Chapter Text
Juliette Nichols, who was born to take things apart and put them back together again, smelled the generator’s motor oil and, for the first time, she gagged. Maybe she was dehydrated?, she thought while tightening a bolt. She was in the generator’s belly surrounded by its metal body. The machine’s guts lit with a warm firelight. Then its stomach grumbled.
“Damn thing’s always hungry,” she mumbled as she tightened another bolt. “If the steam stops for one second, get ready for complaints.”
Then a thought slowed Juliette down. When was the last time she ate? She reached for a hammer. It’d probably been too long, she told herself, despite knowing there was no probably about it. Her last meal was yesterday’s dinner. It had definitely been too long. But the generator was more unstable every day and it needed her attentive presence to keep it running. Which she was more than happy to supply. George’s death had been a catastrophic collapse that came with no manual or instructions. She had no idea how to fix it. So Juliette handled it the only way she knew how – she buried it. She trapped it in her heart’s Down Deep and felt the pressure as it pushed back against its cage. The push and counterpush as she kept it there filled her with her own unstable energy. It’s what fueled her work on the generator. It kept her going but, just like the generator, she was moving towards inevitable breakdown.
At the mention of hunger, Juliette was overcome with appetite. She could go for a cob of corn, she thought while hammering the sheet metal above her. Or fried eggs with a still runny middle. Or some lamb stew. Yeah, that’s it. Lamb stew is the one.
Distracted by the thought of lamb stew, her hammer missed its nail and landed on her hand instead.
“Shit!” she exclaimed. Every mechanic around her stopped and stared. They were dumbfounded. Jules never made mistakes. She hated mistakes so much she’d throw hands when anyone else dared to make one. But today that same Jules had just made the most basic of fuck ups.
“What the fuck Jules?” Knox yelled loud enough to be heard over the generator’s hum.
Juliette froze. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Her body wouldn’t respond.
Shirley, a friend Jules could depend on, broke the silence. “Go see Walker,” she said. Her voice was firm. There was a hint of kindness there, but her overall tone told Jules that her command was final.
Juliette dropped what she was holding. The hammer and nails fell to the floor with a series of clinks. Then she left in a huff.
A wire held Walker’s focus as she heard the door to her workshop open and shut. Tools and spare parts were piled high across the room and they shook slightly from the door’s motion.
“Out with it, whatever it is,” she said without looking up. She was so close to getting this toaster working again, just a couple more minutes and she’d be through. But it was a task she could do with her eyes closed, so she didn’t mind the distraction.
Jules had entered the room tentatively. She felt heat rush her cheeks. Why was she so sweaty? she wondered. She felt so overheated. She leaned against the circular table across from Walker, who still hadn’t looked up from her work.
Jules didn’t say anything. After a few minutes, Walk looked up and saw Jules cradling a hurt hand.
Jules offered a quick explanation: “Hurt it with a hammer.”
“Let me see it,” Walk said as she put down her screwdriver. Jules didn’t react. “It’s not like your hands aren’t already scarred.”
A few years ago, it had taken Walk 6 hours to dig 48 pieces of metal out from under Jules’ skin. Some psycho had intricately rigged a water heater to explode and dropped it down the chute. Jules had been the person closest to the impact. All of Mechanical wanted to find this person to kick their ass. Jules wanted to find them so she could offer them a job.
It took a moment to come to the decision, but Jules held out her hand for Walker to inspect. Apart from the water heater scars, the hand was redly irritated and had a pinky finger sticking out at an odd angle.
“Get ready for some pokes,” Walk advised as she gingerly touched Jules’s palm. A subsequent prod of Jules’s thumb elicited an instant recoil.
Walk looked up at Jules’s pained face. “Well the good news is you didn’t break anything,” she said, equal parts gruff and soothing. Jules exhaled in relief.
Moving towards a cubby, Walk asked: “How’d you end up making such a rookie mistake anyway?”
“Don’t start,” Jules replied. She’d had enough of this day.
Walk returned from the cubby with a dusty jar and opened the lid. “Slather that on and you’ll be good as new.”
Jules picked up the jar to examine it. “Does this stuff really work?” she questioned.
Walk looked at her skeptically. “You think I’d give it to you if it didn’t?”
“Just wondering why it’s so dusty if it’s a miracle cream.”
“When’s the last time someone in Mechanical hit themselves with a hammer?” Walk shot back.
