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 playing 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 remained 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.