Silo 49: Deep Dark

Chapter Five

Their visit was a good one, though shorter than any of them might have liked. Joseph put a small crimp on things when he asked if she was sleeping in her office, his tone disapproving. Mother Patrick quickly reminded him that she only worked the hours she could handle but that the trip back up to 82 was more than she liked to do after coming down.

She made it very clear she was comfortable here overnight and was able to take days off between her shifts if she stayed on call overnight. Joseph didn’t respond with acquiescence, instead voicing argument about how much she worked overall. The tension was lifted before it could really build when Mother Patrick chucked her son under the chin and reminded him of many nights they had spent on that couch or floor when the birthing times of the animals came too quickly for them to go home. He smiled an honest smile at that and admitted how much he had liked those days. He did elicit a promise from her to ask for a comfortable bed, perhaps a real folding bed rather than a cot, if the couch became too much to bear.

They drank tea and heard the stories of the Animal Farm, at least this side of it where the animals lived rather than where they went to be processed. They discussed the family’s plans for this vacation and dutifully wrote down the requests for items that Mother Patrick had a particular want for.

It was a short list of simple things. Some bright cloth from the Garment district for a few new kerchiefs, some strawberry jam if they could find some because she had a hankering for it. Odds and ends that made life a little easier for a woman who found it difficult to make long journeys up the stairs were added. Marina would be sure to find every one of the items, and a few gifts besides, before they stopped on their way home.

Mother Patrick showed Sela a set of newborn twin goats with their mother in one of the pens across the hall. The delight on her face at the sight was gratifying. The mother was still too newly delivered to feel comfortable with Sela’s excited squeals and quick hands around her kids, but Mother Patrick calmed her so Sela could pet the newborns.

Down the ramp, Mother Patrick took them to see the laying room where chickens lived in groups inside smaller coops. Each held about twenty hens and each coop had things called nesting boxes along the back wall. The visitors giggled at the argumentative cackling different groups seemed to engage in and the bright, greedy interest many of the chickens showed when they noted humans in the vast room.

Mother Patrick also showed the family the dim walkway that ran behind the coops that allowed the workers to collect the eggs. They walked a short distance down one of them and Sela clapped her hands over her mouth to contain her squeal when she saw a dirty egg resting inside one of the nesting boxes.

As the visit wound down and Mother Patrick escorted them through the farm toward the entrance, Marina looked around in hopes of seeing Sarah and thanking her. It was only as they were leaving the main animal area toward the visitor pens that Marina finally spotted the slim girl with the long dark hair again.

She was bent over and leaning her head against the side of a heavily pregnant goat. Her cheek rested against the goat’s distended side and her hand moved with gentle expertise along the great bulge of her belly, pausing now and again as she felt for whatever it was she sought. Her eyes were closed and a slight smile, a smile that was genuine, content and completely relaxed, transformed her features from pinched to almost beautiful. Instead of painful shyness, Marina saw a girl at peace with her work and happy.

Mother Patrick must have seen something on her face because she touched Marina’s arm and said, “Sarah belongs more with animals than with people. Animals don’t hurt others without reason.”

She said it a bit sadly and Marina thought there must be more to the story of Sarah. She knew it was not her place to ask, though. She was in good hands here.

The goodbyes at the landing were short as the family would be reunited once again on the return trip. The morning had slipped away during their visit and the family needed to move along if they were to reach the hotel on Level 50 in time to enjoy a dinner out as planned. They had 40 levels to go and Marina was anxious not to fall too far behind schedule.

They climbed, but Marina couldn’t seem to settle into the rhythm of the stairs. Unlike so many others she only had to traverse four levels down and four levels up in her daily life and the muscles used most in climbing were more than happy to forget the skill quickly if not used. She felt herself pulling on the rail rather than simply resting a hand there in short order.