Jules opened her mouth to reply, but Walk’s observation was a knockout blow. So, instead she opened the jar and put the cream on. It felt cool against her warm skin. She felt relief in more ways than one. If this was something Walk could fix, then she’d avoid a trip to Medical or, even worse, a trip to her obstetrician father.
Feeling the satisfaction of another repair successfully completed, Walk returned to her work on the toaster. The two women leaned against the table in companionable silence, each wrapped up in their own thoughts.
Juliette felt the pain in her hand ease and her unhurt fingers massaged her palm. She felt the scar from the water heater and couldn’t believe it was still there after all this time.
“Did you end up reusing everything you took out of me?” Juliette asked without looking up.
Walk grabbed a basket from a nearby cupboard. “Everything but this,” she replied and slid a piece of scrap across the table. “I can’t figure out what it is. All I know is it doesn’t do shit to make water warm.”
Juliette grabbed the metal with her other hand and examined it. It was a silver cylinder, no bigger than 2 inches wide and half an inch tall. She ran her fingers over the object’s domed ends. It was made up of three sections. The ending segments were grooved while the middle segment was knobbed. What a curious little thing, she thought.
“Where in me did you take this from? Do you remember?” Jules asked.
Walk, still leaning against the table, put down her toaster and stared. “Lower abdomen. That’s all I’ll say.” But after a beat she added: “It got in there good.”
Jules yawned.
“Well you asked,” Walk said and rolled her eyes. “It’s your own fault you’re getting bored.”
“I’m just hungry,” Jules explained.
“Well, go and eat then,” Walk sounded incredulous. “You didn’t break anything. You’re good to go.”
Juliette sighed and rolled the leftover scrap back towards Walk. The cylinder reached the other side of the table and bounced against Walk’s lower hip.
Little did either woman know, the piece of mystery metal landed close to its twin. An identical unit was embedded under Walk’s skin, keeping her from ovulating. It was a barrier put in place to stop her from conceiving a child. She had to win a lottery to become fertile again. Then she’d visit a doctor and the piece of metal – the one she never knew was there – would be secretly removed. That was true for every woman living in the Silo. Every woman except Juliette. Her implant was long removed.
The beans and greens on Juliette’s plate didn’t last more than a minute before they made it to her mouth. She was surprised she devoured them so quickly. Earlier, when she had walked into the cafeteria, the smell of food repulsed her. Which was odd, because she felt so hungry. But once she had her meal and sat down, she ate with ravenous fury.
Now her food was gone. She knew she should go back to her room. She didn’t like the cafeteria at the best of times and today was not the best of times. Still, she didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to face her empty apartment. Or pass any of the nooks she hid away in with George.
She might be able to cope if sweet memories were the only grief weighing on her. But she also felt the grief of his unjust demise. It wasn’t his time to die. It wasn’t natural or expected. It was criminal. And there was nothing she could do about it. She felt her heart’s Down Deep roar and angry energy ran through her bones.
She should go back to the generator, she thought. Banging on some steel sounds great right now.
Unexpectedly, a yawn overtook her. Maybe sleep is better, she reasoned. She could wake up early and get a fresh start on tomorrow’s generator maintenance.
Getting up from her seat, Juliette was tired enough for her balance to wobble. The food settling in her stomach began to expand and she felt so ready to call an end to this long day.
When Juliette arrived at her apartment, she opened the door and smelled something foul. What even is that, she wondered. This situation was so strange. Usually, she couldn’t smell even the rankest of odors. So either something had reached dangerous levels or rot or her nasal passages had cleared some lifelong blockage. Whatever the reason, she followed her nose and found an overripe onion next to her fridge. It was slightly soft, but not nearly as far gone as the smell would suggest.
Whatever, Juliette dismissed. She needed to take a shower. So she walked past the dirty clothes scattered all over the living room, their grease staining the furniture, and she made it into the bathroom. Garbage overflowed from the can next to the toilet. It’d been weeks since she’d taken it out. Everything has been a wreck since George… it got worse after The Sheriff went out to clean… Kicking the trash into a corner, she cleared some floor space in order to undress.
She unzipped her jumpsuit and let it fall to the ground. The clothing’s loose fit easily hid a changing body. So it wasn’t until now, when the garment had been removed, that she realized how deeply bloated she was. She looked at herself in the mirror, stripped down to her bra and underwear, and was shocked by her stomach’s curve. She looked like she ate everyone’s dinner beans, she thought, dumbfounded. But her body’s discomfort wasn’t confined to her middle. Or her hand. The truth is, her breasts ached. They overfilled their cups and she couldn’t wait to unhook her bra.
