Silo 49: Deep Dark

Chapter Seven

Marina’s legs felt like they were about to fall off. She was pretty sure the painfully burning straps under the skin of her thighs that might have once been muscles were about to actually spring out of her body. They would fly out and over the rails and straight to the Down Deep where they would be swept up by maintenance and never return.

What made it even worse was that a quick glance behind her told her that the easy stride and pace of conversation between her two family members meant this climb was no big deal for them. It sucked.

In truth, it shouldn’t have been such an ordeal. Yesterday they had climbed almost 50 levels. It was more than 50 if she counted the trip up and down the ramp at the Animal Farm. And now they were just taking a so-called short trip up to IT on 34. With each level being more than forty feet of distance, it was not a short climb and Marina should have realized there would be a price to pay.

It hadn’t started out that way an hour ago. She had done all that Joseph suggested, performing some stretches that hurt like crazy to loosen her overworked muscles. She had a glass of water as well as juice and tea for breakfast at the hotel breakfast bar. When she took that first step on 50 she thought it would be fine.

It wasn’t fine though. By the time they breasted the landing on Level 48, every step felt like balls of metal had been inserted under her skin and were rolling painfully across the surfaces of her muscles. There was a terrible pain in her left foot too, but not like a normal pain. Instead it was in the arch of her foot, horrible and sharp, each step bringing it forward and then pushing it back as the other foot took the lead.

She finally hobbled off onto the landing at Level 40 with tears in her eyes. Her embarrassment added more to the tears than just her pain. The concern on the faces of her husband and child as they followed her off the stairs made it worse still. They were actually confused by her discomfort and couldn’t quite grasp the situation.

She shuffled off to the side of the landing and out of the way of the people who passed by. She eased herself down the wall with a groan till she was seated flat on the grating. She put her feet out in front of her and sighed as that sharp pain in her foot immediately began to subside and the strain on her leg muscles fell away.

It took her a moment to speak. “I’m sorry, guys. I really am. I feel like such a weakling compared to you two.”

Joseph waved off her words and crouched next to her. He set down his pack and held his hands above her thigh, giving her a look that requested permission.

Marina grimaced but nodded and then bit down on her lip as his hands ran along the exact line in her leg that was causing her so much pain. Tears sprang to her eyes. He saw it, gave a decisive nod and rocked back on his heels.

“Well? What is it?” Marina asked, wiping away tears.

“Basically, it’s just very overworked muscles. It happens,” he spread his hands in a helpless motion, his expression sympathetic and also a little guilty. “I’ve seen it a few times when I brought someone up to the clinic or to the mediators and they weren’t used to going so many levels at once.” His eyes flicked away from hers with even more guilt and he added, “Tourists, too. I should have known this would happen to you.”

Sela watched the interaction and the look she gave her mother seemed a mix of embarrassment at their situation as well as simply feeling sorry for her pain. She knelt on the other side of her mother and whispered, “What do we do? She’s supposed to be at Level 34 soon.”

Marina gave a tentative flex in her feet and felt the sharp pulling pain in her arch respond immediately. She let the flex go and stuck with rubbing her sore thighs gently. She looked at Joseph, who was in turn watching her. “My feet, too. But that feels different. It’s mostly my left foot.”

Joseph gently removed her left boot. Sela looked around, red faced with embarrassment, as he did so. He shifted to a better position and lifted her foot to his knee. “I’m going to press on it to see if I can figure out what it is. It might hurt so get ready. Okay?”

She nodded and set her jaw, hoping that whatever he did didn’t bring back that sharp pain. In this matter, she wasn’t going to get what she wanted. His fingers seemed to find the exact spot to press to bring it on. She lifted a hand to stifle the yelp she could hear bubbling out of her.

Her husband gently lowered her foot again and shook his head. He gave a deep sigh and said, “It’s Stair Foot.”

Marina looked alarmed but Sela merely sunk to a sitting position and groaned. “What is that? It sounds terrible.”

Joseph gave her a sideways smile and said, “No, it’s not serious but it is painful and the only real treatment is to stay off your feet. I should have checked to be sure your boots had enough support in them.” He motioned toward her feet and continued, “It’s basically overstretching that gets out of hand. I’m hoping yours isn’t the kind that lasts for long. For the moment, you’re not going anywhere.”

He stood and looked around. He found the directory for this level and walked away to consult it, Marina following him with her eyes. Sela shifted from her kneeling position to sit next to her mother but the silence between them was awkward. Marina felt awful about the situation and understood all too well that staying off of her feet equaled ruining their vacation. For a teenager like Sela, it must seem terribly unfair.

She turned her head to look at her daughter and saw that she was trying hard not to show her disappointment. “We’ll figure this out. I promise not to ruin your vacation.”

Sela dropped her head and Marina realized she was about to cry. That particular catch in her breath and the defeated slump of her shoulders was familiar from her younger days but Sela had grown into a pragmatic and strong young woman. It had been a long time since Marina had last seen her cry. She was unsure how exactly she should approach it. The methods that worked on a ten year old probably weren’t the right ones for a young deputy shadow.

“If I put you on my lap and tickle you to make you happy, I think that might cause a scene,” Marina said, trying to put a cheery note in her voice.

Sela looked at her in alarm, her eyelashes dark and wet but her cheeks unmarked by tears, “Please, please don’t even try that. I’ll die of humiliation.” Her eyes darted about, as if trying to gauge exactly how many of the people on this level would notice such a fiasco occurring in their midst.

Marina laughed and said, “Okay, I won’t do that. But it seems to have worked just to say it.”

“Hmph,” Sela grunted as she wiped roughly at her eyes. “I wasn’t crying.”

“Of course not.”

Joseph returned just then and squatted next to Marina, his knees popping loudly. He gave her an encouraging smile and said, “I think everything is going to be fine. There’s an office with a couple of couches just inside where people often rest so I can take you there. Also, I got them to send up for a medical tech who will meet us there. They’ll know what your problem is and will bring what you need. We’ll be okay and then we’ll figure out the rest.”

“This is a zero floor. Shouldn’t there be a med station here?” Marina asked, checking for herself that the large numbers four and zero were, in fact, painted on the landing wall.

“Yeah, but only every other one is manned. Personnel shortages still,” he patted her arm to reassure her. “It’s getting better though. More shadows coming up every year. Oh, and I wired up to IT about your meeting.”

