BTBD Challenge 87 - In the Down Deep

[m_findlow]

Title: In the Down Deep
Fandom: "Wool" by Hugh Howey
Characters: Sherriff Holston
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 859 words
Content notes: The characters belong to Hugh Howey. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author notes: Written for Challenge 87 - Mechanical at beattheblackdog
Summary: Holston's duty takes him deeper into the silo than ever before.

Holston could count on one hand the number of times he'd been down this far. There was a reason why it was called the Down Deep. From his comfortable office on the very first level  of the silo, all the way down to level ninety seven was a good three days climb. To get right to the lowest levels of the Down Deep, all the way to level one hundred and forty four would take nearly a week. He watched the porters whizzing up and down the great spiral staircase, taking the steps two and three at a time, their backs laden with heavy loads that threatened to topple them. Holston wasn't made for such climbs at his age, but if his deputy was going, then so was he. Marnes was at least twenty years older than him.

He could have trusted the task to one of his other deputies to handle. With so many floors, it was essential. The Mids had their own deputy, just as the Down Deep had one, but ultimately Holston was their sheriff, for the whole silo. And there were just some cases that had to be dealt with personally.

News of the murder had spread quickly on the lips of porters, and soon everyone in the cafeteria on level one was talking about it. They had an awkward trust of their fellows down in Mechanical. People from the Up Top and the Mids got along reasonably well. They often crossed paths since so many of them lived in the Mids. They also had a respect for the Mids since that was where so much of what they relied upon came from: food, paper, and just about anything else Supply could manufacture. They provided tangible reasons for being, that people from the Up Top could understand. People from Mechanical however, were seen as a poor cousin, dirty and simple. It came as no surprise to many that one of them might turn on their fellow. That was just like them; no respect for life. They didn't see it every day from the wallscreen, watching the view become bleaker outside day by day; black and brown, desolate and windswept. When the sheriff found their murderer, they'd be sent for cleaning, and at least something good would come of it.

Perhaps he should have traveled more when he'd been a few years younger. He could have gone anywhere in the silo and it wouldn't have cost him any of his precious, hard-earned chits; he could just claim that he was there on business and he'd be let through.

He knew he was reaching the lower third of the silo just from the people that passed him. There were no grey overalls this far down, except for him and Marnes. It was all just a blur of bright yellow Supply folk, mixed in with the dark blue overalls of Mechanical. Even without the colour designation, Holston could have picked out the Down Deep folk by the way their hands and faces tended to be covered in grime. It was the nature of the job, working with grease and fuel, spanners and welding torches. Supply might have brought tangible products to the Up Top residents of the silo, but it was the people in Mechanical that provided the life blood. Without them to maintain the gigantic machinery tucked in the bowels of the silo, there'd be no oxygen, no water, no heat and no light. The Up Top might look down on the people of Mechanical, but they were their very reason for existing. Without them, the silo would suffer a slow, painful death.

Death. The word felt strange in Holston's mouth. People died in the silo all the time. Sickness and old age, sometimes an accident, particularly down here in Mechanical. Then the lottery would come along and bring the silo's population back into balance. But death of any other sort was almost unheard of. Another death, another lottery. Was that the answer? Who would risk a cleaning for that?

Stepping off the landing at level one hundred and thirty eight, he felt his legs protest at walking in a straight line after so many steps. His back ached as well. Allison would have laughed and told him he was getting old. Truth was, he was getting old. But Allison would never get older now. She'd always be that same age she'd been the last time he'd seen her; the night before she'd been sent for cleaning.

Faces cast a wary glance at him, spotting not only the grey coveralls out of place in a sea of blue, but also the shiny badge pinned to his chest, marking him as sheriff. Some looks were questioning, others suspicious. Some probably found him a curiosity, others an intruder into their lives. Did they think he was down here to carry out justice, or just to send one of their own for cleaning?

Perhaps he should have come down here more often, sensing the way that this place felt foreign to him. Perhaps it didn't matter. He was here now, and there was a crime to be solved.