She copied down what she needed and put the paper back, moving along the different boxes to search for Level 50 in each one. Most of the time she came up empty and in others what remained made no sense. One list that went by level, just like the census, had only the words compliant or non-compliant and nothing else after the compartment numbers.
When Greta came to get her, she had gotten through only a single row from one shelf. She realized with disappointment that she would not be able to do this in the limited amount of time she had. Marina consoled herself by telling herself that in spending this time with these records she had at least satisfied her need to know if she could even find the information. She knew that without a lifetime she probably wouldn’t.
As the two women left the Deep Archives, Greta carefully locked the doors and listened as Marina recounted what she found and didn’t find. Greta sighed and said, “I didn’t think you would find much. These archives weren’t even archives at one point. It was actually a hiding place for a bunch of records but no one knows why it was hidden or when. It was pre-history. But I’d like to see that entry you just told me about.”
Marina handed her the slip of paper on which she had copied the Hardi entry and Greta frowned at the format. “Hmm,” she murmured and then looked up at the ceiling in thought. When she looked back down at the slip she said, “I’m not sure, but I think this might be when they first started assisting in reproduction. The phrase ‘no assist/rep+’ might actually mean that there was no reproductive assistance required because she had successfully reproduced. We could check with the medics but I’m fairly certain that is the case. I’m actually impressed that you found that.”
She handed the slip back and they walked down the hallways and away from the Archives. They were quiet and their boots made the only sounds. Here in these parts not meant for the public, there was no need for the rugs and the tiles did nothing to dampen the sound of the sturdy heels.
Greta stopped almost directly across from the doorway to the public part of the Memoriam and let them into a conference room. Its door was thick and without windows and it seemed to hush all the noises of the silo when the door closed behind them. Taylor was sitting at the table along with Piotr. A slender package rested on the surface. Marina looked at Greta and saw that the woman’s eyes were glued to the package, a look that was almost greedy. There was no question she wanted to see what treasure Marina had unearthed.
“Taylor, do you mind not drinking at the table?” Greta asked, whipping out a cloth and wiping the surface of the table with vigor when he lifted his cup in response.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t think,” he said, getting up and putting his sweating metal cup onto the side table where a tray held more cups and pitcher of water.
“It’s not a problem, Taylor. We’ll just be working with paper now so better to be safe than sorry,” she said and gave him a smile meant to take any sting out of her words.
Marina decided a show of solidarity was needed. Poor Taylor just seemed to do the wrong things when it was most obvious. Not even a welcome back or a thank you for him. She went to the tray, poured and then downed a glass of the cold water in a single long drink. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and said, “Ah. I really needed that.”
By the time Marina sat down, Piotr had handed the package over to Greta and she was in the process of opening it with extreme care. She thought back to how roughly she had handled the objects and felt a twinge of guilt. Greta was wearing her gloves again and she shook the packet very gently so that the papers would slide out.
When the plastic wrapped bits of paper hit the tabletop, Greta winced a little. Marina looked and thought they looked exactly as she had left them, which meant that Taylor had not succumbed to curiosity and opened it. She noted that he was peering as intently as the others. Marina had packed the two bits of paper as tightly as possible, with the face of the image pressed toward the other paper. The clear plastic around them showed nothing more than the round backside of the image with its fading script and the blank side of the letter.
Marina watched Greta as she flexed her fingers in preparation to open the plastic. It was all that she could do not to just reach out and yank open the sleeve she had put it in and sealed closed. It was nothing that should require such care. These artifacts had survived for an uncounted number of years tucked away and neglected just fine. Paper they might be, but they were sturdier than they appeared. She sighed.
Greta looked up at the sigh, fingers poised over the sleeve. She asked, “Something wrong?”
Marina shifted in her seat. She hadn’t actually meant to sigh that loudly or quite so expressively. There was no backing off from the impatience in that sigh so she said, “They won’t fall apart. I can open that pretty quickly if you like.” At Greta’s look, she quickly added, “So you don’t have to try to puzzle out my method and all.”
The other woman lifted her hands and waved for Marina to proceed though she was clearly reluctant. Marina felt a little bad about that. It was probably like a gift to open such a rare thing and here she was, taking the gift away.
That didn’t matter now. It was too late to retract and let things proceed. She slipped her tiny work knife out of her pocket and clicked it open but halted when Greta gave a little gasp.
“You’re not going to use a knife, are you?” asked Greta, her voice a little hushed and disbelieving.
“I know what I’m doing. I promise it will be fine,” she answered and hoped she didn’t slip with the point of that knife.
Greta and Piotr exchanged a look. Piotr gave a resigned sort of nod to some unspoken question and Greta said, “Go ahead.”
Marina slipped the knife into the little gap created when she folded the sealing plastic over. The adhesive wasn’t a permanent one because these little sleeves had to be reused over and over. She had, out of habit, used only the thinnest of swipes of the adhesive and as she lifted the edge of her knife against the sealed edge, it popped free with a tiny sound. She heard Greta let out a held breath and smiled a little. With a practiced swipe, she slid the knife down the free edge until the entire sleeve was unsealed without even the smallest amount of damage to the contents or the sleeve.
She put the knife down on the table and picked up the sleeve. She squeezed the edges to widen the opening and let the contents slide out. Greta’s hand shot out and caught the papers in her gloved hand rather than let them fall into Marina’s bare one. Marina thought back once more to how much she had handled these objects in her work room with fumes from her electrical work filling the air. She decided to keep that part to herself.
Greta and Piotr leaned toward each other as Greta brought the objects closer, both of them seeming to forget the others in the room. Taylor, seated as he was, could see little now no matter how much he craned his neck. Greta placed each paper object carefully down on a cloth she had spread on the table and then brought out a pair of tongs with the ends wrapped in something. She used those to turn over the image and Marina grinned at the simultaneous gasps that filled the air.
That was too much for Taylor, apparently, because he left the table and stood behind the pair, almost pushing them apart as he inserted himself between their heads to get a look. He didn’t gasp but his sharply indrawn breath was loud enough to almost qualify as one.
The Historian looked up at Marina, her eyes shining, and said, “I understand why you said what you did now. About the First People, I mean.” She looked back down at the image and, in a very soft voice, added, “It’s beautiful.”
Taylor’s hands had crept up to the back of Piotr’s chair and he gripped the edges of it with enough force to whiten his knuckles. He said nothing but Marina saw his jaw clenching rhythmically.