“I actually feel a little better now…”

Joseph interrupted her. “Until you stand up, you probably will. First things first. Let’s get you in there and onto a couch for a proper rest. This landing can’t be comfortable.”

With each of them supporting one of her arms she stood up carefully. The pain in her foot those first few steps was so bad that she shuffled along like an old woman. She didn’t want to but couldn’t stop herself. They slowly crossed the landing and by the time they had entered the main doors, they were bearing almost all of her weight. She dropped to the couch like a sack.

Sela let out a puff of air with the release of her weight and said, “Mom, I’m sorry. I guess you really are hurting.” For the first time, she looked concerned and she turned to her father, “Is she really going to be okay? You’re sure this isn’t serious?”

He shook his head, poured a cup of water from a pitcher considerately left for them and passed it to his wife. He helped her lift her legs onto the couch since the groans that came from her trying to lift them on her own were pitiful. When she sighed in relief at being still and lying down he answered his daughter.

“No, not serious as in permanent or crippling, but it really is painful. Anyway, they can do some things that will get her back on her feet if we’re careful and she limits herself. You’re just lucky you’re young.”

“Why? I don’t remember you ever having anything like this.”

“No, not yet.” He looked at her, grinned a little and said, “But you’re looking at your future if you stay a deputy long enough. It happens to us all eventually. Some sooner than others. Porters too, now that I think about it. That’s how they know it’s getting time to look at when they’ll transfer to Maintenance.”

Sela blanched and looked at her mother again. “You’re just saying that, right? Joking?”

He shook his head slowly and a bit mischievously, “Nope. Not even a little bit joking. You can’t stay on your feet forever.”

From below them on the couch, Marina said, her eyes closed and her voice droll, “It’s so nice that I can be an object lesson for others regarding their future degradation and how they’ll fall apart.”

All three of them laughed a little at that but it was a short lived respite. A young man wearing Turquoise and not wearing a shadow patch, much to Marina’s secret relief, came in a few minutes later. He gave her an injection for inflammation and pain that worked to send it to the background quickly.

He examined her feet and her boots and tsked at the deputy for not doing this prior to a climb with someone who didn’t normally spend much time on the stairs. From his pack he pulled out some felted pads and stuck those in her boots. He also gave her two small vials of pills to keep her pain and swelling at bay.

Once she had her boots on her feet, now including the wonderful pads, and confirmed she could walk, he demonstrated how she should climb the stairs for the time being. It was embarrassing to think of walking like that, flat footed and so careful, in front of all the people that would travel the stairs around them.

He must have seen this on her face because he became stern then, the look incongruous on his smooth young face. He advised her of exactly how bad it could get if she didn’t take great care now. She had no desire to be trapped anywhere for a week without the ability to walk back home. Better embarrassed than stuck, she figured.

The final instruction from the medic made Sela’s face fall in disappointment. Marina was to climb only one level at a time upward and 3 downward. That was for her thighs as well as her feet and she must rest and sit before taking the next bit of stairs. Even she couldn’t hide her disappointment at these words. At that rate it would take far too long to do all that they had planned. There was also no way she was going to be able to investigate her find.

The medic saw this. He must have been all too aware of her predicament because he said in a more gentle tone, “I see this more than you think. People who go a few levels at a time each day, at most, suddenly have to pack in as much as possible in a few days. Some I see after trying to make it seventy levels or more. You should see what shape I find them in!”

Marina could only imagine and said nothing.

“The point I’m trying to make is that it’s not the end of your vacation. These two are doing fine,” he stopped speaking and looked them both over, a quick appraisal in the look and asked, “You are fine, right?”

Both of them nodded and he returned his kindly gaze to Marina, “Since they are in good shape, they can do some of the running around. What you need to do is figure out what’s most important for you to do and then plan a way to get that done. If you want to see the Up-Top Screen, you still can. You just won’t see it today and you may have to skip something else. You want to shop in the Garment District? You can do that too, so long as you plan correctly. Okay?” The last he said with a paternal pat on her shoulder, the action again at odds with his boyish face.

She gave him a faint, disappointed nod but said nothing and he removed his hand from her shoulder to pull a little clipboard full of papers out. He scribbled on one and then another before handing both to Marina.

“One of those is a Rest Chit. I made it for a week but if you need it longer you can go see any medic. It will give you access to one of the rooms at the way stations on every third level so you can rest and put your feet up.” He turned to Joseph and said, “And I really recommend you make sure that happens.”

Marina smiled at the guilty look on Joseph’s face and was about to tease him about making her do anything but the medic continued.

“The other one is a Berth chit. I don’t know all your plans but that will get you a bunk for the night at any Medic Station. That’s also for a week. There aren’t many, some just have two fold down bunks, so try to get a message to whatever level you’re going to need well ahead of time. You certainly can’t traipse about back and forth to the hotel if you go too far up or down.”

When the medic finally left and the family was left alone in the room with only the whisper of the ventilation to break the silence, Marina tried to re-work their plans in her head. It was no use and no matter which way she figured it, she wound up costing her family important vacation time. Joseph and Sela were seated on the other couch in the room and both seemed to be thinking gloomy thoughts as well. Finally, Marina broke the silence.

“Okay. This stinks and I’m sorry. Let’s figure out how to fix this or at least not let it mess up too much of our vacation.”

After an extended bout of negotiation and comparing notes, the family wound up with a list and a workable plan. The list was messy, some things crossed out and others cramped in between those lines, but everything that was really important would happen, even if it was without Marina.

For herself, she became far less interested in shopping when the whole purpose of this trip, her investigation, would be in jeopardy. She had no idea how she would ever arrange such an opportunity again and her priorities had changed.

She tried, despite her own desires, to keep the needs of her family at the top of her mind, but she also realized that she had been given a little gift in this unexpected injury in some ways. Her family would need to do some things on their own and leave her behind. She could then follow the trail of her investigation without much interference. She tried not to smile as she carefully copied out the final list so that both Joseph and she could have a reference for where the other was.

They got ready to separate for the rest of the day, with Joseph and Sela set to make the long haul up to the Garment District as planned. They each recited back to Marina the instructions on what kind of additional gifts for his mother to be on the lookout for.

Marina would rest a while and then make her slow and laborious way up to IT. A second wire had been sent letting them know the situation but no response came and Marina didn’t know what to think. She would do her best to go up, however late she might arrive.

