Silo 49: Dark Till Dawn

by Ann Christy

  *****

  Her breath sounded strange inside the helmet. Even the clang of the second airlock as she closed it was muted through the thick glass. The trickle of air coming out from the cone in front of her mouth was cool and dry but the little mouthpiece she’ll need if her suit breeches bumped her chin at every turn. The door to the third and final airlock took real effort to open, the mechanism stiff and heavy. It was even more awkward because of the large package she had to take care of, ensuring that the glass ball didn’t impact anywhere.

  Inside, the showers came on almost as soon as she turned her helmet to face the indicator light that showed the control room she was sealed in. She did the little dance that ensured she was as coated as possible and did the same for her package. Everything through her helmet was blurry, so she ducked her head from out of the stream of droplets, wiped off her faceplate quickly and then stuck her hand back under the stream to be re-coated. In her ears, the crackling of an open line preceeded the stern reminder not to touch things and disturb the coating.

  She stuck a thumb up in front of her helmet and said, “Got it. Someone want to get the door for me?”

  A bit of laughter came through the earphones before the line closed, but it opened right away again and Greg said, “Stand by for outer door opening. Back up a step.”

  She shuffled back and heard the grinding of the doors almost immediately. Her heart leapt up into her throat and she blinked at the light that came through the crack. The noise was so loud she could feel it in her teeth and she found herself whispering, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  The line opened again and Greg said, “Just take a deep breath. You’ve got about thirty seconds.”

  She did and felt better. A puff of wind blew dust into the widening gap and she could see the ramp in front of her, in shadow now but still bright somehow. It was like sitting under a table in a room filled with lights. She bent her knees and looked upward along the ramp. The stark line of brightness just beneath the top of the ramp took her breath away. And above it, there was only a light yellowish tan sky.

  “Lillian, you are go for a run. Go!” exclaimed Greg in her ear.

  She tucked the package firmly under her arm and ran.

  Part Three

  The 89th Run

  The Potato

  Excerpt from the book “Silo Ecology for Students”

  Potatoes don’t appear interesting at first glance. They aren’t brightly colored or pretty. They aren’t saved for special occasions and most people would be hard pressed to find a day in which the potato didn’t make an appearance in at least one meal.

  Farms where potatoes, onions and a few other species are grown do not follow the same patterns as the other farms and mimic the length of daylight outside. If they did, we would only get one crop each year. Instead, when the crop is harvested near the longest day of the year, the farms then reset the light back to the shortest days and plant a second crop.

  What makes the potato interesting is that it is not satisfied with where it is planted. Its leafy parts grow until they fall over and if they fall in soil, they will root and grow more potatoes. The plant will continue this process, slowly advancing across the ground, until the period of light each day signals that it is time to stop and focus on growing the potatoes underground.

  If we took the potatoes with us outside when it becomes green again, might not the earth soon be covered in potatoes?

  This is where the wandering nature of the humble potato is matched by the strangeness of the larger world. If we were to let the lights in the potato farms follow the cycle outside, then each year the plants would die back, most of the potatoes would rot over time and those remaining would have to being the process anew.

  It’s something to consider when one gets tired of eating potatoes. It is the wandering plant that always seeks new ground. It’s a lot like humans that way.

  Greg

  Greg looked at the widened eyes above the mouthpiece and gritted his teeth at the signs of fear he saw there. The shadow of her face was five feet tall on the wall, so there was no missing the look in those eyes. It was expected to see it during that first moment of looking outside. The real test was if it faded when he told her to go.

  The airlock door reached the stopping points and he confirmed it with the control operator, a steady man named Jake, before he clicked on the microphone. “Lillian, you are go for a run. Go!”

  She didn’t hesitate and Greg smiled up at her reflected face. At the top of the ramp, she stopped, turned a full circle and faced the sensor, exactly as protocol demanded. Then she turned again, her head cocking a little at something in the sky, a quizzical look on her face.

  “I see something. No disturbances but it looks like some thin streams of brownish vapor coming up from the ground,” she said, her voice high and tight with excitement. Her eyes kept darting about, taking it all in, trying to accept nothing above her but sky. Some people couldn’t handle it, even a few runners in the past, but she seemed to revel in it.

  He could see it through her helmet. It looked just like what she said, two streams of dustier air rising into the air before being swept away by the wind. It was coming from the direction of the other silos. Greg looked behind him at the cluster of people in charge, the Mayor, the senior Historian, and the Race Director, Jeremy. The historian nodded and he turned back to the microphone. “Go for the ridge and stop on top, exactly as planned.”

  Lillian sprang into motion, creating a nauseating bouncing on the screen. It didn’t bother Greg anymore. It was all about the run and the girl running. As she passed the back side of the silo, she skewed to the side a little, looking down at the piles of what remained from those that had come before. Glass from old helmets glinted after being washed by the downpour and a few brittle bits of metal and bone protruded from the mud caked pile. She didn’t stop, but he saw her eyes searching the pile, sadness in them, and heard her say, “Hey Dad. I’m here. I made it. I hope you can see me.”

