Vanja quickly put the report aside when the courier returned with a fresh stack of papers, this time from a children’s house. She would have to speed up if she were to have any hope of finishing today.
It was only when she had sorted, stamped, and entered everything into the books and worked through almost the whole midday break that Vanja realized she couldn’t find the keys to the archive. She went back upstairs to the secretary, who pulled out a drawer and removed a small key from a key ring.
“I’m making a note of your loan of this archive key,” the secretary said. “The time is thirteen twenty-two. You will return the key thirty minutes from now, at the latest.” She put the key in Vanja’s hand.
“What if I need more time?”
The secretary smiled and shook her head. “I’m sure you won’t.”
—
According to the wall clock above the door, Vanja had seven minutes left of her allotted archive time. She had filed everything except the incident report, which according to the manual belonged in the Incidents section of the drawer labeled MUSHROOM FARM. The section was empty. She slipped the folder in behind the divider and skimmed the other sections. They bore labels like PLANNING, ACTIVITY, STAFF, CONSTRUCTION. Behind the CONSTRUCTION divider lay a fat folder from which a corner of a yellowed sheet of good paper stuck out. Six minutes left. Vanja pulled the folder out and carefully leafed through the documents. This was an old file, the paper yellow and brittle. The contents were sorted in chronological order—blueprints, diagrams, and calculations, none of which Vanja could decipher but which probably referred to the construction of the chambers. A report from the committee meeting that approved the construction plan made things a little clearer. It was dated the sixday of the third month, year fifteen, written by Oltas’ Raisa One. It began with a long enumeration of the agenda: opening the meeting; nominating and approving the president, secretary, members responsible for checking the report; establishing the meeting’s validity; and approving the agenda. Finally, at Item 8, a clue.
Member Harjas’ Gustaf Three presented the results of the preliminary investigation into the possibilities of a mushroom farm. The idea was to construct a system of farming chambers that could double as a shelter in case of a catastrophe or incident. The chambers would be separated by heavy doors, allowing for isolation of any one area if needed. However, the construction plan had to be revised:
Harjas’ Gustaf informed the meeting that the geoscientists have encountered an exceptionally hard type of rock at a hundred-foot depth. It has proven resistant to all tools and methods at our disposal. Ellars’ Karin suggested making an exception and consider the use of large-scale architecture.
Architecture? The term didn’t make sense here.
Ellars’ Karin’s proposal was voted down unanimously, citing the catastrophe in Colony 5 and subsequent legislation. The committee rules that the mushroom farm be constructed in one level only, and the area doubled to compensate for lost space.
Had Ellars’ Karin wanted to talk the tunnels into existence? But they had decided not to. And yet, Ivar had fallen through the floor and found something underneath. Someone else had made the tunnels, that much was clear.
The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs made her stuff the files back into the drawer as quickly as she could. Just as the drawer slid shut, the secretary appeared in the doorway. She was much taller than she had looked sitting down; she almost had to hunch to fit through the door.
Vanja held out the key. “I just finished.”
The secretary gave Vanja a gentle smile that somehow made her feel as though she’d been caught red-handed.
—
She went over to the library after work. Evgen was alone at his desk. He waved at her when she entered.
Vanja sat down at the table in the middle of the room. “Don’t you ever have any other visitors?”
Evgen joined her at the table, sitting down where he could keep an eye on the door. “Two or three a day, maybe. Fewer all the time.”
“I went outside this morning. I saw the pipes with my own eyes.”
Evgen listened wide-eyed as Vanja retold the events of the previous night. “Listen,” Vanja said, leaning closer. “One of them is a little out of the way. You can’t see it until you’re right on top of it. I don’t think anyone’s spotted it yet. We could go there.”
“And have a proper look?”
Vanja nodded.
“Didn’t Ivar say there was something down there, that he was scared of something?” Evgen said.
“He did. But I want to know. And so do you.”
Evgen drummed his fingers on the table. “That’s true.” He slammed his palm down with a bang. “Let’s do it.”