Before they could say their goodbyes there was a sharp rap on the door. Joseph popped up to answer and two porters, well-muscled and hulking young men, entered.

“We’re here for the transport.” He consulted the slip of paper in his hand and said, “For Marina Patrick.”

Marina lifted a hand tentatively. “That’s me. But I didn’t wire for a transport.” She turned to Joseph. “I didn’t. Did you?”

He shook his head and turned to the porters, a small frown creasing the space between his eyes, “Who sent you?”

The porter who had spoken slipped the paper back into his pocket. His shock of very dark hair, shadow of an even darker beard and thick eyebrows made him seem older than he probably was. “IT ordered a person transport. We’re supposed to get you there express, so if you’re ready…” The sentence trailed off since it was obvious that Marina, lying on a couch with her legs elevated by couch cushions, wasn’t ready.

“Uh, okay, well…”, Marina began.

Joseph stepped in, much to her relief. “Great. Can you gentlemen just give her a couple of minutes to get her things together? We’ll meet you on the landing. Will that do?” His hand reached out to herd the two porters from the room but his expression was all deputy, soothing and calm and authoritative. It worked because they shuffled out, polite nods to Sela and Marina as they left.

“Well,” Joseph said as he closed the door. “That I didn’t expect. What kind of meeting is this again?”

“Yeah, Mom, you’re getting carried like an old person. What’s up?”

Marina threw a little glare toward her daughter for the age reference as she sat and started gathering the things she needed to take with her. Most of their belongings were in the hotel but Marina had brought everything she would need for her business today.

She tied the top of her pack closed, pulling the loop tight as she did so. Joseph gave her a hand standing up. The stiffness was there and she could feel some echo of the pain just waiting for the injection she had received to wear off. She grabbed the vials of pills off the low table and jammed them into the protected pocket on her chest, hoping the feeling of them there would remind her to take them on time.

Marina felt guilty about leaving those men to wait for her so she turned to her family and talked quickly, checking the folded chits in her front pocket and all the other assorted things she carried as she spoke. “This is actually good. I mean, good once I get over the humiliation of being ported, that is. Anyway, you two do what we talked about and I’ll go get the business out of the way. That means we can keep our schedule. Tomorrow, I’ll already be halfway up to our next stop and all will be well.” She ended that last with a smile she hoped looked confident and shouldered her pack. She leaned in to give each of them a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Good? Okay?” she asked when she got no verbal response from either of them. She hadn’t answered Joseph’s question and she knew that he was aware of it. The question he was probably considering was whether or not she knew that he knew or if it was an accident brought on by her need to hurry. She wanted to nudge him toward thinking the latter.

He nodded, apparently satisfied that it wasn’t intentional and the duo saw Marina to the landing. Sela let out a laugh when her mother settled into the porting chair and then grabbed the sides in alarm as it rocked free when lifted. The frame was such that the two porters, one in front and another behind, could hold the handles even when angled by being on different stairs while the person seated swung free and remained level. The seat constantly adjusted no matter the angle of the carry. It was an ingenious design but a little shocking to a new rider. Joseph nudged Sela into silence and waved as Marina began to disappear up the first spiral up of the stair well.

Marina felt her face redden repeatedly as people peered at her, some discreetly and others not, during the first few levels of her portage. It was just as she had told her family, utterly humiliating. If she were very old, ill or in some other way infirm then this wouldn’t be an issue for her. That is really what the transport chair was for. One couldn’t even get the service without medical authorization and she hadn’t gotten one from the medic. She assumed that IT had gotten one and that embarrassed her even more.

A young family passed by, the couple not older than their mid-twenties and very fortunate in their fertility as they had two children in tow. They were young to have already met their quota of two children and were, no doubt, in the lottery for any extra births that might be permitted. The little girl, perhaps five years old, Marina guessed, pulled her thumb from her mouth and asked in a loud voice, “Is she going to clean too?”

The mother mouthed an apology, her face a horrified mask at her child’s rudeness, but Marina just laughed. The mother moved the child to ride on her hip, whispering scolds at her as they passed the chair. Before they spiraled out of sight, Marina called back to them, “No, little one. I just hurt my foot by not being careful on the stairs.”

The little girl looked back at Marina and she saw the thumb slip back into her mouth before they disappeared around the curve. It was sad that a girl so young even knew what cleaning was. Perhaps it had been explained when someone in her own family took ill, a grandparent perhaps. It was possible that little girl had already faced the peculiar mixture of honor and sadness that came from the gift of cleaning. Marina doubted anyone so young could truly understand the relief of knowing someone beloved would be spared the terrible pain of a lingering death and give the gift of knowledge in the doing of it.

It took a surprisingly short time to travel the six levels and neither of the porters seemed even remotely out of breath as they lowered the chair to the landing, well away from the traffic of the stair well and near the open entrance to IT. When Marina felt the braces that kept the chair from swinging free click home she let out a sigh of relief and caught the porter who secured the lever giving a little grin.

She braced herself to try to rise but the porters, experienced with transports for the decrepit, each held out a hand for her. She gripped their calloused yet gentle hands and stifled a groan as she rose to her feet. She assured the young men that she was fine going alone from there but they informed her that they were to wait for her and return her to her lodgings for the night.

She flushed a little at that, relieved that they would do so yet feeling as if she should be capable of doing that herself and not tie up two people who were probably much needed elsewhere. When she reached for her small pack, one of the porters grabbed it and then held out an arm for her. It was just the same way as her husband had for her the night before as they went to the Wardroom for a meal, yet the intention so completely different she almost laughed.

Before she could protest the porter said, “Sorry, but it’s required for transports. You don’t have to take my arm but I have to walk with you. Just in case.”

She didn’t take the proffered arm, but she did let him carry her pack and they walked slowly toward the open doors of IT. As was tradition, the doors were held wide with metal loops wrapped around the door handles at the end of a long bar. The other end of the bar hooked through another loop of metal screwed into the concrete of the wall. There had been various times throughout the years when the suggestion was put forward that the doors should simply be removed to open more space, but the fire codes wouldn’t permit such a thing. There was actually a breaking link in the bar of metal, a band that was more brittle by design, and a sledge hammer mounted to the wall nearby. If a fire should happen, someone would grab the hammer and break those links and then those fire doors would close for the first time in living memory.

At the entrance to IT, a young man stood wearing the same grey coveralls that Marina wore but with the badge of IT. It depicted the outline of a box with the graphic of a hand, fingers spread wide, within the box. Also according to tradition, he held a platter with tiny round biscuits upon it.

