a
mandate for full power, no interruptions, that’s not happening. So I’m going to keep tightening bolts
while they keep trying to shake loose, and try to find the right revolutions in here to keep her fairly
singing.”
“I had no idea, when I signed that mandate—”
“And here I thought I’d dumbed down my report enough to make it clear,” Juliette said.
“How long before this failure happens?”
Jahns suddenly realized she wasn’t here interviewing this woman. The demands were heading in
the opposite direction.
“How long?” Juliette laughed and shook her head. She finished a final adjustment and turned to
face them with her arms crossed. “It could happen right now. It could happen a hundred years from
now. The point is: it’s going to happen, and it’s entirely preventable. The goal shouldn’t be to keep
this place humming along for our lifetimes”—she looked pointedly at Jahns—“or our current term. If
the goal ain’t forever, we should pack our bags right now.”
Jahns saw Marnes stiffen at this. She felt her own body react, a chill coursing across her skin. This
last line was dangerously close to treason. The metaphor only half saved it.
“I could declare a power holiday,” Jahns suggested. “We could stage it in memory of those who
clean.” She thought more about this. “It could be an excuse to service more than your machine here.
We could—”
“Good luck getting IT to power down shit,” Juliette said. She wiped her chin with the back of her
wrist, then wiped this on her overalls. She looked down at the grease transferred to the denim.
“Pardon my language, Mayor.”
Jahns wanted to tell her it was quite all right, but the woman’s attitude, her power, reminded her
too much of a former self that she could just barely recall. A younger woman who dispensed with
niceties and got what she wanted. She found herself glancing over at Marnes. “Why do you single out
their department? For the power, I mean.”
Juliette laughed and uncrossed her arms. She tossed her hands toward the ceiling. “Why? Because
IT has, what, three floors out of one-forty-four? And yet they use up over a quarter of all the power
we produce. I can do the math for you—”
“That’s quite all right.”
“And I don’t remember a server ever feeding someone or saving someone’s life or stitching up a
hole in their britches.”
Jahns smiled. She suddenly saw what Marnes liked about this woman. She also saw what he had
once seen in her younger self, before she married his best friend.
“What if we had IT ratchet down for some maintenance of their own for a week? Would that
work?”
“I thought we came down here to recruit her away from all this,” Marnes grumbled.
Juliette shot him a look. “And I thought I told you— or your secretary—not to bother. Not that
I’ve got anything against what you do, but I’m needed down here.” She raised her arm and checked
something dangling from her wrist. It was a timepiece. But she was studying it as if it still worked.
“Look, I’d love to chat more.” She looked up at Jahns. “Especially if you can guarantee a holiday
from the juice, but I’ve got a few more adjustments to make and I’m already into my overtime. Knox
gets pissed if I push into too many extra shifts.”
“We’ll get out of your hair,” Jahns said. “We haven’t had dinner yet, so maybe we can see you
after? Once you punch out and get cleaned up?”
Juliette looked down at herself, as if to confirm she even needed cleaning. “Yeah, sure,” she said.
“They’ve got you in the bunkhouse?”
Marnes nodded.
“All right. I’ll find you later. And don’t forget your muffs.” She pointed to her ears, looked
Marnes in the eye, nodded, then returned to her work, letting them know the conversation, for now,
was over.
第二部分：精准口径 12
第二部分：精准口径
12
下楼已经第二天了，但今天他们就会走到最底层，所以，今天也是最后一天。今天，他们
已经习惯了爬楼梯的动作。他们的脚步声变得很有规律，回荡在又深又长的楼梯井中。一路
上，詹丝已经能够沉浸在自己的思绪中，完全感觉不到自己在下楼梯。她偶尔会抬头看看楼层
平台上的数字：七十二楼、八十四楼。奇怪，怎么一下子就走了十几层楼？她的左膝盖本来有
点痛，可是，走着走着，不知怎么慢慢就不痛了。是因为太累了，根本就麻木了，还是她真的
又恢复了青春活力？她无法确定。而且，她开始尽量不用拐杖，因为她发现每当自己踏出一
步，拐杖常常会卡到梯板，反而碍手碍脚。她把拐杖夹在腋下，走着走着，渐渐发觉拐杖摆在
这边反而比较有用，因为那会令她感觉自己仿佛多了一根骨头，可以撑得更久。
来到九十楼，她闻到一股肥料味，还有猪骚味和其他禽畜动物的臭味。肥料就是这些动物
创造出来的。詹丝原本打算到里面去看看，顺便吃午餐，但此刻，她打消了原定计划，决定继
续往下走。不过，她还是忍不住会想到那只兔子。当年，那只兔子从另一个畜牧区逃出来，沿
着楼梯井爬了二十层楼，一路上都没有被人抓住，然后溜进了五十楼的土耕区，大吃特吃，整
整三个礼拜，这件事把半座地堡搞得天翻地覆。它到底是怎么办到的？
又过了一会儿，他们来到九十七楼。九十七楼以下，占全地堡的三分之一，从数字上来
看，他们已经来到底段楼层。整个地堡分为三段楼层，每一段四十八楼，不过，她的算法不是
这样。在她感觉上，一百楼才是合理的分界线。因为那就像一座里程碑。一路上，她不断计算
自己走了几楼，后来，当他们来到第一个三位数楼层的时候，她才觉得可以停下休息一下了。
她注意到马奈斯已经气喘如牛，不过，她自己倒是觉得通体舒畅，仿佛恢复了青春活力。
当初她决定下楼梯，就是抱着这种希望，没想到她的愿望真的实现了。前一天，她还感觉自己
是白费功夫，感到恐惧，感到精疲力竭，而此刻，那些感觉都已经一扫而空。此刻，残留在她
脑海中的，只剩一种恐惧：她很怕先前那种恐惧疲惫的感觉又会再度出现，很怕此刻这种生命
活力洋溢的感觉只是暂时的。她不敢停下脚步，不敢去想自己会不会累，因为她担心，一旦她
停下脚步，一旦她想太多，那种活力充沛的感觉就会瞬间消失无踪，而她会再度陷入恐惧疲惫
的阴霾中。
楼层平台是一大片网格铁板，他们坐在平台边缘，手肘靠在栏杆上，两脚悬空，两个人分
吃一小条面包，那模样仿佛两个翘课的小孩。一百楼，人来人往川流不息，整个楼层就是一个
巨大的集市，大家在这里交换商品。每个人在工作上获得的点数，都可以拿来这里换到生活所
需的东西，或者换到任何你渴望拥有的东西。你看得到在各区工作的人在这里进进出出，背后
都跟着一个学徒，看得到有人携家带眷来购物，可是却在人群中走散了，大声叫唤家人。看得
到商贩高声吆喝叫卖，自吹自擂。大门完全敞开，以便吸纳更多人潮，所以，嘈杂的人声和五
花八门的气味也就从门口飘散到外面的平台上。这座平台的宽度是其他楼层的两倍，网格状的
铁板不断颤动，仿佛也感染到那种兴奋的气息。
看着那来来往往的人群，看着那一张张陌生的脸，詹丝不由得悠然神往。她咬着今天早上
刚出炉的那半条面包，享受着那新鲜的酵母香，忽然感觉自己仿佛又回到青春年少的岁月。马
奈斯切了一小片乳酪和一小片苹果夹在一起，然后递给她，那一刹那，他的手无意间碰到她的
手。此时此刻，无限美好，就连他胡子上的面包屑，也是那么美好。
“我们进度已经超前了。”话才刚说完，马奈斯立刻咬了一大口水果。以他们的年纪来说，
这是很令人振奋的成果，也很令人欣慰。“我跟你打赌，今天晚上，我们一定来得及到一百四十
楼吃晚饭。”
“现在，我已经完全不怕上楼了。”詹丝说。她已经把乳酪苹果塞进嘴里，心满意足地嚼
着。她心里想，等上楼的时候，东西吃起来一定更美味。不过，美不美味，或许也要看跟谁一
起吃。此刻，有个乞丐正弹着四弦琴，那旋律混杂着集市里的喧闹声，听起来如此悦耳。或
许，就是因为在这样的气氛中，再平凡的东西吃起来也犹如山珍海味。
“也许我们应该常常到下面来，你觉得呢？”她问。
“走一百多层楼？算了吧。想想看，我们上面风景漂亮，又有大厅，还有酒吧，那么，底下
的人为什么好几年才会上去一次？”
詹丝一边嚼着面包，一边想。
“我们不会去离家太远的地方，你觉得这样正常吗？”
“我不太懂你的意思。”马奈斯边嚼着面包边说。
“你这个副保安官不是很擅长推论假设吗？那么，我们就来假设一下。就拿沙丘后面那些古
时候的大楼来说，假设那是地堡，他们应该常常会跑到地堡外面，你不觉得吗？他们会整天待
在同一座地堡里面吗？如果说他们一辈子都没到过我们这里，也从来不爬楼梯上上下下，你认
为有可能吗？”
“我从来不去想这种问题。”马奈斯说。詹丝听得出来，他是在暗示她也不应该去想这种问
题。有时候，你根本无法确定，外面世界的事，什么能谈，什么不能谈。这些问题，通常只有
夫妻之间才会偷偷讨论，那么，会不会是因为这两天，他们朝夕相处，一起下楼梯，令她感觉
两人之间的关系已经有点不一样了？不过，也可能只是因为她跟别人一样，很容易感染到镜头
清洗之后那种亢奋的情绪，忽然觉得某些规定可以不用那么严格遵守，感觉一切都充满了诱
惑。现在，地堡里那种紧绷的情绪解除了，接下来的一整个月，大家一定会借机发泄，狂欢庆
祝。
马奈斯已经吃完他的面包，这时候，詹丝开口问他：“我们该起程了吗？”
他点点头，于是他们站起来，把东西收拾干净。这时候，有个妈妈从他们前面经过，转头
一直盯着他们。看她的表情，显然已经认出他们是谁，但她还是匆匆走了，去追她的孩子。
詹丝心里想，这地堡最深的楼层，简直就像另一个世界。她真的已经太久没到底下来看看
了。只是，尽管她已经对自己许下承诺，以后一定要常常来，但内心深处，她明白自己就像一
具锈痕累累的老旧机器，感受得到岁月的无情。她明白，这次下来，恐怕是她有生之年最后一
次了。
※ ※ ※
每经过一个楼层，就会看到新的景象，但很快又会消逝在身后。到了一百三十多层楼，他
们经过底层的土耕区，经过一个规模更大的畜牧区，而畜牧区楼下就是水处理区，飘散着一股
刺鼻的异味。当詹丝走到一百四十楼大门口的时候，她的思绪还沉湎在昨夜。她在回想昨夜和
马奈斯说的一些话。唐纳仿佛还活着，但只是活在她记忆中，而不是活生生地陪在她身边。
她深陷在思绪中，甚至没有注意到这里来来往往的人已经不太一样了。在这里，绝大多数
人都穿着蓝色连身工作服，而运送员身上扛的，多半是一袋袋工具和零件，不再是食物衣服或
私人物品。不过，当她看到门口拥挤的人群，她终于意识到自己已经来到机电区的第一个楼
层。门口那些工人，身上都穿着宽松的蓝色连身工作服，上面满是陈年污垢。光看他们身上的
工具，詹丝就能够断定那个人是做哪一种工作。已经是傍晚了，她心里暗忖，这些人应该是从
全地堡各地赶回来的。他们已经修好东西，要回家了。然后她又想到，白天，他们爬了很久的
楼梯之后，立刻又要工作，光想都觉得害怕。接着，她忽然想到自己马上就要面临这种状况
了。
她是首长，而马奈斯是副保安官，大可不用排队，但他们还是决定不要滥用权力。工人在
门口排成一长排，轮流走进门登记。她和马奈斯排在队伍后面。那些工人有男有女，他们逐一
签到，交出工作记录，里面载明了路程和工时。看到这一幕，詹丝忽然发觉自己真的很浪费时
间。两天的漫长路程，她一直在回想自己的一生，而她本来应该利用这段时间好好琢磨，要怎
么说服这个茱丽叶接受任命。接着，前面排队的人越来越少了，她忽然感到一阵恐慌。没多
久，他们前面只剩一个人了。那个人掏出识别证，一张蓝色的机电区卡片，然后在一块石板上
写下姓名。接下来轮到他们了。他们推开大门，拿出金色的识别证。警卫露出惊讶的表情，但
很快就认出她是谁了。
“首长好。”他毕恭毕敬地称呼她，而詹丝并没有纠正他的称呼。“没想到您这么快就到
了。”他比了个手势请他们把识别证收回去，到后拿起一根粉笔。“我来帮你们写。”
詹丝看着他把那块石板倒转一百八十度，然后在上面工工整整写下他们的名字，手掌边缘
沾到很多粉笔灰。接着，他在马奈斯的名字底下写了一个头衔，“保安官”，而她还是没有纠正
他。
“我知道现在还不到预定的时间。”詹丝说，“不过，我希望现在就和茱丽叶·尼克斯见面谈一
谈，有办法吗？”
警卫转头看看后面的电子钟。“她现在还在发电机那边值班，再过一个钟头才会下班。不
过，以她那种个性，说不定还要两个钟头她才肯走。你们可以先到大餐厅那边去等她。”
詹丝看看马奈斯，他耸耸肩：“我还不饿。”
“我们可以去她工作的地方找她吗？我很想看看她工作是什么样子。我们会尽量不打扰到她
工作。”
警卫耸耸肩：“首长的指示，我们当然要遵办。”他举起手上的粉笔指向大厅，门口排队的
人起了一阵小骚动，等得有点不耐烦。“去找诺克斯。他会找人带你们去。”
诺克斯是机电区的负责人，身材之巨大，令人很难不注意到他。他身上那件连身工作服，
尺码之大，是詹丝生平没见过的，而他穿起来竟然还太紧。詹丝不禁有点好奇，做那件工作服
所需耗费的牛仔布料，是不是要花掉他更多薪水点数？还有，一个人的肚子怎么有办法大到那
种程度。另外，除了巨大得像座山的身材，他那满脸大胡子也同样引人注目。他们朝他走过去
的时候，根本无法判断他脸上是什么表情。他是在笑呢，还是皱着眉头？他整个人就像水泥墙
一样，一动也不动。
詹丝开口说明来意，接着马奈斯也跟他打了声招呼，这时詹丝才想到，上次他到下面来办
案的时候，已经和这个诺克斯碰过面了。诺克斯听她说完，点点头，然后大吼了一句。那低沉
嘶哑的咆哮犹如雷鸣般惊天动地，而且那句话里的每个字都纠结在一起，根本听不懂他说了什
么。不过，显然有人听得懂，因为很快就有个男孩从他身后冒出来。那男孩瘦瘦小小，有一头
罕见的橘色头发。
“快点滚开！”诺克斯又咆哮了一句。每个字都黏在一起，中间几乎没有空隙，就仿佛他嘴
边的胡子一样，整个纠缠在一起，根本看不见他的嘴。
那男孩年纪还很小，感觉上好像还不能当学徒。他朝他们挥挥手，然后就快步往前走。马
奈斯跟诺克斯说了声谢谢，而诺克斯却毫无反应，还是不动如山。接着，他们赶紧跟在那小男
孩后面走过去。
詹丝注意到，跟地堡其他地方比起来，机电部的走廊显得特别狭窄。早班下班后，走廊上
人潮汹涌，他们只好在人群中穿梭，一路挤过去。两边的墙面是光秃秃的水泥面，没上油漆，
摸起来很粗糙。一路上，她的肩膀一直在墙面上摩擦。头顶上，天花板底下没有遮板，露出并
排的水管和电线导管，蜿蜒贯穿了整条走廊。虽然那些管线距离头顶还有十五厘米左右，但詹
丝还是有一种压迫感，本能地想低头。她注意到有些高大的工人都是弯腰在走。天花板上的灯
光很暗，而且每盏灯距离很远，感觉整条走廊深不见底，深入那无穷尽的地底。
那个橘色头发的小学徒带着他们拐了好几个弯，仿佛对整个路线了然于胸，熟悉得近乎本
能。后来，他们走到一座楼梯前面。那座楼梯是方形的右转回旋梯，他们要往下走两层楼。走
着走着，詹丝开始听到低沉的“隆隆”声，越往下走，声音越大。接着，他们走出楼梯井，来到
一百四十二楼。一走出楼梯井，穿过门厅，来到了一间巨大厂房，他们看到旁边有一个奇怪的
机器。机器上有一条长长的臂杆，足足有好几个人的身高加起来那么长。水泥地面上有一个
洞，洞口有一个类似活塞的东西连接在臂杆尾端，当臂杆上下摆动，活塞就被推进拉出，不断
循环。詹丝放慢脚步，睁大眼睛看着那机器充满韵律的循环动作。空气中飘散着一股气味，闻
起来很像某种化学药剂，一种腐臭味。她猜不出那是什么东西。
“这就是发电机吗？”
马奈斯大笑起来，那模样带着一点男人特有的得意姿态。
“这是抽油机。”他说，“这里是油井。你晚上看书的时候点的灯，全靠这玩意儿。”
说着他在她肩上揉了一下，然后从她旁边走到前面去。詹丝本来有点气他竟然这样嘲笑
她，但肩上被他揉了一下，气立刻就消了。她赶紧快步跟上他和诺克斯的小学徒。
“你听到的那个隆隆声，才是发电机。”马奈斯说，“抽油机把石油抽出来，送到最底层楼下
的炼油厂，处理过之后就变成燃料了。”
大概是因为委员会开会的时候提到过这件事，所以詹丝模模糊糊，有点概念。此刻，她又
一次对自己感到诧异。照理说，她是负责管理地堡的人（至少在名义上），而地堡里竟然有这
么多事物令她感到陌生。
墙里持续不断地传出“隆隆”声，而且，当他们逐渐走近厂房的另一头，那声音就越来越
大。那个橘色头发的小男孩拉开一道双扇门，那一刹那，那惊天动地的“隆隆”声立刻迎面而
来，震耳欲聋。詹丝忽然畏缩起来，不敢再往前走，甚至连马奈斯也被吓住了。那孩子拼命挥
手叫他们往前走，詹丝只好鼓起勇气往前跨出去，迎向那巨大的“隆隆”声。此刻，她忽然有种
怪异的感觉，仿佛他们正要被人带“出去”。这是很荒唐的念头，源自一种根深蒂固的最骇人的
想象——外面的世界就是这么可怕。
她慢慢走进门，畏畏缩缩地跟在马奈斯后面。那男孩放开门板，门立刻“砰”的一声自动关
上，那一刹那，他们忽然感觉自己仿佛被关在里面任人宰割。接着，那男孩从墙上的架子拿出
几个耳机，不过，耳机上没有电线。詹丝学那男孩的动作，把耳机戴到头上，然后那可怕的隆
隆声立刻就消失了，只剩胸口和身体表面感觉得到轻微的震动。她觉得很奇怪，干吗把耳机架
放在里面，而不是放在外面？
接着，那男孩又挥挥手，跟他们说了几句话，只不过，他们什么都听不到，只看得到他嘴
唇在动。他们跟在他后面，走过一条窄窄的通道，脚底下是网格铁板，很像外面楼层平台的地
面。地堡楼梯井每一层楼的平台，都是那种网格铁板。接下来，他们转了个弯，发现有一面墙
不见了，变成一道三条横杆的栏杆，栏杆外面赫然出现一台巨大得吓人的机器。那机器的体
积，差不多跟她的住宅和办公室加起来一样大。她的胸口和全身皮肤都感觉得到一股震动，然
而一开始，她看不到机器有什么地方在动，搞不懂那震动是哪来的。后来，当他们慢慢绕到机
器的另一头，她才发现机器后面伸出一根铁杆。铁杆高速转动，连接到另外一部巨大的机器，
而那机器上有很多巨大的电线连接在天花板上，每一条电线都有男人腰围那么粗。
这个厂房里，可以感觉到电力的能量无所不在。他们慢慢走到第二台机器尾端的时候，詹
丝终于看到一个娇小的人影正在机器旁边忙着。那女人看起来很年轻，穿着连身工作服，戴着
一顶安全帽，帽子后面露出一条金黄色的辫子。她紧紧抓着一根扳手，而那根扳手差不多和她
