Silo 49: Deep Dark

by Ann Christy

  Marina looked around and inhaled the fragrance of old paper and that strange plant-like aroma the rugs gave off. When she stepped onto the rug from the tile, she felt odd and a bit guilty. One didn't tread upon material like that. It would make it wear and that was a waste. In this place, however, the muffling of footsteps was more important and she took another tentative step forward.

  Florine smiled an understanding smile. She wrapped an arm around Marina's own and led her forward, toward the hallway with the first displays. As they walked she said, "I'll just take you to your room so you'll know where it is. That way, you can take a rest now, or whenever you like, while you wait."

  Marina glanced at a wall with black and white portraits hung equally spaced along its length, each one mounted against a square of colorful fabric over some kind of backing material. Each was rendered with such detail that Marina thought they looked like softer versions of the image she had found in the watch. Each also had a small label below the portrait with a name and their age when they went to clean. Almost all of the people were older, though a few were heartbreakingly young. As she passed, Marina placed her hand on her chest, fingers extended toward her heart in remembrance. As they came to the end of the hall, she put a halting hand on Florine's, which was still around her arm. She stood beneath the portrait of the only person on this wall she knew.

  Grandy had been drawn just as she looked when she first requested her name be added to the lottery for cleaning. She had still looked healthy then and it had been very hard for Marina to accept that she was gravely ill. Though the woman had been like a mother to her for more of her childhood than not, Marina wore no Badge of Honor because Grandy hadn't been in any way related to her.

  She had volunteered and been selected for the raising of the orphans. She had been unable to bear a live child herself and even the assistance provided when she went for annual renewals of her Birth Lottery had been ineffective. Eventually, they had stopped renewing it and she had released her husband to join with another. He had been tested and deemed a healthy man, ripe for reproduction, so it was only fair.

  Still, Grandy had ended up with four children and had, to Marina's eyes, been a very happy woman. She enjoyed her own version of motherhood for the dozen years or so that Marina lived with her. And when she was diagnosed with breast cancer she had confided to Marina that she was very glad she had been unable to bear any children for fear that she would simply pass on the affliction.

  Marina understood this sentiment well. To ensure one recorded every deviation from the norm in their medical files and have any potential mate cleared as a good match before making commitments was a duty for everyone. This Memoriam stood as a testament to the survival of their people when they were poisoned by those bad Others, those monsters who were less than human. They were beating the poison with every new life but they would only continue if they were diligent.

  Marina gazed at the portrait for another long moment. She wanted to reach up and touch the cheek drawn there and see if it was as soft as the cheek of the gentle woman it represented. Instead, she dashed away a tear. Florine patted her arm and urged her forward without words. They wended their way through the halls and past display rooms until they finally reached a door marked as private. A number combination lock stood above the latch on the door and Florine let go of Marina's arm and entered a few numbers. The latch clicked and she held the door for Marina to pass in.

  Before Marina could ask the question, Florine answered it. "I'll give you a card you can use in the slot instead of a combination. Since these are our private quarters and also the entrance to the archives, we have to have some sort of lock. In the past people just came right in, not paying a bit of attention to the sign. That's quite awkward when you’re trying to sleep or take a shower."

  "I'll bet it is. Thanks."

  "Ah, everyone asks that. We get enough guests for it to be standard." She winked at Marina and led her down even more twisting hallways and past the communal spaces. Historians did marry and did have children, but not often. It was a passionate calling that sometimes left room for very little else in a person’s life. Instead, they mostly lived here in the rooms behind the Memoriam and all shadows were required to live there. It was another reason many of them couldn't make it through the long and arduous shadowing process. Those that simply couldn't live their lives back here in the company of other historians eventually left.

  Most historians were women, which was a bit odd in Marina's view, but Joseph had a theory about that. He had declared that no man worth his boots would walk about wearing that many colors at once. It was a funny thought but now that Marina could watch Historians from close proximity, she couldn't help but see his point. The way the stripes of color were sewn together with the arms and legs of different colors did seem very feminine. She decided to keep that thought to herself. She would have to evaluate some of the male shadows and the one male Historian closely and see if she got a different impression from them.

  They arrived at the head of a hallway with a neat "Guest Quarters" painted in bright blue at the juncture. The first door was propped open with a wedge on the floor and it was to this room Florine led her. She showed her the location of the bathroom, gave her instructions on places to get snacks and when meals were served and then hurried away to return to her post.

  Alone, Marina realized how tired she was. Her foot was starting to hurt again and the tightness in her thighs was making it known to her that they were less than healed. She took her pills with a few swigs from her canteen and tucked her few clothes into the drawers under the bed. Though she wanted to spend some time in the Memoriam, to refresh her memory of the artifacts and read the writings, she knew she needed rest instead. It was a long distance she had walked despite the fact that it was just twenty-two levels. And she was hungry.