As Marina and the porter approached, the man said the ritual words that were said to everyone who approached the doors of IT and he offered the platter of biscuits, “Life is for Giving.”

Marina took one of the offered biscuits and returned the words, also dictated by ritual. “I forgive.”

She stepped aside while the porter took his biscuit and the words were exchanged. Marina had no idea what the ritual really meant, no one did that she was aware of, save that there was some great wrong done in the past and IT had been involved. Some thought they might have betrayed the silo to the Others at some point, possibly even during the time of the First Heroes. Historians weren’t positive about the answer and so, of course, they gave none and the tradition continued.

When he was done with his words, they entered the wide entrance to IT. Most of IT was freely open to any visitor. The only exceptions were the labs where delicate work was done, the server room, the suit labs and a couple of other spaces. Even in IT, where transparency in all things was strictly adhered to, private concerns such as performance evaluations or personal matters between people required some semblance of privacy. Yet even in those cases, windows cut into the doors to all such spaces were covered only from the exterior so that anything done there would be done under the eye of any person that wished to observe it.

Here in the lobby, this same open attitude prevailed. Turnstiles, long since relieved of the turning arms that might halt entry, formed simple columns of metal that impeded nothing. A conference room walled with glass contained a table and chairs to one side of the lobby and though no one was in there, a pitcher and a few cups awaited anyone who might need to stop and rest or be refreshed.

Marina walked to the other side of the foyer toward the service desk and smiled at the clerk, then quickly corrected herself and added a touch of her fingers to the center of her chest. It was meant as a gesture of sympathy and respect. The young woman wore the badge of IT but also the Badge of Honor. She seemed so young to have experienced the loss of someone from the circle of her primary relations to a cleaning.

The badge, a simple embroidered symbol of the three entwined circles with an X woven through it, was unmistakable and reserved only for those whose parent, spouse or child had performed the ultimate service to the silo that can be done; clean. Given that only one volunteer was selected every few years for cleaning, there weren’t a lot of people who wore that particular badge.

The young woman returned the gesture and the smile and then asked them what she might do for them. Marina’s appointment was confirmed and soon the intercom in IT crackled as her contact was called to the foyer.

Marina turned to the porter, “What’s your name? I’m so sorry that I didn’t ask before.”

He ducked his head, looking a bit bashful now that he was no longer in his comfort zone of the stairwell, “I’m Roddy, Ma’am. Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I’m where I need to be and I think this will take a while. Why don’t you two go and have something to eat or relax.” She waved toward the empty conference room and said, “I’ll be very happy to rest and put my feet up for a bit if it ends early. Just check in with the clerk when you return and we’ll link up.”

He looked a little dubious but agreed and they parted, him handing her the sack of treasures carefully, as if she might fall down by accepting the slight weight of it.

He left and she saw the IT head’s shadow, the same man who had been sharing such significant and private looks with the head during discussions leading up to the Reclamation Resolution. She thought his name was Tyler or Taylor or something like that, but of course, she couldn’t remember which. He approached and offered his hand. They exchanged banal greetings and Marina noticed how his eyes strayed to the bag in her hand.

She lifted it a little and said, “These are the items. Shall we?”

He inclined his head and motioned for her to proceed down the hall with him. Falling into step next to her, he matched the slow speed of her awkwardly careful gait. “We’re just going to one of the interior conference rooms. Everyone is here since we’re running a bit late.”

Though he said the words without any hint of accusation or blame, Marina cringed inside all the same. “I’m terribly sorry about that. I seem to have overdone it.”

The man smiled a little ruefully and waved the apology away. “It happens more than you think. Especially on the way down when it doesn’t feel like it should be difficult.”

Marina nodded and tucked that small snippet away for when the family make the trip downward again. She peeked into the server room as they passed and marveled at the beautiful simplicity of the towers that contained so much complexity within. Things she had made or repaired lay within those towers and it was nice to see where some of her hard work wound up. She didn’t want to hold up the proceedings any further so she looked for just a few seconds and continued on, the pleasant smell of warm electronics lingering in her nostrils.

They arrived at the end of the hallway at one of the conference rooms, the room number placard no longer remotely legible and the lines incised in it rubbed almost flat. The man opened the door and motioned her in before shutting it behind them. Inside, six people surrounded the small conference table, leaving two chairs empty, presumably for the man and her.

The head of IT, seated next to one of the empty chairs, called out, “Taylor, excellent. Thank you for escorting our guest. And Marina, it’s good to see you. I hope the transport wasn’t too uncomfortable.”

Marina eyed the man, but she read only sincerity and friendliness in his eyes. She nodded slowly and replied, “Yes, thank you for sending it. I do apologize for the delay.” This last she said to the whole group and hoped they could simply let the subject drop.

Introductions were made around the table and though Marina remembered most of them by face she was glad to have their names. The Historian, Greta, exuded an aura of calm but seemed friendly enough when introduced. She was an older woman and had held her seat on the council the longest of any member. Their terms were set at fifteen years. It took Historians such a great length of time to master their craft and they were so few in number that a long term limit was required. Her face was also familiar from the resolution work but Marina had not worked with her directly prior to this moment.

The Resident Affairs member of the council, Darren, was already known to her given their work at creating the resolution in the first place. Piotr, the head of IT, was a non-voting member of the council whose role was to provide information to assist decision making. His presence here today was a bit confusing, as was the presence of his shadow since he had no role whatsoever in this matter. Of the three others, two were voting members and one was a proxy, standing in for the Mayor.

Introductions made, refreshments offered and refused and seats resumed, the group got right down to business. It was Greta who broached the subject of this hurried conference, “We are given to understand that you have discovered interesting items during the reclamation and wish to consult us about them before they are destroyed. Is this correct?”

Marina nodded, throat suddenly dry and feeling like a child in the presence of a much more experienced adult, “Yes, quite a few items actually. And since this is just the second level to be submitted, I’m not sure what else I might get in the future. I’d like some guidance so I can deal with future loads more confidently.”

Greta dipped her head in a sort of quasi-nod, like a teacher receiving an exceptionally good answer to a test question. She looked at the bag still clutched in Marina’s hands on top of the table. “Please, show us.”

