The Girl Who Found the Sun

by Matthew S. Cox

  Ben faced her, hands on his hips. “You got a spare CO2 scrubber hidden somewhere? What do you think we’re going to do other than keep patching the ones we’ve got?”

  “Maybe cannibalize one to bring the rest back up to full power?” called Lark from her workstation.

  “I was thinking of something more long term.” Raven tilted her head. “What if my dad’s right? Why don’t we pull in outside air and filter it?”

  “You’re gonna kill us all,” muttered Lark.

  Ben cringed.

  Raven glanced at Lark. “The outside air can’t be that bad. My father—”

  “You keep saying that.” Lark bit her lip. “Sorry, but if it’s not poisonous out there, where is he?”

  “Out there… somewhere.” Raven’s stomach clenched into a tight knot. Even if the stories of topside’s danger were overstated, no one could last for four years out there. She’d accepted he’d died a while ago.

  “Exactly.” Lark gestured at the ceiling. “You want to risk the same thing happening to everyone?”

  “No.” Raven squeezed her fists, trying not to glare at the woman. “But, if the scrubbers completely crap out and can’t be fixed, we’re going to suffocate.”

  “At that point,” said Ben, “it would make sense to risk outside air. A choice between definite death and possible death is not difficult. But, the outside air is dangerous. Even if we filtered it, we wouldn’t be able to clean the filters fast enough. We have to maintain a closed system and trust the combination of natural oxygenation from the hydro farm and the scrubbers.”

  Raven eyed the panel in front of him. The weak green glow in the status lights for the three offline scrubbers gradually intensified to the same brightness as the others. The labored whine of fluid pumps struggling to move finally quieted to the normal vibration. Air falling on her from the overhead vent sweetened a little in flavor, losing some of its metallic essence. They’d successfully restarted, but it shouldn’t take six minutes for them to kick in.

  She stared at the panel and let a long sigh slide out her nostrils.

  The next time he turns them off, they’re not gonna come back on.

  3

  Sick

  People aren’t supposed to live in burrows. We’re not damned rabbits. – Ellis Wilder.

  Repetitive dinging too close to Raven’s left ear hammered at her consciousness, an almost physical attack on her brain. A dream of listening to her father telling stories ended with her playfully frustrated at him for making her go find out what a rabbit was on her own. The librarian didn’t trust letting an eight-year-old anywhere near the books at first, but she refused to give up. It had taken him three months to finally cave in and let her read under supervision.

  “Mommy, I hate the alarm,” said a half-awake Tinsley, cuddled up to her side.

  “Yeah. Same here.” Raven reached an arm out without opening her eyes, resting her hand on the vibrating metal framework, her finger muting the bell by getting in the way of the striker. She flicked the lever that disengaged the cog, silencing it. “Actually, I don’t hate the clock. I hate having to wake up.”

  Tinsley let off a contented sigh, thanking her for stopping the noise.

  A few minutes more rest threatened to become a lot longer. As soon as Raven caught herself about to drift off to sleep again, she forced herself to open her eyes. The dingy grey ceiling of her quarters greeted her, mostly drab except for where her daughter had hung up colorful shapes she’d cut out from various scrap materials. Stars, crescent moons, a few blobs she intended as animal faces, and a couple ‘flowers.’ The hydroponic garden didn’t have any decorative flowers, only edible plants, but she’d learned about them in school.

  Somehow, Raven doubted that flowers looked like the fingers of a crumpled medical glove. But, her daughter made it, so she loved all of them.

  She squeezed Tinsley a little closer, the child’s body warm at her side. Thin nightgowns that had once been bed sheets didn’t offer much warmth, though the blankets made up for it. Every time Raven looked at her clothes, or the rags her daughter—and the other kids—had to wear, she questioned if the designers of the Arc made an error. Or maybe the people living in it had screwed up. Perpetual sustainability shouldn’t mean a gradual decline and loss of technology.