It took only a few levels before she started looking longingly at the big bags on the lifts as they passed by in a puff of wind on their way up or down. She wished she could use those but use of the baskets by living people was not permitted except under the direst of circumstances. There had been accidents in the past, when the rules were a little more lax, and it was considered too risky for regular use.

Dire medical emergencies were the only exceptions and then the yellow flags would begin lifting at the transfer stations, levels raising their own banner as the one below or above was raised. But Marina had no broken legs or head injury to buy her that trip. By the time they had twisted up the spiral toward Level 80, the front of her thighs twinged sharply with each step.

Joseph and Sela spent most of their daily lives on the stairs, going up and down to address whatever concern required a deputy’s presence. They were chatting easily with each other as they moved ever upward, neither of them even seeming to notice that they were climbing. It seemed to Marina that they expended no more effort doing this than they did playing a game of cards.

Marina adjusted the small pack on her back for a better ride. She promised herself she would stop to greet whoever was on duty at the deputy’s office and enjoy a nice drink of water if she could only make it there without complaint. If she did it without her family noticing the strain, she’d allow herself a visit to the restroom and a few minutes of seated rest at the station.

As they passed 72, she looked with regret at the entrance to the Memoriam and the small crowd of young students being greeted by a Historian. Above the big doors the words, “We are Different. We are the Good,” were painted in bold proud letters, the paint fresh and un-chipped.

Out of the ten, this was the first tenet and it was the only one that had no accompanying explanation anywhere to be studied. It didn’t need one. Unlike the other tenets, which could be twisted or diminished over time if the intent were not made clear, this was something understood at a deep and instinctive level by every person old enough to form thoughts. The other nine all had explanations and discussions posted on the walls of the Memoriam so that people might come and study the words and understand for themselves the simple rules that made for a good life.

The first one was easy. Those inside the silo were different from the not-quite-human Others that were not called to the safety of the silo. The First People were good, each one called to life instead of death, and so must we be also. It was a simple saying, but profoundly beautiful and true in its simplicity.

The Historians, with their coveralls stitched from fabric in every color of the silo professions, were like bright patchwork spots standing out in a crowd. There were only a few Historians and each was selected only after a long and demanding shadowing process. Even after a decade of dedicated work, a Historian’s shadow might be re-assigned elsewhere to start a new career path. The reward was a profession respected more than any other.

It wasn’t just a good memory that was required for Historians, it was an objective one. It was said that one could never win an argument with a Historian because if they were wrong about something they would admit it before anyone else knew they were wrong. And if they were right they would never engage in the argument, only inform the other what was correct and walk away.

They were trained to be logical and to look at every single instance from multiple perspectives, yet be swayed by none of those different perspectives. It was a basic truth that what became history was decided by the ones that remained to report it. It was the goal of the Historians to ensure that this was done as truthfully as possible. Part of that was to help everyone else in the silo understand whatever it was they sought in the light of that objective truth. Marina would have liked to stop there and spend some time trying to figure out the objective truth of her own little mystery.

As they cleared the little crowd, Marina caught her husband’s eye and adopted the most casual tone she could. “I’d like to say hello to the deputy on 70 and take a bathroom break. That okay?”

Joseph smiled and told her that was a great idea. He wanted to check in before they left the area completely anyway. Sela gave him a little sidelong glance at that, perhaps worried that her diligent father would get caught up in whatever might be going on that day. She gnawed at her lip as they crested the next level and Marina smoothed her daughter’s hair back when she came within arm’s reach.

Stepping off the stairs and onto the landing of 70 brought almost immediate relief to Marina’s legs. She thought it was probably more mental relief than a truly physical one since she was still standing and walking. She welcomed it nonetheless. It was just a few short steps to the deputy station, both Joseph and Sela greeting people along the way.

Marina exchanged greetings with Sander, the deputy on duty, and spent a few moments on the mandatory pleasantries before she excused herself. After a bathroom break and a splash of cool water on her face and neck, she made her way back.

