Silo 49: Deep Dark

by Ann Christy

  "Not so close. We try not to breathe directly on the pages. The moisture in our breath can damage the pages."

  Marina nodded, understanding that from her own work and remembering her own carefully directed sighs or sneezes away from the delicate components. She said, "What's in it?"

  Greta shook out her hands like she was about to undertake a heavy burden, then tightened the gloves on her hands before reaching out and gently pressing open the pages very slightly. The creak the binding made from even that light touch was alarming. Greta looked as if she knew exactly how to handle the artifact so Marina just bit her lip and watched her every move. She landed on one of the slips of paper between some of the pages and lifted it out. With her gloved finger to hold the page open, she said, "Go ahead and look, just don't breathe on it."

  Marina bent her head and peered at the tiny and perfect writing. Only on some blueprints and instructions and labels had she seen such perfectly formed script in her life. All copies of books were done by hand, as was anything newly developed. This was printed, as in the old printing of the past that no one could do anymore. And though the paper was yellowed even at its most undamaged inner edge and a brown so deep it was almost black near the burnt edges, it was clear that this paper had once been something special. It had a gloss to it and looked somehow different. She adjusted her view so she could read the words and for a moment, they were silent. When she realized what she was reading she drew back in shock and looked at Greta, who nodded and told her to keep reading.

  It was a partial description of something called an ocean. It was missing most of it, but the partial lines she read were wonders to her and there was nothing that she could marry the words with in her own mind. She saw the words, 'covers more than 70% of the Earth's surface' and shook her head, not understanding how that could be. There was no water outside and surely if there was that much she would see it. The rest was too fragmentary to make sense of. It was just words to Marina and she straightened with a look of confusion on her face. Greta carefully placed the paper back inside the book and let it close before she spoke.

  "This one is, we think, from a series of books that described all manner of things and this one is for things that begin with the letter O." She made a gesture as if to qualify that statement and added, "We think it is. We don't know for sure. It is just a fragment and much of it makes no sense. There is no context." She ran a finger along the edge where all the white slips of paper came out and said, "These papers keep apart the pages we were able to separate. The rest are melded together and so far, most pages are destroyed in any attempt to separate them." She sighed and withdrew her hand, her eyes sad as she looked at the book.

  Marina asked, "What is an ocean?"

  Greta turned that sad gaze toward her and said, "We don't speculate, remember?"

  "Right, right," she gestured as if to both surrender to and dismiss the notion of speculating, "but if you did. And based on whatever else you must know from all of this. What is an ocean?"

  The older woman examined her, trying to decide the correct approach, but instead of answering she turned and said, "Follow me."

  They wended their way down the long rows until they reached the one Greta apparently sought. She smiled over her shoulder at Marina as she bent to take out a huge flat box from a bottom shelf and laid it with great care on the floor. "Prepare to be amazed."

  She lifted the edge of the box, revealing a picture of some kind. It was in many colors but the lines were so precise and beautifully drawn that it couldn't have been made by human hands. The paper was big, much bigger than anything she had ever seen even though it had clearly been torn apart, making Marina wonder how much more of this there was. It was mounted with on a larger piece of cardboard. Marina had no idea what it was and looked at Greta, her confusion showing on her face.

  Greta knelt next to her and pointed with her gloved finger toward a single spot, a dark mark of green, on the large outline. She said, "That is us. Supposedly."

  Marina looked again and then fell back onto her rump when she realized what she was seeing. It was land. And the blue off to the edge had words in it. The words were Atlantic Ocean. She took in the scope of it compared with the land and then with the tiny pinprick that was their silo and felt the world around her spin. Her head felt filled with cotton and it was Greta's alarmed voice that kept her from fainting. She felt Greta grab her arm and the sensation retreated almost as fast as it came on. She said, "I'm okay."

  "Sure you are," Greta replied with a hint of amusement in her voice, "if fainting is considered okay. Just breathe and get yourself together. Do you need a medic?"

  Marina took an inventory of her body but didn't think she felt anything seriously wrong other than finding out the world is much more than you thought it was. She shook her head. When she felt herself again she got up on her haunches and looked at the picture again. Greta warned her not to faint and fall into the map since it was the only one they had and Marina gave her a look.

  "Why wouldn't you let something like this be known to everyone? This is certain, right?"

  Greta sighed and gazed down at the map. She said, "Only if you consider a single unsupported partial picture that isn’t mentioned in any other artifact and which, I might add, we have no way of knowing wasn't drawn from someone's imagination."

  "Oh," Marina said and frowned. "But the book. It mentions oceans and here is an ocean right here." She pointed to the Atlantic Ocean again. "That seems like support."

  "Not really. We have no idea if this might have been made by someone who read those books or for another reason. Just because something is old doesn’t make it the truth."

  "Well then, how did you know that this spot was us?" Marina asked.

  "Because it says so. Look closer."

