Ann Christy - Silo 49 - Deep Dark

This series has been written primarily for readers already familiar with the world of WOOL , that delicious dystopia created by Hugh Howey. While I’ve tried to make it accessible and enjoyable for readers who have not yet plunged into WOOL , much of what happens may not be understood in context unless one knows of the dark depths of the Silo world.

I’ll be honest, I was terrified when I clicked ‘okay’ and uploaded the first story, Silo 49: Going Dark. While I did disclose that I’m an amateur more comfortable with my field of science than writing fiction, that didn’t stop me from hoping like mad that you, the readers, would like it. That most of you did delights me in ways I just can’t describe.

This second book delves more deeply into the changes in our silo and the way they have evolved culturally in the generations that they’ve been on their own. And there is the story, of course. It’s a longer work. I’m not sure if that is a good or a bad thing. Let’s just say that I made it as short as I could, chopping out an “extra” 16,000+ words before calling it done.

With many thanks to Hugh Howey for his generous permission to publish this series set in his world of WOOL and the Silos and with affection for my fellow WOOL ians, Ann Christy

1) We are different. We are the good.

2) All Conduct Above the Rails

3) What those within the silo need, the silo has provided

4) Nothing Wasted, Nothing Lost

5) Life is for Giving

6) Always Be Prepared

7) Reason is always the better choice.

8) One day we will reclaim the Outside

9) The Others are still out there

10) Thoughts are the bedrock upon which the silo rests.

Wallis tossed down the book in frustration and pointed his finger at Grace. Eyes narrowed in skepticism, he asked, “Are you getting rid of those colors because you don’t like them or do you have some actual logic here?”

“Honestly, Wallis! Why do you always have to be so contrary?” She picked up the book he had just tossed down and turned pages rapidly. She knew exactly what she was looking for so it didn’t take long. They had both been pouring through his journals since Graham died, but Grace was the one who always seemed to know where to find specifics. She found the passage she sought and turned it for Wallis to read, a finger pointed at the line.

With a sigh that told Grace she had already won, Wallis peered at the page and read.

‘Gold. Really? Gold? What’s that? And silver? What possible purpose does it serve to have the most difficult cloth to work with, repair or clean be reserved for a select few if not to set them apart? Sure, red and green and gray and all the others identify people but don’t set them apart in the same way. Silver and gold are boasting and intimidating and probably meant that way. Plus, they are ridiculously uncomfortable. I feel like I’ve got a piece of plastic stuck to my balls whenever I wear them. I’d ditch them if I could and make the colors match the rest of the work groups. Probably gray for IT and tan for the other.’

When he finished reading, Wallis sighed again. He looked at Grace, her face one that was quickly becoming essential to his daily happiness. He gave a grin of surrender when he saw her lips lift in victory. “Okay,” he said, touching her fingers as he let the book go, “I see the point. But now I have to get new coveralls.”

Grace pinched the odd fabric in her fingers and teased, “You just like wearing gold.”

“Yeah, yeah. You won already, so let’s not rub it in.” He picked up the pages full of lists they had been going down, designing and deciding as they went using Graham’s words as their guide. It would be a whole new silo once the “Great Forgetting” was started and complete. He put a careful check-mark next to Grace’s neat script. “Okay, coveralls are done. Next, it looks like we’ve got identification, communications and government.” He made a sound of disgust and asked, “Can’t we pick something less dreary for the next one?”

She gave him a level look, all her humor gone. “Whatever we do now will be what everyone after us will live with and build upon. We owe them to get the basics correct or else who knows what the silo will be like in a hundred years.” She nodded at the list and said, “Pick one.”

He hung his head a little and studied the list for a moment. “I would pick one but I think we have to settle the whole IT issue. Everything before led to IT. We should figure out where all those loose ends will go now that we don’t have the other silos and IT controlling us.”

“That does make sense.”

“So, what do we do about the whole IT thing?” Wallis asked.

“Well, I have some ideas about that, too.”

Marina looked up as a knock sounded at her door but made no move to answer. Instead, she looked back at the delicate work in her hands. It was at a crucial point in assembly and she sighed in annoyance. Even the act of sighing was carefully done, the stream of air directed away from the work.

“Just a moment,” she called out.

One final and almost invisibly small twist of the tool in her hand and the part was set. No matter how many times she finished any repair, these moments when some stage was complete always brought a certain sense of satisfaction. She set a tiny blue marker in place to remind her of what she had last done. Leaning back, she gave it one more measuring glance and ensured all was properly done.

The component hung snugly in a clamp above the workbench surface. The open top revealed a complicated geometry of boards and traceries of dull metal, all bristling with wires of the smallest gauges. Each wire was colorfully rendered in the coatings that identified their purpose. She tapped her magnifiers and the lenses lifted on slim metal arms to stand above her head like the antenna of some strange, human sized insect.

Marina groaned as she stood, her back giving a loud pop in the quiet room. The feeling of muscles held too long in one position stretching free was a good sort of pain and she certainly didn’t mind it. She opened the door just wide enough to frame her face and peered out, her eyes blinking myopically from too much time behind strong magnifiers. The lenses standing above the mass of her curly hair seemed to peer just as myopically.

A porter with a bulky bundle strapped to his back smiled at her from the hall and said, “Hey, Marina. Good to see you again. I’ve got the load from Level 50 for you. From the reclamation?”

It took her a moment but his wide smile was familiar and it eventually placed him in her memory. This was the same boy who had brought her the load from Level 25 just two weeks previously. She smiled then, forgetting her annoyance, and dipped her head quickly out the door to look left and right.

The lights that flashed to indicate someone was using the buffer doors were out so she eased the door open wide, grabbed her flask and slipped out into the hallway with the young man. She closed the door just as gently as she had opened it to minimize any breeze upon her small pieces and parts inside.

Turning to the boy, she saw the sheen of sweat on his face and the darker edges of sweat dampened cloth on the kerchief tied about his neck. She squinted up at him, her eyes still adjusting, and said, “You didn’t need to run, you know. How about a cup of something besides water?”

The boy licked his lips and smiled his wide, young smile, “That would be good. Porting is thirsty work.”