  The place should’ve held many more people than it did. It should have provided ample resources for growing cotton-plus, food, purifying air, and so on. Everyone ought to have decent clothes and shoes. The Arc had the necessary machines to produce all of it… but not the resources. They’d stopped making anything close to rubber or plastic years ago, like for boot soles or sneakers. Some rumors blamed lack of materials while other people thought the air filtration system couldn’t handle the toxic fumes the process threw off.

  Of course, tread socks worked just fine. Most people didn’t have to deal with terrain more dangerous than smooth concrete floors and the occasional frayed rug. Those who worked in the water station on level six with all its metal gridded floors and walkways, as well as the technical team, got first dibs on hard-soled boots. The chill of being so far underground made going barefoot uncomfortable, but some people still did it. Tread socks tended to wear out relatively fast and replacing them would require a new crop of cotton-plus, which hadn’t been high on the priority list.

  Raven fussed at her daughter’s hair, black like hers but frizzier. No one would accuse her of being a big woman, but Chase, the girl’s father, counted as a human toothpick. Tinsley inherited his build, having arms like mop handles and legs slimmer than her mother’s arms. Granted, the girl was only six, and the youngest resident of the Arc at the moment. She didn’t have any other six-year-olds to compare her to size wise, but still worried her daughter might be too skinny, too small for her age.

  The kid had no qualms eating, and appeared to be getting enough food. At least, no less than anyone else here ate. Could be that everyone lacked nourishment. Meals didn’t seem to be noticeably different from what she remembered growing up. Probably only her being overprotective and prone to worry. Still, she couldn’t help but accept that her feelings toward the Arc changed. It no longer felt like a place of shelter and safety from the Plutions and the dangers of topside. Lately, it had taken on a more sinister presence, as though it had become a living, breathing thing that wanted to gradually kill everyone.

  Maybe it had been evil all along. How else could a population of 2,000 people dwindle down to 183? No wonder so few children existed. It had to be difficult to find matches between people who had no genetic relationship. At sixteen, Raven wanted to do everything she could to help, even if that meant saying okay when they asked her to have a baby with Chase. She still hadn’t made up her mind if it had been foolish to agree, but Tinsley let her cope with her father’s disappearance in a way that nothing else—not even Sienna—could.

  In another six years or so when her daughter grew too big—or too independent—to share a bed, she’d move across the hall to one of the empty quarters or maybe they’d both move to a larger room with more than one bunk. The Arc had many empty residence halls, further proof the designers made it for a large population. Everyone clustered as close as possible to the central core so they didn’t have a long walk to the cafeteria, the doc, or their job stations.

  Grumbling, Raven rolled her head to the left and sighed at the mechanical clock, a boxy frame of exposed gears and clockwork guts. Four white plastic dials on the front face each bore numbers from zero through nine, tiny metal hands indicating the time in four digits: presently 0-9-5-1.

  Dad said topside has light and dark times. I wonder what it is now. She daydreamed about the sun, fascinated by the concept of light that didn’t require electricity. A sharp click from the clock indicated the furthest right minute dial advanced one spot.

  Her wake started at 1-0-0-0, which meant she needed to be at the engineering room around that time, and she had to do the job until 1-8-0-0. Reading often kept her awake until after 0-1-0-0, but t
he only books she could read in her room had belonged to Dad, and she’d already read them all multiple times.

  That the clock still worked made her proud. She’d built it herself some years ago, before she had Tinsley, her effort to copy the electric one her father used to have, a LED display that showed the time in red glowing numbers. Almost all of those electric clocks had broken beyond repair now. She’d hoped a wind-up mechanical clock would outlast them. Much easier to replace a worn gear or cog than figure out what went wrong on a circuit board. Even the people who lived before the Great Death didn’t fix circuit boards—they replaced them. While the Arc did have some machinery capable of producing circuit boards, it hadn’t been touched in a while. Ben once mentioned that the engineers who used to know how to design and print circuits and chips suffered unexpected health problems and died before they could fully train their replacements.

  As generations went on, highly-advanced technical knowledge faded.

  Same with the doc. From what she’d read in her novels, doctors once had to go through a vast amount of school, testing, exams, certification, and so on. The Arc’s current—and only—doctor, Preston Baxter, learned only from the teaching of his predecessor and a room full of books.

