Shift - Omnibus Edition by Hugh Howey

breathe; he needed to get out . There was no wheel on the outer door. Everything had been taken out of his control—
    The inner locks clanked. Donald lunged for the door and tried the handle. Holding his breath, he opened the hatch and escaped the small airlock for the larger chamber in the center of the capsule.
    ‘Donald!’ Senator Thurman looked up from a thick book. He was sprawled out on one of the benches running the length of the long cylinder. A notepad and pen sat on a small table; a plastic tray held the remnants of dinner.
    ‘Hello, sir,’ he said, barely parting his lips.
    ‘Don’t just stand there, get in. You’re letting the buggers out.’
    Against his every impulse, Donald stepped through and pushed the door shut, and Senator Thurman laughed. ‘You might as well breathe, son. They could crawl right through your skin if they wanted to.’
    Donald let out his held breath and shivered. It may have been his imagination, but he thought he felt little pinpricks all over his skin, bites like Savannah’s no-see-ums on summer days.
    ‘You can’t feel ’em,’ Senator Thurman said. ‘It’s all in your head. They know the difference between you and me.’
    Donald glanced down and realized he was scratching his arm.
    ‘Have a seat.’ Thurman gestured to the bench opposite his. He had the same color scrubs on and a few days’ growth on his chin. Donald noticed the far end of the capsule opened onto a small bathroom, a showerhead with a flexible hose clipped to the wall. Thurman swung his bare feet off the bench and grabbed a half-empty bottle of water, took a sip. Donald obeyed and sat down, a nervous sweat tickling his scalp. A stack of folded blankets and a few pillows sat at the end of the bench. He saw how the frames folded open into cots but couldn’t imagine being able to sleep in this tight coffin.
    ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’ He tried to keep his voice from cracking. The air tasted metallic, a hint of the machines on his tongue.
    ‘Drink?’ The Senator opened a small fridge below the bench and pulled out a bottle of water.
    ‘Thanks.’ Donald accepted the water but didn’t open it, just enjoyed the cool against his palm. ‘Mick said he filled you in.’ He wanted to add that this meeting felt unnecessary.
    Thurman nodded. ‘He did. Met with him yesterday. He’s a solid boy.’ The Senator smiled and shook his head. ‘The irony is, this class we just swore in? Probably the best bunch the Hill has seen in a very long time.’
    ‘The irony?’
    Thurman waved his hand, shooing the question away. ‘You know what I love about this treatment?’
    Practically living forever? Donald nearly blurted.
    ‘It gives you time to think. A few days in here, nothing with batteries allowed, just a few books to read and something to write on – it really clears your head.’
    Donald kept his opinions to himself. He didn’t want to admit how uncomfortable the procedure made him, how terrifying it was to be in that room right then. Knowing that tiny machines were coursing through the Senator’s body, picking through his individual cells and making repairs, repelled him. Supposedly, your urine turned the color of charcoal once all the machines shut down. He trembled at the thought.
    ‘Isn’t that nice?’ Thurman asked. He took a deep breath and let it out. ‘The quiet?’
    Donald didn’t answer. He realized he was holding his breath again.
    Thurman looked down at the book in his lap, then lifted his gaze to study Donald.
    ‘Did you know your grandfather taught me how to play golf?’
    Donald laughed. ‘Yeah. I’ve seen the pictures of you two together.’ He flashed back to his grandmother flipping through old albums. She had this outmoded obsession with printing the pictures from her computer and stuffing them in books. Said they became more real once they were displayed like that.
    ‘You and your sister have always felt like family to me,’ the Senator said.
    The sudden openness was