的身高一样长。她站在机器旁边，相形之下机器更显得巨大骇人，但她似乎一点也不怕。她整
个人趴在扳手上，几乎快要贴到那轰隆隆的机器上，看了令人替她捏把冷汗。看到这一幕，詹
丝忽然想起一则古老的童话。传说中有一种庞然大物叫作大象，而有一只小老鼠要帮忙把它身
上的一根刺拔出来。这么娇小的女人，竟然在修理一部巨大危险的机器，那景象真是很突兀，
但詹丝还是默默看着她工作。那个小学徒打开一扇门，走到外面那女人旁边，扯扯她的工作
服。
那女人并没有被他的动作吓到。她转过头来，朝詹丝和马奈斯的方向瞥了一眼，抬起一只
手，用手背擦擦额头，另一只手把扳手提起来扛在肩上。她摸摸那小学徒的头，然后走出那扇
门，走到他们面前。詹丝发现这女孩手臂细瘦，可是肌肉很发达。她身上只穿着那件连身工作
服，里面没穿衬衣，工作服的前襟遮住她的胸口，只露出脖子下面一小片古铜色的皮肤。她满
身大汗，湿漉漉的皮肤闪闪发亮。她脸上那古铜色的皮肤看起来很像土耕区的那些农夫。他们
被植物灯晒得面色黝黑。不过，看她衣服上沾满油污，所以可能是因为她脸上也沾满了油污，
所以脸色看起来才会那么黑。
她走到詹丝和马奈斯面前，向他们点点头，然后，她似乎认出了马奈斯，于是对他微微一
笑。她并没有伸出手要跟詹丝握手，詹丝心中暗暗庆幸。接着她伸手指向一扇门，然后就自己
先走过去。那里是一个小隔间，有一扇玻璃窗，那扇门就在窗边。
马奈斯跟在她后面，仿佛小动物紧跟着主人。詹丝也跟在他后面。这时候，那女孩忽然转
头去看那小男孩，看看他有没有跟过来碍手碍脚，结果发现那小男孩正走向原先进来的那扇
门，发电厂昏黄的灯光照在他头上，他满头橘色的头发闪闪发亮。他的任务就是带他们过来，
现在，他已经完成任务。
一走进控制室，那轰隆隆的巨响忽然消失殆半，而等到那扇厚厚的门一关上，那声音就几
乎完全听不到了。茱丽叶摘下安全帽，拿掉耳机，放到架子上。詹丝试探着把耳机拉开一点
点，发现那“隆隆”声已经变得很遥远，变成一种低沉的“嗡嗡”声，于是就放心地把耳机拿掉了。
控制室狭窄拥挤，四面都是金属墙，灯光闪烁，詹丝从来没见过这样的地方。她是首长，这间
控制室也是在她的管辖下，而她几乎不知道地堡里有这个地方，更不懂该怎么操作，这实在有
点说不过去。
过了一会儿，詹丝的耳鸣渐渐消退了，这时候，茱丽叶正在转动仪器上的转盘，看着仪表
里的指针。“我本来以为你们明天早上才会来找我。”她说话的时候还一边全神贯注调整仪器。
“我们走得比预期的快。”
詹丝看看马奈斯，发现他两手抓着耳机，身体微微挪动，好像有点不自在。
“很高兴我们又见面了，祖儿。”他说。
她点点头，然后弯腰凑近那扇厚厚的玻璃窗，看着外面那巨大的机器，两手伸向一面很大
的控制台，开始调整上面的大转盘。转盘上有褪色的白色刻痕。她操作的时候，眼睛完全不用
看转盘。
“很遗憾，你的伙伴不在了。”她一边说，眼睛边盯着仪表。接着，她转身看着马奈斯的眼
睛，这时候，詹丝才注意到这女孩长得很漂亮。虽然全身脏兮兮，却依然掩不住她的美貌。她
的脸有棱有角，表情有点酷，两眼炯炯有神，散发出一种绝顶聪明的气息，远远就感觉得到。
她看着马奈斯，眉头深锁，眼中满是同情。“我是真心感到遗憾。”她说，“真的好遗憾。他似乎
是个很好的人。”
“他是天底下最好的人。”马奈斯声音有点哽咽。
茱丽叶点点头，那模样仿佛完全认同他说的话。接着她转头看着詹丝。
“首长，你有没有感觉到地板的震动？那是因为发电机的联结器松了，无法密合，而且你要
知道，那间隙还不到两厘米，就已经震动得这么厉害。你觉得这里面震动已经很厉害了吗，那
你实在应该到外面去，亲自用手去摸摸机壳，告诉你，只要一碰，手指头马上麻掉，还有，要
是你手一直摸在上面，你会被震得好像全身骨头都快碎掉。”
说完她转身，一只手从马奈斯和詹丝中间穿过去，打开一个巨大的按键，然后又转回去操
作控制台。“发电机出了问题，一直剧烈震动，几乎快解体了。现在，我要你想象一下接下来会
有什么后果。现在，传动轴的齿轮牙已经快磨平了，金属碎屑一直在机油里循环，那种效果就
像砂纸在打磨一样。接下来，就是整台机器炸掉，然后，整个地堡只能靠那台备用发电机，只
剩下一半的电力供应。”
詹丝倒抽了一口凉气。
“需要我找人来帮忙吗？”马奈斯问。
茱丽叶忽然笑起来。“在这里，不管早班晚班，每个轮值的人都是面临同样的状况，再多人
也没用。很可惜，目前备用发电机被我们拆掉，准备换轴承，否则的话，我就可以先启动备用
发电机，供应一半的电力，维持一个礼拜，这样一来，我就可以把主发电机的传动轴拆下来，
调整底座，然后，等发电机又重新运转的时候，就会顺畅得整台像新的一样。”说着她瞄了詹丝
一眼，“可惜问题是，我们接到上面命令，必须维持完整电力供应，不准中断，所以，我永远没
办法修发电机。这样一来，螺帽会一直松脱，而我就必须随时把螺帽锁紧，然后想办法创造奇
迹，让发电机继续运转。”
“当初签署命令的时候，我真的不知道……”
“当初提出报告的时候，我已经尽量减少专业术语，让一般人也看得懂。”茱丽叶说。
“发电机还能撑多久？多久会爆炸？”
这时詹丝赫然发觉，此刻并不是她在面试这个女孩，而是这个女孩在质问她。
“多久？”茱丽叶又笑起来，无奈地摇摇头。这时她已经完成最后的调整，于是就转身过来
看着他们两个，两手交叉在胸前。“随时都会爆炸，比如说现在，不过也可能一百年后才会爆
炸。重点是：它不一定会爆炸，因为我们还有机会挽救。我想，应该没有人打算让这台机器就
这样一辈子摇摇晃晃鬼叫。”说到这里，她意味深长地看了詹丝一眼，“——或者在某个人的任
期内这样摇摇晃晃。如果是的话，那我建议我们赶快收拾行李，准备逃命吧。”
詹丝注意到马奈斯紧张得浑身僵直，而且感觉到自己浑身都起了鸡皮疙瘩。这女孩最后说
的那句话已经几近于叛变，差别只在于她是用比喻的方式说。
“我可以用‘限电假期’的名义宣布全地堡休假，实施限电。”詹丝提议，“我们可以宣称，限电
是为了纪念那些出去清洗镜头的人。”说到这里，她想了一下，然后又继续说：“而且，我们还
可以借这个机会解决更多问题，不光是修发电机。我们可以——”
“要是可以看到资讯区被他妈的限电，那就真的太爽了。”茱丽叶抬起手，用手背搓搓下
巴，然后又把手伸到工作服上搓了几下，低头看着那个被自己弄脏的部位。“不好意思，首长，
讲这种粗话。”
詹丝很想告诉她没关系，因为这女孩子真的不简单，那种姿态，那种气势。看到她，仿佛
看到年轻时候的自己，而她几乎已经快忘了自己年轻的时候是什么样子。当年，自己也跟她一
样，为了达到目的，不惜撕掉优雅的假面具。她不由自主地看了马奈斯一眼：“你为什么要特别
强调那个部门？我的意思是，你为什么很想看到他们被限电？”
茱丽叶大笑起来，放下交叉在胸前的双手，然后抬起来指向天花板。“为什么？因为全地堡
有一百四十四楼，他们资讯区只占三楼，可是他们却用掉全地堡四分之一的电力！我可以算给
你看——”
“那倒不用，我算得出来。”
“那他们的服务器对大家有什么贡献吗？救过谁的命吗？那些服务器有什么用，可以拿来吃
吗？”
詹丝微微一笑。她忽然明白马奈斯为什么喜欢这个女孩子。而且，她也忽然明白，她年轻
的时候，还没有嫁给他最要好的朋友之前，他在她身上看到了什么。
“也许我们可以要求资讯区减少用电，进行一个礼拜的保养，你觉得呢？他们会上钩吗？”
这时候，马奈斯忽然咕哝了一句：“我们这次下来，不是要叫她离开这个工作，接受别的任
命吗？”
茱丽叶忽然瞪了他一眼。“我想我已经向你表明过——或至少已经向你的秘书表明过，不必
找我了。并不是说我对你这种工作有什么意见，而是因为这里需要我。”说着她抬起手，看着挂
在手腕上的某个东西。那是一只手表。问题是，那只手表好像坏了，她看手表干什么？
“呃，跟你们聊天真的很愉快。”她抬头看着詹丝，“尤其是，要是你愿意答应实施‘限电假
期’，那感觉会更愉快。只可惜，我的机器还需要再调整一下，而且现在已经是下班时间了，我
还得加班赶工。要是我老是这样加班，诺克斯会不高兴。”
“好吧，那我们就不耽误你时间了。”詹丝说，“反正我们也还没吃晚饭。不过，等一下你下
班了，可以过来再跟我们多聊一下吗？你可以先洗个澡，然后再过来聊聊，怎么样？”
茱丽叶低头看看自己身上，好像有点怀疑自己是不是真的需要洗澡。“好啊。”她说，“他们
已经帮你们安排房间了吗？”
马奈斯点点头。
“那好吧，我等一下会去找你们。还有，别忘了耳机。”她指着詹丝的耳朵，眼睛看着马奈
斯，点点头，然后就转身回去工作了。这个动作也是在暗示他们，现在她不想再聊了。暂时不
想。
Part 2 Proper Gauge 13
Part 2 Proper Gauge
13
Marnes and Jahns were guided to the mess hall by Marck, a mechanic just getting off second shift.
Marnes seemed to take umbrage at needing a tour guide. The deputy possessed that distinctly male
quality of pretending to know where he was, even when he didn’t. Walking slightly ahead in an
attempt to prove this, he would pause at some intersection, point questioningly in one direction, only
to have Marck laugh and correct him.
“But it all looks the same,” he grumbled as he continued to forge ahead.
Jahns laughed at the manly display and hung back to bend the young mechanic’s ear, recognizing
that he worked on Juliette’s shift. He smelled of the down deep, that odor that wafted in whenever a
mechanic came up to repair something in her offices. It was the blend born of their work, a mix of
perspiration, grease, and vague chemicals. But Jahns was learning to ignore that. She saw that Marck
was a kind and gentle man, a man who took her by the arm when a trolley of rattling parts was
hurried past, a man who acknowledged every single person they passed in those dim corridors of
jutting pipes and drooping wires. He lived and breathed well above his lot in life, Jahns thought. He
radiated confidence. Even in the darkness, his smile threw shadows.
“How well do you know Juliette?” she asked him, once the noisy cart rattled out of earshot.
“Jules? I know her like a sister. We’re all family down here.”
He said this as though he assumed the rest of the silo operated differently. Ahead of them, Marnes
scratched his head at the next intersection before guessing correctly. A pair of mechanics crowded
around the corner from the other direction, laughing. They and Marck exchanged a snippet of
conversation that sounded to Jahns like a foreign language. She suspected Marck was right, that
perhaps things did work differently in the deepest depths of the silo. People down there seemed to
wear their thoughts and feelings on the outside, seemed to say exactly what they meant, much as the
pipes and wires of the place lay exposed and bare.
“Through here,” Marck said, pointing across a wide hall toward the sound of overlapping
conversations and the tinking of knives and forks on metal plates.
“So, is there anything you can tell us about Jules?” Jahns asked. She smiled at Marck as he held
the door for her. “Anything you think we should know?” The two of them followed Marnes to a
handful of empty seats. The kitchen staff bustled among the tables, actually serving the food rather
than having the mechanics line up for it. Before they’d even situated themselves on the dented
aluminum benches, bowls of soup and glasses of water with lime slices bobbing on top were being
set out, and hunks of bread torn from loaves and placed directly on the beaten-up surface of the table.
“Are you asking me to vouch for her?” Marck sat down and thanked the large man who portioned
out their food and spoons. Jahns looked around for a napkin and saw most of the men and women
using the greasy rags that dangled from their back or breast pockets.
“Just anything we should know,” she said.
Marnes studied his bread, sniffed it, then dunked one corner into his soup. A neighboring table
erupted with laughter at the conclusion of some story or joke being told.
“I know she can do any job thrown at her. Always could. But I figure you don’t need me to talk
you into something you’ve already walked this far to get. I’d imagine your minds are already made
up.”
He sipped on a spoonful of soup. Jahns picked up her utensil and saw that it was chipped and
twisted, the butt of the spoon scratched like it’d been used to gouge at something.
“How long have you known her?” Marnes asked. The deputy chewed on his soggy bread and was
doing a heroic job of blending in with his surroundings, of looking like he belonged.
“I was born down here,” Marck told them, raising his voice over the din-filled room. “I was
shadowing in Electrical when Jules showed up. She was a year younger than me. I gave her two
weeks before I figured she’d be kicking and screaming to get out of here. We’ve had our share of
runaways and transfers, kids from the mids thinking their problems wouldn’t dare follow them—”
He left the sentence short, his eyes lighting up as a demure woman squeezed in next to Marnes on
the other side of the table. This new arrival wiped her hands with her rag, stuffed it into her breast
pocket, and leaned over the table to kiss Marck on the cheek.
“Honey, you remember Deputy Marnes.” Marck gestured to Marnes, who was wiping his
mustache with the palm of his hand. “This is my wife, Shirly.” They shook hands. The dark stains on
Shirly’s knuckles seemed permanent, a tattoo from her work.
“And your mayor. This is Jahns.” The two women shook hands as well. Jahns was proud of
herself for accepting the firm grip without caring about the grease.
“Pleased,” Shirly said. She sat. Her food had somehow materialized during the introductions, the
surface of her soup undulating and throwing off steam.
“Has there been a crime, officer?” Shirly smiled at Marnes as she tore off a piece of her bread,
letting him know it was a joke.
“They came to harangue Jules into moving up top with them,” Marck said, and Jahns caught him
lifting an eyebrow at his wife.
“Good luck,” she said. “If that girl moves a level, it’ll be down from here and into the mines.”
Jahns wanted to ask what she meant, but Marck turned and continued where he’d left off.
“So I was working in Electrical when she showed up—”
“You boring them with your shadow days?” Shirly asked.
“I’m tellin’ them about when Jules arrived.”
His wife smiled.
“I was studying under old Walk at the time. This was back when he was still moving around,
getting out and about now and then—”
“Oh yeah, Walker.” Marnes jabbed a spoon at Jahns. “Crafty fellow. Never leaves his workshop.”
Jahns nodded, trying to follow. Several of the revelers at the neighboring table got up to leave.
Shirly and Marck waved good-bye and exchanged words with several of them, before turning their
attention back to the table.