Marina cleared her throat and opened the bag. She began to withdraw items from envelopes and laid them on top, then slid each toward the center of the table where all might get a better view. She had about a dozen on the table before anyone spoke, each person either eyeing the items from their seat or picking individual things up and examining them more closely. She was arranging the bands with things that looked like blank faced watches on their envelope when the Historian gave an “ah” of recognition. Marina started, not realizing how tense she had become under the watchful gazes of these silent people.

Greta held up one of the curved clamp things and said, “This, I believe, is called a chit clip. Chits used to be much larger and when a person was going to shop, like at the bazaar where there are many places to buy, the chits could be held in good order in one of these. Efficient, but rather extravagant.”

Marina nodded, thinking of her experiment with the sheaf of papers, and they passed the clip around the table so that everyone could get a good look at it.

“What about the decorations on them? Each one is different and I don’t know their significance, if there is any,” Marina shrugged and ran her fingers over the strange symbol on the one she had been passed as it made its way around the table.

She could make out the letters, U.S.A.F. but the rest didn’t make sense to her. She could only see that it was both detailed and beautiful. It must have meant something to someone. She rubbed her fingers across the engraving once more and then passed it back to Greta.

“Hmm. I’m not familiar with any specifically like this but it does remind me of the kind of symbols we run across now and then.” She looked up, clicked a short nail against the face of the clip she held and said, “This one I would like to keep back. Anything with symbols of this kind might have some importance and I would like to examine any such before reclamation is finalized and the piece is destroyed.”

“And they might not be important,” Darren replied. “We need good and compelling reasons to keep back the silver. We all know the seriousness of our situation.”

Greta nodded, all eyes upon her. “Of course. We all do know it and I am keeping it well in mind.” It was a kind of rebuke, though Marina was quite sure the Historian didn’t mean it to be belittling in any way. Darren went pink about the ears and looked annoyed.

“I’m just saying that if we hold back everything that might be interesting or might have some symbol someone might identify at some undefinable future point, then we’ll have more held back than we melt down,” he replied, the splotches of pink on his ears growing towards his cheeks as he spoke.

Again Greta nodded. “You’re correct in the assessment that there is potential for a great imbalance in what is sent for reclamation and what is actually reclaimed if everything of interest is held back. Hence, I do not suggest that. I only suggest that symbols such as this one be examined by the Historians prior to destruction. There is much we don’t know about the past. Our history is incomplete.”

Darren went from pink to the full blown blotchy red of embarrassment. Marina felt sorry for him and understood where his concern was. He had been the first to see the value of her proposition when she brought it up and had supported the passing of the resolution. She decided that she had to come to his aid, at least obliquely.

“I understand what you’re saying and I think I can arrange it so that any delay won’t impact our supply.” She faced Darren, holding eye contact with him as she spoke, “Your concern for the supply is valid and it is my fault that I haven’t updated you. The load from Level 25 wasn’t big, but it was enough to ensure we have stock for the immediate future. We won’t have to touch what remains in the vaults. We’ve also begun fabricating more manual switches in places where such can be done to decrease some demand. And IT…,” she trailed off, looking at Piotr to fill in the gap.

Piotr took up the thread quickly and spoke, also directing it toward Darren as if the others were not in the room, “In IT we’re consolidating the remaining servers as much as we can. It should save some wear and tear on the components. We’re also working on some of the other automated processes, like climate control, to see where we can consolidate and reduce precious metal use.” He glanced at Marina, confirming his next words and offering her the opportunity to add to or counter them, “We’re in much better shape than we were.”

Marina nodded gratefully and looked at the others around the room. Greta was observing the exchange with an inscrutable look on her face. Others either jotted notes or continued to handle the objects on the table while listening.

Darren’s color receded some and he took a sip of water before carefully laying down one of the strange alligator clips. His fingers brushed against the little decoration that danged from the chain on the clip. This decoration depicted a strange shield shape with lines running down one part of it and stars across another. An animal of some sort with terrible clawed feet seemed to float over it while gripping wicked pointed objects in one foot and unidentifiable things in the other.

“What about this one?” he asked.

Greta held out her hand and Darren gently placed the object in her hand. All was forgiven and they could move along now. Marina immediately felt less tense and sensed that others felt the same.

She watched as Greta peered at the clip closely. Marina remembered that particular alligator clip. The work on the bauble was detailed and tiny, but exquisitely precise. Finally she pronounced her opinion and laid it carefully on the table. “I do not know the purpose of this item but the symbol is very familiar. We have found it in many locations and on a variety of objects, both small and large. It appeared to have some great importance or wider meaning that we have not ascertained. We have even found this printed on the upper portions of papers and on folders in our archives. Sadly, both of those were found in new condition, with no historical content. They contain no data other than this preprinted symbol. I don’t think we need to reserve it permanently, but I would like to get a drawing of it. Compare it with the others too, perhaps. Sometimes there are slight differences.”

The Mayor’s proxy nodded, scribbling a quick note. “I think we should probably get a drawing or image of anything like that before destruction. Can we agree on that?” She looked around the table for affirmation or assent.

“Perhaps not everything,” answered Greta. “Creating drawings of this detail takes a great deal of time and there are only so many artists who can do it.”

The proxy just nodded and pushed the object she had been handling, one of the items with the rotating posts that had a black stone set in its larger side, to the center of the table.

Marina took out the rest of the objects, reserving only the pocket watch. That envelope she kept encircled by her hands. The move was noticed by Taylor, who raised an eyebrow at her. Marina ignored the gesture.

There was silence for a while and the only sounds were the whisper of envelopes sliding along the surface of the table and the tiny clinks of metal as each item was examined. While others took their time looking at them, it seemed to Marina that the only one who was doing so with an opinion that mattered was the Historian. Eventually, she completed her examination and looked at the others around the table.

“I can’t identify the purpose of many of these objects.” She gestured toward the bracelet bands that looked like watches but with blank faces. “Others I have an idea of the uses. But what puzzles me is how these are being sent to reclamation. Who had them?”

Marina took out the list and slid it across the table toward Greta. “The objects I brought today are marked by a tick mark at their entry line. You can see that most of them were provided by the Hotel.”

She had the attention of everyone now. Piotr’s eyebrows drew together in a frown and she hurried on, “These weren’t in use. Apparently, there is some sort of storage in the hotel and these were in boxes marked to be left alone. No one there had any idea of how long they’ve been there or for what purpose they were stored, but it’s been at least as long as we have history. They brought them out and sent them down since no one knows anything about them.”