The door to the library opened. Two older women in baggy overalls with blackened knees came inside; farmers, probably, from the plant houses.
Evgen stood up. “Come back tomorrow, and we’ll see if the book has been returned.”
“Thank you very much.” Vanja turned around, almost collided with one of the farmers, mumbled an apology, and left.
—
The rhythmic noise came from the wall to Ivar’s room. Next to her, Nina sat up in bed. It was still dark. Vanja felt dazed; her eyes ached. She couldn’t have been asleep for more than a couple of hours.
“What is he doing?” Nina whispered.
In one fluid movement, Nina slid out of bed, stood up, and opened the door to their room. Vanja followed a little more slowly.
Nina crouched next to the bed with her hands on Ivar’s knees. Ivar himself was naked among the sheets, leaning against the wall. He was painfully thin. “Get a blanket from our bed, Vanja,” Nina said without turning.
When Vanja came back with the blanket, Nina had sat down next to Ivar. Vanja helped her wrap the blanket around him.
Nina cradled the back of Ivar’s head in her hand. “He was banging his head against the wall.”
“I’m sorry,” Ivar said. “I didn’t realize. That I was making noise.”
“Should we take you to the clinic, Ivar?”
Ivar shook his head, as much as he could with Nina’s hand holding it. “No. No, no need. I just need some rest. Maybe something to help me sleep.”
“Are you sure?” Nina bent forward, forcing him to look her in the eye. “Are you absolutely sure? Look, I know you don’t want to be a burden. But you’re allowed to be a burden right now, Ivar. I need you to be. If things are this bad, we need to get you some help.”
“It’s all right. I promise. It’s just a bit of anxiety. It’s nothing I haven’t been through before. It’s not like I was trying to hurt myself or anything. It was just like”—Ivar waved his hand forlornly—“like swinging your legs from a chair, you know.” He pulled the corners of his mouth up in an attempt to smile.
Nina sighed. “I’ll get something to help you sleep. And then I’ll sit with you. If you won’t let me do that, I’ll fetch someone from the clinic. Understood?”
Ivar nodded.
Nina walked past Vanja where she stood in the doorway. “I’m getting him a pill.”
Vanja sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at Ivar out of the corner of her eye. When Nina’s steps had receded sufficiently, she leaned closer. “Would it help if you knew that what you saw was real?”
“They say it wasn’t real. But it felt real. But then again, I’m not well, you know.” He leaned his head against the wall.
“I believe you,” Vanja said.
Ivar slowly rolled his head from side to side.
Vanja got up when Nina came back with something in her hand. “Here. It’ll calm you down.”
Ivar swallowed the pill and lay down. “I don’t want to go to the clinic,” he mumbled. “They’ll drill a hole in my head.”
“No, they won’t.”
Nina tucked the blanket around him. She gently stroked his forehead with her thumb, over and over again, until he closed his eyes.
Vanja took a deep breath. “I’ve s
een it.”
Ivar opened his eyes again. Nina’s head slowly turned to look at her. “I’ve seen it,” Vanja repeated. “The pipe that Ivar climbed out of. It’s really there.”
“Before or after?” Nina said quietly.
“What?”
“Before or after. Did you see it before or after Ivar came out of it?”
“I…after.”
Nina stared at her without speaking.
“Is it my fault?” Ivar’s voice was thin. “Did I do it?”
“Shh. You did nothing.” Nina went back to stroking his forehead.
“You don’t know that,” he muttered.
“Yes I do. Now be quiet. Breathe in. And out.”
Nina turned her back to Vanja and bent over Ivar. The two of them formed a little unit of their own. Vanja left the room. She crawled into her own bed, hovering between sleep and wakefulness until it was once again time to go to work.
