“Why does my skin itch so?”
“Because it hasn’t had to flex and stretch in quite a while. You’ll feel fine after a hot shower. Then we’ll have lunch with the others.”
As his eyes adjusted Captain Lacy turned up the normal lighting and the ceiling and walls turned from red to grey. But there were other colors, too. Pinks and blues and oranges of the tags stuck to pipes and wires. It was like a map with cities identified in various colors, the pipes and wires raised, giving shadows, a wonderful relief map.
Captain Lacy’s face came over him. His hair was black, his face pinkish, his cheeks rosy, his eyes blue. Santa Claus with a black beard. The color had done it. Now that the normal lighting was on he felt alive again.
“It’s good to be awake,” he said.
Captain Lacy smiled. “I know. I know.”
The six of them ate lunch together seated about a large round table in the galley. Captain Lacy and Lieutenants Boyle and Francis, all three with beards, devoured fresh vegetables and fruit that had been brought through the air locks with the three capsules. The new arrivals, himself, Captain Orr, and Lieutenant Fazio, were restricted to puddings and liquids for two days to acclimate their systems to food again.
Unlike the room in which he had awakened, with its grey walls and exposed conduits and pipes and wires, the galley was quite pleasant. Wood-grained cabinets surrounded them. Indirect lighting at imaginary windows came through ivory curtains. The low acoustic ceiling gave a cosy, quiet feeling as if they were in the kitchen of a small home.
They chattered like birds during the meal, Lacy, Boyle, and Francis asking about the outside while he and Orr and Fazio recounted what they could remember. The colonization of the Moon base by several hundreds from each power, the signing of the Antarctic Treaty, the California earthquake, the Chicago Cubs winning the World Series. But these bits of news could be two months or several months old depending upon how long he and Orr and Fazio had been asleep.
After lunch — if it was really lunchtime, could have been midnight up top — Captain Lacy gave instructions.
Captain Lacy leaned back in his swivel chair, reaching above and behind his head, opening and closing a cabinet door as he spoke. This particular cabinet contained row upon row of canned vegetables. Lacy’s tan uniform was stained at the armpits.
“So, here we are, gentlemen. Us at the end of our stint and you just beginning. But don’t worry, the year will be finished before you know it.”
Boyle and Francis both scratched their beards and smiled at one another. Lacy looked at them, coughed and continued.
“We’ll be down here with you for one full week. Each of you will be trained by your sponsor to take over his duties and his shift. That means I’ll train Major Donovan, Lieutenant Boyle will take care of Captain Orr, and Lieutenant Francis, Lieutenant Fazio. Donovan will take over my position as exec, but since rank doesn’t mean much down here, we’ll drop all the usual formalities. And since the computer recognizes us by last name we’ve found it best to do the same. All communication with HQ is via the computer. It’s scrambled and on a variable delay. And, as you already know, all coordinates are coded.”
Captain Lacy tipped forward on the chair, rested his elbows on the table, and looked to each of the newcomers. “Believe me, gentlemen. There is absolutely no way of determining our location. We’ve been here a year and, as far as we know, we could be in a suburb of Chicago or we could be in the Rocky Mountains. The best thing to do, psychologically, is to immediately pick a spot where you think you are, and stick with that. Don’t dwell on it. After all, it doesn’t really matter anyway.”
Captain Lacy stood and took his tray to the cupboard where he scraped his plate into the disposal and stacked his plate and utensils and coffee cup in the dishwasher. His movements were quick, automatic, a machine feeding machines. Then he turned toward them.
“Let’s get to it, gentlemen. And if you don’t understand anything, no matter how minor, ask. Donovan. Let’s go. You’re scheduled for R and R now but we can get in a grand tour before bedtime.”
For Donovan bedtime was 0400 to 1200 hours. As he lay in his bunk he stared at the intricacy of the plumbing and wiring on the ceiling, all of it lighted by the makeshift red glow that was supposed to be his night. He closed his eyes and remembered the layout of the entire facility again, a three-dimensional map in his mind. A detailed map showing control rooms, life support modules, stores, the galley, and the vertical shaft to the outside. But the map floated as if in space, an unmoored life raft at sea. If only he knew where the installation was located he would be satisfied. Would he go crazy? Only six days gone and his desire to be grounded, to know where he was — and when — nagged at him like something physical, like a narcotic that had invaded his system.
Lacy knew nothing of his desire — or was it a phobia? — to know where he was. During the week of training he had learned well. After today’s session Lacy had praised him. “You’ll be a fine exec, Donovan. And when you get out you can look forward to just about picking your own commission. You’ll be able to go wherever you want in this man’s army.” He did not tell Lacy that what he really wanted with all his being was to know where he was right now. And to that end he had formulated a plan.
He was taking over Lacy’s position as exec and control systems officer. And as such he had been trained this week in the operation of all systems internal to the installation. This included life support and communication equipment. But it also included exit and entry controls. These controls he had studied especially hard. A fine riddle, a game like the ones he had played on his computer as a boy. How to get through the series of hatches and air locks without detection.
After two days of studying diagrams he found that undetected escape was impossible unless the system were reprogrammed manually. And this reprogramming could only be done at a time when the hatches were cycled. Tomorrow, when Lacy and Boyle and Francis left, he could do it. He could be ready at each panel, apply the appropriate patches at the appropriate times. And, once done, he would be able to come and go as he wished during his stay.
Perhaps he would be satisfied simply by knowing that he could leave whenever he wanted. Perhaps he would easily make it through the year just knowing he was free to come and go, free to find out where he was. As Lacy had said, in the mountains or just outside Chicago?
His mind was made up. Tomorrow, after the year’s worth of garbage was hoisted up the shaft, after the three short-timers had begun their ascent, he would order Orr and Fazio to their posts and patch the appropriate panels as the hatches above opened and closed.
After a month in what was designated as Silo 414 by the computer, Donovan was surprised at how little he saw or spoke with Orr and Fazio. Their only meetings were brief conversations between shifts or an occasional meal together in the galley. They usually ate together and sometimes played cards in the galley on Sundays. Although they did not really know what day of the week it was, or what time it was, they had agreed for their own purposes, for their internal clocks, that the old crew had departed at 0800 on Monday morning, the beginning of a work week, the beginning of their year in Silo 414.
As he went off duty, as he began his R and R shift to be followed by his bedtime shift, Donovan congratulated himself on waiting so long before his excursion to the outside. He had been more than patient, but now he was ready. He had stowed a heavy parka near the shaft in case he came out to a blizzard or sub-freezing temperatures of a northern state, perhaps even Alaska. He had entered, a DO NOT DISTURB message into his console. He had studied Orr’s and Fazio’s habits during the month and was relatively certain they would not seek him out in his quarters.