Greta and Piotr gave each other a look so she added, “The resolution did mandate the turn in. They made a correct decision based on their information.”

Taylor pointed toward the envelope still tucked behind the encircling protection of her arms and asked, “And that?”

Marina withdrew the pocket watch carefully and unfolded the cloth tucked around it. She laid it carefully on the little nest and slid it slowly toward the historian. “This was turned in by a resident. Aside from its beauty, it is also a timepiece and I think I might be able to repair it. I thought it might be significant enough to be of interest to the Historians. Only the case is silver…”

Greta picked up the piece with careful fingers, immediately found the tiny button and popped open the cover. She turned it over to look at the face of it and ran her finger over the unmarred glass. “It is exquisite.”

Piotr held out a hand and asked, “May I?”

The historian seemed reluctant to hand over the treasure but did so, her free hand beneath his during the transition in case the watch fell. He, too, looked over the details of the case and frowned when he looked at the scene as it was revealed when both sides faced him. “I’m not sure this is something we need to keep. It’s violent.”

Greta tilted her head to the side, as if considering her next words carefully, “You are correct in that it is in essence, if not in exactitude, against the tenets. However, we do kill animals to provide food and materials we need and that is what is being done there.”

Piotr laid the object down and pushed the envelope to the next person as if to get it away from his person as quickly as possible, an expression of distaste on his face. He replied, “Not humanely.”

“No,” Greta agreed, “not in the way we might choose to do it now, but I think that is a very old piece. From long before our history begins. Perhaps that is what they considered humane then.”

“I think it is from…” he stopped there, going no further with his thoughts. Marina thought she knew what he was going to say because she had thought it herself when she first examined the watch. Even before she found the hidden image and letter inside, it hinted of outside to her.

“You think it is from the First People or before them,” Greta said. It wasn’t a question.

He nodded stiffly and stopped himself from looking again at the watch as it made its way from hand to hand around the table. “I do.”

Marina wondered what Greta would say to that and watched her closely. She also watched the others. Would their faces give away their thoughts about the object? Her secret knowledge of the image and the letter gave her curiosity an edge.

“I think that you may be correct in that, however I have nothing that can prove that as a certainty.” Greta’s response was suitably noncommittal for a Historian and frustrating for Marina. Apparently, it was the same for Piotr.

“And exactly how could one ever possibly prove it? What do you want to do with it?”

“As to your first question, I can’t think of a scenario in which I would be able to prove this. The presence of an animal in such surroundings does hint of…and please excuse my choice of words…well, it hints of outside in a time before the First People. That could mean that this object was made by one of them after reaching the silo as a reminder of what once was.”

She paused a moment, either gathering her thoughts or trying to choose her words carefully. “If that is the case, then this item is of a value that can’t be ignored. That being said, it could just as easily have been made generations later based solely on fantastical ideas passed down from the First People.”

Greta turned back to Marina and asked, “What do you know of the object? What did you call it?”

“A pocket watch. It came from a resident on Level 50. The turn in slip didn’t have much more on it.”

“And did you go speak with the resident?” Greta asked and Marina was suddenly very glad she didn’t stop and try to speak with Genevieve Hardi before.

“No. I came here with it.”

The watch had made its way around the table again and back once more to Greta. She wrapped it in the cloth and tucked it back into the envelope, this time protecting it under her folded arms. Marina felt a pang as it disappeared from view and she wondered if she would see it again.

“I’ll see to the investigation on this piece,” she informed the group. “And the Historians will also visit the hotel and find out about this storage.”

It was said with finality and everyone else seemed to take it the same way Marina did. She immediately began turning over in her mind how she would go about speaking to Genevieve Hardi. She was probably going to have to make it look like an accidental meeting. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that if she didn’t find out what she could for herself, she would never know the answers.

It would be found out by the Historians and then ‘studied’ by them for decades, never being shared until every possible avenue was thought about over a lifetime or two. That wouldn’t do. She had the picture and the letter and knew more than the historian who had just taken the watch and the responsibility away from her.

A few of the pieces were selected for tentative inclusion into the holdings of the Memoriam and a good many others were selected for imaging and then reclamation. The other items sat, looking rather forlorn on their envelopes. They were neither important nor interesting enough and would be immediately reclaimed, their designs destroyed forever.

The ring that changed color when worn by the wearer was selected to be saved and Marina was very happy about that. They had each tried it on and gotten a slightly different color, with Piotr getting a yellowish green that was very pretty and Greta getting a blue that almost looked purple. She wondered if they would let others try it on or if it would simply go on display.

The group tried to be social for a few minutes, following the tradition of ending all discussions on friendly terms, but it faltered as each of them thought their own thoughts. With assurances that the objects to be drawn would be ported back to her very soon, Piotr left.

Everyone aside from Marina, Greta and Taylor made their way out shortly afterward. Taylor was waiting for Marina to finish re-packing her satchel so he could escort her out when Greta told him that she would do it. She told him she wanted to have a few words with her. Marina tried not to react.

Marina cinched up the cord on her little sack, now much lighter, and stood. The pain in her foot and thighs was still at bay, but slowly coming back. She hoped she wouldn’t embarrass herself in front of the older woman.

Greta appeared to be examining her for something and Marina looked right back at her. Her colorful coveralls were at odds with her serious and quiet expression. She was taller than Marina and possessed an angular frame of such spare flesh that the planes of her face were sharp and bold. Though she knew Greta was at least a decade older than herself, to Marina the woman looked ageless, both old and young at once. It was perhaps that she kept her expression so carefully neutral that this was so. The lines she saw on her own face and that of her husband, the ones that showed a lifetime of laughter and smiles, were entirely absent from Greta’s.

When the historian didn’t speak, Marina cocked her head and asked, “What is it?”

Still Greta didn’t speak. Instead, she reached out and closed the door again. The little noises of IT disappeared behind the thick door once more and Greta drove her point home by leaning back against the door. Marina knew that she wouldn’t be leaving until whatever Greta wanted was obtained. Her stomach tightened nervously and she had to purposely loosen her grip on her satchel to avoid white knuckles that would give her away.

Greta crossed her arms in front of her chest and said, “You have something more to tell me about the watch, don’t you?”

It seemed to Marina as if the room grew very cool and she suddenly had a strong need to pee. The historian was gazing at her with that level look and she knew she would never be able to convincingly lie about anything. She could only hope to avoid it and she thought her odds at success in that were very close to zero. She had been taken off guard. No doubt that was Greta’s intent and that made it hard to hold back.

