She had everything she really needed but she wanted a few of the niceties she had come to rely on as part of her daily life. She added a spare pot of lavender soap to her pack and grabbed a few more kerchiefs. She selected colorful ones with interesting designs on them that she had been shy of wearing before. Tucked inside the private world of the archives, she wouldn’t feel quite so observed if she wore these. Given the dust situation, with constant sneezes and runny noses that came with it, she needed more kerchiefs than she had brought.
Next to their bed rested a little sketch of the family in a valuable fruitwood frame. An heirloom on Joseph’s side of the family, she wondered if she should take the delicate thing with her. She supposed she could just take out the sketch, drawn when Sela was still small enough to ride around on Marina’s hip. To Marina, that sketch was far more valuable than the frame. Before she could think too much more about it, she plucked it up from the little table and wrapped it in a spare undershirt. He would understand, she was sure.
She toured the compartment she had lived in for her entire adult life. Sela’s room was far messier than she probably would have allowed if she had been home. She made a mental note to jot down for her to clean it on their chalkboard before she left. The laundry that was hand washed at home was strung up on the lines across both bedrooms. It had been done only haphazardly during her absence and she felt it was the least she could do for them while she was home. She just hoped they would actually take it down and put it away when it was dry rather than simply pull things down as needed as she suspected they might do.
Marina sighed and went to their sitting area. Her knitting book was still on the shelf and it was overdue. The library at the bazaar was how writers made their money but it depended on those that used the library following the rules to make it profitable. A writer would painstakingly copy out an extra copy of their book and give it to the library. In return, the writer received half of the proceeds of the lending. Given the cost of paper and ink and the economical nature of the borrowing, it might take a year or more for a writer to break even on their work. Her keeping a book long past the due date pushed that day further out for the author. She decided to pay the cost of a lift-post to the library for the book and include a few chits as payment for her tardiness.
On the wall there was a new and bright spot of color she liked very much. The picture of the view that Joseph had selected was done by someone with real talent. He had laughed when she was surprised at how wonderful the picture he brought home was. It was drawn in vivid colors and showed the orange and red of the setting sun glaring on the sensors. It was really quite beautiful.
Outside there were still a few bits of color and glass that must have once been cleaners of long ago but those were just lumps in the landscape in this picture. Cleaners that gave the gift now went where sensors had burned out before they joined with the world. Those left inside never saw that part of the gift, which was as it should be.
Still, she remembered asking about the mysterious objects in the view as a child. Grandy had looked almost embarrassed as she explained it. It was like she was trying to describe a puppy making messes before they learned to use the mats. She said the people of the silo didn’t know enough to join the world out of view in the dim past.
In this picture there was nothing to show that, just long shadows over the ridges of wind-blown sand and rocks. The sun was a burst of light that put a white star of radiating lines on the view where it hit the sensors too directly. It was beautiful and stark and perfect. She wondered if people who made their living by drawing the view for the tourists were influenced by so much viewing of the outside. She wondered if they went to remediation more than others. If she saw this beautiful sight every day when the sun finished its daily trip and went to sink away she might start to want to go out and see it in real life. She would have bet some of them did, too.
She drained her morning tea, washed the dishes and wrote her notes on the board. Ready to go, she was now strangely reluctant whereas before she had just wanted to get moving. She shook it off, grabbed her pack and left her compartment behind.
In her absence, Greta had not been relaxing. Though she took a mandatory day off, she used that time to send lift-posts back and forth to the council containing bits and pieces of their evidence for their review. Eventually, the lift-workers began to complain that her urgent posts were ruining their cargo schedule and making the post late for everyone else. Whatever the delays, she had managed to get the council, minus the two who were here doing the work, up to date on their progress.
Marina made it back and entered the archives in good time. Her legs had recovered completely and she made sure she did the exercises recommended by the medic every morning and the stretches he advised before bed. She was determined not to be hobbled by the stairs again. She was gratified to feel no more than a pleasant ache in her thighs from the climb.
Piotr and Taylor hadn’t returned, but were expected soon and Greta had already been at work for hours. She glanced up absently to greet Marina but then looked up again and complimented her on her colorful kerchief. In reply, Marina pulled another out of her pocket, this one a dyed a bright blue with a starburst of orange that reminded her of the picture in her compartment. She handed it to Greta.
Greta unfolded the kerchief and smiled down at it, running her fingers around the circle of bright orange as if she knew what Marina had meant when she selected it. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.” She took off the plain tan one she had around her neck and tied on the new one. She gave the knot a little twist to put it at the side and asked, “Look okay?”
Marina bobbed her head and said, “Perfect.”
They paused a beat, conversation now difficult to start. Presents were sometimes an awkward business and this one had no occasion to go with it. Marina just felt like Greta had given her so much by opening this world to her. However dusty and old and disorganized, it was a place full of wonders. She cleared her throat to hide her emotion and asked, “What are we doing today?”
Greta sighed and gave the book in front of her a little tap. Then she looked up at the rest of the piles on the table and around her feet. The piles were much expanded from when Marina was last here. The historian pointed to a pile of books on the other end of the table and said, “You can start with those. I went back through and kept the timeline we constructed in mind and found some additional references. I think we can work backward a bit more.”
Marina inclined her head to show compliance but didn’t quite know what she would be looking for. The books weren’t the farm books she had been working on. Instead they were maintenance logs. Big ones.
“Maintenance logs? They didn’t have year identifiers, just days and months,” Marina said.
“No, they didn’t. They used the schedules themselves as a calendar. Let me show you.”
She turned the book she was looking at around and pointed out specific lines to Marina. Air duct cleaning. Valve testing and lubrication. Door seals. It just looked random to Marina. She shrugged.
“You’re missing it, Marina. Look closer. Here, there are three lines for filter cleaning on an air duct and then the next entry had filter cleaning and duct cleaning. They are all three months apart,” Greta said, clearly feeling like what she said explained it all.