“Where was I?” Marck asked. “Oh, so the first time I met Jules was when she arrived at Walk’s
shop with this pump.” Marck took a sip of his water. “One of the first things they have her doing—
now, keep in mind this is just a waif of a girl, right? Thirteen years old. Skinny as a pipe. Fresh from
the mids or somewhere up there.” He waved his hand like it was all the same. “They’ve got her
hauling these massive pumps up to Walk’s to have him respool the motors, basically unwrap a mile
of wire and lay it back in place.” Marck paused and laughed. “Well, to have Walk make me do all the
work. Anyway, it’s like this initiation, you know? You all do that sort of thing to your shadows,
right? Just to break ’em down a little?”
Neither Jahns nor Marnes moved. Marck shrugged and continued. “Anyway, these pumps are
heavy, okay? They had to weigh more than she did. Maybe double. And she’s supposed to wrestle
these things onto carts by herself and get them up four flights of stairs—”
“Wait. How?” Jahns asked, trying to imagine a girl that age moving a hunk of metal twice her
weight.
“Doesn’t matter. Pulleys, ropes, bribery, whatever she likes. That’s the point, right? And they’ve
got ten of these things set aside for her to deliver—”
“Ten of them,” Jahns repeated.
“Yeah, and probably two of them actually needed respooling,” Shirly added.
“Oh, if that.” Mark laughed. “So Walk and I are taking bets on how long before she cuts and runs
back to her old man.”
“I gave her a week,” Shirly said.
Marck stirred his soup and shook his head. “The thing was, after she pulled it off, none of us had
any idea how she’d done it. It was years later that she finally told us.”
“We were sitting over at that table.” Shirly pointed. “I’d never laughed so hard in my life.”
“Told you what?” Jahns asked. She had forgotten her soup. The steam had long stopped swirling
from its surface.
“Well, sure enough, I wound the coils on ten pumps that week. The whole time, I’m waiting for
her to break. Hoping for it. My fingers were sore. No way she could move all of them.” Marck shook
his head. “No way. But I kept winding them, she kept hauling them off, and a while later she’d bring
another. Got all ten of them done in six days. The little snot went to Knox, who was just a shift
manager back then, and asked if she could take a day off.”
Shirly laughed and peered into her soup.
“So she got someone to help her,” Marnes said. “Somebody probably just felt sorry for her.”
Marck wiped his eyes and shook his head. “Aw, hell no. Somebody would’ve seen, would’ve said
something. Especially when Knox demanded to know. Old man nearly blew a fuse asking her what
she’d done. Jules just stands there, calm as a dead battery, shrugging.”
“How did she do it?” Jahns asked. Now she was dying to know.
Marck smiled. “She only moved the one pump. Nearly broke her back getting it up here, but only
moved the one.”
“Yeah, and you rewound that thing ten times,” Shirly said.
“Hey, you don’t have to tell me.”
“Wait.” Jahns held up her hand. “But what about the others?”
“Done them herself. I blame Walk, talking his head off while she swept the shop that first night.
She was asking questions, badgering me, watching me work on that first pump. When I got done, she
pushed the pump down the hall, didn’t bother with the stairs, and stowed it in the paint shop right on
the trolley. Then she went downstairs, got the next pump, and hauled it around the corner into the
tool lock-up. Spent the entire night in there teaching herself how to rewire a motor.”
“Ah,” Jahns said, seeing where this was going. “And the next morning she brought you the same
pump from the day before, from just around the corner.”
“Right. Then she went and wound copper four levels below while I was doing the same thing up
here.”
Marnes erupted with laughter and slapped the table, bowls and bread hopping.
“I averaged two motors a day that week, a brutal pace.”
“Technically, it was only one motor,” Shirly pointed out, laughing.
“Yeah. And she kept up with me. Had them all back to her caster with a day to spare, a day she
asked to take off.”
“A day she got off, if I remember right,” Shirly added. She shook her head. “A shadow with a day
off. The damnedest thing.”
“The point is, she wasn’t ever supposed to get the task done in the first place.”
“Smart girl,” Jahns said, smiling.
“Too smart,” Marck said.
“So what did she do with her day off?” Marnes asked.
Marck pushed his lime down beneath the surface of his water with his finger and held it there a
moment.
“She spent the day with me and Walk, sweeping the shop, asking how things worked, where these
wires went to, how to loosen a bolt and dig inside something, that kind of stuff.” He took a sip of
water. “I guess what I’m sayin’ is that if you want to give Jules a job, be very careful.”
“Why be careful?” Marnes asked.
Marck gazed up at the confusion of pipes and wires overhead.
“’Cause she’ll damn well do it. Even if you don’t really expect her to.”
第二部分：精准口径 13
第二部分：精准口径
13
马克带着马奈斯和詹丝去大餐厅。他是早班的工人，刚下班。马奈斯好像有点不太高兴，
因为他竟然需要人带路，很没面子。这位副保安官很在乎那种男性尊严，明明不认得路却非要
装出一副识途老马的样子。他走在前面，想证明自己真的认得路。每次走到路口，他就会停下
脚步，有点犹豫地指着某个方向，然后马克就会大笑起来，说他指错方向了。
“怎么每条路看起来都一样。”他嘴里咕哝着，但还是继续走在前面。
詹丝看他拼命想展现男性雄风，觉得很好笑。她走在后面和那个年轻工人聊天，因为她发
现他和茱丽叶都是在早班工作。他身上散发出一种“底层”的气味。每次有工人到她办公室去修
理东西的时候，身上都会散发出那种气味。那是他们工作环境特有的气味，混杂着汗臭味、油
污味，还有若隐若现的化学药品味。她很熟悉那种气味。但此刻，她开始训练自己不要去在意
那种气味。她发现马克个性温和，心地善良，因为有人用手推车载着零件冲过他们旁边的时
候，他会赶紧伸手去搀住她的手臂。那条走廊灯光昏暗，头顶上全是水管电线，人来人往，而
马克竟然认得迎面走来的任何一个人。詹丝感觉得到，他虽然是个工人，可是浑身却散发出一
种高贵的气息，散发出一种自信。即使灯光昏暗，他的笑容依然显得如此灿烂，散发着迷人的
光辉。
过了一会儿，那台推车渐渐走远，“哗啦啦”的嘈杂声也消失了，这时候，她才开口问
他：“你是不是很了解茱丽叶？”
“祖儿？她就像我妹妹一样。在我们这底下，大家就像一家人。”
他那种口气，仿佛他们这里和地堡其他地方都不一样。没多久，走在前面的马奈斯又来到
另一个路口，他拼命搔头，不知道该猜哪个方向才对。这时候，转角那边有一对夫妻模样的工
人迎面挤过来，有说有笑，和他们擦身而过。马克和他们打个招呼，聊了几句，可是詹丝发现
他们说的简直就像是什么外国话，她根本听不懂。她开始怀疑马克说得没错，这地堡最深层的
地方，也许真的和其他楼层完全不一样。这里的人坦率质朴，想到什么就说什么，喜怒哀乐全
写在脸上，就仿佛这里的水管电线一样，赤裸裸地暴露在天花板上，毫无遮掩。
“从这里。”这里是一条很宽的走廊，马克伸手指着走廊尽头。那里面传来刀叉碰撞铁盘的
叮当声，还有闹哄哄的讲话声。
“那么，茱丽叶的事，你可以多说一些给我们听听看吗？”詹丝继续追问。马克帮她拉开
门，她对他微微一笑。“你觉得她有什么特别的地方，都可以说来听听看。”马奈斯看到餐厅里
有好几个空位，于是就走过去，他们跟在后面。餐厅的服务生在餐桌间跑来跑去，忙成一团，
他们把饭菜端到桌上，那些工人不需要排队等。每张桌子桌面都满是刮痕，旁边的铝制长板凳
也都很老旧，椅面凹凸不平。詹丝他们还来不及坐下，服务生已经从整条面包上撕下几大块放
在桌上，又端上几碗汤和几杯水，水杯边缘还夹着柠檬片。
那个大块头服务生帮他们上好菜，摆好汤匙。马克坐下来，跟他说了声谢谢。詹丝转头看
看四周，想找找看有没有餐巾纸，可是却看到邻桌的工人胸前的口袋里都挂着一块油腻腻的
布，他们把那块布掏出来当餐巾。这时候，马克忽然开口问她：“你是想听我帮她说好话，担保
她绝对没问题？”
“什么都可以，只要你知道的都可以说。”她说。
马奈斯打量着面包，拿到鼻子前面嗅一嗅，然后把面包的一角泡进汤里。隔壁那桌的人忽
然窃笑起来，好像有人说了什么笑话。
“我只知道，无论你交代什么工作给她，她都会做得好好的。没有她做不到的，永远都是这
样。不过，你应该用不着听我说这个吧，因为，为了她，你大老远到这里来，我相信你应该已
经打定主意了。”
他舀起一匙汤啜了一口。詹丝拿起汤匙，发现汤匙已经弯了，满是缺口凹痕，而且尾端有
刮伤，好像曾经被用来挖过什么东西。
“你认识她多久了？”马奈斯问。他嘴里嚼着沾湿的面包，一副充满男性气概的模样，因为
邻桌的工人都是这样吃，他当然不能落在人后。
“我是在这里出生的。”马克告诉他们。餐厅里人声嘈杂，他必须说得很大声，“祖儿来的时
候，我还在发电厂当学徒，她比我小一岁。当初，我跟自己打赌，赌她两个礼拜就会发疯，又
哭又闹说她要走。很多逃家的孩子，还有那些在其他楼层混不下去的，都会跑到我们这里来。
他们都以为，在别的地方闯了祸，跑到这里来就没事了——”
说到这里他忽然停住了，眼睛忽然一亮，因为他看到一个女人走到桌子对面，挤到马奈斯
旁边的座位上。那女人相貌很端庄，她从胸前口袋掏出那块布擦擦手，然后站起来弯腰凑近马
克，在他脸上亲了一下。
“亲爱的，你应该还记得马奈斯副保安官吧？”马克伸手指向马奈斯，而马奈斯正抬起手掌
搓搓嘴边的胡子。“这是我太太，雪莉。”马奈斯和雪莉握握手。雪莉指关节黑黑的，看起来像
是永远洗不掉。那是她的工作烙印在她身上的痕迹。
“这位是我们的首长，詹丝。”詹丝也和雪莉握手。詹丝忽然觉得很自豪，因为她竟然有勇
气去握那只脏兮兮、油腻腻的手。
“很荣幸见到你。”说着雪莉就坐下了。刚刚他们在寒暄的时候，服务生已经把饭菜放到她
桌上，碗里的汤面还在摇晃，热气腾腾。
“长官，是不是我们这里又有人犯罪了？”雪莉撕下一小块面包，对马奈斯微微一笑，暗示
她是在开玩笑。
“这次首长亲自出马，是为了要游说祖儿跟他们到上面去。”马克说。詹丝注意到他朝他太
太挑了挑眉毛，一副不可置信的表情，好像认定她会白费功夫。
“那就祝你好运了。”她说，“在我看来，如果那女孩子肯搬到别的层楼，那么她唯一会去
的，一定是底下的矿场。”
詹丝想追问她这句话是什么意思，可是马克忽然转头看着她，继续他刚刚没说完的话：
“祖儿来的时候，我还在发电厂当学徒——”
“还在说你当年当学徒的陈年往事啊，不怕他们无聊死？”雪莉说。
“我是要告诉他们祖儿刚来的时候的事。”
他太太嫣然一笑。
“当时我正跟着老沃学习，那时候，他还能偶尔到外面走动走动——”
“噢，对了，沃克。”马奈斯不自觉地抓起汤匙朝詹丝挥舞了几下，“那老家伙功夫很厉害，
而且他从早到晚窝在他的工坊里，根本不出门。”
詹丝点点头，努力想听懂他们在说什么。这时邻桌的几个工人已经吃饱，站起来准备要离
开了，马克和雪莉朝他们挥挥手说再见，又和其中几个人说了两句，然后才又转回来跟詹丝说
话。
“刚刚说到哪里了？”马克说，“噢，对了，有一天，祖儿拖着一个抽水马达到老沃的工坊，
那是我第一次见到她。”马克端起杯子喝了一口水。“那是她到下面来之后，他们要她做的第一
件事。这里我要先强调一下，当时她还不过是个小女孩，对不对？才十二岁，瘦得皮包骨。反
正就是刚从中段楼层来的菜鸟。”说到这里他挥挥手，一副很瞧不起那种人的样子。“他们叫她
把那些大得吓死人的抽水马达搬到老沃的工坊，让老沃换掉马达轴心的铜线，意思就是，要先
把轴心的铜线拉出来，然后再重新缠上新的铜线。那铜线拉出来大概有一公里半那么长。”
说到这里，马克大笑起来：“呃，应该是说，他们是要叫老沃克把那些工作丢给我。总而言
之，那就像是要给刚进门的徒弟下马威，懂吧？大家都是这样对付徒弟的，不是吗？挫挫他们
的锐气。”
詹丝和马奈斯都没有反应。马克耸耸肩，然后又继续说：“总之，那些抽水马达重得要命，
对吧？绝对比她的体重还重，说不定重两倍。然后，她必须用尽吃奶的力把马达弄上推车，然
后推上四层楼的楼梯——”
“等一下，楼梯？怎么推？”詹丝忽然追问。她无法想象，那种年纪的小女生怎么搬得动比
她重两倍的铁马达。
“他们才不管她用什么办法。用滑轮、绳子，甚至想办法给别人一点好处，找人帮忙，随便
她。目的就是要看看她有什么本事，懂吗？他们总共弄了十个那种马达等她搬——”
“十个！”詹丝自言自语嘀咕着。
“没错，而且，其实可能只有两个真的需要换铜线。”雪莉补了一句。
“哦，真的吗？”马克大笑起来，“所以，老沃克和我就打赌了，看她多久会受不了，回楼上
去找她爸爸哭诉。”
“我赌一个礼拜。”雪莉说。
马克拿汤匙搅着碗里的汤，摇摇头：“没想到后来，那些马达竟然全部被她搞定了。大家都
傻眼了，搞不懂她是怎么办到的。一直到过了好几年以后，她才告诉我们真相。”
“当时我就坐在那张餐桌旁边听她说。”她指着附近一张桌子，“我笑到肚子痛。这辈子从来
没有笑得那么惨。”
“她说了什么？”詹丝急着问。她已经听得入迷，忘了喝汤。她的汤都凉了。
“呃，那个礼拜我就一直在搞那十个马达，把铜线缠到轴心上。那一整个礼拜，我一直都在
等着看她什么时候会放弃。我很希望她放弃，因为我手指头痛得要命。她绝对没办法把十个马
达全部弄上来。绝对不可能。”马克摇摇头。“绝对不可能。可是，结果我还是一直缠铜线，缠
好了她就把马达拖出去，然后过没多久，又拖一个进来。结果，六天之内，那些马达就全部弄
完了。然后，那小鬼就去找诺克斯，诺克斯当时还是排班经理。她说她想休一天假。”
雪莉大笑起来，低头看着碗里的汤。
“她一定是找到人帮她。”马奈斯说，“说不定是有人可怜她。”
马克揉揉眼睛，摇摇头，“噢，根本不可能。要是有人帮她，一定会被人看到，一定会有人
说出去。特别是，万一诺克斯问起来，谁敢不说？那位老先生一直逼问她是谁帮她的，她就是
不说，气得他差点脑充血。当时，她站在那里，像石头一样一动也不动，稳如泰山，一点都不
怕。她就只是耸耸肩，一声不吭。”
“她到底是怎么办到的？”这下子詹丝急了。她迫不及待想知道。
马克微微一笑：“她只搬了一个马达。搬那玩意儿上楼梯，搬得她腰差点断掉，不过，她就
只搬了那一个。”
“是啊，结果，你就一直重复缠那个马达的铜线，总共缠了十次。”雪莉说。
“喂，用不着你提醒我。”
“等一下。”詹丝两手一抬，“那其他那些马达呢？”
“她自己缠的。这都要怪老沃，他真是话太多了。那天晚上，她跑到我们工坊来，吵了我们
一晚上。她一直问东问西，缠着我不放，看我怎么修理第一个马达。后来，等我弄好了，她就
把那个马达放进推车，推到外面的走廊，不过，她并没有下楼梯，而是把推车推到隔壁的油漆
间里藏起来。然后，她自己下楼梯，去拿第二个马达，然后拖着马达拐个弯，拖进到转角的工
具间。整个晚上，她都窝在那里研究怎么缠马达的铜线。”
“噢。”詹丝嗯了一声，终于想通是怎么回事了，“然后，第二天早上，她就跑到你们隔壁的
油漆间，把那个修好的马达推过去给你。”
“没错。然后她就跑四层楼到下面去缠铜线，而我也在上面干同样的事。”
马奈斯爆笑出来，两手往桌上一拍，碗和面包都震得跳起来。
“那个礼拜，我平均一天要缠两个马达。真要命。”
“如果算精确一点，平均一天才一个吧。”雪莉纠正他，笑个不停。
“好啦，而且她动作比我快，进度慢慢超过我，后来，那些马达都完工交出去之后，她还多
出了一天空当，所以她说她想休假。”
“如果我没记错的话，他们真的放了她一天假。”雪莉边说边摇头，“小学徒竟然可以放假，
天塌下来了。”
“别忘了，一开始他们根本没指望她有办法完成这件工作。”
“聪明的孩子。”詹丝笑着说。
“聪明得吓人。”马克说。
“那么，那天放假，她去干什么？”马奈斯问。
马克用手指捏起那片柠檬，浸泡在杯子的水里，就这样手悬在半空中好一会儿。
“那天她窝在我们工坊里，缠着我和老沃克，东摸摸西摸摸，东问西问，这个怎么做，那个
怎么做，那些电线是干什么用的，螺帽要怎么转松，诸如此类，打破砂锅问到底。”他举起杯子
啜了一口水，“说了半天，其实我只想强调一件事。要是你打算把一项工作交付给祖儿，那么，
你要很小心。”
“为什么要小心？”马奈斯问。
马克抬头看看头顶上乱七八糟的水管电线。
“因为她一定会做得超水准，比完美更完美。而且，那些事都是一开始你根本不敢奢望她办
得到的。”
Part 2 Proper Gauge 14
Part 2 Proper Gauge
14
After their meal, Shirly and Marck gave them directions to the bunk room. Jahns watched as the
young married couple exchanged kisses. Marck was coming off his shift while Shirly was going onto
hers. The shared meal was breakfast for one and supper for the other. Jahns thanked them both for
their time and complimented the food, then she and Marnes left a mess hall nearly as noisy as the
generator room had been and followed the winding corridors toward their beds for the night.