On the landing there were just enough people to make it feel inhabited and busy. Most people on first shift were long at work but there were others from odd shifts dawdling home and talking with friends. A couple, clearly in the excited courtship phase of a new relationship, were sneaking shy glances at each other as they walked. She could almost feel the electricity crackle in the air as they passed her by.

It was a good morning in the silo. Friends in the fabber sector said she was silly for thinking that the silo had moods, but Joseph agreed with her. Whether it was the people or the silo itself or some other factor she couldn’t quite see, there were moods that she could feel in her very flesh. Today, that mood was a good one, a tingly one. She smiled into the mood as she pushed open the door to the deputy station to grab a chair for a few precious minutes.

Sela hurried into the station while Marina was resting and snatched up a radio that had begun to crackle with noise. Marina didn’t know how they understood what came through all that warbling and static, but both Joseph and Sela told her they simply got used to it. She supposed it must be so because Sela listened intently while she fished about for a piece of chalk and a blank slate. She scribbled something down and then responded with code letters and numbers that meant something to her but sounded like impressive gibberish to Marina. Sela scooted back out where the men talked and then bounced on her toes waiting for either deputy to acknowledge her desire to speak with them.

It was Sander who turned to her, holding a polite hand up for Joseph to pause him. He told her to go ahead before she jumped out of her coveralls, his voice gruff but his face showing a good natured smile. It spoke to their close working relationship but Marina wasn’t at all sure about her daughter’s choice of profession and the rough nature of such work. She seemed so small and young compared with the two men towering over her.

After Sela relayed her message, she handed it to Sander rather than her off-duty father. She stepped back and the two deputies came together for a whispered conversation. They broke apart and Joseph turned back to his family and asked, his voice full of false cheer, “Are we ready? We need to hit the treads if we’re going to get any shopping done.”

Marina smiled an acknowledgement and stood, bracing herself should her thighs protest, but they felt fine and fully rested. She cast surreptitious glances at both deputies to see if there was anything she should worry about as she re-shouldered her pack. Nothing seemed amiss now that they were getting ready to go so she shrugged off her husband’s perpetually busy job, checked the straps on Sela’s pack and linked her arm with her husband’s.

“Ready when you are, sweetie,” she said, a grin on her face.

He patted her hand and they walked at a comfortable pace across the landing, Sela trailing a few steps behind. They waited for a gap in the traffic before merging with the upward flow. It was past the midpoint in the first shift now and nearing the height of business traffic. It would just get worse near the end of the shift when all those returning to their compartments and all those going on shift clogged the stairs going both ways.

Joseph let go of her arm and urged her ahead of him on the stairs. When she looked back at him with a questioning look, he winked and said, “I know this is harder for you. You work with your brain, not your legs. You set the pace.”

She flushed, both embarrassed and edified at his understanding and his kind acceptance. She glanced back at Sela, who smiled too, and then turned her eyes toward the upward path. Marina realized she was far worse at hiding things from her family than she thought and her thoughts went automatically back to the image and note she had hidden under a loose tile in her workroom. She would either need to become a much more skilled fabricator of moods and words or she would surely be caught out.

She had realized, long before she tucked those two small bits of paper, now wrapped in thin plastic for protection, under the loose tile that what she was doing…what she had already done…would probably mean a lifetime of remediation if she was caught. It wouldn’t matter if every other facet of her life was tenet perfect. This wasn’t just asking too many questions about outside or breaking tenets.

No, this was far more severe. She had hidden proof of a past that didn’t match silo history and she had done it without going to the Historians. She possessed it and she meant to keep it if she could.

Marina didn’t want to be sent to remediation. She just wanted to know and the moment she thought there might be someone who would find out her secret, she would burn those relics of the past and be done with it. She wanted to know but not bad enough to lose her position and her family when it came right down to it. No, definitely not enough for that. Still, even the thought of destroying them made her stomach roil and feel queasy.

