by Ann Christy
Greta stayed with her and did her best to comfort her and answer her questions, but in the end all Marina wanted was to be alone to think. She lay on her little bed in the medical quarters and tried to decide what she would do. When she decided, she sought out Greta.
Chapter Twenty-Four
She found Greta in the hastily converted hospital room. It was now empty of people or artifacts and held just the debris of their meeting and Greta. Seated in one of the chairs in the half-light that spilled from the hallway, she was still and deep in thought. When Marina tapped the door jamb to announce her presence, she lifted her head and gave a wan smile.
“How are you doing?” Greta asked.
It was such a loaded question. There was so much that could be wrong that it would take a dozen answers combining a whole range of un-fineness to answer. Marina shrugged instead and stepped into the room. She pulled one of the scattered chairs close to Greta’s and sat facing her.
“I can’t live knowing all of this,” Marina said without preamble. It was best to just get it out in the open and deal with it.
Greta bowed her head again and Marina saw a tear fall. “I was afraid of that,” she said sadly.
“Remediation isn’t such a big price to pay for peace, is it?” Marina asked.
There was a long pause before Greta answered. She said, “I have an idea of how you might be able to live with it and be okay.”
Marina listened.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Marina banged on the wall that separated their quarters from Sela’s room with her boot. If the girl didn’t hurry she would be late for her shift. Their new quarters were small and inconvenient compared to their old ones but it was more than inconvenient not to have a door directly to their daughter’s room.
Alas, there were only a few compartments with more than one bedroom on the Memoriam level and they were all taken. They’d had to settle for a one bedroom compartment next to a studio for Sela. It was a trial. She banged again and thought she heard a faint noise that might have been acknowledgement from the other side.
Even after a year, Marina was having trouble getting Sela to keep her room clean and show up for meals on time. She had taken up with a nice young man from Supply and Marina thought there might be a match soon. Sela would leave and then Marina would miss this so she tried to keep it all in perspective.
Joseph liked the distance, which surprised Marina until she realized that his ardor for her was at a higher point than it had been since Sela was old enough to wander into their room if she woke. It was a very nice change, indeed.
Her daughter came in while she was banging again and laughed when she saw what her mother was doing.
“Mom. I’m right here! You can stop cracking the walls now,” Sela said and snatched up a flat of bread for her breakfast.
Marina dropped her boot and scowled while she tried to pull it on without sitting down. “You’re going to be late.”
Sela gave an unconcerned shrug and said, “No, I won’t. I only have to go two levels. I can make it in a flash.” She finished with a snap of her fingers and shoved the rest of the bread into her mouth. She followed it with a swig of tea from the cup at her place and waggled her fingers in farewell. She was gone just that quick.
Her boot finally on her foot, Marina looked for her kerchief and made ready to go for the day. It was nice to live this close to her job but she was still too new at it for her to feel comfortable popping in at home throughout the day. There was always so much to do but it was exciting in a way that being a Fabber hadn’t been.
She stepped out of their compartment and made her way toward the public parts of the Memoriam to check in. Before she opened the door, she smoothed down the multicolored patchwork of her coveralls and gave her kerchief a tug.
As the door opened, the shadow Florine saw her and said brightly, “Good Morning, Archivist Patrick!”
Marina smiled.
Thank You
You have my sincerest thanks for reading my work and I sure hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please take the time to write a review on Amazon. Without such reviews, those who publish direct to the reader would never have even the slimmest hope of reaching interested readers. Plus, you can believe me when I tell you that without those nice words, there is no way I’d be able to force myself to muddle through and keep writing.
I love to hear from readers, even the ones who didn’t like something I did. Readers do change the way I write and what you say might even impact a future character. You never know. You can reach me via email at [email protected] or on Google+ under Ann Christy.
You can also follow the progress of the rest of the series, and give me a shout out, on the series webpage at http://Silo49.blogspot.com. Go on, click it!
As for the progress on the next work in the series? Well, the last one is the most exciting of them all. Silo 49 changes and evolves in fascinating ways. The characters in this final story are my favorite. I wish I could invite them over for dinner, to be honest.
And yes, you get to see the end. The end as I imagined it even before Dust was released. Don’t worry.
And finally….
Just like last time, I wouldn’t dare to give you a sneak peak of the third and final volume of the Silo 49 series. I would never do that. The next page is surely blank. Right?
Silo 49: Dark till Dawn
Part Three of the Silo 49 Trilogy
A Wool Universe Series
by Ann Christy
Part One
A Pleasant Jog Through Hell
Chapter One
The shadow assigned to assist her came right on time. Cane in one hand and a sturdy arm bracing the other, Marina Patrick made her slow way toward the area set aside for today's events. After more than thirty years as the Archival Historian of the silo, she has aged into the oldest of them, yet this is her first cleaning. It is also certainly her last. Even being ported up to Level 1 had been almost more than she could bear. Her joints ached and ground like badly cut metal with each step she took.