To gain a few moments of time, she turned away from Greta and shuffled back toward the chair she just rose from. She said, “If you don’t mind, I really can’t stand for long.”

That seemed to take Greta aback, perhaps because it showed rudeness on her part by allowing someone injured to stand only to be waylaid. Either way, Marina was gratified to see a tick of expression on the Historian’s still face and her arms uncross.

Greta paused and then strode around the table to regain her own seat directly across from Marina at the table. Marina thought the choice interesting. Either she did it because she sees this as an adversarial situation or because she naturally avoids change. After all, she could have easily chosen either seat to the side of Marina and not had to go as far in the doing.

Marina knew she would need to answer the question quickly so that Greta wouldn’t get the impression that this was a delaying tactic, though it certainly was, so she answered, “It’s about the objects, of course.”

Greta nodded and motioned for her to continue.

“Well,” she paused and considered her next words carefully, “these objects depict things differently than here in the silo, at least some of them do, yet they are recognizable. Would you mind bringing out the objects you kept back for a moment?”

The older woman seemed a little hesitant now but she reached for the envelope she had tucked into the largest pocket of her coveralls and withdrew it. She had used her kerchief as a cushion for the objects and now she carefully unrolled it, laying the objects onto the envelope. The watch came last.

Marina reached over and took up the watch, clicked it open and turned it around so that Greta could see the whole scene. “What do you see here other than the killing of an animal?”

Greta apparently knew precisely where Marina was going with this and gave one short and sharp nod of her head. “I realize the animals are different and the scene is, well, less ordered than we might expect.”

She was referring to the precise lines of crops and the grids of trees where such existed within the silo. In the watch there was a scene of wild abundance, as if an entire farming level had been let go and seeds flung everywhere.

Marina picked up the funny clip that had star shapes and stripes with the fierce animal above. She pointed to the animal and said, “And this?”

“We don’t know what that is exactly. We’ve been able to find no actual description of it anywhere, but we see the same animal in different postures on many such items as you’ve brought here.” She shrugged. “It is a type of bird, such as that depicted in some of the children’s books and on the puzzle boards. The appearance is certainly different in character but it has many similarities. It must have existed at some point in the past here and then died out.”

The thudding in Marina’s heart increased in pace and she knew the time was now or never. If she admitted what she found and explained that she wanted to talk to a historian about it she might be able to live a life after remediation.

Until the words came out of her mouth she wasn’t sure what she would say. It was her mouth more than her brain that decided for her and she would never know if it was cowardice or bravery that made her say what she did, “I think these objects are trying to tell us a story. I think that we might melt down the story before anyone realizes we should be listening.”

Greta’s eyebrows rose a little and the action put a few wrinkles in her brow. It was the most movement Marina had seen in her face thus far. “You sound a bit like a Historian.” She leaned forward now, elbows on the table, “What makes you think that?”

“There is more here than meets the eye,” she replied and waved her hand over the collection of items on the envelope. “Take the watches for example. I brought you a selection of them, but one entire box of items I received from that hotel storage was watches and those bands with blank screens that look like watchbands. I looked in the back of two and they are both filled with electronics. I think they are watches too.”

“And…?”

“And, ask yourself this question. Why would so many people in the silo need watches? I’ve received all this from just one level. There are probably a lot more of them out there and I’m very curious to see how many. But why? There are clocks everywhere. Why would so many people need watches? Can you tell me?” Marina’s voice remained quiet as she asked each question.

“I think that you might have already decided on a reasonable answer. Let me tell you if I agree with your assessment,” Greta replied, her voice as even and enigmatic as ever.

Greta’s response meant that she was correct, or close to it. “I think these come from outside, from the First People,” at this Greta blinked once, and gave a nod so tiny it might not have been a nod at all, or might be denied to be one.

She said nothing so Marina forged on, “But you said that was possible of all these artifacts so that is no shocking revelation. It is the implication of that no one else seemed to recognize that I think is most important.”

“And that is?”

“That they were capable of doing this on the outside, before the silo called them. If there were only the few humans being randomly born into bands of Others and they were trying to survive to get to the silo, how did they stop and create the specialized tools and develop the infrastructure necessary to create just this one thing?”

She held the watch up now, its terrible beauty and ominous meaning only truly clear to one person in the room it seemed to Marina. “There was more to the outside than I know of and I have to wonder, do you know what that more is? Are you keeping it from us? What more is there to know?”

At these final words, the Historian began to frown and sat straighter in her chair. She held up a hand to stem the flow of words from Marina’s mouth and said, “We are straying toward territory that is not ours to discuss, or at least not mine to discuss with you outside specific situations. Before we talk further I will need to consult with the other Historians. Let me just say this on the subject. We are the first to admit that our history is incomplete.”

She got up then and moved to the chair next to Marina. She took the watch from her hands and laid it down, then grasped each of Marina’s hands, her thumbs pressing on the fine bones on the back of her hands. It wasn’t painful, but it was firm. That pressure told Marina that whatever would be said next was important for her to hear, to really listen to.

“But some of what we have found is confusing. Because we can’t know that we understand the context and are only sure that these bits are not complete, they are not shared. There remain things that we must keep aside not out of dishonesty, but out of ignorance of the truth.”

She spoke with such sincerity and seemed so intent on Marina understanding her words that the lingering feeling of not knowing who to trust seemed to fade. Marina felt sure that should she now speak of the image and letter that this woman would not only refrain from turning her in, she would help her. It was with actual physical effort that Marina held back her desire to speak the words and instead said, “I think I can understand that. But I have seen something more now. I’ve seen those things and that watch.”

It was a challenge as much as it was a statement. What Greta said next would help her know the truth of things, of how much was hidden and why.

“And I’m sorry you did.” Greta released her hands and sighed, leaning back in her chair as if exhausted. Perhaps she was. Marina knew little of the daily life of a Historian. Perhaps they worked long hours. She went on, “If I could redo this, I would have asked instead that we be trained in the testing process and had the reclaimed items sent to us instead. You should not have so much uncertainty in your life. That isn’t fair.”

Marina’s gut tightened at the thought of anyone taking this duty from her. What more might she see? What more clues might arrive in future boxes?

