She got up then and moved to the chair next to Marina. She took the watch from her hands and laid it down, then grasped each of Marina’s hands, her thumbs pressing on the fine bones on the back of her hands. It wasn’t painful, but it was firm. That pressure told Marina that whatever would be said next was important for her to hear, to really listen to.
“But some of what we have found is confusing. Because we can’t know that we understand the context and are only sure that these bits are not complete, they are not shared. There remain things that we must keep aside not out of dishonesty, but out of ignorance of the truth.”
She spoke with such sincerity and seemed so intent on Marina understanding her words that the lingering feeling of not knowing who to trust seemed to fade. Marina felt sure that should she now speak of the image and letter that this woman would not only refrain from turning her in, she would help her. It was with actual physical effort that Marina held back her desire to speak the words and instead said, “I think I can understand that. But I have seen something more now. I’ve seen those things and that watch.”
It was a challenge as much as it was a statement. What Greta said next would help her know the truth of things, of how much was hidden and why.
“And I’m sorry you did.” Greta released her hands and sighed, leaning back in her chair as if exhausted. Perhaps she was. Marina knew little of the daily life of a Historian. Perhaps they worked long hours. She went on, “If I could redo this, I would have asked instead that we be trained in the testing process and had the reclaimed items sent to us instead. You should not have so much uncertainty in your life. That isn’t fair.”
Marina’s gut tightened at the thought of anyone taking this duty from her. What more might she see? What more clues might arrive in future boxes?
“But,” Greta sighed again, this time it sounded to Marina as if she had made some decision and did not like the decision she had made, “the damage is done and changing now will not undo this. And in truth, we do not have the labor hours this would require of us. We are only four, you know.”
Marina nodded. This she knew. Only four Historians existed because the population numbers allowed for only that number. More people would need to be born and come to adulthood before another Historian could be made.
“So, I propose this solution and I will persuade the rest of the council that this is the best solution. You will continue the work but you will consult on any further questionable items directly with me. You will speak with no one else on your findings or your thoughts on those findings.” This last bit she said with particular emphasis. She meant there would be no more talking about First People making things outside. It also meant that what she had said here would go no further. The sense of relief was immense.
“I can do that,” Marina replied, keeping her tone as even as possible so as to not betray the excitement she felt.
“I further propose that you speak freely to me, when it is appropriate, on these same thoughts. Don’t harbor them or let them fester. Come to me. Do you understand?”
Marina nodded, glad there would be a safe outlet where she might say these things. Her window to share was rapidly closing and she knew it. This moment of grace was being extended to her and her instincts told her it was being done because the other woman already knew she was still hiding something. She pursed her lips to stop the words from coming out but she seemed unable to control her own mouth.
She said, “If I find something interesting, like that watch, I would like to be included in the research about it. Or if I find something more.”
The look on Greta’s face told Marina that she had said too much and that the other woman’s suspicions were confirmed. Yet Marina saw no victory or maliciousness in her face, only a sort of smoothing of her features as if she had averted some unpleasantness.
“Tell me,” she said.
“Could I be included in such research? Even though you said there may be no absolute answer and only muddles of confusion, I want to know. I don’t want to be shut out,” Marina said instead of answering the question.
Greta looked off to the side for a moment, as if looking to another person for an answer. She said nothing but as the silence lengthened Marina grew nervous. She jumped when the silence was broken by the crackle of paper being shoved underneath the door. It lay there, a dull cream colored square on the dark floor and Marina’s heart took a tumble in her chest.
She looked in the direction Greta had and saw the tiny reflection of the lens. Cameras were in so many places that she did not even think to look. She felt sure that the paper held some directive to bring her to remediation and for a moment, she longed desperately to see her husband and child, just one last time before she came out some bland shadow of herself.
She wondered if her hands would retain their dexterity afterwards and if she would be able to work amongst her tiny wires and tools with the smell of hot solder in her nostrils ever again. She had heard about the shaking of some and the dull clumsiness of others afterward. She wondered if the image and the letter would ever be found in the place where she had hidden them.
By the time Greta had risen and stooped to pick up the paper, tears stood in Marina’s eyes and she thought of everything she would miss. She watched, eyes blurred, as the tall and angular woman opened the fold and read the paper. It took her but a glance and then she folded the paper again.
She met Marina’s eyes and said, “Come with me.”
The tears that were standing in her eyes slipped over the edges of her lids and fell like sad jumpers off the rails. She felt the two fat drops hit her legs and wondered if she would be able to do this without succumbing to the urge to struggle. Everyone had seen something like that at least once in their life, some wriggling form wrapped tightly with the arms of their coveralls crossed and strapped down so that they could be carried along the stairs. Porters grunting and sweating under a bucking and heaving form, crowds being drawn by the strangled squeaks of a person trying to scream behind a gag were a rare but terrible sight.
Marina didn’t want to be that. Even more she didn’t want to be the person who was ported like a dead body, limp and seemingly lifeless, after being chemically subdued for the trip. That would be worse. Most tried to go with dignity, slipping past the landings with no one the wiser as to their destination. She would try that too.
She bolstered herself, remembered the state of her legs and feet, and then stood carefully. She reached for a cup of water left on the table and slipped two of the round balls of compressed powder from the vials, one from each, and tossed them back. They were chalky but the water washed the taste away almost immediately. She wanted to do this on her own two feet if she had to do it.
“I’m ready,” she said, her tone quiet and calm, her posture resolute.
Greta looked confused for a moment and then she laughed a sad little laugh and touched Marina’s arm. “You’re not going there! What must you think of me to assume that? You’re going to get your answers and then you can tell me what you’re holding back. We are going to exchange truths, or whatever we can call truth at this point.”
Marina remained suspicious. Wouldn’t that be an effective way to get someone to go willingly? Simply lie about the destination until it was too late to lie any further? Would they stoop to lying and use a Historian to do it? The thoughts must have been written across her face because the other woman’s mouth set in a thin line.