Silo 49: Deep Dark

by Ann Christy

  Marina handed her the slip of paper on which she had copied the Hardi entry and Greta frowned at the format. “Hmm,” she murmured and then looked up at the ceiling in thought. When she looked back down at the slip she said, “I’m not sure, but I think this might be when they first started assisting in reproduction. The phrase ‘no assist/rep+’ might actually mean that there was no reproductive assistance required because she had successfully reproduced. We could check with the medics but I’m fairly certain that is the case. I’m actually impressed that you found that.”

  She handed the slip back and they walked down the hallways and away from the Archives. They were quiet and their boots made the only sounds. Here in these parts not meant for the public, there was no need for the rugs and the tiles did nothing to dampen the sound of the sturdy heels.

  Greta stopped almost directly across from the doorway to the public part of the Memoriam and let them into a conference room. Its door was thick and without windows and it seemed to hush all the noises of the silo when the door closed behind them. Taylor was sitting at the table along with Piotr. A slender package rested on the surface. Marina looked at Greta and saw that the woman’s eyes were glued to the package, a look that was almost greedy. There was no question she wanted to see what treasure Marina had unearthed.

  “Taylor, do you mind not drinking at the table?” Greta asked, whipping out a cloth and wiping the surface of the table with vigor when he lifted his cup in response.

  “Sorry about that. I didn’t think,” he said, getting up and putting his sweating metal cup onto the side table where a tray held more cups and pitcher of water.

  “It’s not a problem, Taylor. We’ll just be working with paper now so better to be safe than sorry,” she said and gave him a smile meant to take any sting out of her words.

  Marina decided a show of solidarity was needed. Poor Taylor just seemed to do the wrong things when it was most obvious. Not even a welcome back or a thank you for him. She went to the tray, poured and then downed a glass of the cold water in a single long drink. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and said, “Ah. I really needed that.”

  By the time Marina sat down, Piotr had handed the package over to Greta and she was in the process of opening it with extreme care. She thought back to how roughly she had handled the objects and felt a twinge of guilt. Greta was wearing her gloves again and she shook the packet very gently so that the papers would slide out.

  When the plastic wrapped bits of paper hit the tabletop, Greta winced a little. Marina looked and thought they looked exactly as she had left them, which meant that Taylor had not succumbed to curiosity and opened it. She noted that he was peering as intently as the others. Marina had packed the two bits of paper as tightly as possible, with the face of the image pressed toward the other paper. The clear plastic around them showed nothing more than the round backside of the image with its fading script and the blank side of the letter.

  Marina watched Greta as she flexed her fingers in preparation to open the plastic. It was all that she could do not to just reach out and yank open the sleeve she had put it in and sealed closed. It was nothing that should require such care. These artifacts had survived for an uncounted number of years tucked away and neglected just fine. Paper they might be, but they were sturdier than they appeared. She sighed.

  Greta looked up at the sigh, fingers poised over the sleeve. She asked, “Something wrong?”

  Marina shifted in her seat. She hadn’t actually meant to sigh that loudly or quite so expressively. There was no backing off from the impatience in that sigh so she said, “They won’t fall apart. I can open that pretty quickly if you like.” At Greta’s look, she quickly added, “So you don’t have to try to puzzle out my method and all.”

  The other woman lifted her hands and waved for Marina to proceed though she was clearly reluctant. Marina felt a little bad about that. It was probably like a gift to open such a rare thing and here she was, taking the gift away.

  That didn’t matter now. It was too late to retract and let things proceed. She slipped her tiny work knife out of her pocket and clicked it open but halted when Greta gave a little gasp.

  “You’re not going to use a knife, are you?” asked Greta, her voice a little hushed and disbelieving.

  “I know what I’m doing. I promise it will be fine,” she answered and hoped she didn’t slip with the point of that knife.

  Greta and Piotr exchanged a look. Piotr gave a resigned sort of nod to some unspoken question and Greta said, “Go ahead.”

  Marina slipped the knife into the little gap created when she folded the sealing plastic over. The adhesive wasn’t a permanent one because these little sleeves had to be reused over and over. She had, out of habit, used only the thinnest of swipes of the adhesive and as she lifted the edge of her knife against the sealed edge, it popped free with a tiny sound. She heard Greta let out a held breath and smiled a little. With a practiced swipe, she slid the knife down the free edge until the entire sleeve was unsealed without even the smallest amount of damage to the contents or the sleeve.

  She put the knife down on the table and picked up the sleeve. She squeezed the edges to widen the opening and let the contents slide out. Greta’s hand shot out and caught the papers in her gloved hand rather than let them fall into Marina’s bare one. Marina thought back once more to how much she had handled these objects in her work room with fumes from her electrical work filling the air. She decided to keep that part to herself.

  Greta and Piotr leaned toward each other as Greta brought the objects closer, both of them seeming to forget the others in the room. Taylor, seated as he was, could see little now no matter how much he craned his neck. Greta placed each paper object carefully down on a cloth she had spread on the table and then brought out a pair of tongs with the ends wrapped in something. She used those to turn over the image and Marina grinned at the simultaneous gasps that filled the air.