  He heard Zara make a small sound behind him. He looked back to see her with her hand over her mouth and tears standing in her eyes. She waved him back toward the console, clearly embarrassed and he let her be.

  It wasn’t a short distance to the top of the ridge. In effect, it was the distance from the center of the silo to the outer edge and beyond. Dark scars from the hard weather of before marred the side of the ridge where water had dug crooked channels in the dirt. The view from Lillian’s helmet shifted forward suddenly as she leaned into the ridge, the heavy wet soil sliding around under her steps.

  “Other-cakes! This is like trying to get up a wall covered in oil!”

  “Just take it easy. Be careful of your suit,” he reminded her.

  Her reflected image came through clear as she stopped for a moment, squeezed her eyes shut and counted to five. Then she let out a deep breath and resumed trudging up the ridge. Her eyes were still on her footing when she crested the ridge, so it was Greg and those in the room that saw the landscape beyond before she did.

  The room erupted in noise and the senior historian bellowed in a voice far too big for such an old man, “Hold! Hold her at the top!”

  Greg hit the microphone and swallowed his excitement before he said, “Lil. I want you to look up and then stay calm.”

  Her brows knitted and she secured her footing before she looked up. Her eyes grew so wide he could see the whites all around her irises. She stumbled, caught herself and took the last few steps up to the top of the ridge. “Silo’s ass!”

  Greg grinned at the profanity. It helped. She needed to stay calm even more than he did right now. “Can you confirm what we’re seeing in here?”

  She gulped, the noise loud in the microphone and said, “It’s blue.” Her helmet panned left as she turned to see further, then she did the same for the right side. “It’s only a strip above the horizon. It doesn’t look very tall, but I can’t tell how far away it is. Many silos depths away, for sure. It goes as far left and right as
my arms can stretch.” To illustrate, she held her arms out and turned her helmet once more.

  The historian jabbed at things on the wall map and calling out instructions so fast Greg knew there was no way to get it all done if he wanted to keep his runner calm. He clicked off the mic and called over his shoulder, “She can’t do all that this fast. I’m not going to scare her with all that nonsense. Give it to me in order and calmly.” He didn’t wait for an answer, just clicked back on. “Okay, Lil. Hold up a finger so we can get a measurement.”

  She did, holding her hand out sideways and lining up her fingers with the line of the horizon. The blue was just over two fingers tall but it did stretch out all along the horizon. The historian put a hand on his shoulder and Greg found him florid faced and looking like he was about to burst out of his skin.

  “Get her to look to the left of the lake, not too far left,” the old man instructed. “That’s where the first mark was and I need to get a bearing.”

  Greg relayed the instructions and Lillian got the spot right on the first try. All the extra study on the maps seemed to have paid off. In the distance the broken shape of something black stood in the distance, but it was far clearer now than in the other years he’d been up here. During his run it had been only a smudge, barely perceptible. Then again, during his run the dust had been far thicker, the air a heavy brown and the only blue he saw was on his marker ball. Since then, the air had cleared a great deal and it was more common to see blue than not. Not like this, though. Not a sky full of it.

  He nodded and grunted, clearly satisfied, and said, “Use that marker. Just get her to go and stay left of that marker.”

  He could tell she was itching to move, tired of using up air when there was all that blue to run toward, and she took off like a shot even as he finished his instructions. The timekeeper called out the elapsed time and Lillian only responded with a disgusted sound when she heard it. Greg smiled at her reflected face but his eyes went back to what was coming through her cameras, the wide band of blue, and he felt envious for a moment. It was only a momentary feeling and then the work started again.

  Lillian

  It felt so much different than she had expected. The ground was rough and couldn’t be ignored like inside. Lillian found herself spending too much time looking ahead of her feet and never quite prepared for the constant changes. Why so many runners fell—and sometimes ripped suits in the process—now made more sense. The entire process of simply moving was so much more work.

  And now there was the blue. It wasn’t very high up from her perspective, just two fingers of space above the horizon. It didn’t even look tall enough to slip under, but she knew that her ability to judge with distance wasn’t good. That was what the IT and race people were for. And it looked so far away. Far too far for her to run to. But the camera cart in her arms might be enough if she ran like she meant it.

  Greg’s voice telling her to go was all she needed. It was like a jolt of electricity directly into her feet. They shot out almost of their own accord. She watched the blue but kept the mark in mind along with it, a jagged bit of black reaching out above the ground far in the distance.

  Lillian swerved around the spots of muck, where water glistened and the ground was soft. Most were already being covered by a thin film of dust. When the fifteen minute mark came through, she stopped and held up her hands for the camera. Aside from a bit of brown dust clinging to the fabric, it looked the same as when she had come out and the confirmation she was still good came through from the silo a moment later. She tucked the cart more tightly against her side and took off again.

  The catchment lake shimmered blackly to her right and she slowed down to give those inside a good view of it. It looked oily and toxic, the surface swirling with currents of rainbow flashes. Out of the corner of her eye she caught something different near the shore. “Hey, control. Do you see that? Near the shore?”