FIFDAY
According to the requisition copy Vanja received for filing purposes, the turn to donate good paper had come to the clinic’s psychiatric ward. They were to copy all their medical journals onto mycopaper and send the good paper originals to the commune office. Children’s House One and Two had been given the same task, along with Retirement Home Three and Four. The purpose of the requisition was given as “establishment material,” whatever that was. Vanja sorted the requisition copies into the Resource Management section of the Economy drawer in the Administration row of cabinets.
The gently implacable secretary gave her no opportunity to search the archive today, either. Vanja barely had time to sort everything into the right drawer and section before the secretary stood in the doorway again.
“This is very stressful,” Vanja ventured. “I need more time.”
The secretary chortled. “It doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing. You’re doing just fine.”
This time, her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
—
There were three other visitors at the library. Vanja loitered by the biographies, but the others were taking their time. They were involved in a lively conversation about the nuances of Berols’ Anna’s plant-house poetry and kept dragging Evgen into it. His clipped replies only seemed to fuel the discussion. Evgen made eye contact with Vanja but didn’t seem able to contrive an escape.
Finally, Vanja walked over to the desk. “I was wondering if you could help me find something in the letter collection.”
“Certainly!” Evgen got up and elbowed past a visitor who was just about to ask another question.
“Tonight,” Vanja whispered when they had made it in among the boxes.
Evgen pulled out a box, opened it, and showed Vanja the contents. “Where?”
Vanja rummaged through the letters. “Plant House Eight. Northwest. At one o’clock.” She closed the box.
“I’m sorry I didn’t have that particular letter,” Evgen said loudly. “They might have something at the commune office.”
“Thanks anyway.” Vanja put her hat back on and left Evgen to deal with the poetry connoisseurs.
—
Slow shadows moved across the plant-house wall. The night growers were among the very few workers who were up at night, but it was bright enough in the plant houses that they couldn’t see outside.
They arrived at the same time. Evgen handed Vanja a flashlight. She grabbed him by the coat sleeve and guided him out on the tundra. The plant-house glow gave them a little light to navigate by. Vanja traced a wide arc around the hollow where the pipes grew and where there might be people, but near enough that she wouldn’t miss the spot where that one lone opening was located.
They walked for a long time. Evgen stumbled several times on the uneven ground before adopting a knee-high gait, carefully walking heel to toe. Lights winked in the direction of the hollow to the southwest. Ahead, the darkness was almost absolute. Now and then, Vanja briefly turned her flashlight on, scanning the ground for the opening. Each time, she looked over her shoulder, half expecting the lights from the people in the hollow to home in on them. Nothing happened. When the glow from the plant houses had nearly faded, and they had walked so far across the hard ground that Vanja began to doubt that she’d ever find the right spot, the beam of her flashlight revealed an angular shape. Evgen gasped. He walked a slow circle around the pipe, shining his light down the shaft.
“Are you sure this wasn’t here before?” Vanja asked.
“Am I sure?” Evgen crouched and tapped the metal. “I’ve never been out this far in this direction.” He looked at her over the rims of his glasses. “Are you with me?”
“Are you?”
“I’m with you. But I’m nearly shitting myself.” He let out a thin laugh.
“Me, too.” Vanja’s own laugh came out as a shrill giggle.
Evgen climbed in first. Vanja stuck the flashlight between her teeth and followed him. The rungs looked dull in the light from their torches, and they were rugged to the touch; it was easy to find purchase. The sound of their feet against the ladder was almost deafening inside the shaft. Vanja had counted one hundred and fifty rungs when Evgen finally said, “Found the bottom.”
Vanja carefully put one foot on the ground and turned around, catching the beam from Evgen’s flashlight straight in the eyes. “Ow.”
“Sorry.” Evgen pointed it away from her. “Which direction do you think Ivar came from?”
They were standing in a vaulted tunnel with smooth walls, just big enough that they could stand upright side by side. Both directions were pitch-black.
Vanja wiped her chin with her sleeve. She had drooled around the flashlight. “Amatka is that way. He must have come from there, right?” She pointed to where the colony should be and started walking.
