Ann Christy - Silo 49 - Deep Dark

Greta flinched a little at the final words. She faced Marina with a searching gaze, her eyes flicking once to the lurid blue, green and yellow of her bruises. She inclined her head, a bare suggestion of an accepting nod that also let her know she had reservations about giving it. She asked, “How did you even know where to search? Where did you search?”

Marina scrubbed the board while Greta spoke and quickly sketched her response. Before she turned the board around she pointed to the small book, the In Memoriam book that lay at the edge of the table. Then she turned the board. ‘That book. Found in archives. Curious to read. Found the code. Went right away.’

Greta reached for the book and handed it to Marina. She said, “Show me.”

She skipped the revelations about the numbers being years so as to not confuse the issue and went straight to the letter from Wallis. Greta only looked on, brows drawn together as she tried to follow along without words of explanation to help. Marina pointed to the numbers and then held up a finger for her to wait and went to retrieve one of the logs. She showed her the codes for the electrical boxes and willed her to understand.

Greta took the book from Marina’s hands and then spent a long moment comparing the two notations. She looked back up at Marina with something like surprise in her face, “You figured this out by yourself?”

Marina screwed up her mouth to the side in an expression that conveyed very clearly, ‘Is that so surprising?’

Greta shook her head, a wondering look on her face and said, “I wouldn’t have figured this out in a year. I wouldn’t have even thought to look at it like that.”

Marina pointed to her badge, the sign of Fabbers with its bolt of electricity and crossed tools, and shrugged.

Greta nodded again and said, “Of course.” She set the little book down with care and crossed her arms. Marina knew that this was not a completed subject. At some point, she would need to explain it all and she would have to tell Greta how possessive she had felt about the find and how the curiosity seemed to burn in her and grow with each new discovery. She would have to confess how much she wanted to know.

But that was for another day. Greta merely pointed with one finger extending from her crossed arms towards the big book in front of her. “Did you get to read any of that?” she asked.

She gave a half nod and held her fingers very close together, indicating the smallest possible amount.

“I’ve been reading it almost non-stop,” Greta said and then stopped short. She started to blink her eyes very quickly and Marina saw a wet gleam there. She waited.

Greta finally uncrossed her arms and said, “I had no idea. How could anyone have guessed?”

Marina nodded at that too. It was such an insufficient response and she wanted so badly to simply tell Greta that she had been just as overwhelmed. She opened her mouth and croaked, “Can’t believe.”

“Don’t talk. I mean it.”

Marina made to zip up her lips and toss away a key. Greta narrowed her eyes and repeated, “I mean it. Now sit. And take this board back!”

There was a final thing she wanted to get out before they fell into this bounty of information again. She wrote, ‘Taylor? Where? Need to talk!’

The other woman pursed her lips and answered without looking at Marina, “He’s in seclusion. Sedated, but not yet in remediation. The council has to handle this one, for obvious reasons, and they wanted to wait for you to be well enough to be present.”

Marina tapped the last thing she had written with her chalk. Greta glanced at the board and said, “I don’t know about that. I’m not even supposed to ask you about it right now.”

Once again Marina tapped the board and underlined the word ‘need’ twice. Greta snatched the chalk from her and said, “No. Not until the council meets with both of you. He did something unforgivable and they are going to want to know why. And not after you’ve had a chance to mesh up your stories either.”

Marina realized that Greta not only didn’t understand what happened, but was at least entertaining the possibility that there was some wrongdoing between the two of them. She snatched back the chalk and wiped her board with her sleeve. She wrote, ‘I didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t know. He was talking crazy. I think he did something else very bad. Not sure. Need to talk.’

Greta followed along as she wrote and asked, “What bad thing did he do?”

Marina could tell by the look in her eyes that Greta knew very well what she was talking about. She pointed to the chair on the other side of Greta, the one that Piotr always sat in.

“No!” she exclaimed. “That I can’t believe. Why? He had no reason for that!”

Marina made to wipe the board again but Greta grabbed her arm and stopped her. She said, “Please. Don’t talk about it anymore. Not until we get to the council. Once you’re well.”

She pointed to herself and pantomimed a hale and hearty look. All she got in response was Greta eyeballing the piece of tubing hanging out of her nose and taped to her face. Marina made a face. Greta remained firm.

She decided to leave the subject alone for the moment and switched her attention to the neatly arrayed papers from her find on the table. She found the large sheet, now minus the envelope. She unfolded it and found a long tear in it from the struggle in her room. She made a sound of distress and pointed but Greta soothed her and told her it would be properly cared for. She carefully laid it flat and pointed to the circle that represented their silo.

Greta turned away for a moment and then looked back. This was hard for her, Marina could see that. Her whole life had revolved around the preservation of objective truth or the best version of it that could be ferreted out with certainty. This one paper had put the lie to all of it.

At Marina’s inquiring look, Greta said, “Yes. I figured out that represents our silo.”

Marina made a big circle with her finger around all the other circles and gave a questioning shrug.

Greta understood her and answered, “I don’t know. They could be just like us or they might be…not like us…Others. How can we know?”

There was just so much to say, to relay, to ask and discuss that Marina’s frustration crested suddenly and she had to remove her hands from the sheet of paper lest she damage it. She wrote, “Radio jacks in burned room. Fifty of them. One blank. Ours blank.”

That surprised Greta and Marina watched her face as she tried to picture the burned room beneath IT, the jacks and to match it all together in her mind. She said, “You think that they are like us and we all used to be able to communicate.”

Marina nodded and Greta considered that possibility. “That would change things, wouldn’t it?”

Marina nodded again and smiled.

While Marina healed, she and Greta worked on the finds. Detailed reports were sent to the council and the replies were equal parts excitement, concern and admonitions for secrecy. Even after two weeks, ghosts of the bruises could still be seen on her neck and she wore her kerchief unrolled to hide as much as she could. She had not left the Memoriam during the healing, as much to preserve the secrecy of what had happened as her dignity.

Word had spread, of course, but it was limited to Taylor losing control out of grief and guilt that his caster had died without him being able to prevent it. It was a sympathetic tale and people moved on after a few re-tellings. Joseph visited twice a day, concerned but understanding the ways of the silo.

He had too much experience with people losing their perspective and needing remediation to not understand that something he would rather not know was going on behind the scenes. If he had suspected before that she was dealing with something from ‘before’, now he felt sure of it and his only concern was getting his wife back as soon as possible.