  That was too much for Taylor, apparently, because he left the table and stood behind the pair, almost pushing them apart as he inserted himself between their heads to get a look. He didn’t gasp but his sharply indrawn breath was loud enough to almost qualify as one.

  The Historian looked up at Marina, her eyes shining, and said, “I understand why you said what you did now. About the First People, I mean.” She looked back down at the image and, in a very soft voice, added, “It’s beautiful.”

  Taylor’s hands had crept up to the back of Piotr’s chair and he gripped the edges of it with enough force to whiten his knuckles. He said nothing but Marina saw his jaw clenching rhythmically.

  The silence was unbroken for a few moments by any words but filled with the little sounds the trio made while they looked at the image. Greta straightened in her chair and laid down her tongs slowly and very precisely. She adjusted them a few times on the surface of the table, her eyes darting toward the tongs momentarily but always away and back to the image again.

  She cleared her throat and said, “I’m having a hard time taking in what I’m seeing there. I can’t help but compare that with what we know of our history.”

  Taylor’s hands finally returned to his sides. The white knuckles were gone from sight but Marina could see the stark white patches on his face where the color had drained away. He seemed hesitant when he said, “I’m not sure what I should even think of it. It’s…it’s…unprecedented.”

  Piotr seemed the least perturbed by what he was seeing. Perhaps it was his nature or that he was not yet fully entrenched in any idea but he seemed to be enjoying the image rather than simply being shocked by it.

  Piotr glanced up at Taylor, clearly excited to be sharing this with his shadow but the look on the younger man’s face made some of the happiness drop out of Piotr’s expression. Taylor’s strained face didn’t show any delight, only shock. Taylor stepped back, aware that he was crowding in on them and took his seat again without a word.

  “Read the letter before you think too much about i
t. It adds a lot to the story. Based on the names, I’m pretty sure it was written by the person in that image,” Marina said and nodded toward the folded letter, as yet untouched.

  Greta reached for the tongs again but Marina stopped her by saying, “It’s very sturdy. You’re more likely to rip it with those than if you just unfolded it.”

  It took just a moment for Greta to get the letter open, the paper crinkling loudly. They read, turning the paper as they went to follow the path of the words. Taylor almost managed to keep his seat, settling for leaning forward across the table and reading upside down. When the paper stopped turning, Marina watched their faces and wondered if she had looked like that. Dazed and saddened and confused in turns.

  “This seems very clear to me,” said Piotr. “I don’t think you’d be accused of speculating on history if you simply accepted the obvious.”

  Greta nodded her head absently, eyes still affixed to the letter. She let go of the paper and it immediately came up at the edges as if it wanted to return to the folded bowl shape it had enjoyed for so many years.

  Taylor looked from face to face and finally asked, “Well? What does it mean? Really mean?”

  “I think that what Marina told me when she explained what she had found is probably very close to the truth,” she paused and gave Marina an evaluating look. To Marina she said, “You have some talent for this work.”

  Before Marina could answer Greta continued, “It seems clear that whoever these people were, they once lived outside when it was a very different place. It is equally clear that this move didn’t go well for them and that a lot of people came with them for whatever reason. And,“ she paused, her voice catching a little as the emotion of what she had found caught up with her, “that these were people just like us.”

  Taylor had listened, his head bobbing in silent agreement with each point as it was made. He reached and tapped the letter once with a fingertip sharply and said, “This paper is intact and in good condition. It can’t be that old. What do you make of that?”

  “I’m not sure exactly. Based on what Marina said about how it was stored, I can only surmise that it may have been protected by the watch.” She held up a hand to forestall the interruption that Taylor was about to make and said, “We’ve got a whole archive full of paper, as you well know, and some of it we have no way to determine the age of. And this is high quality paper like I’ve never seen before. It may simply wear better for that reason alone.”

  “So there is no way to figure out when this happened?” asked Taylor.

  Greta shook her head. “I wish there was. It would tell us how long we’ve been down here.”

  “Who cares about how long? I want to know why,” Marina said, leaning forward with her chest pressed against the edge of the table. She folded her hands in front of her on its surface, more to keep from clenching her hands than anything else. She looked at Piotr and Greta, trying to see behind their eyes to what they were thinking.

  A gloomy quiet settled over the room. It was a lot to take in and Marina had the advantage of having been able to spend days absorbing it while the people in front of her were newly confronted with it. She wanted to be patient and let their minds finish churning, but she was limited by the few short days she had left before she returned to her old life and left this behind forever. Whatever knowledge she could glean from it, she wanted.

  “Shake it off, everyone. This isn’t the end of the world. They already went through that,” she said and emphasized it by pointing at the people smiling out of the image on the table. “Does anyone know what a nuke is? That is what the letter said drove them inside but I have no clue what that is.”

  A short chorus of three negative responses came in reply. Marina chuffed disappointment and asked, “No idea whatsoever?”

  Piotr’s head shake wasn’t quite as firm as the one before and Marina noticed it. She directed her next question directly to him, “You know something, don’t you?”

