Ann Christy - Silo 49 - Deep Dark

As per protocol, Marina was to arrive early to record the event and all that surrounded it. Only the sounds of her shuffling footsteps and puffing breaths accompanied them along the passageway of partitioned rooms. The sounds of engineers yelling, construction workers banging and metal workers doing both were finally gone, their work leaving the whole level a different place.

Three decades of learning and the work that came from what they had learned were complete at last. Everything was ready and it would be up to the cleaner and those who would support him to prove they had done well. And up to Marina to record the events, of course.

The bright light and open space of Level 1 made her blink after the dimness of the hallway. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the place where all the construction had been focused. New walls enclosed a much larger part of Level 1 than previously. The new door was a solid one, with large overlapping seals on the working side visible even from this distance. Beyond that, a further rim of concrete had been added that rose about eight inches above the floor. So many people had tripped on it during construction that it was now painted a vivid yellow.

No other evidence of the vast changes made could be seen from here. People who came to the cafeteria to enjoy the view wouldn’t be bothered and that was just as it should be. Getting over the little barrier was harder than Marina would have thought. She was forced to grab a handful of her coveralls and lift her less able left leg over the lip. No amount of internal demand seemed to force the leg to lift more than a modest inch or two on its own.

Inside the newly built walls, the stations for final stage decontamination were set up and ready, their carefully placed supplies covered by sheets to protect them. A neat stack of clothes, hospital wear of un-dyed cotton and a pair of slippers, waited in an optimistic pile for the end of today’s events.

The door to the one time offices and cells of the sheriff’s station had been sealed on the working side also. More of the big, wide strips of gray sealing plastic, combined with pressure, kept the air where it needs to be. When the shadow pulled the door open, it made a sucking sound that was vaguely obscene to Marina’s ears.

A breeze rushed past her and into the room where the air pressure is lower, so that her hair is the first part of her to enter. This area is no longer a simple workplace. It is a command center for the event to come and hopefully, for every one after if all goes well. Precious monitors are crammed side by side along the walls, their views dark for the moment. And at the other end of the room, the cell door has been removed to allow for easy passage toward the inner decontamination staging area.

The airlock, though she can only see the first door, is both an expanded and divided affair. Additional airlock doors, one of them from the passageway in the Fabber section where she once worked, have been fitted into the airlock to divide it. The airlock itself has been expanded into the room providing a three stage system of airlocks that all tests to date confirm will work. Bags and bags of fine orange dust have been used in the tests and not a single grain of it has ever escaped into the room where she now stands. They are ready.

Marina accepts help into her chair, a well-padded one that has been marked for her use alone. She smiles at the shadow and says, “Thank you, Steven. You can run along if you like. I’m just going to start writing my initial impressions of the day.”

Steven eyes her a moment, his expressions saying he’s unsure about leaving the frail old woman she has become. After that moment passes, he gives her a respectful nod and bids her goodbye. When the door slams closed with another peculiar sucking noise, Marina removes her book from her pocket and opens to the first blank page. Her little pot of ink is full and her pen has a new nib that is shiny and sharp.

She looks around the room, at the tanks of water mounted on sturdy platforms all along the walls to either side of the expanded airlock, the vast hoses that can dump it with amazing speed into the airlocks and at the pumps that will move that same water back out and into more tanks set beneath the platforms. All of it has the rough look of the newly made. There are shiny spots on the metal where it has been recently ground, the welds all standing out in sharp relief and the bolts un-rusted and freshly milled.

She records it all and finds that time has escaped her when she finally looks up again at the clock. She has filled many pages with the details. Marina notes that old flutter in her belly. The hint of excitement brought about by the knowledge that soon the action will start.

Even as she thinks that the door un-suctions and the preparation group enters in a rush of anticipation and energy. The room fairly crackles with it. They give her a respectful nod and slow their steps for a beat or two, but it is a temporary change. They are back at full speed, calling out their checklists to each other as they ready their respective stations.

The runner —no longer a cleaner she reminds herself yet again— enters with his training team and the last of his suit team. He’s a long and lean young man, vibrant with good health and energy. Marina examines his face as he passes but sees no fear there, only purpose.

He’s already wearing his skin suit, its support systems put in place in the privacy of the medical prep room. She can see the little bulge where a pouch is affixed to his leg underneath the suit, ready should he find it necessary to urinate. Her fingers twist along the pen as she considers whether or not to include such intimate details in her report.

More bulges along the back of his shoulders show where all the battery packs have been placed. It is safest inside the skin suit, which is the last thing that will breech if the worst happens. The coated wire harness that will attach to his helmet electronics bounces behind him as he walks. To Marina it looks like the upraised tail of a cat in fine fettle.

The suit team springs into action the moment he nods his readiness. The council had trailed in behind him, some holding back a bit and others hot on his heels depending on their personality. While some of them watch with anxious expressions, the ones who hung back look like they are trying not to see what is going on at all. Marina can understand this well. The paradigm of who is chosen to clean is a firm one and hard for many to break, some of the council included.

Until today, there have only been two successful recoveries of cleaners but they are the most recent two which gives them reason for hope. Both were terminally ill, as the laws required, and both were volunteers. Today it is a very different situation. This young man is at the prime of his life and in perfect health. It is true that he is also a volunteer and that he competed with unwavering devotion for this day, but it still seems wrong in many respects. Some changes are harder to accept than others.

Marina flips open her book again as the suit team gets to work. Portable oxygen tanks cadged from the hospital have been filled and fitted. That and the small scrubber for his exhalations are fitted to his back at exactly the spots his training has determined are the best for his gait and endurance. The hoses are threaded through the routing ties and create another tail for the runner, this time in front of his chin. The young man doesn’t seem to mind his increasing encumbrance and gives the girl on the suit team that adjusted it for him a wink and a smile.

The innermost suit layer is snug but not as tight as the skin suit and it crinkles noisily as they tug it on over his body. The sealing of this layer is as complete as it would be for one of the old single layer suits. Only the stiff ring that will fit into the innermost groove of the helmet seal is left unattached.