  It doesn’t sound right. How could all the experts die off so fast they couldn’t teach anyone else?

  “It’s almost wake, Mommy,” said Tinsley past a yawn. “When the clock is one-zero-zero-zero we gotta be up.”

  Raven sat up and stretched. “We really ought to be up at 0-9-4-5. You need to be in school by 1-0-0-0.”

  Laughing, the girl climbed over her and ran to the toilet room, her dingy sheet-nightgown trailing after her like the wrappings of a haunting spirit. Raven cast the blanket aside, got to her feet, and pulled her nightgown off over her head before tossing it on the pillow for later. She yawned, scratched a few random itches, then put on a sleeveless inside shirt and a clean pair of inside pants. Since her father taught her to sew, she and Tinsley each had enough of those not to have to wear the same pair more than once a week. She’d made them extra sets out of bed linens she’d ‘borrowed’ from unused quarters on the fifth level. Maybe she’d get in trouble for it, but she didn’t care. A reprimand would totally be worth not having to wear the same inside pants three or four days in a row. Not like they didn’t have hundreds of other bedrooms no one needed. Who cared if one lacked sheets?

  She put on her outer pants, then poncho.

  Tinsley darted out of the bathroom carrying her nightgown, ran over to her clothing shelf, and scrambled to get dressed. Her inside clothes were smaller versions of Raven’s, though instead of baggy pants, she pulled on a tattered red skirt, then her poncho. On her, the garment dragged on the floor, but she’d be able to wear it until twelve or so before needing an adult-sized one. The girl started for the door barefoot.

  “Socks,” said Raven. “You don’t want your toes to fall off.”

  “They’re not gonna fall off!” Tinsley’s shout made her cough. “Don’t lie. It’s not nice.”

  “The floors are cold. You can get frostbite.”

  Tinsley smirked. “Floors don’t have teeth. They’re not gonna bite me.”

  “Come on.” Raven picked two small tread socks up off the rug and tossed them at her daughter.

  “Oh, okay. Fine.” Tinsley rolled her eyes in an overly dramatic manner, sat on the floor, and put the thick socks on. “You too.”

  Raven glanced at her feet. She’d probably end up being sent down the wire conduit again to check the seal, so she stepped into her boots despite preferring the more comfortable socks. Tinsley remained seated on the floor.

  “C’mon. Time to go to school.”

  “Can I skip today? I don’t feel good.”

  Raven crouched nearby, brushing the girl’s hair off her face so she could see into her eyes. Her daughter appeared tired more than anything. No crust at her nose, no unusual crud leaking from her eyes. “Open your mouth.”

  Tinsley did so, emitting a long ‘Ahhhh.’

  Nothing looked strange in her throat. Raven put a hand on her daughter’s forehead, finding her skin normal temperature. The girl coughed again.

  “You don’t look sick. What’s bothering you?”

  Tinsley rubbed a hand across her chest. “My head hurts an’ feels like I spin around a lot.”

  “Okay. Let’s go see the doc.”

  “I’m not that sick.”

  Raven sighed in her head. Is she fighting with another kid? Gotta talk to Sienna. “Well if you’re not sick enough to see the doc, you’re not sick enough to skip school.”

  “No.” Tinsley flopped flat on her back. “I don’t wanna go anywhere.”

  Chuckling, Raven brushed a hand over her daughter’s head. “You have to learn. Don’t wanna grow up to be dumb, do you?”

  Tinsley rolled on her side. “No. But I really feel bad.”

  Not seeing any childish deceit in the girl’s eyes, Raven’s suspicion gave way to genuine concern. She scooped her up and carried her out into the hall.

  “C’mon, kiddo. You need to see the doc.”

  “Aww. I don’ like when he puts the cold spot on me.”

  Raven patted her on the back. “No one likes that thing. But if you’re sick, he should check on you.”