She should have done laundry earlier, she admonished. Then she wouldn’t be stuck wearing old bras that shrunk in the wash. She knew that she hadn’t been taking care of herself since George was killed. She wanted to do better, but knew that she wouldn’t.
After ridding herself of the rest of her outfit, she turned on the shower and stepped in. The water pressure raining down on her back was the closest thing to human touch she would let herself have. Even though this link to physical connection was weak, it was enough of an opening for memories to flood back in. George’s fingers running through her hair. George’s thigh meeting hers. George’s lips soft on her flesh. How he entered her. How he stayed close. How he brought her to the peak and back down again.
She hadn’t been with anyone else. Before or since. That made it hurt more.
She couldn’t keep thinking about this. She needed to shampoo her hair and leave this bathtub and its portal to pain. So she grabbed the nearest bottle and squirted the contents on her scalp.
But the thinking continued. The only other man she’d had any level of physical contact with was her dad. He wasn’t a hugger, but he made an exception once.
She used to volunteer in her dad’s maternity ward. She’d clean bedpans, rock babies while their parents slept, and ran intake for pregnancy appointments. As thanks for her help, the nurses showered her with hugs – front to front, all-enveloping, warm and lovely squeezes. One day, little Juliette had worked from dawn to dusk. So while all the staff were in a huddle, one by one, they each gave her a hug. Her dad’s turn came and little Juliette could see him tense up. She didn’t know how to save him from that moment. She wanted to spare him the awkwardness and embarrassment. But before she could do anything, he gulped and reached his arm around her shoulders. Standing side to side, he briefly hugged her close and quickly let her go.
That was nice. Of course it happened before her mom died. Before her brother died too.
Before things got hard.
Those ‘before times’ were nice. She’d hug all the pregnant women who came into the clinic for appointments. All of them loved it. Well, all of them except for one – Joan West. The memory of her made Juliette scrub her scalp a little too hard. Joan came into the clinic wearing a well-fitted blue sweater and rust-colored corduroys. She looked so cozy that little Juliette couldn’t resist immediately giving her a big hug. Which was the wrong choice. Joan pushed her away and screamed for someone to take charge of this feral child. A nurse rushed over, full of apologies. Joan complained that the hug hurt her sore chest. Juliette froze in stunned silence. Then she stewed on how unfair it was. She was respectful and always tried to stay away from touching that area. And she was tall enough that her arms would normally have wrapped around the woman’s shoulders. But Joan was so bloated that stretching over her stomach’s curve shortened Juliette’s reach. So, instead of Joan’s shoulders, Juliette’s arms had wrapped around Joan’s breasts. It wasn’t something she had tried to do. And it wasn’t something that was her fault.
Deep in thought, Juliette rinsed her hair.
She realized her bloat today rivaled Joan’s. How annoying – that she had the bloat of the newly pregnant. She didn’t have any of Joan’s other symptoms though. Well, she was hungry. And tired. But she’d been working too much, so of course she was hungry and tired. Despite her treating herself like one, she wasn’t a robot. She wasn’t nauseous though. That was the key. Joan and the newly pregnant were nauseous. And she hadn’t vomited in years. Well, not without drinking being involved anyway.
She grabbed a bar of soup and began to lather it between her hands. The soap’s floral smell travelled up her nostrils and the scent overwhelmed her with its force. The assault stirred her dinner and Juliette felt the moment before she gagged.
Then a thin stream of vomit landed on the bathtub’s tile.
“Fuck!,” Juliette yelled loud enough for the neighbors to hear. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”
How can this be?
It has to be.
But how can it be?
Juliette had spread herself out on her bed, looking the very picture of overwhelmed.
She couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t possible to get pregnant without being selected in the lottery. Okay, that wasn’t completely true. She’d heard of it happening once. But that woman had done something in a back alley. The point is, she had taken steps to make that happen. Juliette hadn’t. And because of her unsanctioned pregnancy, that woman had been sent out to clean. Would Juliette be sent out to clean too?
This was all too much. She needed to sleep and sort this out tomorrow.
But her eyes wouldn’t close. Of course her mind drifted to thoughts of George – the father. There was no one else. She wondered what he would say, if he were here.
She pictured his smile. And she remembered a song he sang to her once, on another night where she couldn’t sleep. A lullaby from his mother. She hummed it softly until she felt her lids grow heavy and her consciousness drift.
Baby mine, don't you cry
Baby mine, dry your eyes
Rest your head close to my heart
Never to part, baby of mine