Dust by Hugh Howey Page A

a cloakroom of dark robes that hung like shadows, steered down a hall where pictures of past judges hung askew, to an old metal desk painted to resemble the door.
    The shouts were sealed off behind them. The door banging with fists for a moment, Peter cursing. Juliette collapsed into an old leather chair repaired with tape and held her face in her hands. Their anger was her anger. She could feel herself directing it toward Peter and Lukas, who had made her mayor. She could feel herself directing it toward Lukas for begging her to leave the digging and come up top, for making her come to this meeting. As if this rabble could be appeased.
    A burst of noise filtered down the hall as the door opened for a moment. Juliette expected Judge Picken to join them. She was surprised to see her father instead.
    “Dad.”
    She rose from the old chair and crossed the room to greet him. Her father wrapped his arms around her, and Juliette found that place in the center of his chest where she could remember finding comfort as a child.
    “I heard you might be here,” her father whispered.
    Juliette didn’t say anything. As old as she felt, the years melted away to have him there, to have his arms around her.
    “I also heard what you’re planning, and I don’t want you to go.”
    Juliette stepped back to study her father. Peter excused himself. The noise from outside wasn’t as loud this time when the door cracked, and Juliette realized Judge Picken had allowed her father passage, was out there calming the crowd. Her dad had seen those people react to her, had heard what people had said. She fought back a sudden welling of tears.
    “They didn’t give me a chance to explain—” she started, swiping at her eyes. “Dad, there are other worlds out there like our own. It’s crazy to sit here, fighting amongst ourselves, when there are other worlds—”
    “I’m not talking about the digging,” her father said. “I heard what you’re planning up top.”
    “You heard …” She wiped her eyes again. “Lukas—” she muttered.
    “It wasn’t Lukas. That technician, Nelson, came by for a check-up, asked me if I was going to be on standby in case anything went wrong. I had to pretend to know what he was talking about. I assume you were going to announce your plans out there just now?” He glanced toward the cloakroom.
    “We need to know what’s out there,” Juliette said. “Dad, they haven’t been trying to make it better. We don’t know the first thing—”
    “Then let the next cleaner see. Let them sample when they’re sent out. Not you.”
    She shook her head. “There won’t be anymore cleaning, Dad. Not while I’m mayor. I won’t send anyone out there.”
    He placed a hand on her arm. “And I won’t let my daughter go.”
    She pulled away from him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I have to. I’m taking every precaution. I promise.”
    Her father’s face hardened. He turned his hand over and gazed at his palm.
    “We could use your help,” she said, hoping to bridge any new rift she feared she was creating. “Nelson’s right. It would be nice to have a doctor on the team.”
    “I don’t want any part in this,” he said. “Look what happened to you the last time.” He glanced at her neck, where the suit’s metal collar had left a hook of a scar.
    “That was the fire,” Juliette told him, adjusting her coveralls.
    “And the next time it’ll be something else.”
    They studied one another in that chamber where people were quietly judged, and Juliette felt a familiar temptation to run away from conflict. It was countered by a new desire to bury her face in her father’s chest and sob in a way that women her age weren’t allowed, that mechanics never could.
    “I don’t want to lose you again,” she told her dad. “You’re the only family I’ve got left. Please support me in this.”
    It was difficult to say. Vulnerable and honest. A part of Lukas now lived inside of her – this was something he