Marnes would be staying in the communal bunk room used by junior first-shift mechanics. A
small cot had been made up for him that Jahns gauged to be half a foot too short. Down the hall from
the bunk room, a small apartment had been reserved for Jahns. The two of them decided to wait
there, biding their time in private, rubbing the aches in their legs, talking about how different
everything in the down deep was, until there was a knock on their door. Juliette pushed it open and
stepped inside.
“They got you both in one room?” Juliette asked, surprised.
Jahns laughed. “No, they’ve got the deputy in the bunk room. And I would’ve been happy staying
out there with the others.”
“Forget it,” Juliette said. “They put up recruits and visiting families in here all the time. It’s
nothing.”
Jahns watched as Juliette placed a length of string in her mouth, then gathered her hair, still wet
from a shower, and tied it up in a tail. She had changed into another pair of overalls, and Jahns
guessed the stains in them were permanent, that the fabric was actually laundered and ready for
another shift.
“So how soon could we announce this power holiday?” Juliette asked. She finished her knot and
crossed her arms, leaning back against the wall beside the door. “I would think you’d wanna take
advantage of the post-cleaning mood, right?”
“How soon can you start?” Jahns asked. She realized, suddenly, that part of the reason she wanted
this woman as her sheriff was that she felt unattainable. Jahns glanced over at Marnes and wondered
how much of his attraction to her, all those many years ago when she was young and with Donald,
had been as simply motivated.
“I can start tomorrow,” Juliette said. “We could have the backup generator online by morning. I
could work another shift tonight to make sure the gaskets and seals—”
“No,” Jahns said, raising her hand. “How soon can you start as sheriff?” She dug through her open
bag, sorting folders across the bed, looking for the contract.
“I’m—I thought we discussed this. I have no interest in being—”
“They make the best ones,” Marnes said. “The ones who have no interest in it.” He stood across
from Juliette, his thumbs tucked into his overalls, leaning against one of the small apartment’s walls.
“I’m sorry, but there’s no one down here who can just slip into my boots,” Juliette said, shaking
her head. “I don’t think you two understand all that we do—”
“I don’t think you understand what we do up top,” Jahns said. “Or why we need you.”
Juliette tossed her head and laughed. “Look, I’ve got machines down here that you can’t possibly
—”
“And what good are they?” Jahns asked. “What do these machines do?”
“They keep this whole goddamned place running!” Juliette declared. “The oxygen you breathe?
We recycle that down here. The toxins you exhale? We pump them back into the earth. You want me
to write up a list of everything oil makes? Every piece of plastic, every ounce of rubber, all the
solvents and cleaners, and I’m not talking about the power it generates, but everything else!”
“And yet it was all here before you were born,” Jahns pointed out.
“Well, it wouldn’t have lasted my lifetime, I’ll tell you that. Not in the state it was in.” She
crossed her arms again and leaned back against the wall. “I don’t think you get what a mess we’d be
in without these machines.”
“And I don’t think you get how pointless these machines are going to become without all these
people.”
Juliette looked away. It was the first time Jahns had seen her flinch.
“Why don’t you ever visit your father?”
Juliette snapped her head around and looked at the other wall. She wiped some loose hair back
from her forehead. “Go look at my work log,” she said. “Tell me when I’d fit it in.”
Before Jahns could reply, could say that it was family, that there’s always time, Juliette turned to
face her. “Do you think I don’t care about people? Is that it? Because you’d be wrong. I care about
every person in this silo. And the men and women down here, the forgotten floors of Mechanical, this
is my family. I visit with them every day. I break bread with them several times a day. We work, live,
and die alongside one another.” She looked to Marnes. “Isn’t that right? You’ve seen it.”
Marnes didn’t say anything. Jahns wondered if she was referring specifically to the “dying” part.
“Did you ask him why he never comes to see me? Because he has all the time in the world. He has
nothing up there.”
“Yes, we met with him. Your father seemed like a very busy man. As determined as you.”
Juliette looked away.
“And as stubborn.” Jahns left the paperwork on the bed and went to stand by the door, just a pace
away from Juliette. She could smell the soap in the younger woman’s hair. Could see her nostrils
flare with her rapid, heavy breathing.
“The days pile up and weigh small decisions down, don’t they? That decision not to visit. The first
few days slide by easy enough; anger and youth power them along. But then they pile up like
unrecycled trash. Isn’t that right?”
Juliette waved her hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about days becoming weeks becoming months becoming years.” She almost said that
she’d been through the same exact thing, was still piling them up, but Marnes was in the room,
listening. “After a while, you’re staying mad just to justify an old mistake. Then it’s just a game. Two
people staring away, refusing to look back over their shoulders, afraid to be the first one to take that
chance—”
“It wasn’t like that,” Juliette said. “I don’t want your job. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of others
who do.”
“If it’s not you, it’s someone I’m not sure I can trust. Not anymore.”
“Then give it to the next girl.” She smiled.
“It’s you or him. And I think he’ll be getting more guidance from the thirties than he will from
me, or from the Pact.”
Juliette seemed to react to this. Her arms loosened across her chest. She turned and met Jahns’s
gaze. Marnes was studying all this from across the room.
“The last sheriff, Holston, what happened to him?”
“He went to cleaning,” Jahns said.
“He volunteered,” Marnes added gruffly.
“I know, but why?” She frowned. “I heard it was his wife.”
“There’s all kinds of speculation—”
“I remember him talking about her, when you two came down to look into George’s death. I
thought, at first, that he was flirting with me, but all he could talk about was this wife of his.”
“They were in the lottery while we were down here,” Marnes reminded her.
“Yeah. That’s right.” She studied the bed for a while. Paperwork was spread across it.
“I wouldn’t know how to do this job. I only know how to fix things.”
“It’s the same thing,” Marnes told her. “You were a big help with our case down here. You see
how things work. How they fit together. Little clues that other people miss.”
“You’re talking about machines,” she said.
“People aren’t much different,” Marnes told her.
“I think you already know this,” Jahns said. “I think you have the right attitude, actually. The right
disposition. This is only slightly a political office. Distance is good.”
Juliette shook her head and looked back to Marnes. “So you nominated me for this, is that it? I
wondered how this came up. Seemed like something right out of the ground.”
“You’d be good at it,” Marnes told her. “I think you’d be damned good at anything you set your
mind to. And this is more important work than you think.”
“And I’d live up top?”
“Your office is on level one. Near the airlock.”
Juliette seemed to mull this over. Jahns was excited that she was even asking questions.
“The pay is more than you’re making now, even with the extra shifts.”
“You checked?”
Jahns nodded. “I took some liberties before we came down.”
“Like talking to my father.”
“That’s right. He would love to see you, you know. If you came with us.”
Juliette looked down at her boots. “Not sure about that.”
“There’s one other thing,” Marnes said, catching Jahns’s eye. He glanced at the paperwork on the
bed. The crisply folded contract for Peter Billings was on top. “IT,” he reminded her.
Jahns caught his drift.
“There’s one matter to clear up, before you accept.”
“I’m not sure I’m accepting. I’d want to hear more about this power holiday, organize the work
shifts down here—”
“According to tradition, IT signs off on all nominated positions—”
Juliette rolled her eyes and blew out her breath. “IT.”
“Yes, and we checked in with them on the way down as well, just to smooth things over.”
“I’m sure,” Juliette said.
“It’s about these requisitions,” Marnes interjected.
Juliette turned to him.
“We know it probably ain’t nothing, but it’s gonna come up—”
“Wait, is this about the heat tape?”
“Heat tape?”
“Yeah.” Juliette frowned and shook her head. “Those bastards.”
Jahns mimed pinching two inches of air. “They had a folder on you this thick. Said you were
skimming supplies meant for them.”
“No they didn’t. Are you kidding?” She pointed toward the door. “We can’t get any of the
supplies we need because of them. When I needed heat tape—we had a leak in a heat exchanger a
few months back—we couldn’t get any because Supply tells us the backing material for the tape is all
spoken for. Now, we had that order in a while back, and then I find out from one of our porters that
the tape is going to IT, that they’ve got miles of the stuff for the skins of all their test suits.”
Juliette took a deep breath.
“So I had some intercepted.” She looked to Marnes as she admitted this. “Look, I’m keeping the
power on so they can do whatever it is they do up there, and I can’t get basic supplies. And even
when I do, the quality is complete crap, probably because of unrealistic quotas, rushing the
manufacturing chain—”
“If these are items you really needed,” Jahns interrupted, “then I understand.”
She looked to Marnes, who smiled and dipped his chin as if to say he’d told her this was the right
woman for the job.
Jahns ignored him. “I’m actually glad to hear your side of this,” she told Juliette. “And I wish I
made this trip more often, as sore as my legs are. There are things we take for granted up top, mostly
because they aren’t well understood. I can see now that our offices need to be in better
communication, have more of the constant contact I have with IT.”
“I’ve been saying that for just about twenty years,” Juliette said. “Down here, we joke that this
place was laid out to keep us well out of the way. And that’s how it feels, sometimes.”
“Well, if you come up top, if you take this job, people will hear you. You could be the first link in
that chain of command.”
“Where would IT fall?”
“There will be resistance, but that’s normal with them. I’ve handled it before. I’ll wire my office
for some emergency waivers. We’ll make them retroactive, get these acquisitions aboveboard.” Jahns
studied the younger woman. “As long as I have your assurance that every one of those diverted
supplies were absolutely necessary.”
Juliette did not flinch away from the challenge. “They were,” she said. “Not that it mattered. The
stuff we got from them was crap. Couldn’t have fallen apart better if it’d been designed to. I’ll tell
you what, we finally got our shipment from Supply and have extra tape. I’d love to drop off a peace
offering on our way up. Our design is so much better—”
“Our way up?” Jahns asked, making sure she understood what Juliette was saying, what she was
agreeing to.
Juliette looked them both over. She nodded. “You’ll have to give me a week to sort out the
generator. I’m holding you to that power holiday. And just so you understand, I’ll always consider
myself Mechanical, and I’ll be doing this partly because I see what happens when problems are
ignored. My big push down here has been preventive maintenance. No more waiting for things to
break before we fix them, but to go around and make them hum while they’re still working. Too
many issues have been ignored, let degrade. And I think, if the silo can be thought of as one big
engine, we are like the dirty oil pan down here that needs some people’s attention.” She reached her
hand out to Jahns. “Get me that power holiday, and I’m your man.”
Jahns smiled and took her hand, admired the warmth and power in her confident handshake.
“I’ll get on it first thing in the morning,” she said. “And thank you. Welcome aboard.”
Marnes crossed the room to shake Juliette’s hand as well. “Nice to have you on, boss.”
Juliette smirked as she took his hand. “Well now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I think I’ll have
a lot to learn before you go calling me that.”
第二部分：精准口径 14
第二部分：精准口径
14
吃过晚饭后，雪莉和马克教他们要怎么走到宿舍区，然后，那对年轻夫妻就互相拥抱亲吻
了一下。詹丝一直看着他们。马克刚下班，而雪莉正要去上班，两个人一起吃饭，不过，对马
克来说，这是晚餐，而对雪莉来说，这等于是早餐。詹丝跟他们说谢谢，说东西很好吃，而且
很不好意思耽搁了他们这么多时间。然后，她和马奈斯就走出了大餐厅。此刻，大餐厅里的喧
闹声惊天动地，和发电厂有得比。他们沿着弯弯曲曲的走廊走向他们晚上要过夜的地方。
马奈斯要去大通铺，和早班的工人学徒一起睡。他们帮他留了一张床，不过，詹丝暗忖，
那种十几岁孩子睡的床，恐怕比马奈斯的身高短三十厘米，他睡得下吗？他们帮詹丝安排的是
一间小住宅，就在大通铺外面那条走廊上。他们决定先到她房间去坐一下，那里比较安静，他
们可以聊聊天打发时间，揉揉酸痛的腿。聊着聊着，他们都觉得这里的人真的很不一样。没多
久，忽然听到有人敲门。是茱丽叶，她推开门走进来。
“他们要你们两个睡同一间房？”茱丽叶有点惊讶。
詹丝笑起来：“没有啦，他们安排副保安官去睡大通铺。其实，我自己也宁愿去和大家挤一
挤，比较热闹。”
“你不用那么客气。”茱丽叶说，“每次有新人来，或是有亲戚朋友来探班，我们都会安排他
们睡在这里。没什么啦。”
接着，茱丽叶拿出一条细绳子，放到嘴里用牙齿咬着，然后一手伸到后面挽住头发，另一
手拿绳子去绑，扎成一条马尾。詹丝一直看着她的动作。她的头发还没干，显然刚洗过澡，身
上换了另一件工作服。詹丝注意到她衣服上有一些污垢，心里想，那恐怕是永远洗不掉的。明
天她就是要穿这套工作服去上班。
“那么，我们什么时候可以宣布‘限电假期’？”茱丽叶开门见山就问。她已经在绳子上打好了
结，两手又放下来交叉在胸前，背靠在门边的墙上。“我猜，你应该会想利用镜头清洗后那种气
氛，对吧？”
“你打算什么时候开始？”詹丝问。那一刹那，詹丝突然感觉到，她之所以会希望茱丽叶当
她的保安官，其中一个原因是，这女孩子不是她想要就能要得到。越是得不到越想要。詹丝瞥
了马奈斯一眼，忽然想到，多年以前，她还年轻的时候嫁给唐纳，而马奈斯还一直对她念念不
忘，那么，他会不会也是因为得不到她所以更想要她？
“我明天就可以动工。”茱丽叶说，“明天一早，我就可以启动备用发电机，而且今天晚上我
可以连夜加班，先检查一下垫圈和密封垫——”
“你误会了。”詹丝抬起手，“我是问你什么时候可以就任保安官？”她伸手到背包里摸索了一
下，拿出文件夹，摊在床上整理了一下，想找那张委任书。
“我——我们不是讨论过了吗？我真的没兴趣——”
“没兴趣干的人——”马奈斯说，“——反而干得最好。”他站在茱丽叶对面，背靠着墙，拇指
扣在裤子的口袋里。
“对不起，问题是，底下这边没半个人有办法接我的工作。”茱丽叶摇摇头，“我觉得你们根
本搞不清楚我们这边——”
“我倒觉得你根本搞不清楚我们上面在做什么。”詹丝说，“也根本不懂我们为什么需要你。”
茱丽叶歪歪头，大笑起来：“你听着，我们底下的机器你根本——”
“那些机器有那么重要吗？”詹丝反问她，“那些机器是做什么用的？”
“做什么用？让这个要命的鬼地方可以继续运作下去！”茱丽叶大喊，“你吸的氧气哪来的？
是我们底下这里循环处理出来的！那你呼出来的二氧化碳呢？我们把二氧化碳灌进土壤里。你
知道石油可以做成什么东西吗？要不要我列张清单给你看？你用的每一种塑胶、每一种橡胶、
每一种溶剂、每一种清洁剂，还有你用的电，都是从石油来的！太多了，说都说不完！”
“你还没出生之前，这些东西就已经都在了。”詹丝提醒她。
“哼，告诉你，不用等到我死，这些东西就都不见了。不会再像现在这样了。”她又把两手
交叉在胸前，背靠回墙上，“我觉得你根本搞不清楚，要是没有这些机器，我们会悲惨到什么地
步。”
“我倒认为是你没搞懂，要是没有这些人，这些机器又有什么用？”
茱丽叶撇开头。詹丝注意到，这是她第一次退缩。
“你为什么从来不去看你爸爸？”
茱丽叶把头撇到另一边，看着另一面墙，伸手拨开额头上的头发。“你为什么不去看看我的
工作日志？”她说。“我有时间吗？”
詹丝本来想告诉她，爸爸是她的家人，再怎么样都应该找时间陪伴自己的家人。但她还来
不及开口，茱丽叶就转头看着她。“你以为我不关心别人吗？是吗？告诉你，你错了。我关心地
堡里的每一个人，还有底下的人，不管男人女人。有谁关心地堡最下面这四层楼，整个机电
区？他们才是我的家人。我每天都跟他们在一起，每天三餐一起分面包吃，一起工作，一起生
活，死了也会埋在一起。”她转头看着马奈斯，“我说得对不对？你不是亲眼看过吗？”
马奈斯没吭声。詹丝有点纳闷，她是不是故意要强调“死亡”这件事？