  Marina leaned over and peered at the tiny words next to the green spot. Sure enough, it read 'Silo Field'. She grunted and said, "That seems like evidence."

  Greta sighed again and reached out to close the lid of the box as she said, "Not really. Not when you consider the entirety of the question and the rules for historical evidence. We don't speculate. Our job is to provide truth to posterity. This," she gestured to the box, "is not evidence. It is merely another question that we can add to the list that grows every day."

  The two women slid the box back into the slender opening for it and stood. Marina sensed that Greta had something to say so she stood, trying to give the impression of patience and openness.

  It worked because Greta finally turned to her, slipping her gloves into her pocket as she did and said, "I like to imagine what it might mean, though."

  Marina thought she sounded a little guilty, as if sharing that was a confession to some wrongdoing. She considered her answer carefully.

  "Greta, if you never formulate a question then you can never find an answer. Is that not correct?"

  The other woman nodded.

  "Well, perhaps I'm just a simple Fabber, but it seems to me that the only way to come up with a good question is to do a whole lot of wondering and imagining."

  Greta smiled, a genuine smile this time, and said, "You really should have been a Historian, you know."

  Chapter Twelve

  After their tour of the shelves in that room, they went further in to a place called the Deep Archives where items that hadn't been examined in generations were kept. Marina was amazed that anyone could resist going through every single holding of the entire Memoriam and said so. Greta explained that it was hard enough to keep up with ensuring that current history got recorded properly and attending to the myriad other duties that Historians had. If they wanted a constant and current knowledge of the archives, they would need more Historians. Since they couldn’t do that, the archives were less examined than perhaps they should be. She admitted that she wished she could spend more time doing just that.

  “Why don’t you?” asked Marina. “I mean, you have more shadows than you can cast for. Why not get them to take on more duties or get mor
e shadows to go through the archives. Something!”

  Greta smiled but it was regretful. “We can’t do that. Our numbers are strictly controlled for a reason. How many electricians or farmers would you give up to have someone to go through old boxes?”

  The question was rhetorical so Marina just made a face and that made Greta laugh. “Okay, so asking you that question may not get the same answer as from someone else. But there’s more to it than that. No shadow can come into the archives unsupervised and never into the deep archives. With so many shadows not completing their shadowing it would be an unforgivable breech.”

  “But they could do other things so you all could come in here,” Marina protested.

  “And how well can a Caster cast when their shadow is not with them?”

  The question was a reasonable one and Marina was not in favor of the practice of letting shadows do work they weren’t ready for. It happened sometimes but it usually didn’t speak well for the Caster. “Okay, I’ll give you that. But there must be a way.”

  “You’re speaking like an overeager shadow yourself now.” She stopped and turned to Marina, a hand on her shoulder to ensure her attention was with her before continuing. “We have a history and it is what we know as truth. Is it perfect? Probably not. But it is what we know and it works.”

  Marina sighed, wishing there was an easier way to find out what she wanted to know.

  Greta patted her arm and urged her along. “Let me get you familiar with the Deep Archives. You have access to everything so I’d like to show you where everything is so you can go on your own as you like.” Greta pushed open the heavy door and ushered Marina inside.

  There was a feeling of disuse in these crowded rooms, though it was as clean as the rest of the archives. Here, oddly shaped boxes of different colors and designs were stacked to fill every available bit of shelf space. File boxes with labels erased and re-written many times were stacked along the back walls. They contained obvious overflow from the long rows of filing cabinets, many of which had drawers that would no longer close completely from wear and age.

  Greta waved an arm to take in the entire set of rooms and said, “This is it. It’s got a lot of stuff that hasn’t been examined in a hundred years or more. Probably a lot more. We have an inventory but I’d hesitate to call it accurate since it is signed by a Historian who signed it as ‘Silo Historian’. I’m guessing that is a very old inventory.”

  Marina was amazed and disappointed. How could it be that this much went unexamined? It seemed almost criminal. She considered how much four Historians had to do. They ran the Memoriam, mediated certain types of disputes, recorded history, taught certain lessons in the classrooms and provided insight to the Council for decision making. She realized that she should be more surprised that they got any new, or in this case old, work done at all.

  “We need more Historians,” she said.

  Greta laughed and said, “Please, do recommend that.”

  “I’m serious. Bring the council down here and show them this room. They won’t be able to say no,” Marina urged.

  Greta went toward a file cabinet, grey and rust spotted. One drawer was not fully closed and that one she yanked open. It gave an ear splitting shriek as it came free and both women grimaced. They both put on gloves and thumbed through the tightly packed papers and generalized stuff inside the drawer. It appeared to consist of population charts and medical records and the like. They both had to put effort into getting it shut.

  “If you’re looking to just get lost in some really interesting old shopping lists, this would be the place to go.” Greta pointed toward the far end of the row of cabinets. “Down there are old council minutes and official stuff like that.” She paused and then pointed at the end of one row of shelves, “And down there are some of the old supply records, compartment allocations and the like.”

