“We need to get these to someone who knows what to do. Looks like something that can clean water here,” she pointed to the larger drawing and then to the smaller pages and continued, “and these are for bringing water up from the deep. I’m thinking that one is a temporary solution and the other a more permanent one.”
Wallis really had nothing to say considering he couldn’t even figure out what all the lines were. He was really always better at teaching kids the basics of reading and writing than mysterious mechanical things like those pages contained. He shrugged.
Grace gave him a look, but smiled. She said, “We just need to keep this very safe and make sure the right people get it. This is what he was telling you about. I’m sure of that.”
She carefully put the pages in the order they had been in and then put them back into exactly the same spot within the book just to be sure. She decided that wasn’t enough, apparently, because as Wallis picked up one of the black books that had shared space with the volume, she jotted the page number on the top of one of the papers and then shut it again.
Wallis looked at one of the trio of books and found a simple black fabric cover protected the pages. Inside was a fortune in virgin paper. Not like the lumpy stuff that they found all over the place for his notes or lists, this paper was pressed in the big presses and made from hemp just grown and never before recycled. It was smooth and thin and beautifully pale, the color of fresh goat’s milk.
Wallis figured that Graham must have been spending all of his chits on this paper for a very long time, or else requisitioning it as head of IT. He didn’t think that Graham would do that though, so this fortune must represent most of his combined wealth and explained a great deal about his other frugal spending habits.
Every single page of the first two books was covered in Graham’s small, neat print in dark ink. That, too, was a costly luxury. Occasionally, some line or word or paragraph might be lined out, but those were rare. The last book had a good quarter of the pages still blank. Wallis turned to the last few pages written in that book and realized this was a diary of sorts but one with a very specific focus. It was all about this silo, these people and this world of theirs. It was a blueprint for making it better.
Wallis randomly scanned pages throughout the book and at each place he found the meticulous observations of an insider and a counterpoint to those observations that lightened them and made them somehow more human as well as more humane.
On one page there was a tiny map with the faintest of background lines showing how Graham had laid out his grid. And on that grid was a regular progression of circles with numbers inside. A few had red X’s inside and one, way off in the corner of the map, had the simple word “Us” next to the number 49. Wallis traced his finger around the circle and thought of his friend and the care he took with these books.
He lost himself in all that he read, flipping one section to read on the purpose of cleaning, something this silo hadn’t done often in the two decades since the population started seriously dropping. On another random page he found notes on the methods by which communications might be improved. On another he found a debate Graham apparently had with himself on the merits of all the cameras.
In another section—a random flip of pages bringing him to it—Graham had written about all the others buried in their own worlds and the problems he heard about over the communications at some place he called the Lair. He wrote about the cold and impersonal nature of those in Silo One when faced with those problems and their inherent lack of mercy. He spoke of them as the ‘Others’ and he capitalized it as if they were another species, one to be feared and avoided.
Wallis nodded as he read, understanding the sentiment based on the terror he had experienced himself in these last days. He did want to avoid them. There was no question about that.
Grace bumped Wallis with her elbow, breaking his reverie. When he turned to her he saw tears standing in her eyes but a smile widening her lips. She told him to look and showed him the first page of the book marked ‘One’ on the front. He read.
We can be different. We can be the good.
How can I help those words become reality?
How can I help us not feel like we are each alone inside this hole we call our home?
Can we make this our unity? Our way?
How can we do better than the rules set out for us, so that those words become:
We are different. We are the good.
Wallis and Grace held the books between them as they held each other and smiled through their tears.
Epilogue – Silo One
The operator in the control room sent the runner out to get the director in a hurry. He tapped the right buttons to record what he was seeing while he waited, gnawing on a fingernail already gnawed bloody. It seemed to take forever before he heard the door open behind him and the sound of many feet stepping quickly across the room.
He glanced quickly behind him and saw the director and a few others of note gathering to look over his shoulders. He snapped his fingers at one of the other control room operators and motioned for him to hand over some headsets. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he looked up into the director’s stern face.
“What’s going on, son?” the director asked.
“Sir, uh, I think we have a situation in 49 now, too. But something isn’t right,” He pointed at the screen where smoke now almost completely obscured the view of the room beneath IT.
“What happened before that fire? Just go ahead and tell us what you can. Relax, Gary.”
The director’s heavy hand stayed where it was but he shifted his gaze from the screen and back toward him. That just made him more nervous. Gary swallowed loudly and licked suddenly dry lips.
“Uh, okay. Basically, nothing happened. That’s what is wrong.” He could see that this was not enough so he took off his headphones and turned a little in his chair. The director finally removed his hand and eased into the seat next to him.
“We’ve been really busy with the problems of 40, so we’ve just been doing the standard minimal checks with the other silos. There’s a scheduled check in with 49 today, though, so I’ve had half an eye on them,” he explained, jabbing a thumb at the secondary view screen that still showed smoke and little else.
“And,” the director prompted, no hint of impatience in his smooth voice but clear to see in his cold, blue eyes.
“And, I saw something and looked over at the screen right when smoke started like crazy. It took about a minute more for the smoke alarm to sound over here so it had to be quick. I flipped through the other cameras but everything looks completely normal. Or, at least as normal as that silo can be,” Gary answered and waited.
The director leaned back into his chair and put a finger to his lips, his own sign for thought and one that most operators had quickly come to be wary of. There was no way to guess what might come from this director’s thinking. Gary was glad he was going off shift soon and someone else could deal with this new director. This one creeped him out in a big way.
The director pointed that same finger toward the screen and said, “Show me the rest of IT.” His voice wasn’t raised or even particularly harsh, but there was no mistaking the sound of a command.
Gary fumbled the keyboard and started flipping through the available views of IT. The lobby camera had failed at some point long ago but he could and did show the other cameras in a slow procession. Everything was fairly quiet but also completely average for a silo with such a low workforce. He finished and kept a finger hovering above the key, waiting for further instructions.