“你有没有问过他，为什么从来不下来看看我？他在上面根本没事干，他有的是时间。”
“我们已经跟他见过面了。你爸爸看起来好像很忙，而且和你很像，很果断，很坚定。”
茱丽叶撇开头。
“而且顽固。这一点也很像。”詹丝把委任书丢在床上，走到门口，站在茱丽叶面前，和她
隔着一步的距离。她闻得到那女孩头发上的肥皂香，看得到她鼻孔里鼻毛在晃动。她呼吸好急
促。
“也许当初只是做了一个小小的决定，但随着日子一天天过去，无数个日子层层堆叠，到后
来，那个决定会变得无比沉重，不是吗？当初，你决定不去看你爸爸。也许一开始那几天你没
什么感觉，因为你还年轻，而且一肚子愤怒。然而，时间久了，那些日子就会变成无法清除的
垃圾，挤压你的心，对不对？”
茱丽叶不耐烦地挥挥手：“我听不懂你在讲什么。”
“我的意思是，一天过去了，很快的，一个礼拜也过去了，然后是一个月，一年，很多很多
年——”她差一点就脱口而出，说她自己也经历过这一切，甚至到现在还是一样，一直累积，一
直累积。虽然她没说出口，但马奈斯也在旁边。他听得出来。“很久很久以后，你还是不肯放下
那股怨气，因为你必须用这种方式来合理化自己从前犯的错。到后来，那会变成纯粹只是游
戏，两个人背对背，不肯回头看对方，因为他们都怕变成那个先回头看的人——”
“没这回事。”茱丽叶说，“我不想当你的保安官。而且我相信你口袋里一定有很多人选。”
“我只信任你。如果你不肯，我真的不晓得还有谁是我能信任的。另外一个人选，我已经无
法再信任了。”
“既然还有人选，那你就找她吧，找另外那个女孩子。”她笑着说。
“不是她，是他。问题是，他可能会比较倾向接受三十楼的指挥，而不是听我的命令，也不
见得会遵守‘公约’。”
听到最后这句话，茱丽叶似乎有反应了。她慢慢放下交叉在胸前的双手，然后转身看着詹
丝眼睛。马奈斯站在房间另一头看着她们。
“霍斯顿，前任的保安官，他到底出了什么事？”
“他被送出去清洗镜头。”詹丝说。
“他是自愿的。”马奈斯补了一句。
“这我知道，可是，为什么？”她皱起眉头，“我听说，那跟他太太有关。”
“那纯粹只是揣测——”
“那次你们两个下来调查瑞克死亡的案子，我记得当时听他提到过她。起初他一直缠着我，
我还以为他对我有兴趣，但没想到他开口闭口都是他太太。”
“那次我们下来的时候，他和他太太刚抽到签，准备要生孩子。”马奈斯提醒她。
“对，没错。”她看着床上。零零落落的文件撒满了床。
“我不知道该怎么当保安官。我只会修理机器。”
“修理机器和当保安官是一样的道理。”马奈斯对她说，“那次我们下来办案，你帮了很大的
忙。你看得出来龙去脉，有办法理出头绪。别人忽略掉的小线索，都逃不过你的眼睛。”
“那时候我只是厘清了一些机器的问题。我懂机器。”她说。
“人就跟机器一样。”马奈斯说。
“我认为这个道理你一定懂。”詹丝说，“你对人对事有一种独到的见解和判断，还有你天生
的性格。整个地堡就像一部巨大的机器，错综复杂，一旦出了问题，你必须搞得清楚零件结
构，才有办法修理。保安官这个工作，就是要搞清楚人跟人之间的关系，搞清楚了才有办法解
决问题。我认为你很擅长处理这种东西。”
茱丽叶摇摇头，转头看着马奈斯：“所以，你推荐我，就是为了这个，是不是？我还觉得奇
怪，怎么突然莫名其妙找我当保安官。”
“你一定会做得很好。”马奈斯对她说，“我认为，不管做什么，一旦你开始用心，你就会变
成最顶尖的、第一流的。而保安官这工作有多重要，远超过你的想象。”
“那么，我是不是必须搬到最顶楼？”
“你的办公室在一楼。就在气闸室旁边。”
茱丽叶似乎开始考虑了。虽然她只是试探性的询问，不过詹丝已经开始感到振奋。
“而且待遇很好，比你现在的好很多。就算你每天加班都没那么多。”
“你调查过我现在的待遇？”
詹丝点点头：“下来之前，我做了一点功课。”
“比如去找我爸爸？”
“是的。你知道吗，他很渴望看看你。要是你愿意跟我们一起上去，就可以见到他了。”
茱丽叶低头看着自己的鞋子：“再说吧。”
“还有一件事。”马奈斯对詹丝使了个眼色，然后朝床上那些文件瞥了一眼。彼得•贝尔宁那
张同意书折得整整齐齐摆在最上面。“资讯区。”他提醒她。
詹丝立刻就明白他的意思。
“在你接受任命之前，有件事我们必须先问清楚。”
“我还没有决定要不要接受任命。目前，我想先谈谈限电的事，先安排底下的工作班次
——”
“依照传统，不管我提名什么职务，都必须先经过资讯区的同意——”
茱丽叶翻了翻白眼，吁了一口气：“又是资讯区。”
“没错，而且，我们下楼的时候，半路上已经先到他们那边去打过招呼，事情会比较好
办。”
“想也知道。”茱丽叶说。
“他们提到物料被转送的问题。”马奈斯忽然插嘴说。
茱丽叶立刻转过来看着他。
“我知道这可能不是什么大不了的事，不过他们一定会找上门——”
“等一下，他们说的是耐高温胶带的事吗？”
“耐高温胶带？”
“没错。”茱丽叶皱起眉头，摇摇头，“那些王八蛋。”
詹丝抬起手，用两只手指比出五厘米的宽度：“他们拿了一个档案给我看，差不多有这么
厚。说你偷他们的物料。”
“才怪。贼喊捉贼。”她气得指着门口，“我们一直拿不到我们需要的物料，都是他们搞的
鬼。几个月前，我们的换热器漏气，需要耐高温胶带来修理，可是我们根本要不到，因为物资
区说，制作那种耐高温胶带的衬里材料已经全部被人预订了。问题是，我们很久以前就已经跟
他们订了胶带，后来，我跟一个运送员打听，才知道胶带都被送到资讯区去了。他们用耐高温
胶带来测试防护衣，而且他们那边的胶带已经多得可以堆成一座山。”
茱丽叶一口气说到这里，停下来吸了一大口气。
“所以，我拦截了一批。”她亲口承认了，同时看了马奈斯一眼，“你听我说，要不是因为我
们这里维持电力供应，他们上面哪有办法搞那些有的没的，可是我们竟然要不到基本物料。而
且，就算有时候要到了，那品质真是烂透了，简直跟垃圾没什么两样。物资区到底怎么搞的？
难不成是因为生产额度订得太夸张，生产线赶工赶过头——”
“如果你是真的很需要这些东西——”詹丝忽然打断她，“那么，你一定是不得已的，我了
解。”
然后她看看马奈斯，发现他面带微笑，一脸得意，那姿态仿佛在说，你看吧，我没看走眼
吧，这女孩子天生就是干保安官的料。
詹丝不理他。“我很高兴听到你的说法。”她对茱丽叶说，“而且，很可惜我的腿不中用了，
从前没有找机会多下来几趟。在上面，我们会以为很多事都是理所当然，这主要是因为我们资
讯不足，没有搞清楚。现在，我终于明白，我应该和别的部门尽量多保持联系，尤其是资讯
区，更是要盯紧一点。”
“将近二十年来，我常常向人抱怨。我说的就是这个。”茱丽叶说，“在底下这里，我们常常
在开玩笑，说这个部门被塞到地堡最底下，目的就是不想让我们挡到人家的路。有时候，真的
有这种感觉。”
“嗯，要是你肯到上面来，要是你肯接任保安官，那么，你说话就不会没人听了。在这整个
地堡权力结构的食物链里，你会成为发号施令的最上层。”
“那么资讯区呢？”
“他们会抗拒，不过那已经见怪不怪。以前我常常在应付他们。我会发邮件到我的办公室，
叫他们以资讯区的名义临时开一张类似弃权声明的文件，而且可以溯及既往，这样一来，你们
上次拿走资讯区的物料，就变成合法的了。”说到这里，詹丝凝视着这个女孩，“前提是，你必
须担保，你们拿走的那些物料，是绝对不可或缺的。”
面对挑战，茱丽叶毫不畏缩。“本来就是不可或缺的。”她说，“不过可笑的是，拿到了也没
用。那批胶带根本就是垃圾，不知道是哪个天才设计出那种胶带，贴没多久就烂掉，好像设计
的目的就是要让它烂掉。告诉你一件事，后来物资区终于把我们订制的胶带送来了，而且还附
加了额外的数量。等我们一起上去的时候，我一定要顺道去跟他们说声谢谢。那是我们自己设
计的胶带，比他们的强太多——”
“等我们一起上去的时候？”詹丝忽然打断茱丽叶，问她一句。那句话是茱丽叶刚刚说的，
那么，她的意思是她已经答应要接任保安官了吗？詹丝必须问清楚，免得误会。
茱丽叶转头看看两个人，然后点点头。“你必须先给我一个礼拜的时间，我要先搞定发电
机。还有，我之所以答应接任保安官，是因为这样你才会遵守诺言宣布限电，所以你要明白，
在我心目中，我永远都是机电区的人，而我答应接任，一部分也是因为我已经明白忽视问题会
造成什么后果。我在下面拼命所做的这一切，都是一种预防措施，一种保养。我不希望等灾难
发生了再去补救。我希望趁机器还能运转的时候，好好照顾它，让它永远保持稳定状态。我们
忽视了很多问题，结果状况就一直恶化。所以我想，如果把整个地堡看成是一部巨大的引擎，
那我们机电区就像油底壳，不能轻忽。”说完，她向詹丝伸出手，“你宣布‘限电假期’，我就接任
保安官。”
詹丝露出笑容，握住她的手。这女孩子手掌温热，握手劲道十足，显现出一种绝对的自
信。詹丝暗暗赞叹。
“明天一早我就会宣布限电。”她说，“另外，谢谢你，欢迎你加入。”
马奈斯从房间另一头走过来，和茱丽叶握手：“欢迎你加入，长官。”
茱丽叶握握他的手，露出调皮的笑容：“嗯，顺序别颠倒了，我还有很多东西要先跟你学，
然后才够格当你的长官吧？”
Part 2 Proper Gauge 15
Part 2 Proper Gauge
15
It felt appropriate that their climb back to the up top would occur during a power holiday. Jahns could
feel her own energy complying with the new decree, draining away with each laborious step. The
agony of the descent had been a tease, the discomfort of constant movement disguising itself as the
fatigue of exercise. But now her frail muscles were really put to work. Each step was something to be
conquered. She would lift a boot to the next tread, place a hand on her knee, and push herself another
ten inches up what felt like a million feet of spiral staircase.
The landing to her right displayed the number fifty-eight. Each landing seemed to be in view
forever. Not like the trip down, where she could daydream and skip right past several floors. Now
they loomed in sight gradually beyond the outer railing and held there, taunting in the dim green
glow of the emergency lights, as she struggled upward, one plodding and wavering step at a time.
Marnes walked beside her, his hand on the inner rail, hers on the outer, the walking stick clanging
on the lonely treads between them. Occasionally, their arms brushed against one another. It felt as
though they’d been away for months, away from their offices, their duties, their cold familiarity. The
adventure down to wrangle a new sheriff had played out differently than Jahns had imagined it
would. She had dreamed of a return to her youth and had instead found herself haunted by old ghosts.
She had hoped to find a renewed vigor and instead felt the years of wear in her knees and back. What
was to be a grand tour of her silo was instead trudged in relative anonymity, and now she wondered if
its operation and upkeep even needed her.
The world around her was stratified. She saw that ever more clearly. The up top concerned itself
with a blurring view, taking for granted the squeezed juice enjoyed with breakfast. The people who
lived below and worked the gardens or cleaned animal cages orbited their own world of soil,
greenery, and fertilizer. To them, the outside view was peripheral, ignored until there was a cleaning.
And then there was the down deep, the machine shops and chemistry labs, the pumping oil and
grinding gears, the hands-on world of grease-limned fingernails and the musk of toil. To these people,
the outside world and the food that trickled down were mere rumors and bodily sustenance. The point
of the silo was for the people to keep the machines running, when Jahns had always, her entire long
life, seen it the other way around.
Landing fifty-seven appeared through the fog of darkness. A young girl sat on the steel grate, her
feet tucked up against herself, arms wrapped around her knees, a children’s book in its protective
plastic cover held out into the feeble light spilling from an overhead bulb. Jahns watched the girl,
who was unmoved save her eyes as they darted over the colorful pages. The girl never looked up to
see who was passing the apartment floor’s landing. They left her behind, and she gradually faded in
the darkness as Jahns and Marnes struggled ever upward, exhausted from their third day of climbing,
no vibrations or ringing footsteps above or below them, the silo quiet and eerily devoid of life, room
enough for two old friends, two comrades, to walk side by side on the steps of chipping paint, their
arms swinging and every now and then, very occasionally, brushing together.
••••
They stayed that night at the midlevel deputy station, the officer of the mids insisting they take his
hospitality and Jahns eager to buttress support for yet another sheriff nominated from outside the
profession. After a cold dinner in near darkness and enough idle banter to satisfy their host and his
wife, Jahns retired to the main office, where a convertible couch had been made as comfortable as
possible, the linens borrowed from a nicer elsewhere and smelling of two-chit soap. Marnes had been
set up on a cot in the holding cell, which still smelled of tub gin and a drunk who had gotten too
carried away after the cleaning.
It was impossible to notice when the lights went out, they were so dim already. Jahns rested on the
cot in the darkness, her muscles throbbing and luxuriating in her body’s stillness, her feet cramped
and feeling like solid bone, her back tender and in need of stretching. Her mind, however, continued
to move. It drifted back to the weary conversations that had passed the time on their most recent day
of climbing.
She and Marnes seemed to be spiraling around one another, testing the memory of old attractions,
probing the tenderness of ancient scars, looking for some soft spot that remained among brittle and
broken bodies, across wrinkled and dried-paper skin, and within hearts callused by law and politics.
Donald’s name came up often and tentatively, like a child sneaking into an adult bed, forcing
wary lovers to make room in the middle. Jahns grieved anew for her long-lost husband. For the first
time in her life, she grieved for the subsequent decades of solitude. What she had always seen as her
calling—this living apart and serving the greater good—now felt more like a curse. Her life had been
taken from her. Squeezed into pulp. The juice of her efforts and sacrificed years had dripped down
through a silo that, just forty levels below her, hardly knew and barely cared.
The saddest part of this journey had been this understanding she’d come to with Holston’s ghost.
She could admit it now: a great reason for her hike, perhaps even the reason for wanting Juliette as
sheriff, was to fall all the way to the down deep, away from the sad sight of two lovers nestled
together in the crook of a hill as the wind etched away all their wasted youth. She had set out to
escape Holston, and had instead found him. Now she understood, if not the mystery of why all those
sent out to clean actually did so, why a sad few would dare to volunteer for the duty. Better to join a
ghost than to be haunted by them. Better no life than an empty one—
The door to the deputy’s office squeaked on a hinge long worn beyond the repair of grease. Jahns
tried to sit up, to see in the dark, but her muscles were too sore, her eyes too old. She wanted to call
out, to let her hosts know that she was okay, in need of nothing, but she listened instead.
Footsteps came to her, nearly invisible in the worn carpet. There were no words, just the creaking
of old joints as they approached the bed, the lifting of expensive and fragrant sheets, and an
understanding between two living ghosts.
Jahns’s breath caught in her chest. Her hand groped for a wrist as it clutched her sheets. She slid
over on the small convertible bed to make room and pulled him down beside her.
Marnes wrapped his arms around her back, wiggled beneath her until she was lying on his side, a
leg draped over his, her hands on his neck. She felt his mustache brush against her cheek, heard his
lips purse and peck the corner of hers.
Jahns held his cheeks and burrowed her face into his shoulder. She cried, like a schoolchild, like a
new shadow who felt lost and afraid in the wilderness of a strange and terrifying job. She cried with
fear, but that soon drained away. It drained like the soreness in her back as his hands rubbed her
there. It drained until numbness found its place, and then, after what felt like a forever of shuddering
sobs, sensation took over.
Jahns felt alive in her skin. She felt the tingle of flesh touching flesh, of just her forearm against
his hard ribs, her hands on his shoulder, his hands on her hips. And then the tears were some joyous
release, some mourning of the lost time, some welcomed sadness of a moment long delayed and
finally there, arms wrapped around it and holding tight.
She fell asleep like that, exhausted from far more than the climb, nothing more than a few
trembling kisses, hands interlocking, a whispered word of tenderness and appreciation, and then the
depths of sleep pulling her down, the weariness in her joints and bones succumbing to a slumber she
didn’t want but sorely needed. She slept with a man in her arms for the first time in decades, and
woke to a bed familiarly empty, but a heart strangely full.
••••
In the middle of their fourth and final day of climbing, they approached the midthirties of IT.
Jahns had found herself taking more breaks for water and to rub her muscles along the way, not for
the exhaustion she feigned but the dread of this stopover and seeing Bernard, the fear of their trip
ever coming to an end.
The dark and deep shadows cast by the power holiday followed them up, the traffic sparse as most
merchants had closed for the silo-wide brownout. Juliette, who had stayed behind to oversee the
repairs, had warned Jahns of the flickering lights from the backup generator. Still, the effect of the
shimmering illumination had worn on her nerves during the long climb. The steady pulsing reminded
her of a bad lightbulb she’d unhappily endured for the better part of her first term. Two different techs
from Electrical had come to inspect the bulb. Both had deemed it too operational to replace. It had
taken an appeal to McLain, the head of Supply even back then, to score her a replacement.
Jahns remembered McLain delivering the bulb herself. She hadn’t been head of Supply for long
and had fairly smuggled the thing up those many flights of stairs. Even then, Jahns had looked up to
her, this woman with so much power and responsibility. She remembered McLain asking her why
Jahns didn’t just do what everyone else did—simply break the bulb the rest of the way.
The fact that this had never occurred to Jahns used to bother her—until she began to take pride in
this failing; until she got to know McLain well enough to understand the question was a compliment,
the hand-delivery her reward.
When they reached the thirty-fourth, Jahns felt like they were, in a sense, home again: back in the
realm of the familiar, at the main landing for IT. She waited by the railing, leaning on it and her
walking stick, while Marnes got the door. As it was cracked open, the pale glow of diminished power
was swept off the stairwell by the bright lights blooming inside. It hadn’t been widely publicized, but
the reason for the severe power restrictions on other levels was largely the exemptions IT possessed.
Bernard had been quick to point out various clauses in the Pact to support this. Juliette had bitched
that servers shouldn’t get priority over grow lights but resigned herself to getting the main generator
realigned and taking what she could. Jahns told Juliette to view this as her first lesson in political
compromise. Juliette said she saw it as a display of weakness.
