They all hear the whine as the pressure bleeds out of the tank and Henry mutters an expletive as he fumbles with the handle wheel. He must get it closed before the pressure is completely lost or they can’t bring it back inside. The danger of contamination would simply be too great. He manages it, the whine weaker but still audible through the helmet, when it abruptly stops at the same moment his hand stops turning the wheel.
He gives the tank a gentle underhand toss toward the head of the ramp and it lands solidly in the sandy dirt, ready to be grabbed and brought back. He turns without hesitation, making Marina dizzy in the process as she watches it on the screen. Henry runs to the rise that surrounds them and crests it. He examines the view in the only safe direction they are aware of, just as he’s been briefed to.
The diagram on the wall has been based on everything Marina and the other Historians have been able to glean from Graham’s books and what past cleaners reported. There is a wide wedge drawn on it, extending from their silo to the unknown that lies beyond it. But that wedge is in a specific direction because all who understand their situation agree that going near any other silo will bring nothing but disaster.
There are too many unknowns. Too many strange occurrences have been noted in the last decades. A column of dust and dirt was seen boiling up from the surface at the edge of their viewscreen some years ago. The council knew that another silo lay in that direction and such a disturbance did not bode well for any peaceful meeting in that direction. On another occasion the Watch reported sighting a trio of figures walking along the ridge line in the dark of night, though no one else saw them.
No matter what might be going on elsewhere, the wedge is the safe direction. It is away from the array of silos and it is where none have gone before. They are very fortunate that their silo is in the outer perimeter of silos and Marina knows this fact alone gives hope.
Marina raises a hand and says, “Draw.” One of the artists has already begun and Marina is glad that they understand what is important to her and the rest of the silo.
The operator gives some instructions, which reverberate back from the speaker in Henry’s helmet so that it sounds like two men are reciting the same thing but have poor timing. Henry responds and turns his head to capture the view. He stays steady while the details are noted, only the sound of his measured breathing in the speakers.
The operator and his echo ask, “Henry, what’s the feeling out there today?”
Henry’s helmet jiggles and Marina sees his reflected eyes dart about for a moment. “There’s a little breeze, maybe a touch stronger than the silo norm. It’s pretty clear, too. I can see a good distance. More than I thought. No evidence of anyone around.”
“Good. Now go for the program. Do you have your point to run to?”
Henry’s view shivers a little as he points the helmet and it’s camera directly at a ragged disturbance in the direction of the catchment lake, which isn’t visible at this distance but is known to exist somewhere beyond their range of sight. Marina sees another artist dip his head to begin drawing and nods in satisfaction.
“That’s my direction. Verify, please.” Henry is polite even while he is outside and under the most severe stress any silo person can ever experience.
The operator turns to Marina, as does the rest of the council. She knows the structure is the one reported by former cleaners and is well within the safe wedge. She gives them a nod and the operator immediately turns away.
“Henry, you are a go for run. I repeat, you are a go for your run. Run!”
Chapter Five
Marina finds herself unable to continue looking directly at the screen almost immediately. When she tears her gaze away and looks about her she can clearly see that others are feeling the same. Hands are reaching for the backs of chairs for support and heads are bowing. Even the artists are looking away. One of them has turned quite pale and is gripping his drawing board as if he might vomit.
It’s the bouncing that is doing it. No one with any real vigor has ever gone outside that Marina is aware of. Previous expeditions consisted primarily of the plodding gait of a fading life, not the wide open run of someone at the peak of health. The view through the helmet is absolutely nauseating. That there are two views, one camera offset just a little from the other, just makes it worse because they are not exactly even. One is pointed a bit further up than the other and it makes the whole room seem like it is tilting.
With a hard swallow, Marina looks back up at the screens. She is responsible for recording everything she can. There are other watchers in the room who are supposed to provide their own viewpoint, as are the artists of course, but she is ultimately responsible. It isn’t any better and Marina spreads her feet a little on the floor so she’ll feel more stable as the view in front of the runner bounces and jags with unpredictable movements.
One of the operators at the consoles yells out, “Five minutes!”
There is a sort of collective sigh around them. It is part relief but also part fear. They have never had anyone go fast or far. To date, forays outside by cleaners have been frail and slow and lucky to get done what needed doing before they shuffled off, sucked down their poppy extract, and collapsed behind the silo where no one inside can see them. No one has ever taken off like this and it is breathtaking and frightening and terribly exciting.
The jagged bit in the distance that Henry is aiming for doesn’t look any closer to Marina, but added to that jagged bit is a darker shadow on the ground at such a great distance that it is more a suggestion than anything definable. Marina waves at one of the artists to come over. He does, craning his neck to keep watching the screens as he approaches.
“Do you see anything there, to the right of his marker?” she asks him, nodding toward the screen. “Can you tell me what it is?”
He turns away to examine the screen and Marina watches him. He sees it too, his eyes squinting a little and his head tilted to the side. “I’m not sure. It seems large and on the ground. Flat. Perhaps a land feature?”
Marina nods, her mouth tight. This is more than they had expected. She and the rest of the Historians had assumed that the blotch on the map marked ‘Catchment Lake’ was far away. Further than this anyway. But the land is sloping downward a little in front of Henry. Even she can see that. She plucks his sleeve to regain his attention and he tears his gaze from the screen reluctantly.
“Young man, I want you to focus on that feature. It may be very important. The distance is what I want most of all. If you can get anything about it on paper then you must.”
Marina tries to put the import of what she wants in her words and it appears to have worked because the young man’s expression turns grave. “I will. I will get everything that can be gotten. You can count on me, ma’am.”
She gives his arm a little pat and shoos him back with a wave. “Good, good. See me directly after so that I can take down your impressions before they fade.”
He nods and goes back to his seat, almost immediately setting his writing stick to a fresh sheet of paper. Marina looks back at the view and thinks that the shadow is clearer now, darker. Time passes and she finds that she is getting used to the bouncing scene, her own body straining and relaxing as if she were the one running.
The sound feed from Henry’s helmet is limited to his breathing and short acknowledgements of the times as they are called out. Ten minutes, fifteen and then twenty minutes pass and then Henry is directed to stop and look at his suit. He holds out his arms and looks at his legs and the murmurs in the room increase in volume as the suit engineers discuss what they are seeing.