  “Not exactly and not directly, no,” he answered but it was clear he was working on what he would say next. After a moment and a pursing of his lips he continued, “The Head of IT passes most of their knowledge in a direct line to their shadow and so on. Oral history leads to some inaccuracy. I, for one, didn’t think that it could be true in exactly the way it was told. Do you know what I’m talking about?” He asked and searched Marina’s face for an answer or understanding.

  “Sure,” Marina said. “It’s like the stories with a moral or scary stories for kids.”

  Piotr nodded and smiled in relief. “Exactly so. Well, we have one that says that the Others launched a terrible weapon that was meant to scour the world of all human life so that they could have it. It wasn’t supposed to do what happened outside, only make it perfect for the Others. Except in our story it went terribly wrong and destroyed the world while humanity was safe inside our silo.”

  Greta, who had been listening intently, replied for them all, “It’s almost the same as our known history. There is nothing there that relates to this nuke thing that is mentioned.”

  “There is more, of course, but it isn’t relevant to this. What is important is that both of our histories, the silo’s and our own IT version, say something about a weapon going wrong. What if that weapon was this nuke thing? Or maybe what the letter mentions as whatever was eating the world.”

  Marina broke in. “I suppose it doesn’t matter since we know what the effect was. We can see that from the screen Up-Top all we like. It does support the story though and, in a way, supports the very idea that there were Others. That means the rest of the story may be true, too. They could still be out there.”

  Piotr and Greta shared a private look, full of information and that rankled Marina. “What is that all about? You two keep giving each other all these significant looks. What aren’t you saying?”

  “It isn’t ours to share but suffice it to say that we have good reason when we say the Others are certainly still out there,” Greta said.

  Marina was shocked. Everyone knew that the history said there were Others that may still be out there but like most people, she had relegated that to an almost mythic status. She had never seen one and had never heard of anyone else seeing one. “You’re sure?” she asked.

  “Quite sure,” Piotr confirmed.

  “If you’re sure, then everyone should know. Keeping secrets like that is not above the rails,” Marina replied, her tone full of disapproval and a hint of outrage.

  “It isn’t a secret. You know it,” Greta responded, unperturbed.

  “Not like know, know,” she said, trying to search for a way to say what she meant. “It’s just a story. We assume it is true but probably something in the past. Not a real threat.” Before they could descend into another argument about this she waved any responses away and said, “It doesn’t matter. Can we find anything on how long this nuke or the eating thing lasts? Does it ever go away? Or is there anything in the archives that will help us find out how long ago this was? Anything helpful?”

  “There could be,” Greta said, drawing out the words, “but you’ve seen the deep archives.”

  That was explanation enough for Marina. She had seen them and she knew what a mess they were. She also knew that one Historian would not be enough to get through those archives. She had a sudden thought. “Then let me help you with it. You won’t have to tell anyone else any secrets or break any rules by letting shadows in. Maybe Piotr and Taylor can help too.”

  Greta gave her a doubtful look and her glances toward the two men were equally doubtful. She asked Piotr, “What do you think?”

  “I think we don’t have much in the way of choices. You can’t train a new Historian quickly and you can’t shut down the Memoriam to use the others. Piotr and I can look through files as well as the next person,” he answered but added, “probably.”

  “Same for me. I’ve already been down there so I know what I’m up against,” Marina added.

  Greta considered their words f
or only the briefest of moments. She included them all when she answered, “Let’s tell the council and get started then.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Telling her family had been the most difficult part of the whole process. Joseph didn’t even bother trying to pretend that he accepted her explanation for why she was staying in the Memoriam. He demanded to know what was going on and finally put a hand over her pack so that she couldn’t continue packing and avoid his gaze. She sighed and dropped a stack of undershirts to their bed in resignation. Joseph let go of the pack and crossed his arms, waiting for whatever she might say.

  She gave him a look, one that made it clear that she was not at all happy to be having this conversation. She did understand his position. His wife was packing up and leaving on some pretext to go live more than twenty levels away for an undetermined period of time. She wouldn’t have accepted it either.

  “I can’t tell you everything. Let’s just get that clear right now, okay?”

  He nodded. It was just one sharp nod that spoke volumes.

  She sighed again and said, “I found some objects during the reclamation that turned out to be really significant. You knew I found things that needed evaluation by someone with some knowledge, but it turned out to be a whole lot more than I thought.”

  Joseph dropped his arms to the side, a sign that he wasn’t quite as ready for an argument as before.

  “Well, as it happens, extra people are needed to go through a bunch of other objects and records to try to place these items and I volunteered. Two other people are too,” she said, hoping that would be enough. It wasn’t.

  “Hold on there. You’re trying to tell me that you’re packing up and leaving us so you can look through stuff that belongs to Historians? How is that more important than your job or your family?” he asked, incredulous.

  “It depends on what you mean by important. I told you I can’t share everything!”

  He narrowed his eyes at her but it wasn’t all anger she saw in them. It was also curiosity and confusion.