The tunnel smelled of cold earth and stale air. The walls absorbed the beams of their flashlights and the sound of their footsteps. After what felt like a long time, something in the distance reflected the light: a plain door with a handle. Vanja grasped the handle and cautiously pushed it down. The door opened inward with a low creak. On the other side the darkness was virtually solid. Behind her, Evgen’s breathing was rapid and shallow. Vanja realized she’d been holding her breath. “Can you see anything?” Evgen whispered.
Vanja shone her flashlight into the murk. A broad staircase led downward, rough-hewn steps covered in a layer of dust. Vanja descended, keeping her beam of light fixed on the steps.
Behind her, Evgen shone his flashlight upward. “I can’t see the ceiling.”
He was right, the ceiling was out of sight. It either absorbed the light completely or was beyond the reach of their feeble beams. The echo of their footfalls was faint and scattered. The air gradually became warmer.
Vanja halted. She should have noticed earlier. “There are no footprints.”
Evgen stopped next to her. “There are no footprints on the stairs,” she repeated. “Ivar said he climbed a staircase. But there’s no trace of him here.”
“Maybe he came from the other direction. Maybe we should have walked the other way when we came down the ladder.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. It leads away from Amatka.”
“If you got the direction right, sure. And if the tunnel is completely straight.”
Vanja clenched her teeth. “Just a little farther. We can always turn back.”
—
The staircase ended in another door. When Vanja pushed the handle down, it opened outward with a groan. Judging from the echo, they were now standing in a very large space. Something was dripping in the darkness.
Vanja shone her flashlight on the floor. “How far did we walk, d’you think?”
“We could very well be underneath Amatka now,” Evgen replied. “We would be under the mushroom farms, in that case. It smells…it smells like metal in here.”
He made a small sound of surprise. The room grew darker. “Turn off your flashlight, Vanja.”
“Why?”
�
��I want to try something. Turn off your flashlight.”
Darkness rushed in. Vanja fumbled for Evgen, got hold of a corner of his coat, and hung on to it. A tug at her anorak told her he’d done the same. Then she realized that the darkness wasn’t complete. A greenish glow emanated from the walls, brightening as they watched. Silhouettes emerged.
Beside her, Evgen let out a laugh. “Gleam lichen. I thought I saw something.”
They were standing in a large chamber. In the middle of the floor sat a huge contraption, partly covered in the luminescent lichen. It looked at once both mechanical and organic, its details distinct from one another but with rounded edges and surfaces that seemed to have pores. Vanja could make out what looked like pistons, plungers, vents, an enormous cylinder. High above their heads, sheathed in the soft light, rose the arch of a spoked wheel whose highest point seemed to have merged with the ceiling.
“It’s a machine.” Saying it sent a chill down Vanja’s spine.
Vanja and Evgen walked a full lap around it. Liquid bled from the ceiling and dripped onto it, settling in hard patches that choked the organism growing on the surface.
“Once when I was a boy, we went to Essre,” Evgen said. “We visited the Pioneer Museum. They had a steam-powered machine there, a small one. Someone had brought it from the old world. It looked a bit like this.” Evgen gestured at the wheel looming above them. “The wheel went round and round. Have you seen it?”
Vanja nodded. “Once. Then they removed it.”
“Did Ivar say anything about a machine?”
“No,” Vanja said. “I wonder if we went the wrong way. Or if it wasn’t here before.”
Evgen shone his flashlight at the walls. “I wonder if there are more exits.”
Vanja took a mitten off and ran her hand over the machine’s hull. It gave off a slight vibration at her touch. “That little machine in Essre was supposed to power other machines. I wonder what this one is for.”
“I don’t like this place,” Evgen said. “We should get out of here.”
There was a circular plaque on the cylinder’s hull. It reminded Vanja of a clock, but the symbols inscribed on the face looked unfamiliar. She tried to make out the symbols, but they kept drifting out of focus; she could almost read them, but not quite. If she could just concentrate for a moment.
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