  She headed to the four-way intersection at the end of the hall. Straight went deeper into the Arc, toward the engineering area and manufacturing rooms. Left led to the cafeteria and common areas. She turned right, following the corridor into the section full of offices intended for administrative workers and managers. Most of them sat empty except for the infirmary, Noah’s office, and the security station all the way down on the left. A plain metal door at the end looked like a storage closet, though she’d never been in there or seen it open. No other hallway in the Arc had a door right in the endcap like that, which struck her as odd, but not so strange she did anything more than wonder.

  The second door on the right, close to the central core, led to the infirmary.

  Preston didn’t look old enough to be a doctor, barely into his thirties, but he’d been apprenticed to the former doctor since the age of twelve. Perhaps the old doc knew he didn’t have much time left, found a genius, and got him started early. Raven considered herself smart, but compared to him, she felt average. His intelligence made him a good choice for learning medicine. He would have been perfect if not for his personality. The man became highly uncomfortable when interacting with other people, especially if he had to dumb down his language to explain things to them.

  If not for being ten years younger than him, she might have tried to get to know him more personally. Despite his social aversion, he forced himself past it to help others. She respected him for it. He never acted overly awkward around her. Perhaps because he didn’t need to explain things four times; she could mostly keep up with him.

  “Hey, Doc,” said Raven. “Busy?”

  The man looked up from a book that had to weigh more than a small child. “Oh. I didn’t hear you come in. What’s wrong?”

  She approached the exam table and set Tinsley seated on the edge. “She’s complaining of feeling sick and dizzy.”

  “All right.” He stood, grabbed a stethoscope from the desk, and approached. “Hello, Tinsley.”

  “Hi,” muttered the girl. “Do you have to use the cold thing?”

  “Sorry… yes, it helps. But…” He rubbed the stethoscope back and forth on his sleeve for a moment. “I can try to warm it up for you.”

  Tinsley swung her feet back and forth, waiting.

  “What hurts?” asked the doc, while lifting the girl’s poncho to place the listening end on her back. “Take a deep breath for me, please.”

  “My head.” Tinsley puffed up her chest, held the air a second, then huffed it out. “And my breathing.”

  “It hurts when you breathe?” asked Preston.

  “A little. My head feels funny. Like I spun around.”

  He listened to her breathe
from several different spots on her back and chest, then looked in her mouth, at her eyes, and spent a few minutes poking and prodding at her sides, neck, and throat. Except for squirming under the stethoscope, the child sat there and patiently tolerated the examination. Whenever she coughed, Preston appeared concerned.

  “Is she sick?” asked Raven.

  “It’s possible she’s in the early stages of a cold. But her temperature isn’t elevated. She has some light sinus congestion, irritation of the eyes and throat.” He glanced at Raven. “Has she been unusually tired?”

  “She hasn’t exactly been yawning or passing out, but yes. She’s not her usual hyperactive self. Hasn’t been for a couple weeks.”

  “Hmm. Any unusual giddiness, nausea or fainting?”

  Tinsley shook her head. “No. I got sleepy at school last wake, but I didn’t fall.”

  The struggling green light from the CO2 scrubber appeared in Raven’s mind. “Doc… you think she’s suffering the effects of low oxygen?”

  He folded his arms. “Hypercapnia is one of the things that might fit. Early, early stages though. And we shouldn’t jump to conclusions. I understand they shut down half the ventilation system yesterday. That could’ve led to a drop in oxygen ratio. One of the labs down on five has equipment capable of testing that the composition of our air. I should really go check. Normal saturation is about twenty percent. If O2 levels in the air dip below ten percent, onset of disorientation and unconsciousness can come on so rapidly a person would be unable to escape or seek help. And body mass does play a part as well.”

  Damn. Raven squeezed Tinsley’s hand. She’d felt a little lightheaded herself yesterday, but dismissed it as a side effect of being stuck in the narrow tunnel. “Thanks. So she’s okay?”

  “I think due to her age and small size, she’s particularly vulnerable to fluctuations in air quality. I’d like her to use a mask for a few days and see if that helps at all. Not going to do much about O2 levels, but if the issue is due to elevated levels of dust or other contaminants, it should help.”