As per protocol, Marina was to arrive early to record the event and all that surrounded it. Only the sounds of her shuffling footsteps and puffing breaths accompanied them along the passageway of partitioned rooms. The sounds of engineers yelling, construction workers banging and metal workers doing both were finally gone, their work leaving the whole level a different place.
Three decades of learning and the work that came from what they had learned were complete at last. Everything was ready and it would be up to the cleaner and those who would support him to prove they had done well. And up to Marina to record the events, of course.
The bright light and open space of Level 1 made her blink after the dimness of the hallway. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the place where all the construction had been focused. New walls enclosed a much larger part of Level 1 than previously. The new door was a solid one, with large overlapping seals on the working side visible even from this distance. Beyond that, a further rim of concrete had been added that rose about eight inches above the floor. So many people had tripped on it during construction that it was now painted a vivid yellow.
No other evidence of the vast changes made could be seen from here. People who came to the cafeteria to enjoy the view wouldn't be bothered and that was just as it should be. Getting over the little barrier was harder than Marina would have thought. She was forced to grab a handful of her coveralls and lift her less able left leg over the lip. No amount of internal demand seemed to force the leg to lift more than a modest inch or two on its own.
Inside the newly built walls, the stations for final stage decontamination were set up and ready, their carefully placed supplies covered by sheets to protect them. A neat stack of clothes, hospital wear of un-dyed cotton and a pair of slippers, waited in an optimistic pile for the end of today's events.
The door to the one time offices and cells of the sheriff's station had been sealed on the working side also. More of the big,
wide strips of gray sealing plastic, combined with pressure, kept the air where it needs to be. When the shadow pulled the door open, it made a sucking sound that was vaguely obscene to Marina’s ears.
A breeze rushed past her and into the room where the air pressure is lower, so that her hair is the first part of her to enter. This area is no longer a simple workplace. It is a command center for the event to come and hopefully, for every one after if all goes well. Precious monitors are crammed side by side along the walls, their views dark for the moment. And at the other end of the room, the cell door has been removed to allow for easy passage toward the inner decontamination staging area.
The airlock, though she can only see the first door, is both an expanded and divided affair. Additional airlock doors, one of them from the passageway in the Fabber section where she once worked, have been fitted into the airlock to divide it. The airlock itself has been expanded into the room providing a three stage system of airlocks that all tests to date confirm will work. Bags and bags of fine orange dust have been used in the tests and not a single grain of it has ever escaped into the room where she now stands. They are ready.
Chapter Two
Marina accepts help into her chair, a well-padded one that has been marked for her use alone. She smiles at the shadow and says, "Thank you, Steven. You can run along if you like. I'm just going to start writing my initial impressions of the day."
Steven eyes her a moment, his expressions saying he’s unsure about leaving the frail old woman she has become. After that moment passes, he gives her a respectful nod and bids her goodbye. When the door slams closed with another peculiar sucking noise, Marina removes her book from her pocket and opens to the first blank page. Her little pot of ink is full and her pen has a new nib that is shiny and sharp.
She looks around the room, at the tanks of water mounted on sturdy platforms all along the walls to either side of the expanded airlock, the vast hoses that can dump it with amazing speed into the airlocks and at the pumps that will move that same water back out and into more tanks set beneath the platforms. All of it has the rough look of the newly made. There are shiny spots on the metal where it has been recently ground, the welds all standing out in sharp relief and the bolts un-rusted and freshly milled.
She records it all and finds that time has escaped her when she finally looks up again at the clock. She has filled many pages with the details. Marina notes that old flutter in her belly. The hint of excitement brought about by the knowledge that soon the action will start.
Even as she thinks that the door un-suctions and the preparation group enters in a rush of anticipation and energy. The room fairly crackles with it. They give her a respectful nod and slow their steps for a beat or two, but it is a temporary change. They are back at full speed, calling out their checklists to each other as they ready their respective stations.
The runner —no longer a cleaner she reminds herself yet again— enters with his training team and the last of his suit team. He’s a long and lean young man, vibrant with good health and energy. Marina examines his face as he passes but sees no fear there, only purpose.
He’s already wearing his skin suit, its support systems put in place in the privacy of the medical prep room. She can see the little bulge where a pouch is affixed to his leg underneath the suit, ready should he find it necessary to urinate. Her fingers twist along the pen as she considers whether or not to include such intimate details in her report.