  Marina nodded and looked around, breathing in the musty smell of old paper and disuse. “I think I’m going to go with my original idea and try to track down the owner by history. See if I can find those names anywhere. I’d like to take a look for any other hidden things tucked away in objects you’ve already got, too.”

  “You can find the census records mixed in with the compartment allocations. There was a lot of discontinuity for a while, I think. I would start over there,” she finished by pointing to the end of another row.

  Marina said nothing. She was eager to start looking. She had a stack of scrap paper to record locations for general records and her time here was too limited to waste.

  “Well, you’d best get started then.” Greta said as she stripped off her gloves and shoved them into a pocket. She gave Marina a level look and then said, “I know you’re eager and probably still not entirely clear on why we do the things we do but please take my advice. Go slow. These records may not all be important to your search but each is irreplaceable. We’ll go through special collections after we’ve gotten your artifacts back up here and taken a look at those. If you don’t find what you seek here, don’t think you won’t find it at all.”

  Marina could see the questioning looking on Greta’s face and knew she wanted more than just an acknowledgement and a goodbye. She gave her the best answer she could, “I’ll be cautious of these things and I’ll keep things in perspective.”

  That must have been a good answer because she made her departure directly afterward. They were expecting Taylor at any time and Greta needed to be the one to take the object from him and keep it secure. Marina lost sight of her as she strode away but heard the door slam loudly, metal on metal, when she left the Deep Archives.

  Greta had been speaking mildly when she said it wasn’t organized. It was a mess. The first file box Marina pulled down listed compartments and census information on the same form and were in no particular order. Level 5 was listed on the page before Level 120 and that was listed before Level 2.

  She flipped through the sheets until she found a listing for Level 50. Marina turned the paper before it sideways so that it stood above the rest and removed the sheet. Scanning down the list she found Hardi within a moment or two. That did nothing for her though because it didn’t even list the individual names. The whole entry consisted of just a few words:

  Hardi, female 28/male 9/female 3 – No assist / Rep+ – Match

  The first part seemed clear enough. A 28 year old female Hardi with a nine year old son and a three year old daughter lived in the residence. Or perhaps they were siblings. Or perhaps she was an aunt or something. They could be orphans like she had been. Maybe it wasn’t so clear after all, she decided, and stopped trying to figure it out.

  She noted it was the same compartment that the Hardi that sent down the watch lived in and that was a positive sign. She had no idea what No assist might mean or what the rep was all about. It seemed those things must go together though so whatever it was might be parsed out at some future point.

  The word match was certainly familiar and she wondered if it was being used in the same context on this old record. To be matched was to have found a mate, a wife or husband and the one you would spend your life with. But it was more than that because no matter the intentions of the couple or their families, one was not matched until the match was approved.

  Usually that wasn’t a problem. Everyone knew their relationship to every other person in their life for the most part. Marina could recite off exactly how many generations separated two lines for almost every eligible male on two levels because she had a daughter to consider. Some women made very tidy sums keeping track of vast numbers of such girls and boys and made matches between people who might not otherwise meet. It was a serious business.

  The use of the word match instead of matched was interesting though, so she scanned the rest of the document and looked at other names. There was a fair distribution of the word in multiple forms and even a few ‘no match’ entries. Matched was almost always used behind entries in which there was both a male and female of near age, though there were a
couple of ages that raised Marina’s eyebrows. One had the female listed as 39 and the male at 22. Marina couldn’t help but grin at that one. She checked the name out of curiosity but it didn’t sound familiar.

  She surmised that this meant the Hardi woman was ready to be matched and that made Marina wonder what had happened to the one who gave her two children, if those were her children. She couldn’t find a year anywhere on the paper that made sense to her.

  Years were counted using rotating years between one and fifty. To refer to something more than fifty years ago, she might say ten years past fifty or she could say sixty years ago. But on paper it was always in the rotating years and that could cause some confusion. Here there were the numbers ninety-nine but she had no idea if that referred to a year or what.

  She copied down what she needed and put the paper back, moving along the different boxes to search for Level 50 in each one. Most of the time she came up empty and in others what remained made no sense. One list that went by level, just like the census, had only the words compliant or non-compliant and nothing else after the compartment numbers.

  When Greta came to get her, she had gotten through only a single row from one shelf. She realized with disappointment that she would not be able to do this in the limited amount of time she had. Marina consoled herself by telling herself that in spending this time with these records she had at least satisfied her need to know if she could even find the information. She knew that without a lifetime she probably wouldn’t.

  As the two women left the Deep Archives, Greta carefully locked the doors and listened as Marina recounted what she found and didn’t find. Greta sighed and said, “I didn’t think you would find much. These archives weren’t even archives at one point. It was actually a hiding place for a bunch of records but no one knows why it was hidden or when. It was pre-history. But I’d like to see that entry you just told me about.”