Inside, Jahns found Bernard waiting for them, a look on his face like he’d swallowed sour fruit
juice. A conversation between several IT workers standing off to the side was quickly silenced with
their entry, leaving Jahns little doubt that they’d been spotted on the way up and expected.
“Bernard,” she said, trying to keep her breathing steady. She didn’t want him to know how tired
she was. Let him think she was strolling by on her way up from the down deep, like it was no big
deal.
“Marie.”
It was a deliberate slight. He didn’t even look Marnes’s way or acknowledge that the deputy was
in the room.
“Would you like to sign these here? Or in the conference room?” She dug into her bag for the
contract with Juliette’s name on it.
“What games are you playing at, Marie?”
Jahns felt her temperature rise. The cluster of workers in silver IT jumpsuits were following the
exchange. “Playing at?” she asked.
“You think this power holiday of yours is cute? Your way of getting back at me?”
“Getting back—?”
“I’ve got servers, Marie—”
“Your servers have their full allocation of power,” Jahns reminded him, her voice rising.
“But their cooling comes ducted from Mechanical, and if temps get any higher, we’ll be ramping
down, which we’ve never had to do!”
Marnes stepped between the two of them, his hands raised. “Easy,” he said coolly, his gaze on
Bernard.
“Call off your little shadow here,” Bernard said.
Jahns placed a hand on Marnes’s arm.
“The Pact is clear, Bernard. It’s my choice. My nomination. You and I have a nice history of
signing off on each others’—”
“And I told you this girl from the pits will not do—”
“She’s got the job,” Marnes said, interrupting. Jahns noticed his hand had fallen to the butt of his
gun. She wasn’t sure if Bernard had noticed or not, but he fell silent. His eyes, however, did not leave
Jahns’s.
“I won’t sign it.”
“Then next time, I won’t ask.”
Bernard smiled. “You think you’ll outlive another sheriff?” He turned toward the workers in the
corner and waved one of them over. “Why do I somehow doubt that?”
One of the technicians removed himself from the whispering group and approached. Jahns
recognized the young man from the cafeteria, had seen him up top on nights she worked late. Lukas,
if she remembered correctly. He shook her hand and smiled an awkward hello.
Bernard twirled his own hand, stirring the air with his impatience. “Sign whatever she needs. I
refuse to. Make copies. Take care of the rest.” He waved dismissively, turned and looked Marnes and
Jahns up and down one final time as if disgusted with their condition, their age, their positions,
something. “Oh, and have Sims top up their canteens. See that they have food enough to stagger to
their homes. Whatever it takes to power their decrepit legs out of here and back to wherever it is they
belong.”
And with that, Bernard strode off toward the barred gates that led into the heart of IT, back to his
brightly lit offices, where servers hummed happily, the temperature rising in the slow-moving air like
the heat of angered flesh as capillaries squeezed, the blood in them rising to a boil.
第二部分：精准口径 15
第二部分：精准口径
15
他们开始爬楼梯回顶楼了，而这段时间也正好在实施限电，这倒是很有趣的时机。詹丝感
觉得到，自己的体力仿佛就像停电了一样，每往上爬一步，体力就流失一分。当初下楼的时
候，她还觉得很痛苦，那种不断重复的动作令人很不舒服，令她产生一种错觉，以为自己很疲
惫，但现在看来，那种错觉就仿佛只是在逗着她玩。现在，她那衰老虚弱的肌肉真正面临考验
了。每往上爬一步，感觉仿佛要征服一座高山，她抬起腿，踏上一级梯板，然后手撑住膝盖，
挣扎着让自己上升二十五厘米的高度，然而，那螺旋梯不断向上延伸，仿佛直上百万米高的天
际，消失在头顶上那无穷尽的灰暗苍茫中。
她看到右边的楼层平台上有一个数字：五十八。现在，和下楼的时候不同。先前下楼时，
她可以沉溺在冥想中，不知不觉往下走，等她回过神来的时候，已经过了好几层楼。而现在，
每当她撑着那颤抖无力的腿奋力往上踩一步，从外侧栏杆往外看，就会看到刚刚经过的楼层平
台笼罩在紧急照明灯暗淡惨绿的光晕中，若隐若现。
马奈斯走在她旁边，手扶着内侧栏杆，而她走外侧，撑拐杖的手夹在两人之间，每走一
步，拐杖就“咚”的一声碰到梯板，两人的手臂偶尔会互相擦撞。此刻，他们感觉自己仿佛已经
出门好几个月了，远离了他们的办公室，远离了他们的职务，远离了他们习以为常的一切。一
开始詹丝以为，这次到下面来寻找新保安官，就像去游历探险，但没想到，感觉却和她预期的
完全不一样。原本她怀着美丽的憧憬，以为这趟旅程会让她找回失去的青春年华，没想到过往
的噩梦却阴魂不散地缠绕着她。她原本希望寻回失去的青春活力，没想到却发现岁月早已损耗
了她的膝盖和背脊。她原本以为，这趟旅程是她对她所领导的地堡进行一次壮阔的巡礼，没想
到，她发现自己是那么的无足轻重，而这趟旅程会是如此的艰苦。现在，她甚至怀疑，地堡真
的需要她吗？没有她，地堡不是一样可以正常运作吗？
她周遭的世界，是一个阶级分明的世界。这一点，现在她看得更清楚了。高段楼层的人只
担心影像又变模糊了，把很多东西都视为理所当然，例如每天早餐喝的果汁。中段楼层的人则
是活在一个土壤构成的世界里，每天忙着照料作物，清洗畜栏，他们在乎的是他们的温室、他
们的肥料。对他们来说，地堡外面的世界并没有那么重要，只有在每次清洗镜头之后，他们才
会意识到它的存在。至于底段楼层，那里是机械工厂和化学实验室的区域，负责抽取原油，维
修机电设备。那是一个“黑手”的世界，满手油污，重度劳动。对底层的人来说，外面的世界就
像某种传说，而从楼上送下来的食物，是他们赖以支撑肉体的物质。在漫长的一生中，詹丝一
直以为，地堡的存在，就是为了要供养他们这些上层的人来管理地堡，但现在她终于明白她错
了。地堡真正的功能，是要供养那些底层的人，让他们能够维持机器的运作。
接着，他们又来到另一个楼层。在昏暗的灯光中，隐隐约约看得到平台上的数字：五十
七。这层楼是住宅区。有个小女孩坐在网格铁板上，缩着腿，两臂圈着膝盖，手上拿着一本
书。她头顶上的天花板有一盏灯，在昏暗的灯光下，看得出来那是一本童话书，封面包着塑胶
套。詹丝看着那小女孩，发现她一动也不动，眼睛几乎眨也不眨地盯着那五彩缤纷的图画。他
们从她面前经过时，她甚至没有抬头看看是谁。詹丝和马奈斯继续挣扎着一步步往上走，偶尔
回头看，平台上那小女孩的身影已渐渐消失在昏暗的灯光中。他们上楼梯已经进入第三天，两
个人都已经筋疲力尽。整个楼梯井从上到下听不到半点脚步声，也感觉不到梯板有震动，整个
地堡沉浸在一种无边的寂静中，仿佛杳无人烟，仿佛这巨大的空间只有这两个老朋友，两个老
伙伴。他们踩着锈痕累累、油漆剥落的铁梯板，肩并肩往上爬，双臂微微摆动。有那么一两
次，两人的手臂擦撞交错。
※ ※ ※
那天晚上，他们在中段楼层的保安分驻所过夜。那位副保安官坚持要他们接受他的招待，
而詹丝正好也很想借这个机会争取他支持新任的保安官，毕竟，茱丽叶不是他们保安官体系出
身的。于是，他们和副保安官夫妇一起吃晚饭。尽管因为限电的关系，屋子里黑漆漆的，而且
饭菜也都凉了，但他们还是有说有笑，吃得很愉快。吃过饭后，詹丝就到分驻所去了。里头准
备了一张很舒服的折叠床，上面铺着一张质地很好的被子。看得出来那床单是借来的，上面有
一股高级香皂的味道。马奈斯则是要睡羁押室，里面有一张行军床，而且飘散着一股私酿琴酒
的味道。不久前，羁押室刚关过一个醉汉，那个人大概是因为镜头刚清洗完，狂欢庆祝过头
了。
关灯的时候，几乎感觉不到屋子里变暗了，因为本来就很暗。詹丝躺到折叠床上，沉浸在
黑暗中。她浑身肌肉阵阵抽痛，不过，就这样躺着不动，感觉舒服多了。另外，她两脚抽筋，
僵硬得像石头，而她的背也是一碰就痛，很需要舒展一下。然而，尽管浑身不舒服，她脑子还
是动个不停，一直回想起她和马奈斯说的一些话。这三天，她和马奈斯边爬楼梯边说话，打发
时间，而那种交谈却是如此令人疲惫。
这三天，她和马奈斯仿佛在绕圈子，互相试探对方是否还记得从前的事。如今，他们的身
体已经老朽脆弱，满是皱纹的脸上尽是岁月的沧桑，而且，一个是捍卫纪律的执法者，一个是
历尽惊涛骇浪的政治领袖，他们的心早已在严酷的职责中损耗殆尽。但尽管如此，他们依然渴
望从疲惫残破的内心深处挖掘出昔日的美好记忆，那青春岁月的浪漫情愫，那甜蜜的痛楚。
他们常常会故意提到唐纳的名字，试探对方，让那个名字挡在两人之间，仿佛小孩子爬上
爸妈的床，挤在爸妈中间。每当这时候，詹丝想起逝去已久的丈夫，一丝哀伤就会悄悄涌上心
头。多少年了，她已经好久不曾如此感叹自己数十年来的孤寂。长久以来，她一个人过日子，
把自己奉献给地堡，为众人谋福利，而且一直把这样的工作视为自己的天职，然而，此刻，她
忽然觉得这样的生活更像一种诅咒。她的人生被剥夺了，只剩一片空白；她的人生被榨干了，
只剩一堆残渣，而她牺牲奉献的岁月化为甜美的汁液滋润了整个地堡。但事实上，她真正照顾
到的只有上面四十个楼层，至于地堡底下那深层的世界，她并不了解，也很少去关注。
这趟旅程，最令她感到悲哀的，是她终于明白霍斯顿的灵魂也跟着她一起来了。现在，她
终于能够对自己承认一件事：她之所以会踏上这趟旅程，还有，她为什么会希望茱丽叶担任保
安官，更重要的一个原因，或许就是因为她想逃避，想躲到最深层的地底，远离地面上那悲惨
的一幕：一对恩爱的夫妻相拥倒卧在沙丘上，狂风吹打他们的躯体，而他们的青春年岁也仿佛
就这样随风而逝。她踏上这段旅程，就是为了要逃避霍斯顿，然而，她却发现他依然缠绕在她
心里。此刻，虽然她还猜不透那些被送出去的人为什么最后都会清洗镜头，不过，她已经完全
明白，一个心碎的人为什么会自愿承担这项任务。与其被鬼魂纠缠，还不如让自己也变成鬼
魂；与其让生命变成一片虚空，还不如失去生命——
这时候，分驻所那年久失修的门忽然“嘎吱”一声。黑暗中，詹丝想坐起来看看是什么人，
但她全身肌肉太酸痛，实在没力气，而她那老迈的双眼，视力衰退，很难看得清楚。也许是副
保安官想进来问问她是否还缺什么。她本来想开口告诉他，这里很舒服，什么都不缺了，不
过，最后她还是没出声。她就只是竖起耳朵仔细听。
分驻所里铺着破烂的地毯，脚步声很难辨认，不过她还是勉强听得出来那个人正朝她走过
来。那个人没出声，她只隐约听得到他走路的时候关节“嘎吱”作响。那是老人特有的声音。接
着，她感觉到有人掀开她的被子。那一刹那，两个老人忽然明白彼此的心意。那是一种心灵的
默契。
詹丝不由得屏住呼吸，伸手在黑暗中摸索了一下，拉住了他正在掀被子的手。接着，她的
身体往侧边挪了一下，在那张小床上挪出一点空间，然后拉他躺到她旁边。
马奈斯双手圈住她，把她搂进怀里，然后挪挪身体，让她躺在他旁边。她一条腿跨在他腿
上，双手圈住他的脖子，感觉到他的胡子紧贴着她的脸，感觉到他正亲吻着她的眼角。
詹丝捧着他的脸，脸贴在他肩上，然后，她像个孩子般地开始啜泣起来，仿佛一个新来的
小学徒面对怪异可怕的工作，感觉如此茫然，如此恐惧。她哭泣，因为她感到恐惧，但那恐惧
很快就消失了，就好像，当他轻抚着她的背，她背上的疼痛也很快就消失了。当恐惧消失，她
忽然感觉脑海中一片空白。她不知道自己啜泣了多久，不过，当恐惧消失后，她感觉到心中涌
现的是如此甜美的柔情。
詹丝感觉到昔日的生命力又回来了。两人的肌肤如此贴近，她全身感到一阵战栗。她的手
臂紧贴着他身侧，她的手搭在他肩头，而他的手扶着她后腰，此刻，她不由得热泪盈眶。那是
喜悦的泪水，也是哀伤的泪水。她哀伤，因为她失去了太多岁月，因为时光浪掷虚耗多年之
后，这一刻才终于来临。两人紧紧相拥，拥抱着这一刻。
他们心情激荡，浑身颤抖，然而，现在他们能拥有的，也不过就是温暖的吻、紧握的手，
还有细诉无限柔情的低语，然后，她感觉到一股强烈的睡意袭卷而来，而全身的筋骨关节都已
经耗尽了所有的力量，于是，就这样，她拥着他沉沉睡去，因为她太疲惫。疲惫，并不只是因
为爬了太久的楼梯，也是因为激荡的心情耗尽了她仅剩的力气。她并不希望就这样沉睡，但她
已无法抗拒。多少年了，她已经很久没有这样躺在男人怀里，相拥而眠。第二天，当她醒来的
时候，也许会发现自己还是孑然一身，然而，她心中会洋溢着前所未有的幸福。
* * *
第四天，是他们上楼行程的最后一天。到了中午，他们已经快到三十四楼的资讯区。詹丝
发现自己越来越需要休息，越来越需要喝水，揉揉酸痛的肌肉，然而，那并不是因为她真的太
累，而是因为恐惧。很快就要跟白纳德面对面，她感到畏惧。而另一方面，她和马奈斯两个人
的旅程也即将走到尽头，这也令她感到畏惧。
由于限电的关系，他们由下到上穿越整座地堡，所到之处都是一片阴暗。而且，这次限电
遍及全地堡，绝大多数的商店都没开门，所以整个楼梯井显得空荡荡的，几乎看不到人影。茱
丽叶还留在底下监督发电机的修理，她曾经提醒詹丝，由于启用的是备用发电机，电力不足，
灯光会闪烁。问题是，尽管已经有心理准备，詹丝还是觉得很不舒服。从底下爬上来，一路上
闪烁的灯光几乎令她神经衰弱。那有节奏的闪光令她回想起一件往事。她刚担任首长的时候，
办公室里有个灯泡坏了，令她十分苦恼。几乎一整个任期，灯泡一直没修好，永远在闪烁。机
电区前后两次派工人上来检查，可是他们都说那灯泡还可以用，不肯帮她换新的。后来，她只
好去拜托麦克兰帮她换个新灯泡。当年，麦克兰已经是物资区的负责人。
詹丝还记得，是麦克兰亲自把灯泡送上来给她的。当时她刚当上物资区的负责人，大权在
握，办事方便，所以，要私下给詹丝一个灯泡并没什么困难。于是，她爬了几十层楼，亲自送
上去给詹丝。当年詹丝就已经非常敬重她，因为这个女人手握大权，而且肩负重责大任。她记
得，当时麦克兰还问她为什么不像大家一样，把旧灯泡弄破，就可以分配到新灯泡了。
本来詹丝还觉得有点懊恼，为什么这么简单的办法自己竟然没想到，不过，后来她跟麦克
兰越混越熟之后，才渐渐明白，当初麦克兰笑她死脑筋，其实是一种赞美，所以后来，对自己
的死脑筋，她反倒引以为荣。
后来，他们终于来到三十四楼。来到这里，詹丝忽然有种感觉，他们已经到家了。资讯区
的楼梯平台，他们又来到这熟悉的区域。马奈斯去敲门，而她拄着拐杖，身体靠在栏杆边等
着。没多久，门“嘎吱”一声开了，那一刹那，明亮刺眼的灯光立刻洒进昏暗的楼梯井。限电的
原因，已经告知全地堡的居民，然而，各楼层之所以会严重缺乏电力，真正的原因出在资讯
区，因为，他们免于限电。白纳德很快就引用“公约”的几个条文，证明他们资讯区不可以限
电。茱丽叶就曾经抱怨过，说土耕区的植物灯才真的应该优先免限电，哪轮得到资讯区的服务
器。不过，抱怨归抱怨，她还是很快就全心投入发电机维修，竭尽所能。詹丝告诉茱丽叶，要
把这件事当成政治妥协的第一课，但茱丽叶却说她认为这样反而是在暴露自己的弱点。
一走进资讯区，詹丝立刻就看到白纳德已经在门口等他们了，他脸上的表情臭得无以形
容。几个资讯区的工作人员本来在旁边交头接耳，一看到他们进来，立刻就闭嘴了。詹丝有点
怀疑，他们是不是一直在监视他们上楼的行程，所以早就算准时间在这里等他们了。
“白纳德。”她努力让自己的呼吸保持平稳，尽量不让他们看出她累得喘气。她希望能够让
他感觉，她只是顺道进来打个招呼，因为从下面回楼上一定会经过这里。
“玛丽。”
他这样称呼她，是一种蓄意的轻蔑。而且，他甚至完全不看马奈斯，仿佛当他不存在。
“这个文件需要你签个名。你是要在这里签呢，还是要到会议室去签？”她从背包里掏出委
任书，上面有茱丽叶的签名。
“玛丽，你在跟我玩什么游戏？”
詹丝感觉一股热气冲上脑门。旁边那几个人都穿着资讯区专属的银色工作服，他们都竖起
耳朵听他们说话。“玩游戏？”她问。
“你觉得限电很好玩吗？你觉得用这种方式来报复我很好玩吗？”
“报复——？”
“玛丽，我这里有很多服务器——”
“我们给你的电力配额，用在服务器上绰绰有余了。”詹丝开始越说越大声了。
“可是冷却系统的电力是从机电区直接用管线输送上来的，万一温度升高，我们就必须关掉
服务器。在我们这里，从以前到现在，服务器从来不需要关机！”
这时候，马奈斯忽然走到他们两人中间，抬起双手。“冷静一点，冷静一点。”他眼睛盯着
白纳德，口气很平淡。
“叫你的手下闪一边去。”白纳德说。
詹丝抓住马奈斯的手臂。
“‘公约’写得很清楚，白纳德，挑选保安官是我的职权。从前我们两个合作很愉快，互相替
对方的人选背书——”
“可是我不是告诉过你，底下那个女孩子不行——”
“她已经接受委任了。”马奈斯忽然插嘴。詹丝注意到他手摆在枪柄上。她不知道白纳德有
没有注意到，不过，他倒是忽然不吭声了，但眼睛还是死盯着詹丝。
“我不会签的。”
“那么，下次再有什么职务要委派，我也不需要再问你了。”
白纳德冷笑了一下：“你以为你还有办法活到下一个保安官任期结束吗？”说着他转头看看
旁边的几个技师，挥挥手叫其中一个过来。“我还真有点怀疑。”
那几个技师本来在窃窃私语，其中一个忽然跑过来。詹丝认得那个年轻人。她在顶楼的大
餐厅看过他。有时候晚上加班，常常会看到他跑到上面。如果她没记错的话，他应该叫卢卡
斯。他和她握握手，干笑了一下，跟她说了声“你好”，那模样看起来很不自在。
白纳德不耐烦地两手一摊：“她要你签什么，你就签吧。我是不会签的。签完之后影印存
档，剩下的都交给你处理了。”说完很不屑地挥挥手，然后转头看看马奈斯和詹丝，从头到脚打
量了最后一眼，神情充满厌恶。看不出来他厌恶什么，究竟是厌恶他们的模样，或是厌恶两个
老人，或是厌恶他们的身份职务，或是，还有别的什么吗？“噢，对了，叫辛姆帮他们把水壶装
满，让他们吃饱一点，然后他们才有力气爬回楼上去。总之，两个老家伙腿不中用了，我们要
想办法让他们有力气从这里走出去，滚回他们家。”
说完，白纳德立刻迈开大步走向那扇铁栅门，走进门，走进深不可测的资讯区内部。那里
面光辉明亮，服务器无限欢乐地嗡嗡作响，然而，那空气凝滞的空间里温度却越来越高，就好
像他愤怒的血管中，血液越来越热，几乎快要沸腾。
Part 2 Proper Gauge 16
Part 2 Proper Gauge
16
The floors flew by faster as they approached home. In the darkest sections of the staircase, between
quiet floors of people hunkered down and awaiting a return to normalcy, old hands wrapped around
each other and swung between two climbers, brazenly and openly, grasping each other while their
other hands slid up the cool steel of the rails.