More bulges along the back of his shoulders show where all the battery packs have been placed. It is safest inside the skin suit, which is the last thing that will breech if the worst happens. The coated wire harness that will attach to his helmet electronics bounces behind him as he walks. To Marina it looks like the upraised tail of a cat in fine fettle.
The suit team springs into action the moment he nods his readiness. The council had trailed in behind him, some holding back a bit and others hot on his heels depending on their personality. While some of them watch with anxious expressions, the ones who hung back look like they are trying not to see what is going on at all. Marina can understand this well. The paradigm of who is chosen to clean is a firm one and hard for many to break, some of the council included.
Until today, there have only been two successful recoveries of cleaners but they are the most recent two which gives them reason for hope. Both were terminally ill, as the laws required, and both were volunteers. Today it is a very different situation. This young man is at the prime of his life and in perfect health. It is true that he is also a volunteer and that he competed with unwavering devotion for this day, but it still seems wrong in many respects. Some changes are harder to accept than others.
Marina flips open her book again as the suit team gets to work. Portable oxygen tanks cadged from the hospital have been filled and fitted. That and the small scrubber for his exhalations are fitted to his back at exactly the spots his training has determined are the best for his gait and endurance. The hoses are threaded through the routing ties and create another tail for the runner, this time in front of his chin. The young man doesn’t seem to mind his increasing encumbrance and gives the girl on the suit team that adjusted it for him a wink and a smile.
The innermost suit layer is snug but not as tight as the skin suit and it crinkles noisily as they tug it on over his body. The sealing of this layer is as complete as it would be for one of the old single layer suits. Only the stiff ring that will fit into the innermost groove of the helmet seal is left unattached.
The looser second layer is tinted red as a signal that his time outside has come to an end. The many tests they have done all confirm that having the innermost suit still sealed is crucial to a successful recovery. If the runner sees that red peeking out at any of the places where the suit seems to wear fastest then he knows that he must return without delay.
The outer suit is the recognizable one. It isn’t that much different from the suits they have been using for many years, though much improved from the suits that still sit unused in the vaults. The care with which it is sealed is obsessively perfect.
Marina gives a start when she hears him speak suddenly, along with everyone else in the room.
“Any chance I’ve got time to take a poo?”
Though it is funny on its own, given the situation and his complete encapsulation in three suit layers, it was the expression on the suit-fitter that made it hilarious. The expressions that cross his face combine shock, embarrassment and absolute helplessness against the layers of suit.
The runner winks and says, “Just kidding,” which sent everyone around him into gales of laughter.
The suit fitter makes a wry face and replies, “You’re such a dick, Henry.” After a pause, the roll of heat tape still dangling from his fingers, he makes a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sob. He drops the tape and grabs the runner in a tight hug.
After an awkward beat, Henry returns the hug and pats the fitter’s back. Marina dips her pen and scribbles a description of the scene as quickly as she can, giving a quick nod to one of the artists standing by to do the same in pictures. He goes straight to work and Marina can confidently forget the artist for the moment.
All the artists present are all in the employ of the Historians for today and look to her for guidance. She has to remind herself not to put them too far out of her mind. It is her responsibility to make sure this important event is recorded for posterity.
She makes a quick note to find out the story of the fitter. How does he know Henry and what is their relationship? They look about the same age or thereabouts, so perhaps they went to school together or were playmates in childhood. When she looks up again, the two have disengaged and are performing the same manly postures all men do after moments of emotion. Marina suppresses a smile since a woman smiling knowingly during such moments is never much of a help.
The last bits of the suit are hooked up and Henry tests the transmitter key on his leg beneath the suits. The click, click on hi
s leg sounds out as beeps on the control console across the room. The code is slow and cumbersome, requiring long and short taps of the key to create letters, but it is a safe backup should anything go wrong with the suit communications in his helmet.
At a nod from the operator, Henry stops keying and flexes his hands inside the constricting gloves. Marina jots down those first signs of nervousness in her book. The tight lines of Henry’s face are a shade paler than they had been only moments before. She gives another directive look toward the line of artists, all of them glancing her way at her movement, and the next one in line immediately bends to put a few broad sweeps on his paper and board. Each of them has been selected for their ability to capture ephemeral moments quickly, to imply detail without actually putting it to paper. She hopes they will perform as well as they need to. There are no do-overs.
Two of the suit mechanics lift the backpack to Henry’s frame and began the process of connecting it to him. It is only the frame for now to keep the weight down while they can. The entire system has been designed and built just for Henry’s weight, stride and strengths and it is a marvel to Marina. The gaps within the framework fit perfectly around the bumps and bulges of his tanks and all the rest beneath his suit.
The cage that will hold the glass balls, glass being one of the few things that isn’t structurally affected by whatever it is outside, is handy to one side so that each new ball will roll down the slide and be exactly within reach when he needs it.