  She peeked outside at the clock at the head of the hallway and found that she had a long time before the next meal was served. She took one of the peppers from the bag Joseph had left and snacked on that. She wrapped the remains in a cloth napkin to bring to the compost bin in the dining hall later and laid down for a nap. She thought about how long she wanted to sleep to try to ensure she woke up but before she could even finish the thought, she was out.

  Chapter Eleven

  Soft raps on her door woke Marina from a sound sleep and she was confused by her surroundings for a moment. She croaked out a hoarse, "Come in," once she realized where she was.

  The door opened slowly and Greta peeked in, as if regretful of disturbing her rest, and said, "I'm sorry to wake you. I didn't want you to miss dinner."

  Marina struggled to sit up and wiped an unfortunate smear of drool from her cheek. She felt simultaneously like she had been asleep for days and had just fallen asleep a moment before.

  "What time is it?" she asked Greta.

  "Dinner seating is about halfway through."

  "Yikes," Marina said and immediately reached for her boots. "I only meant to sleep for an hour or so. I've been out for a while. Just give me a second and I'll be ready."

  Greta opened the door a little wider and motioned toward the chair, "May I?"

  "Of course. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude. I think I'm still half asleep."

  The older woman seated herself, perching very precisely on the end of the chair, her back ramrod straight, "I don't think you're rude. Don't concern yourself with that. We've all had those weird wake-ups before."

  Marina finished tying her boots and stood up, happily surprised to find no significant pain at the motion, and ran hands down her coveralls to smooth them some. When she looked at Greta, the woman pointed toward Marina's hair and gave a little expression she couldn’t decipher. Marina turned to look into the polished metal mirror and then laughed at her reflection and the giant wedge of wild hair pushed up on the side of her head.

  She dug her comb from the drawer in the nightstand and dragged it through the curly mess, finally securing it all with a twist and a few hair pins. Sh
e turned to Greta and said, "Yeah, that was attractive."

  Greta almost laughed but not quite. Her smile was a friendly one and the two women made their way to the little dining hall the Historians shared. Places that had to service many people ran with an unwavering dedication to a schedule. However, this small group took turns making food and doing the washing up and could be a bit more relaxed about the timing of meals.

  Three shadows were sitting at a larger table with benches on either side, deep in discussion over some point or another. At a smaller round table, the only male Historian was sitting with two more shadows listening to them talk as he sipped a cup of something hot enough to steam. Florine was scraping her tray but she waved and smiled at Marina before hurrying out the door.

  The food was set out on a counter, still in the pots or pans they were cooked in, along with a few empty trays and utensils at one end. Marina followed Greta's lead as she grabbed a tray and her utensils and strolled along the counter, inspecting the offerings and dishing up what caught her fancy.

  The food was formed of plain ingredients but, like the Wardroom, arranged in such a way that the eye was pleased. Marina took a circle of pale cheese, topped with a tomato slice and a perfect basil leaf drizzled with some delightfully spicy smelling sauce. She took a spoonful from a dish that Greta indicated was a spicy eggplant stew and a wedge of flat bread that had been baked with a sprinkle of herbs on it and smelled of roasted garlic. A fresh mix of beet greens, various lettuces, onions and tomatoes and topped with a dressing made from the rare and valuable Honey Vinegar was the only decadent thing on the line. Marina's mouth watered at the thought of the sweet and tangy flavor.

  They made their way to a table, conveniently near the male Historian and his charges, and were largely silent while they ate. Their desired topic of conversation wasn't one that could be indulged in, even in this place as long as there were other ears around to hear them. Marina listened as best she could to the historian and his shadows as they discussed the importance of understanding the way another person thought about a subject and how to listen to more than just the words a person spoke. She smiled as she listened to him have the two shadows practice on each other by speaking a sentence and then try to figure out the full context of what the other shadow said.

  He was patient and very insightful. Marina could tell this even with her back to him. His voice was both calming and strangely electrifying. She found herself blushing at the thoughts in her head and then blushing more furiously when Greta looked up and gave her a crooked smile that said she knew exactly what Marina was thinking. It was embarrassing but Greta smoothed it over with a quiet word and good humor.

  She was relieved when the man and his shadows left but she noted that the bright patchwork of the coveralls did nothing to diminish his dark good looks and purely masculine physique. Marina doubted every man could pull those off in quite the same way and she sighed, eliciting an abrupt bark of laughter from Greta.

  Soon enough they were finished. Marina felt strange about just leaving her dishes for someone else to clean up. Greta said that she would be joining her when it was her turn and that would be lunch the next day. They scraped their plates into the compost bucket and put them into the soaking water, filled their flasks with tea, and departed the common room.

  Greta led Marina away from the private rooms and back toward the Memoriam proper, but they passed by that door and continued toward the archives, conveniently labeled on the wall with a stern warning that only authorized personnel should continue. Greta turned to her and handed her a badge to clip onto her coveralls. It was a plastic card bordered in the colors of the historians with the word 'Guest' in bold black letters.