Jahns let go sporadically only to check that her walking stick was secure against her back or to
grab Marnes’s canteen from his pack and take a sip. They had taken to drinking each other’s water, it
being easier to reach across than around one’s own back. There was a sweetness to it as well,
carrying the sustenance another needed and being able to provide and reciprocate in a perfectly
equitable relationship. It was a thing worth dropping hands for. Momentarily, at least.
Jahns finished a sip, screwed on the metal cap with its dangling chain, and replaced it in his outer
pouch. She was dying to know if things would be different once they got back. They were only
twenty floors away. An impossible distance yesterday now seemed like something that could slip
away without her noticing. And as they arrived, would familiar surroundings bring familiar roles?
Would last night feel more and more like a dream? Or would old ghosts return to haunt them both?
She wanted to ask these things but talked of trivialities instead. When would Jules, as she insisted
they call her, be ready for duty? What case files did he and Holston have open that needed tending to
first? What concession would they make to keep IT happy, to calm down Bernard? And how would
they handle Peter Billings’s disappointment? What impact would this have on hearings he might one
day preside over as judge?
Jahns felt butterflies in her stomach as they discussed these things. Or perhaps it was the nerves of
all she wanted to say but couldn’t. These topics were as numerous as grains of dust in the outside air,
and just as likely to dry her mouth and still her tongue. She found herself drinking more and more
from his canteen, her own water making noises at her back, her stomach lurching with every landing,
each number counting down toward the conclusion of their journey, an adventure that had been a
complete success in so many ways.
To start with, they had their sheriff: a fiery girl from the down deep who seemed every bit as
confident and inspiring as Marnes had intimated. Jahns saw her kind as the future of the silo. People
who thought long-term, who planned, who got things done. There was a precedent of sheriffs running
for mayor. She thought Juliette would eventually make a fine choice.
And speaking of running, the trip had fired up her own goals and ambitions. She was excited
about the upcoming elections, however unopposed she might be, and had even dreamed up dozens of
short speeches during the climb. She saw how things could run better, how she could perform her
duties more diligently, and how the silo could have new life breathed into old bones.
But the biggest change was whatever had grown between herself and Marnes. She had even begun
to suspect, just in the last hours, that the real reason for his never taking a promotion was because of
her. As deputy, there was enough space between them to contain his hope, his impossible dream of
holding her. As sheriff, it couldn’t happen: too much conflict of interest, too much his immediate
superior. This theory of hers contained a powerful sadness and an awe-inspiring sweetness. She
squeezed his hand as she thought about this theory, and it filled her with a deep hollowness, a cramp
in her gut at all he had silently sacrificed, a massive debt to live up to no matter what happened next.
They approached the landing to the nursery and had no plans for stopping to see Juliette’s father,
to urge him to receive his daughter on the way up, but Jahns changed her mind as she felt her bladder
beg for release.
“I’ve got to go pretty bad,” she told Marnes, embarrassed like a child to admit she couldn’t hold it.
Her mouth was dry and her stomach churning from so much fluid, and maybe from the fear of getting
home. “I wouldn’t mind seeing Juliette’s father, either,” she added.
Marnes’s mustache bent up at the corners with the excuse. “Then we should stop,” he said.
The waiting room was empty, the signs reminding them to be quiet. Jahns peered through the
glass partition and saw a nurse padding through the dark corridor toward her, a frown becoming a
slight smile of recognition.
“Mayor,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry not to have wired ahead, but I was hoping to see Dr. Nichols. And possibly use your
restroom?”
“Of course.” She buzzed the door and waved them through. “We’ve had two deliveries since you
last stopped by. Things have been crazy with this generator mess—”
“Power holiday,” Marnes said, correcting her, his voice gruff and louder than theirs.
The nurse shot him a look but nodded as if this was duly noted. She took two robes from the racks
and held them out, told them to leave their stuff by her desk.
In the waiting room, she waved toward the benches and said she would find the doctor. “The
bathrooms are through there.” She pointed at a door, the old sign painted on its surface nearly worn
clean away.
“I’ll be right back,” Jahns told Marnes. She fought the urge to reach out and squeeze his hand, as
normal as that dark and hidden habit had lately become.
The bathroom was almost completely devoid of light. Jahns fumbled with an unfamiliar lock on
the stall door, cursed under her breath as her stomach churned noisily, then finally threw the stall
open and hurried to sit down. Her stomach felt like it was on fire as she relieved herself. The mixture
of welcomed release and the burn of having held it too long left her unable to breathe. She went for
what felt like forever, remained sitting as her legs shook uncontrollably, and realized she had pushed
herself too hard on the climb up. The thought of another twenty levels mortified her, made her insides
feel hollow with dread. She finished and moved over to the adjoining toilet to splash herself clean,
then dried herself with one of the towels. She flushed both units to cycle the water. It all required
fumbling in the darkness, unfamiliar as she was with the spacing and location that were second nature
in her apartment and office.
She staggered out of the bathroom on weak legs, wondering if she might need to stay one more
night, sleep in a delivery bed, wait until the morning to make the climb to her office. She could barely
feel her legs as she pulled open the door and returned to Marnes in the waiting room.
“Better?” he asked. He sat on one of the family benches, a space left conspicuously beside him.
Jahns nodded and sat heavily. She was breathing in shallow pants and wondered if he’d find her weak
if she admitted she couldn’t go any further that day.
“Jahns? You okay?”
Marnes leaned forward. He wasn’t looking at her, he was looking toward the ground. “Jahns.
What the hell just happened?”
“Lower your voice,” she whispered.
He screamed instead.
“Doctor!” he yelled. “Nurse!”
A form moved beyond the dusky glass of the nursery. Jahns laid her head back against the seat
cushion, trying to form the words on her lips, to tell him to keep it down.
“Jahns, sweetheart, what did you do?”
He was holding her hand, patting the back of it. He shook her arm. Jahns just wanted to sleep.
There was the slapping of footsteps running their way. Lights turned up forbiddingly bright. A nurse
yelled something. There was the familiar voice of Juliette’s father, a doctor. He would give her a bed.
He would understand this exhaustion …
There was talk of blood. Someone was examining her legs. Marnes was crying, tears falling into
his white mustache, peppered with black. He was shaking her shoulders, looking her in the eye.
“I’m okay,” Jahns tried to say.
She licked her lips. So dry. Mouth so damned dry. She asked for water. Marnes fumbled for his
canteen, brought it to her lips, splashing water against and into her mouth.
She tried to swallow but couldn’t. They were stretching her out on the bench, the doctor touching
her ribs, shining a light in her eyes. But things were getting darker anyway.
Marnes clutched the canteen in one hand, smoothed her hair back with the other. He was
blubbering. So sad for some reason. So much more energy than her. She smiled at him and reached
for his hand, a miraculous effort. She held his wrist and told him that she loved him. That she had for
as long as she could remember. Her mind was tired, loosening its grip on her secrets, mouthing them
to him as tears flowed down his face.
She saw his eyes, bright and wrinkled, peering down at her, then turning to the canteen in his
hand.
The canteen that he had carried.
The water, she realized, the poison meant for him.
第二部分：精准口径 16
第二部分：精准口径
16
快到家了，感觉上他们好像爬得越来越快。每层楼都静悄悄的，大家都默默等待，等待电
力恢复正常。走到两层楼中间的地段，灯光最昏暗，他们一只手紧紧握住对方的手，另一只手
扶着铁栏杆。他们不想再隐藏，不再矜持。
詹丝偶尔会放开他的手，不过那只是因为她想伸手去摸摸背包后面，看看拐杖还在不在，
然后去拿马奈斯背包后面的水壶，喝一口水。一路上，他们都是互相拿对方背包后面的水来
喝，因为那样比起反手到背后拿自己的水壶要容易得多。而且，这种方式，就好像自己替对方
背着他需要的东西，随时可以交给他，而对方也为你做同样的事，那种感觉也比较甜蜜。他们
渴望享受这种宁静平和，至少，暂时享受一下。
詹丝啜了一口水，然后把盖子放回壶口拧紧，壶盖上的小链条微微晃动了一下。然后，她
把水壶放回他背包后面的口袋里。他们回到家之后，两个人的关系就会从此不一样吗？她真的
好想知道答案。再爬二十层楼就到家了。昨天，他们还觉得再爬二十层楼会要人命，可是现
在，他们却觉得那只需要一转眼的工夫。而且，当他们抵达之后，那熟悉的环境是否会将他们
带回从前的关系？昨夜的美好是否会变成一场梦？还有，唐纳的灵魂是否又会回来缠绕着他
们？
她很想问马奈斯这些问题，可是每次刚要开口，她立刻又把话吞回去，只问了一些无关紧
要的小事。比如，祖儿能够胜任吗？比如，他和霍斯顿先前经手的案子，哪一个必须优先交给
她处理？比如，他们该对资讯区作出什么让步，好安抚一下白纳德？还有，彼得•贝尔宁一定会
很失望，该怎么安抚他？总有一天，彼得会当上审判官，那么，哪天他主持听证会的时候，这
件事会不会影响到他的态度？
正当他们讨论这些问题的时候，詹丝开始感到有点反胃。也许那是因为有些话她很想问马
奈斯，可是却又不敢开口，所以胃才会不舒服。那些问题就仿佛飘散在空气中的沙尘，令她口
干舌燥。后来，她发现自己一次又一次地把他背包后面的水壶抽出来，不断地喝水，而她自己
的水壶一直在背包后面“哗啦哗啦”响。每往上爬一层楼，她的胃就翻搅得越厉害，而每往上爬
一层楼，平台上的数字越小，这趟旅程就越接近终点，而这趟探险也就越接近完美的结局。一
切都很完满。
首先，他们找到保安官了。一个底层的女孩子，浑身散发着火一般的热力，充满自信，令
人振奋，正如马奈斯形容的那样。在詹丝心目中，她是地堡未来的希望。她高瞻远瞩，有宏远
的规划，而且能够克服万难，完成任务。而且，保安官比别人更有机会选上首长。她相信，时
候到了，茱丽叶一定知道该如何抉择。
提到首长选举，这趟旅程也在她心中激发出更多的目标，更多的雄心壮志。她忽然很期待
那即将来临的大选。尽管她根本没有对手，但她还是利用爬楼梯的时候想了十几种简短的演说
词。现在，她已经可以预见地堡更美好的未来，知道该怎么更有效率地履行她的职责，而且，
地堡将会有年青一代来继承她这衰老的一代。
不过，最大的改变，还是在于她和马奈斯之间的关系。就在这旅程即将终了的时刻，她开
始怀疑，马奈斯坚持不肯升任保安官，会不会是为了她？担任副保安官，他就可以和她保持某
种微妙的距离，就可以继续怀抱着渺茫的希望，怀抱着不可能实现的梦想，总有一天两个人可
以在一起。万一担任保安官，一切希望就破灭了，因为，保安官和首长之间难免会有一些立场
上的冲突，而那种主从关系又太直接、太强烈。想到这里，她心头忽然弥漫着无限感伤，但又
有无限的甜蜜。想到这里，她不由自主地握紧他的手。为了她，他默默牺牲。想到这个，她的
心陡然往下沉，感觉心好痛。不管两人未来会如何，这一生，她都亏欠他太多。
接着，他们爬上了育儿区的楼层平台。原先，他们并没有打算进去跟茱丽叶的爸爸打个招
呼，告诉他，他女儿很快就会上来，到时候他应该要好对待她。不过，詹丝忽然改变心意，决
定要进去一下，因为她很需要上个厕所。
“我不上一下厕所不行了。”她很不好意思地告诉马奈斯，她已经快憋不住了。她感觉口干
舌燥，而且胃一直翻搅，很想吐。或许那是因为她担心这趟旅程即将走到尽头，而她和马奈斯
之间的一切也将结束。“我想，跟茱丽叶的爸爸见个面也无妨。”她最后又补了一句。
马奈斯听到她最后那句话，忍不住嘴角微微上扬。“那我们最好休息一下。”他说。
等候室里看不到人影。他们又看到那个“严禁喧哗”的标志，不敢出声。詹丝走到玻璃窗前
面，往里面张望了一下，看到那个护士正沿着阴暗的走廊朝她走过来。她本来皱着眉头，可是
一看到是他们，立刻露出笑容。
“首长，你好。”她轻声打招呼。
“不好意思，没有先发邮件通知你，不过，我还是想跟尼克斯大夫见个面，方便吗？另外，
可以跟你们借一下化妆室吗？”
“当然可以。”她按下桌上的按钮，门应声打开。她挥挥手请他们进来，“上次你们离开后，
我们又接生了两个孩子。由于发电机的问题，我们真是手忙脚乱——”
“不是发电机有问题，只是限电。”马奈斯纠正她。他说话嗓门比她们大，声音也比较嘶
哑。
护士瞪了他一眼，不过还是点点头表示了解。她从架上拿下两件白袍，递给他们，然后叫
他们把背包放在她桌上。
等他们进了等候室，护士朝长凳的方向挥挥手，请他们过去坐，然后说她会去找大夫。“化
妆室从那边进去。”她指向一扇门。门上有标志，不过早已褪色脱落，几乎看不见了。
“我马上就回来。”詹丝对马奈斯说。她很想伸出手去握紧他的手，但她还是忍住了。这两
天，她已经很习惯去握他的手，那是如此自然，却又如此私密。
厕所里几乎是一片漆黑，詹丝摸索了半天，急着想把小隔间的门打开。她感觉到肚子里不
断翻搅，发出奇怪的声响，忍不住暗暗咒骂。后来，门终于开了，她立刻冲进去坐下来。排便
的时候，她感觉胃里好像一团火在烧，一方面有一种舒坦的感觉，但另一方面，似乎是因为憋
太久了，她觉得喘不过气来。就这样，她在马桶上坐了不知道多久，两腿剧烈颤抖，完全无法
克制。这时候，她终于明白，为了上楼梯她已经把自己逼到极限。想到还有二十层楼要爬，她
忽然吓得魂飞魄散，害怕得脑海中一片空白。后来，她终于结束了，于是就走出去到旁边的冲
洗台，洗洗手，洗洗脸，然后拿旁边的一条毛巾擦干。接着，她把水槽和马桶的水都冲掉，进
入循环系统。她做这些动作的时候，必须在黑暗中摸索好久，因为不熟悉这里的环境。如果是
在她家或办公室，她闭着眼睛就可以完成这些动作，因为空间有多大，什么东西在什么位置，
她都了如指掌。
她两腿发软，跌跌撞撞走出化妆室，这时候，她忽然觉得自己可能需要在这里过一夜，在
病床上睡一晚，等明天早上再爬楼梯回办公室。她推开门走进等候室，回到马奈斯旁边，这时
候，她两条腿几乎快没有知觉了。
“舒服一点了吗？”他问。他坐在一条长凳上，旁边留了一个位置应该是要给她的。詹丝点
点头，然后重重跌坐到椅子上。她虚弱地喘着气，心里想，不知道他有没有注意到她已经太虚
弱，已经没力气再继续爬楼梯了。她暗暗希望他会主动开口说要休息一晚。
“詹丝？你还好吗？”
这时候，马奈斯忽然弯腰凑近她，不过，他并不是在看她的脸，而是看着地上：“詹丝，你
怎么了？”
“你小声一点。”她有气无力地说。
没想到他竟然大叫起来。
“大夫！”他大喊，“护士小姐！”
隔着玻璃窗，他看到幽暗的育婴室里有人影在动。詹丝头靠在椅背上，很费力地想开口叫
他小声一点。
“詹丝，我的詹丝，你刚刚做了什么？”
他紧握着她的手，轻拍着她的手背，然后抓住她的手臂拼命摇晃。詹丝好想睡。她模模糊
糊听到脚步声，有人正朝她跑过来。接着，灯光忽然大亮。限电期间，本来不准开这么亮。接
着，护士好像在大喊什么，然后她听到一个很熟悉的声音。是茱丽叶的爸爸，大夫。他来了，
他一定会准备一张病床给她睡，他一定有办法查出来她为什么会这么虚弱——
然后，她听到有人好像在说流血什么的，接着感觉到有人在检查她的腿。马奈斯在哭，眼
泪流到他的白胡子上，不过，她还是注意到白胡子里夹杂着几丝黑色。他一直摇晃她的肩膀，
盯着她的眼睛。
“我没事。”詹丝气若游丝地说。
她舔舔嘴唇。好渴，嘴巴好干，干得要命。她说她想喝水，马奈斯急忙掏出他的水壶，把
壶口凑到她嘴边，把水倒进她嘴里。
她努力想吞下去，可是却没办法。他们扶她躺在长凳上，大夫摸摸她的肋骨，拿手电筒照
照她的眼睛。然而，她感觉眼前越来越黑。
马奈斯一手抓着水壶，一手帮她把头发拨到后面。他在啜泣。不知道他为什么那么伤心，
不过，他还有力气哭，比她自己好多了。她对他微微一笑，伸手握住他的手。她没想到自己还
有力气。她抓住他的手，告诉他她爱他，从很久很久以前就一直爱着他。她的心好累，再也守
不住秘密了。她说出了心中隐藏多年的秘密，而他落下了眼泪。
她看着他的眼睛。他眼睛好亮，泪光闪烁，凝视着她。接着，她看看他手上的水壶。
那是他背包上的水壶。
那一刹那，她忽然明白，他才是他们想毒杀的人。
Part 2 Proper Gauge 17
Part 2 Proper Gauge
17
The generator room was unusually crowded and eerily silent. Mechanics in worn overalls stood three
deep behind the railing and watched the first-shift crew work. Juliette was only dimly aware of them;
she was more keenly aware of the silence.
