Ann Christy: Silo 49: Going Dark

“Some side effects due to memory degradation are to be expected but this is much worse. I’ve got a list here of incidents that fall well outside the norm.” He ran his fingers down the list looking for some examples that would make his point and found one. He jabbed his finger on a line of neat writing and continued, “Nine different reports have been submitted of parents not picking up children from childcare because they forgot they even had kids. And that is just the reported ones so there are probably a lot more incidents that weren’t reported.”

“Anything else?”

Graham snorted and then tried to cover it up by clearing his throat. Sarcasm wouldn’t be helpful, he knew. But really, did they think that a parent forgetting the existence of their child was a minor glitch?

“Lots of people not showing up to work because they forget they have a job or forget which job they have. People who already have been diagnosed with cancer keep showing up complaining of illness because they forget they have it. Can you imagine getting that news every day for the first time?”

“Perhaps that is better than dwelling on a diagnosis,” said the voice in an utterly reasonable, yet chilling, response.

“Okay, I’ll grant you that one but we don’t have enough medics for this and they are just as forgetful so it’s a mess. Every single dimming the deputies and maintainers find people asleep on floors all over the place because they don’t remember where they live,” Graham continued and then gave up. He slammed the book closed and dropped it to the floor again. The bang reverberated in the space and made him wince.

“I understand your frustration. Those are rather extreme reactions and it is probable that the weakened condition of the ill make this more likely. Or perhaps there is some exaggeration in the effect due to the contaminants. I think you need a slight the alteration in the dose level. Stand by.”

Graham heard a rapid and whispered conversation behind the louder sounds of something rubbing across the microphone, but he could make out no specific words. It was but a quick moment before the voice continued and gave him a new concentration, which he dutifully wrote down.

Silo One’s voice then asked, “And the suicides?”

“Significant decreases, yes. Actually, that’s one good thing. There have been none since our report last month. But that might just be because there are fewer left to do it. Everyone is needed critically. We don’t have enough people to fill any but the most urgent jobs as it is. That’s especially true when people don’t show up to work. Whole sections of this silo are empty now and there aren’t any spare people to even close them up properly. We don’t even have a sheriff as of two days ago!”

“What happened to him?”

“Cancer. What else?”

The voice at the other end of the line was silent a moment. The only sounds coming through to Graham were more whispers that were just beyond the edge of understanding. Finally, the voice spoke again and asked, “Why weren’t we notified that the sheriff was ill?”

To Graham’s mind, this question pointed more toward Silo One not being given due consideration in the notification and less toward the critical loss of the main law enforcement officer of the silo. He answered civilly, but it was a strain to do so. “He kept that information private and I didn’t know until he died. He told very few people, a deputy or two and a friend. His medic knew, of course.”

“What about the birth defects? Did you compile that data?”

Graham nodded, though no one was there to see it and he shuffled his papers once again to get the correct page. He delayed a little, straining to hear what might be coming over the line from the other side. Whatever the conversation was, it was either over or no longer close enough for him to hear. He gave in and snugged the earphones tightly over his ears, a move that wasn’t wise if he was put in a position requiring any impromptu truth stretching.

He didn’t know exactly why the headphones were important, but IT head after IT head had passed down the knowledge that putting them on askew, but not askew enough to be noticeable gave them a lot of leeway in how the conversation with Silo One might go.

“Ah, I have it,” he said and made a point of peering at the paper just in case they were watching him. He read off a string of numbers. Incidents of certain defects in the heart, the lungs and the digestive tract were increasing as was the prevalence of children being born who had difficulty learning and remembering.

“Hold on,” the voice said and Graham heard a click. That click usually signaled silence from the other end of the line, a faint static hiss the only thing that would escape through. He’d been kept waiting so many times in the decades he had trained for and later held this job that the hiss often sent him off to dozing while he waited. Even when he was stressed to the point of breaking, somehow that tuneless noise calmed him and freed his mind to drift.

This time the click did stop the somewhat mechanical sounds of breathing that came from the voice he had just been speaking to, but not those background sounds he had heard before. Those got louder and more distinct, as if the lack of competition in volume allowed for more to be heard. The voices were also very individual. Graham would bet that whatever they did to make all voices sound the same wasn’t turned on at whatever microphone he was hearing this speech from. It was unnerving but also irresistible.

Graham got a bit more comfortable on his little stool, just as he normally would. He didn’t want it to appear to anyone that might be watching that he was listening to anything other than silence. He didn’t fidget or play with his papers like he might have done at any other time, though, since that would make noise. Instead, he laid the papers down, flipped the microphone on his own headset upward and away from his mouth and then crossed his arms. He hoped he showed them the attitude of a tired person settling in for a long wait as he leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes and listened.

“…unsustainable at this point…” This came from a voice deeper than the one he had been speaking with and much further away. “…best to end it…” and finally, “…never developed robust population…”

Another voice, this one sounding younger and more energetic, came from much closer and he heard, “We have all the data we need, at least in theory. We can easily counter this same effect if it happens in any other silo. It’s too late for this one. This is teratogenic. Of this we’re reasonably certain, though we can’t be absolutely sure without actually physically examining a few of them. That we can’t do for obvious reasons, but it doesn’t matter. That possibility alone is a no-go from our standpoint. That isn’t something we want to, uh, carry forward.”

“And we’re certain this is from the catchment lake and not a problem they’ll all encounter at some point?” This again came from the deeper voice. It came through clearer now, perhaps a little closer.

The younger voice replied, “Reasonably so. The lake was originally quite large and deep and a part of the requirements for the cover facility. It was meant to act as a ready source of water in case of emergency, like a fire or something in one of the silos. For containment, you know? That catchment, along with the two depressions cut at other locations around the silo field, was really dug to provide drainage for the silo run-off. Basically, each is pretty much filled with the worst by-products imaginable from more than a dozen silos. Plus the heavy metals and oddments still falling out there are rolling downhill and settling. That silo is at the edge of our field and nearest to the lake, or what was the lake. And the next closest silo isn’t having a problem. Engineering reports indicate it is probably a crack in the bedrock that is leeching the contaminants down and through the area. There’s at least enough contact for water contamination below the surface.”