If she did go to remediation, she would have to stay there until she was back to normal, talking about her feelings with strangers. Who knew how long that would take? Or she would be released a changed person like those vacant people one occasionally heard about that required the most drastic form of remediation. She didn’t feel like she was going crazy or being dangerous. Well, that last wasn’t quite true because it probably was dangerous to possess what she had found.

As they climbed up, she tried to lose herself in her thoughts as the burn returned to her legs. Something that Mother Patrick had said to Sela when she explained how the Animal Farms worked came back to her and it kept prickling in the recesses of her mind. It reminded her of something from childhood that she couldn’t quite bring into focus.

Mother Patrick had explained to Sela that animals followed very strict schedules of light and dark and that they were like humans in many respects. Just like we needed to ensure we spent some time each day under the special lights of the landings to stay healthy, the animals needed the same. That is why so many of those special lights were placed around the ceilings of the pens. They also needed a period of darkness, or near darkness, every single day or else they got sick. For that reason the red lights used after lights out in residential areas were also used in the Animal Farm.

As she thought about that, and why humans and animals should both be like that and have those requirements, it came to her like a slap on the face. The memory was an old one but it returned as clear and bright as the lights of the landing ahead of her. She had been young. She didn’t know how young but it must have been very young because both of her parents were alive in the memory. It was from before she was orphaned by the accident that claimed the parents of three other children as well as her own.

She remembered the feel of her father, sweeping her up in an arc and into the crook of his arm as he carried her up the stairs. He had pointed at different things on the Up-Top screen and named them for her. She remembered that as she had watched the screen, a fierce red glow burned at the edge and she had asked what it was.

He had explained that it was the sun and that it rotated around the land each day, disappearing at the end and leaving it dark until it came up again somewhere off the screen the next day. She remembered being fascinated by the idea of a light rotating around like that.

Now it clicked together for her. Was that why both humans and animals needed both light and dark? Was it because outside the sun rotated around and was hidden each day, creating a regular period of darkness so that we had gotten used to it? Perhaps the animals and the humans had come to need it over time and still did even here, under the ground.

Those thoughts were interrupted by another strong and sudden memory. She had a clear memory of her mother, the expression on her face one that had frightened her. Her mother crushed her small frame in a hug and whispered, “Remember that I love you.”

Then she was pushed away, other children crying around her, and into a dark space. As she had been shut in she remembered the tear stained face of her mother through the narrowing band of light and the door slamming the darkness all the way home.

Marina didn’t realize she had stopped climbing until her husband’s voice broke through the haze. “Marina? Honey? Are you alright?” His face swam into focus just below her. He stood on the step below her own, his hand lifted to touch to her cheek.

She shook her head to clear the fog and saw the faces of all the people behind them who had also been stopped. She blurted out, “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

She faced upward again and started climbing, this time counting the steps to be sure to maintain pace. A few people, mostly young ones or porters with express packages, called out “Passing Up!” and rushed past her. Most of the people she had caused to stop were not in such a hurry. Eventually they spread out again, a few steps between groups as people began to peel off from the traffic.

A small group left them on Level 61 and that opened up a good area around the family. Marina glanced back now and again. Each time she met her husband’s eyes, his were looking steadily up at her with a worried expression. Great, she thought. Now he’s watching me and he knows something is wrong.

Her mind’s eye, now that this old memory had surfaced, kept trying to replay it and expand it for her. Each time she found herself remembering she pushed it away and focused on counting the steps. A good climb might seem like a good time to think, but only if one is capable of thinking and climbing at the same time. That was something the woman who had raised her and the three other orphans used to say to her charges when they dawdled on the stairs.

Now she used the same trick she did then to avoid daydreaming. She counted stairs. No matter what she did or how studiously she counted, the image of the fear filled face of her mother whispering that she loved her kept flashing in front of her eyes. It was a harder climb that she had ever imagined any climb could be.