She leaned over a device of her own making, a tall platform welded to the metal floor and arrayed
with mirrors and tiny slits that bounced light across the room. This light shined on mirrors attached to
the generator and its large dynamo, helping her get them in perfect alignment. It was the shaft
between the two of them that she cared about, that long steel rod the size of a man’s waist where the
power of combusting fuel was transformed into the spark of electricity. She was hoping to have the
machines on either end of this rod aligned to within a thousandth of an inch. But everything they
were doing was without precedent. The procedures had been hurriedly planned in all-night sessions
while the backup generator was put online. Now she could only concentrate, could only hope the
eighteen-hour shifts had been good for something and trust in plans made back when she’d had some
decent rest and could think soundly.
While she guided the final placement, the chamber around her stood deathly quiet. She gave a
sign, and Marck and his team tightened several of the massive bolts on the new rubber floor mounts.
They were four days into the power holiday. The generator needed to be up and running by morning
and at full power that next evening. With so much done to it—the new gaskets and seals, the
polishing of cylinder shafts that had required young shadows to crawl down into the heart of the beast
—Juliette was worried about it even starting up. The generator had never been fully powered down
during her lifetime. Old Knox could remember it shutting itself down in an emergency once, back
when he was a mere shadow, but for everyone else the rumble had been as constant and close as their
own heartbeats. Juliette felt inordinate pressure for everything to work. She was the one who had
come up with the idea to do a refit. She calmed herself with reassurances that it was the right thing to
do and that the worst that could happen now was that the holiday would be extended until they sorted
out all the kinks. That was much better than a catastrophic failure years from now.
Marck signaled that the bolts were secure, the lock nuts tightened down. Juliette jumped off her
homemade platform and strolled over to the generator to join him. It was difficult to walk casually
with so many eyes on her. She couldn’t believe this rowdy crew, this extended and dysfunctional
family of hers, could be so perfectly silent. It was like they were all holding their breath, wondering if
the crushing schedule of the last few days was going to be for naught.
“You ready?” she asked Marck.
He nodded, wiping his hands on a filthy rag that always seemed to be draped over his shoulder.
Juliette checked her watch. The sight of its second hand ticking around in its constant path comforted
her. Whenever she had doubts about something working, she looked at her wrist. Not to see the time,
but to see a thing she had fixed. A repair so intricate and impossible—one that had taken years of
cleaning and setting parts almost too small to see—that it made her current task, whatever it was, feel
small by comparison.
“We on schedule?” Marck asked, grinning.
“We’re doing fine.” She nodded to the control room. Whispers began to stir through the crowd as
they realized the restart was imminent. Dozens of them pulled sound protection from their necks and
settled the muffs over their ears. Juliette and Marck joined Shirly in the control room.
“How’s it going?” Juliette asked the second-shift foreman, a young woman, small and spirited.
“Golden,” Shirly said as she continued to make adjustments, zeroing out all the corrections that
had built up over the years. They were starting from the ground up, none of the patches and fixes of
old to disguise any new symptoms. A fresh start. “We’re good to go,” she said.
She backed away from the controls and moved to stand near her husband. The gesture was
transparent: this was Juliette’s project, perhaps the last thing she would ever try to fix in the down
deep of Mechanical. She would have the honor, and the full responsibility, of firing the generator up.
Juliette stood over the control board, looking down at knobs and dials that she could locate in utter
darkness. It was hard to believe that this phase of her life was over, that some new one was about to
begin. The thought of traveling to the up top frightened her more than this project could. The idea of
leaving her friends and family, of dealing with politics, did not taste as sweet to her as the sweat and
grease on her lips. But at least she had allies up there. If people like Jahns and Marnes were able to
get by, to survive, she figured she’d be okay.
With a trembling hand, more from exhaustion than nerves, Juliette engaged the starter motor.
There was a loud whine as a small electrical engine tried to get the massive diesel generator moving.
It seemed to be taking forever, but Juliette had no idea what normal sounded like. Marck stood by the
door, propping it open so they could better hear any shouts to abort. He glanced over at Juliette as she
continued to hold the ignition, creases of worry in his brow as the starter whined and groaned in the
next room.
Someone outside waved both arms, trying to signal her through the glass.
“Shut it off, shut it off,” Marck said. Shirly hurried toward the control panel to help.
Juliette let go of the ignition and reached for the kill switch, but she stopped herself from pressing
it. There was a noise outside. A powerful hum. She thought she could feel it through the floor, but not
like the vibration of old.
“It’s already running!” someone yelled.
“It was already running,” Marck said, laughing.
The mechanics outside were cheering. Someone pulled off their ear protection and hurled the
muffs up into the air. Juliette realized the starter motor was louder than the rebuilt generator, that
she’d been holding the ignition even as it had already started and continued to run.
Shirly and Marck hugged one another. Juliette checked the temps and pressures on all the zeroed
gauges and saw little to adjust, but she wouldn’t be sure until it warmed up. Her throat constricted
with emotion, the release of so much pressure. Work crews were leaping over the railing to crowd
around the rebuilt beast. Some who rarely visited the generator room were reaching out to touch it,
almost with reverent awe.
Juliette left the control room to watch them, to listen to the sound of a perfectly working machine,
of gears in alignment. She stood behind the railing, hands on a steel bar that used to rattle and dance
while the generator labored, and watched an unlikely celebration take place in a normally avoided
workspace. The hum was magnificent. Power without dread, the culmination of so much hurried
labor and planning.
The success gave her a new confidence for what lay ahead, for what lay above. She was in such
fine spirits and so fixated on the powerful and improved machines that she didn’t notice the young
porter hurry into the room, his face ashen, his chest swelling with the deep gulps of a long and frantic
run. She barely noticed the way the news traveled from mouth to mouth throughout the room,
spreading among the mechanics until fear and sadness registered in their eyes. It wasn’t until the
celebration died completely, the room falling into a different sort of quiet, one studded with sobs and
gasps of disbelief, of grown men wailing, that Juliette knew something was amiss.
Something had happened. A great and powerful thing had fallen out of alignment.
And it had nothing to do with her generator.
第二部分：精准口径 17
第二部分：精准口径
17
发电厂里异乎寻常地挤满了人，而且安静得出奇。那群工人都穿着破烂的工作服，挤在栏
杆后面围成三排人墙，聚精会神看着早班的人工作。茱丽叶只是隐隐感觉到有人站在那边，然
而，她真正强烈感觉到的，是那悄无声息的寂静。
她弯腰凑近那个装置。那是她亲手设计的，一座高高的平台焊接在地面的铁板上，上面整
整齐齐排列着一面面的镜子，镜子间有细细的缝。那是用来反射光线的，照亮发电厂另一头那
巨大的蒸汽涡轮机和发电机，这样她才有办法进行精密校正。最关键的，是涡轮机和发电机中
间那根转轴。那是一条长长的铁棒，足足有大人的腰围那么粗，而它的用途，就是要把燃油产
生的能量转化为电力。转轴两头和机器衔接的地方会出现间隙，她的目标就是要把间隙误差降
到千分之一厘米以下。问题是，她现在要进行的校正，完全没有前例可循。备用发电机启动之
后，他们彻夜未眠，用最快的速度研拟出工作流程，而此刻，她也只能全神贯注，暗暗祈祷，
希望先前这十八个钟头的努力没有白费。先前，她好好睡了一觉，然后趁头脑最清醒的时候，
一鼓作气花了十八个钟头设计出那个流程，现在，她只能相信自己了。
现在，她正在指挥进行最后的安装，而四周偌大的发电厂里鸦雀无声。她比了个手势，马
克和他的组员立刻凑近新换的橡胶底座，开始把上面几个巨大的螺栓锁紧。限电已经进入第四
天，明天一早，发电机就必须启动，然后，当天晚上就必须开始恢复正常供电。他们已经换了
很多新零件，包括新的垫圈和密封垫，而且还叫几个小学徒钻进发电机里，把转轴打磨得光滑
油亮。但尽管如此，茱丽叶还是提心吊胆，不知道发电机是否真能顺利发动。从她出生到现
在，发电机从来没有关过机。老诺克斯说，在他印象中，发动机唯一一次关机，是有一次发生
紧急事故的时候，当年，他还只是个学徒。可是对其他人来说，发电机的“隆隆”声永远持续不
断，而且距离他们如此的近，就仿佛他们自己的心跳。茱丽叶心中的压力空前庞大，因为任何
一个小零件都不能有问题，整台机器才能够正常运作。而提议要校正机器的人是她。她必须负
全责。她告诉自己，这是一个正确的决定，机器非校正不可，而且，最坏的状况也不过就是限
电时间必须延长，一直到他们解决所有的问题。再怎么样也总比有一天发电机爆炸要来得好。
她也只能这样安慰自己了。
马克比了个手势，通知她螺栓已经固定，螺帽已经锁紧了。茱丽叶从镜面平台上跳下来，
走到发电机旁边和他们会合。这么多只眼睛盯着她，她走路的时候实在很难装出气定神闲的模
样。围绕在她四周的这些工人，就像她的家人，而他们都是那种说话大声、粗鲁无礼的人，她
实在很难相信他们会这么安静。感觉上，他们比较像是紧张得不敢呼吸，因为他们实在没把
握，这几天忙得人仰马翻，最后会不会是白忙一场。
“你准备好了吗？”她问马克。
他点点头，然后伸手在抹布上擦了一下。他脖子上永远挂着一条抹布。茱丽叶低头看看手
表。看到秒针还是像平常一样一格一格地走，她忽然安心了。每次她无法确定哪台机器有没有
修理好，她就会看看手表，不过，她并不是要看时间，而是要再看一眼东西被修理好的样子。
那只手表本来不可能修得好，因为里面的零件实在太小，小到肉眼几乎看不见，可是她还是不
屈不挠，花了好几年时间把零件洗干净，然后一样样装回去。所以，不管她面对的任务有多艰
巨，跟那只手表比起来，她都会觉得那没什么大不了。
“进度正常吗？”马克勉强挤出笑容问她。
“没问题。”她朝控制室的方向点点头。这时候，现场的人意识到发电机马上就要开机了，
立刻开始交头接耳窃窃私语。有十几个人把挂在脖子上的耳机拿起来戴到头上。茱丽叶和马克
走进控制室和雪莉会合。
“你这边状况怎么样？”茱丽叶问雪莉。雪莉是午班的领班，年纪很轻，个子小小的，不过
脾气很大。
“非常好。”雪莉回答的时候还一边调整转盘，让仪表上所有的数字归零。多年来，为了让
发电机能够持续运作，他们一直在调整数据。现在，他们要从头开始了，所有从前调整过的数
据，所有修修补补的东西，全部都必须归零，免得影响判断。现在他们要看的，是仪表归零之
后，发电机会出现什么状况。一切重新来过。“都准备好了，可以开始了。”她说。
接着，她往后退开，站到她丈夫旁边，把控制台前面的位置让出来。这个动作很明显，她
要让茱丽叶来负责控制。茱丽叶是主导这次任务的人，而她很快就要到上面去了，所以，这次
任务，很可能就是她在地堡深层的机电区最后一次修好一部机器。启动发电机，荣耀应该归于
她，而相对的，所有的责任也都要由她来承担。
茱丽叶站在控制台前面，低头看着旋转钮和转盘。这一切她太熟悉了，闭着眼睛都能操
作。很难想象自己即将告别这一切，到另一个地方重新面对全新的一切。这次任务固然令她提
心吊胆，不过，想到自己就要到最顶楼去面对一个全然陌生的世界，比较起来她反而更害怕。
她就要离开这些亲如家人的朋友，即将面对暗潮汹涌的政治问题，那种滋味实在不怎么好受，
比较起来，她反而觉得汗水和油污的滋味比较甜美。但无论如何，上面毕竟也有她的朋友。如
果詹丝和马奈斯那样的人有办法应付上面的环境，那么，她应该也可以应付得了。
茱丽叶的手微微有些颤抖，不过，那并不是因为她太累，而是因为紧张。茱丽叶打开启动
马达。巨大的柴油发电机必须靠那台小小的发动机来带动。发动机“嗡嗡”作响，持续了很久。
茱丽叶不知道那种声音算不算正常。马克走到门边，把门打开。如果外面的人大喊要他们赶快
关掉机器，门开着才听得到。他转头看看茱丽叶。茱丽叶的手还按在启动钮上，皱着眉头。隔
壁的发动机还是一直“嗡嗡”作响。
这时候，她忽然看到玻璃窗外有人向她挥舞双手。
“赶快关掉！赶快关掉！”马克大喊了一声。雪莉赶紧跑到控制台前面准备帮她。
茱丽叶放掉启动钮，手伸到关机键上面，不过，她忽然停住动作，没有按下去。她听到外
面有声音。一种低沉的“隆隆”声。那声音从地板上传过来，她感觉得到，而且，跟从前那种震
动不一样。
“开始运转了！”有人忽然大喊。
“已经在运转了。”马克大笑说。
外面的发电机开始运转了。有人把耳机拿掉，高举到半空中。这时候，茱丽叶发现，重新
组装后的发电机声音并不大，相形之下，隔壁的发动机反而还比较吵。而且，她也忽然发现自
己还按着启动钮。发电机已经启动了，还按着启动钮干吗？
雪莉和马克兴奋得抱在一起。茱丽叶看看显示温度和压力的仪表，发现数据都很正常。不
过，她还必须等到发电机完全暖机之后，才能确定没问题。压力解除了，她激动得喉咙哽住
了。现场的工人纷纷跳到栏杆外面，围在发电机四周。重新组装后的发电机已经重生了。有些
工人平常很少到发电厂来，他们伸手摸摸发电机外壳，满脸惊叹。
茱丽叶走到控制室外面看着他们，听着发电机运转顺畅的美妙旋律。她站在栏杆后面，手
抓着栏杆。从前，发电机总是发出轰然巨响，栏杆会跟着震动。而现在，栏杆已经不再震动。
从前，很少人敢进发电厂，而现在，他们都在这里欢呼庆祝。那低沉的“隆隆”声听起来如此悦
耳。从今以后，电力不再令人恐惧。他们仓促计划，仓促赶工，所有的心血努力在此刻画下完
美的句点。
另外，此刻的成功给了她一种前所未有的信心。她有信心面对未来，面对上面世界的任何
挑战。面对那重获新生的机器，她是如此振奋，如此眷恋，所以她没有注意到有个年轻的运送
员忽然冲进发电厂。他气喘吁吁，脸色苍白，显然是气急败坏跑了很长的路程。而且，她也没
注意到大家的表情。发电机旁边，每个人都在交头接耳，把消息告诉旁边的人，然后每个人都
露出恐惧哀伤的神色。后来，所有的欢呼声都戛然而止，发电厂里又陷入一片死寂，然后，有
人开始啜泣，甚至有大男人放声大哭，这时候，茱丽叶才发觉苗头不对。
出事了。而且事态严重。
而且，那不是发电机的问题。