  There was a pause and she tried to hold her helmet still so they could see. Greg replied after a moment, his voice a little strained. “You need to keep moving. You have permission to move closer but only if you keep moving onward as well. Be wise. We can’t waste this.”

  It was only a small change in direction and wouldn’t shave much off her distance at all. The lake seemed artificially round from her point of approach, the curve a perfect arc sweeping away from her. A quick inventory told Lillian that she was in good shape. Her breath was coming harder, like a regular run, but it felt good. The weight of all her gear wouldn’t let that last, but for now she felt fine.

  Just after the twenty minute mark she examined the shoreline again. It was still far off her track but she was closer and could see what drew her eye with much more clarity. The black oily water dispersed into whorls near the edge, a grayish blue taking its place. “Control, look at the edge. That’s water.”

  “We see it. Keep moving.”

  She picked up the pace again, feeling the weight on her lower back a little more. “Any ideas?” she asked. The more they spoke with her the less she would think about the weight.

  “Yeah, drop a marker at the closest point of approach when you get to it. We’ll monitor that waypoint in future runs. Try to find someplace it won’t get buried. Our brainiacs here think all the water that fell from the sky is draining into that lake. It’s called Catchment Lake so they figure it is there to catch it. Turn around for a second.”

  Lillian stopped, glad for a respite, and turned back the way she had come. The ground rose a little, like a long, shallow ramp, back toward the silo. “Okay. What am I looking for?”

  “See how the land slopes upward?” Greg asked instead of answering.

  “Sure.” The answer came to her just a few seconds later. “I get it. The land drains to this point because it is lower.”

  Greg’s voice held a smile in it. “You got it. Or, at least, that is what it looks like. Get moving, runner, your break is over.”

  The next part of her run was easier as the land grew less bumpy. Stretches of relative flatness meant fewer surprises for her feet. For almost twenty minutes she just ran. The marvel of having no boundaries—no walls, no people, no stairs—was all that she had imagined and more.

  She placed the marker ball in a wedge between two slabs of uplifted stone that looked an awful lot like concrete. It was only just after the 40 minute point but her body was starting to really feel the weight of her gear and her breathing wasn’t nearly as smooth. It was hard to answer without needing to pull in extra air between words. Lillian held up her free hand without stopping so the helmet camera would see what she did. A fine haze of silvery white particles streamed away and behind her. It wasn’t thick and her suit looked only a little fuzzy, but that fine stream from her hands told her that she was getting close to turn around point.

  Even though the ground had flattened as she ran, it was upslope for most of the way back and that would be harder to do at this stage of the game. Without the heavy camera cart, it might be easier but she was getting tired. The air bottle and oxygen scrubber under her suit were a weight she couldn’t shed. She was far off course, but she should be close to or even past Zara’s end point. She looked around, but no hint of a glass ball made itself known. “Have I passed Zara yet?”

  It seemed that control sensed the tiredness because Greg’s voice directed a halt. When she came to a stop, he said, “It’s hard to know for sure, but you probably passed that line a long time ago. Let’s get a look at the rest of your suit.”

  She bent as much as she was able, thrusting forward one leg and then the other. The material on the front of her thighs was worn looking, not quite frayed but no longer smooth. The heat tape on one wrist was coming loose so she put down the cart and opened a pocket to pull out an emergency roll. It wasn’t a great fix, and some of what ate things out here would certainly stick to the inner surface, but it served to hold down the tape that was coming loose. That was better than nothing. She was prepared for this eventuality and it wasn’t an emer
gency. When she patted it closed and tossed away the remaining heat tape—she had more of the small rolls in other pockets—she took out a squeeze bottle of the chemical repellent. It was a more concentrated form than what she had gotten in the shower and she squeezed streams of it onto the most worn portions of her suit. That bottle joined the tape on the ground.

  “Lillian, let’s get one more measurement. Fingers, please.”

  She grinned and held up a finger, but not in the way he expected. She heard him laugh and corrected her hand gesture to measure the horizon. The blue now stretched almost four fingers above the horizon and she could see more of the blue mingling with the brown for another finger above that. “Wow. Control, that looks a lot bigger. How close is it?”

  “Standby for that answer. Go ahead and prep the cart.”

  “I’m still good to go. My suit is fine and I could run for hours.” It wasn’t true, but it was all she had. The blue was right there and she couldn’t bear the thought of not continuing. If they wanted her to drop the cart then her run was over and they would call her back. She looked at her fuzzy looking gloves and clenched her fist as much as she could in frustration.

  “No, Lil. Get the cart prepped for now.”

  When she had settled the cart on the ground, the relief was immense. It didn’t weigh a huge amount, but every bit of that had seemed to multiply during her run. She extracted the knife from her chest pocket with care and pointed it away from her body as she removed the sheath. One quick slice down the fabric covering the cart and she was able to peel off the covering. She watched it get caught by the wind almost immediately and dance across the landscape, drifting higher as it went.

  The knife, now re-sheathed, went back into her pocket with care, and she checked the cart. It looked fine, so she clicked the transmitter under the suit of her leg. “You have a picture?”