Silo 49: Deep Dark (5 page)

Rabbits too had a smell, but theirs was harder to describe. It was a bit like dust in a hot duct, yet also warm and inviting. Pigs, on the other hand, were by far Marina's least
favored. Their droppings were horrendous and the smell lingered around them like a nasty fog. The young ones were fun and smelled a bit like babies when they were clean, but the old sows that bred the babies were dangerous as well as formidably rank.

All these aromas and the memories that went with them washed over her and Marina smiled. Her gaze was drawn immediately to the
‘Playpens’ near the entrance to the Farms. In pens filled with toys and other enrichment items, young animals spent some portion of their youth.

Visitors, tour groups and vacationing families could interact with the animals under careful supervision. The animals, in turn, became accustomed to the presence of many different people. It was an important part of the life of any animal that would be kept for breeding or t
he dairy or for their eggs.

A young goat at the stage Marina ha
d always thought the pinnacle of the adorable spectrum thrust its dark nose out of the pen and bleated at her plaintively. Both she and Joseph reached out to stroke the finely shaped head through the bars. It wiggled and pressed its head toward the stroking hands as it gave a quieter bleat, as if to both acknowledge the affection and request more of the same.

She laughed at the pleasure the goat conveyed and saw the same happiness on Joseph's face. "Do you miss this?"
she asked him, enjoying the softening of his expression.

He gave one final vigorous scratch behind
the little goat’s ears and then pulled his hand away quickly lest it give him a nip, but the dreamy smile remained on his face for a moment longer. He drew her away from the pen and back toward their patiently waiting guide and less patiently waiting daughter. He whispered in her ear, "I miss that, but I don't miss knowing what will happen to them."

They exchanged a look and Marina snuck one more glance back at the
kid, pressed against the pen with eyes unwavering upon her, trying to compel her to return and provide additional scritches. If she hadn’t been required elsewhere, the gaze would have worked and she felt her heart give the same little tug she got from the presence of any baby. The kid gave a more excited little bleat, turned and romped toward a group of squealing children arriving at the other end of the pen.

Sarah said nothing as she led them through the various pens and larger livestock areas and toward the ramp at the back.
A large section of the back of the farm was walled off for delivery pens to provide the greatest level of security for mothers and their offspring. As they passed into those quiet areas the noise from the main farms faded. The veterinary areas were also here and they too were walled off to prevent any animal that might get loose from wandering about inside.

They made their way up the ramp, past rooms cut from the thick concrete that made up the
many yards between levels, and into the Animal Farm Support area tucked into this small section of Level 89. It could be accessed only from the ramp, probably to the relief of all those who had to live and work on 89, and made up just the smallest portion of the level.

The quietest offices for the support staff were tucked tightly together on one side of the ramp and above
it, with a safety railing preventing a fall onto the lower portions of the ramp. A tight left at the top of the ramp led down an identical hallway where large bays for any animal requiring extended treatment under supervision were housed.

Sarah motioned for them to take the right walkway. She still had not spoken and Marina wasn't sure if the girl had even raised her head during the entire walk. She was about to thank
her, perhaps put her a bit more at ease, when one of the office doors slid open and the round face of Mother Patrick poked out.

"I'll be stuffed! You finally made it. Where's my grandbaby?" she called out in a strong
, musical voice.

Sela stepped around her father with a big grin on her face and walked directly into the arms of her Grandma. As they hugged and Mother Patrick rocked her grand-daughter back and forth, words of love passed between them. Marina felt her own eyes prick with tears. She remembered the particular joy that came from seeing her Ba-Ma and she was glad her own daughter still had that as an almost grown woman.

Mother Patrick saved some surprisingly strong hugs for her son and daughter-in-law, but eventually led them into her office and waved for them to sit. She only then seemed to notice that her couch was covered by a couple of blankets and a crushed pillow left over from having been used as a bed.

She chattered
about how well they looked and gave them no chance to answer as she swept the items up into her arms and tossed them onto her desk. When she did so, the battered metal top went from littered to completely buried, the books and papers now covered by a messy pile of fabric. 

She twisted the knob on a single burner stove perched on a table and checked the teapot water level with a clatter of the metal lid. Marina's count now stood at five questions they had been asked but not yet answered and her smile widened. The pleasant chaos that was Joseph's mother always did that to her.

The older woman, who Marina could never quite bring herself to describe as actually old, grabbed her desk chair with surprising agility, gave it a twirl so that it faced the couch then plopped down into it. It was all one smooth economical movement and Marina almost envied her that kind of physical ability. Her hair was twisted in the same figure eight bun on the back of her head that Marina had seen her wearing since the day Joseph first brought her home. Frizzy strands of shorter hair escaped the bun and framed her face like a halo of wispy whiteness. Her face was remarkably unlined except when she smiled. Then her eyes all but disappeared in the many wrinkles that appeared.

It was said that life was divide
d into thirds. The first was childhood and it was supposed to be the happiest. The second was adulthood and it was to be the most rewarding. The third was being old and that, alas, went by the fastest. Marina and Joseph were almost to that final stage and Mother Patrick was already older than many people could expect to ever be, but she was more vital and vigorous than many a youngster. She was certainly happier than most. Perhaps the maxim simply didn’t apply to some people.

"So, my babies," she began, clearly meaning all three of them.
At some point during the years Joseph and Marina had joined the group loosely lumped as ‘babies’ in Mother Patrick's eyes. Her bright brown eyes flicked from one to the next. "What brings you to see me? The message just said a vacation. Are you vacationing with me or on your way somewhere?"

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 off
ice, 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 play
ing 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 remain
ed 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."