“But,” Greta sighed again, this time it sounded to Marina as if she had made some decision and did not like the decision she had made, “the damage is done and changing now will not undo this. And in truth, we do not have the labor hours this would require of us. We are only four, you know.”

Marina nodded. This she knew. Only four Historians existed because the population numbers allowed for only that number. More people would need to be born and come to adulthood before another Historian could be made.

“So, I propose this solution and I will persuade the rest of the council that this is the best solution. You will continue the work but you will consult on any further questionable items directly with me. You will speak with no one else on your findings or your thoughts on those findings.” This last bit she said with particular emphasis. She meant there would be no more talking about First People making things outside. It also meant that what she had said here would go no further. The sense of relief was immense.

“I can do that,” Marina replied, keeping her tone as even as possible so as to not betray the excitement she felt.

“I further propose that you speak freely to me, when it is appropriate, on these same thoughts. Don’t harbor them or let them fester. Come to me. Do you understand?”

Marina nodded, glad there would be a safe outlet where she might say these things. Her window to share was rapidly closing and she knew it. This moment of grace was being extended to her and her instincts told her it was being done because the other woman already knew she was still hiding something. She pursed her lips to stop the words from coming out but she seemed unable to control her own mouth.

She said, “If I find something interesting, like that watch, I would like to be included in the research about it. Or if I find something more.”

The look on Greta’s face told Marina that she had said too much and that the other woman’s suspicions were confirmed. Yet Marina saw no victory or maliciousness in her face, only a sort of smoothing of her features as if she had averted some unpleasantness.

“Tell me,” she said.

“Could I be included in such research? Even though you said there may be no absolute answer and only muddles of confusion, I want to know. I don’t want to be shut out,” Marina said instead of answering the question.

Greta looked off to the side for a moment, as if looking to another person for an answer. She said nothing but as the silence lengthened Marina grew nervous. She jumped when the silence was broken by the crackle of paper being shoved underneath the door. It lay there, a dull cream colored square on the dark floor and Marina’s heart took a tumble in her chest.

She looked in the direction Greta had and saw the tiny reflection of the lens. Cameras were in so many places that she did not even think to look. She felt sure that the paper held some directive to bring her to remediation and for a moment, she longed desperately to see her husband and child, just one last time before she came out some bland shadow of herself.

She wondered if her hands would retain their dexterity afterwards and if she would be able to work amongst her tiny wires and tools with the smell of hot solder in her nostrils ever again. She had heard about the shaking of some and the dull clumsiness of others afterward. She wondered if the image and the letter would ever be found in the place where she had hidden them.

By the time Greta had risen and stooped to pick up the paper, tears stood in Marina’s eyes and she thought of everything she would miss. She watched, eyes blurred, as the tall and angular woman opened the fold and read the paper. It took her but a glance and then she folded the paper again.

She met Marina’s eyes and said, “Come with me.”

The tears that were standing in her eyes slipped over the edges of her lids and fell like sad jumpers off the rails. She felt the two fat drops hit her legs and wondered if she would be able to do this without succumbing to the urge to struggle. Everyone had seen something like that at least once in their life, some wriggling form wrapped tightly with the arms of their coveralls crossed and strapped down so that they could be carried along the stairs. Porters grunting and sweating under a bucking and heaving form, crowds being drawn by the strangled squeaks of a person trying to scream behind a gag were a rare but terrible sight.

Marina didn’t want to be that. Even more she didn’t want to be the person who was ported like a dead body, limp and seemingly lifeless, after being chemically subdued for the trip. That would be worse. Most tried to go with dignity, slipping past the landings with no one the wiser as to their destination. She would try that too.

She bolstered herself, remembered the state of her legs and feet, and then stood carefully. She reached for a cup of water left on the table and slipped two of the round balls of compressed powder from the vials, one from each, and tossed them back. They were chalky but the water washed the taste away almost immediately. She wanted to do this on her own two feet if she had to do it.

“I’m ready,” she said, her tone quiet and calm, her posture resolute.

Greta looked confused for a moment and then she laughed a sad little laugh and touched Marina’s arm. “You’re not going there! What must you think of me to assume that? You’re going to get your answers and then you can tell me what you’re holding back. We are going to exchange truths, or whatever we can call truth at this point.”

Marina remained suspicious. Wouldn’t that be an effective way to get someone to go willingly? Simply lie about the destination until it was too late to lie any further? Would they stoop to lying and use a Historian to do it? The thoughts must have been written across her face because the other woman’s mouth set in a thin line.

“I’m not misleading you. Come.”

She held out her hand for Marina to take and she did. The first few steps made her left foot and thighs feel like something brittle and tight were being strained to breaking, but it wasn’t actual pain. That was driven back for the moment and would be further if these tablets worked. It was merely enough to remind her to be cautious.

They left the room and found that almost all of those who had been in the room were now lined up in the hallway. Marina wondered where they had been watching from to have returned. She nodded at each, confused by their solemn looks. Their expressions were complex and not easily decipherable. The head of IT, now missing his assistant, seemed sadder than ever where he stood at the end of the line of people. As she passed he fell into step next to her.

They didn’t walk far, only to the server room, and he pushed open the door for them to enter without a word. Inside, the faint hum that traveled throughout the hallways grew much louder and the air moved with currents from the large fans that kept the heat at bay. He took the lead and they wove their way through the servers, some quiet and still, others covered with frantically blinking lights and stopped them at one of the servers. Looking behind her, Marina realized this small area wasn’t visible from the window set into the big doors. The alignment of the servers along the path effectively blocked that view.

As the trio rounded the server and came to the rear of it, Marina saw that it was hollow and barely a server at all. She peered inside and saw boards and lights that probably once lit with dummy lights pressed against the front of the case, safe from discovery behind the securely locked doors of the cabinet. At the bottom of the server a black gap filled the space at the bottom.

The head of IT flicked a switch and the black square blazed with light. A set of steep metal stairs, treads ridged for a better grip, led downward.

She looked up at the two other people and asked, “What’s going on? What is this place?”

Greta answered for the pair, “It’s hard to explain and we were close by so we decided it would be just easier to show you.” She paused a moment and then asked, “Do you think you can get down that? With your legs, I mean.”

“Oh,” Marina peered down the hole again and her eyes took in the many treads she would need to climb, for it was a climb that was needed and not simple steps. “There’s only one way to find out.”

With that, she turned around, grabbed some sloppily welded handles set into the server cabinet and lowered herself into the bright light below IT.