  She clipped it on and felt strange in the doing. She was a Fabber, a worker of small objects and fixer of broken things. In her wildest dreams she never would have imagined what was happening now. She could never have imagined going into the archives of the Memoriam, a place she had been only dimly aware of and not at all interested in until she opened the back of that watch. She knew there was more. She knew there were answers to all the puzzles of this life and she couldn't help but be eager to dig and reach the down deep.

  When Greta punched in the combination at a big metal door, much like the one that she had seen in IT, but without windows, Marina couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed in what she saw inside. She wasn't quite sure what she expected but rows of shelves with neatly labeled boxes filling them wasn't quite the picture she had made for herself. Maybe dramatically lit rows of books or enigmatic and mysterious locked boxes at the very least. This looked more like the Small Parts counter down at Supply.

  Greta must have seen her disappointment because she said, "Boxes can hold many wondrous things, Marina." She smiled her small smile at Marina then, the one that bowed her lips the smallest bit but lit up her expression with meaning.

  Marina stepped into the row of shelves just in front of her and looked at Greta, who nodded toward a box just above her head with that still, small smile. Marina carefully extracted the box and placed it on a rolling cart that was left conveniently nearby. At another nod from Greta, she lifted the lid and saw that it was filled with objects carefully wrapped in cloth or clean paper.

  Greta reached in and extracted one seemingly at random then unwrapped it for Marina. Inside, a beautiful symbol almost just like the one she had found rested on a round disk of metal. The strange animal with the claws outstretched over the shield that held stars at the top and stripes at the bottom was rendered in metal and colors. To that symbol was also added a round background with star shapes circling the round portion.

  Greta placed it gently in Marina's cupped palm and she examined it. On the back were knobby bits and Greta reached over and twisted one of them off, revealing a pointed post. Marina looked up, her brow creased in question and Greta took it back, twisted off the remaining knobs and then attached the object to Marina's coveralls near the neck opening. She affixed one of the knobs and Marina felt the prick of the remaining sharp points as she laid her hand over it, her confusion deepening and clearing at the same time.

  She said, "This is like their version of badges, isn't it."

  Greta nodded but made no reply. She merely watched Marina and she could sense the woman was waiting to see what she would ask or say next.

  "They used them to identify something in themselves, but what was it that they were identifying? What could it possibly identify to have this animal on a badge?"

  Greta's smiled widened a little and she said, "And now you're asking the same questions that Historians have been trying to answer for generations."

  She gave a wry laugh and reached out to take off the heavy metal badge from Marina's coverall, leaving her with a feeling of loss she couldn't truly explain. She felt as if there had been something connecting her, for just those few seconds, with all those that came before her. It was more complex than that but she couldn't even explain it to herself. She merely felt the loss and had to resist the urge to reach out and snatch the badge back from Greta.

  When it was nestled in with the objects inside the box Greta rested her hand, with gentleness and reverence, on the top of the massed paper and cloth before meeting Marina's eyes and saying, "I know what you must be feeling. This box is filled with such things." She waved her hand along the shelves and to all those beyond this row, shelves that filled this immense series of rooms, and continued, "This whole place is filled with such curious things that offer glimpses but no certainties. We might never know what it all means."

  Marina saw just a hint of sadness in Greta's eyes and realized that she wasn't strict about speculation because she wanted to be. She was as curious and awed by all this as anyone would be. Her strictness must be because it really was a necessity. This much uncertainty would wreak havoc on a mind not dedicated to controlling it. She realized she was being given a rare and surpassingly valuable gift just by being here and she felt the immensity of her good fortune.

  Wh
en that overwhelming feeling passed, she turned back to the Historian and asked, "Is all of this like that? Objects, I mean?"

  Greta motioned for Marina to follow and she walked down the row as she answered, "No, not at all. Most of it isn't like that, in fact. A lot of it consists of drawings of objects or the results of testing or other things that relate, in one way or another, to the study of our past. Most of what’s in this room is really current history though. It’s pretty much all we can do to keep up with adding new things. There’s just no time to research the old stuff."

  She stopped and then began scanning the boxes along the rows where they stood as if searching for something specific. She finally let out a little 'ah' of discovery, took down a box that was almost too high up to reach and placed it on the cart she had rolled after them. She opened it up, all efficiency now, and Marina peeked inside as a smell like old fire wafted up. Inside was a corner of a book, pages spread wide by something. Greta plucked a pair of cotton gloves from her pocket and slipped them on before she gently lifted out the book to put it gently on the cart.

  She stepped back, exhaling as if she had done something of great effort, and motioned Marina forward for a better look. She said, "This is the remains of a book from below IT." She ran a finger along the ragged burned edge of the cover, close to it but not quite touching it, before continuing, "As you can see it is in a fragile condition and we have only this portion left. But we were still able to find out a lot of from just this bit."

  Marina looked at the wedge of book, a roughly burnt triangle several inches in length along the side and along the top. The pages were fanned out with slips of white paper stuck between the pages, making the book even thicker than it had been originally, and impossible to close. She bent down to try to peer in at the pages but Greta touched her shoulder to halt her progress when she got too close.