Silo 49: Going Dark (3 page)

The voice at the other end of the line was silent a moment. The only sounds coming through to Graham were more whispers that were just beyond the edge of understanding. Finally, the voice spoke again and asked, "Why weren't we notified that the sheriff was ill?"

To Graham's mind, this question pointed more toward Silo One not being given due consideration in the notification and less toward the critical loss of the main law enforcement officer of the silo. He answered civilly, but it was a strain to do so. "He kept that information private and I didn't know until he died. He told very few people, a deputy or two and a friend. His medic knew, of course."

"What about the birth defects? Did you compile that data?"

Graham nodded, though no one was there to see it and he shuffled his papers once again to get the correct page. He delayed a little, straining to hear what might be coming over the line from the other side. Whatever the conversation was, it was either over or no longer close enough for him to hear. He gave in and snugged the earphones tightly over his ears, a move that wasn’t wise if he was put in a position requiring any impromptu truth stretching.

He didn’t know exactly why the headphones were important, but IT head after IT head had passed down the knowledge that putting them on askew, but not askew enough to be noticeable gave them a lot of leeway in how the conversation with Silo One might go.

"Ah, I have it," he said and made a point of peering at the paper just in case they were watching him. He read off a string of numbers. Incidents of certain defects in the heart, the lungs and the digestive tract were increasing as was the prevalence of children being born who had difficulty learning and remembering.

"Hold on," the voice said and Graham heard a click. That click usually signaled silence from the other end of the line, a faint static hiss the only thing that would escape through. He’d been kept waiting so many times in the decades he had trained for and later held this job that the hiss often sent him off to dozing while he waited. Even when he was stressed to the point of breaking, somehow that tuneless noise calmed him and freed his mind to drift.

This time the click did stop the somewhat mechanical sounds of breathing that came from the voice he had just been speaking to, but not those background sounds he had heard before. Those got louder and more distinct, as if the lack of competition in volume allowed for more to be heard. The voices were also very individual. Graham would bet that whatever they did to make all voices sound the same wasn't turned on at whatever microphone he was hearing this speech from. It was unnerving but also irresistible.

Graham got a bit more comfortable on his little stool, just as he normally would. He didn't want it to appear to anyone that might be watching that he was listening to anything other than silence. He didn't fidget or play with his papers like he might have done at any other time, though, since that would make noise. Instead, he laid the papers down, flipped the microphone on his own headset upward and away from his mouth and then crossed his arms. He hoped he showed them the attitude of a tired person settling in for a long wait as he leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes and listened.

"...unsustainable at this point..." This came from a voice deeper than the one he had been speaking with and much further away. "...best to end it..." and finally, "...never developed robust population..."

Another voice, this one sounding younger and more energetic, came from much closer and he heard, "We have all the data we need, at least in theory. We can easily counter this same effect if it happens in any other silo. It is too late for this one. This is teratogenic. Of this we're reasonably certain, though we can't be absolutely sure without actually physically examining a few of them. That we can’t do for obvious reasons, but it doesn’t matter. That possibility alone is a no-go from our standpoint. That isn't something we want to, uh, carry forward."

"And we're certain this is from the catchment lake and not a problem they’ll all encounter at some point?" This again came from the deeper voice. It came through clearer now, perhaps a little closer.

The younger voice replied, "Reasonably so. The lake was originally quite large and deep and a part of the requirements for the cover facility. It was meant to act as a ready source of water in case of emergency, like a fire or something in one of the silos. For containment, you know. That catchment, along with the two depressions cut at other locations around the silo field, was really to provide drainage for the silo run-off. Basically, each is pretty much filled with the worst by-products imaginable from more than a dozen silos. Plus the heavy metals and oddments still falling out there are rolling downhill and settling. That silo is at the edge of our field and nearest to the lake, or what was the lake. And the next closest silo isn't having a problem. Engineering reports indicate it is probably a crack in the bedrock that is leeching the contaminants down and through the area. There’s at least enough contact for water contamination below the surface."

Graham felt the dread in him building as he listened to the men on the other end of the line. He knew what they were talking about. He had a map and there was a body of water on that map drawn off to one side, near their silo. It was a large enough body to be bisected by the edge of the paper, leaving just that ragged partial outline in blue. He had never known how large or small it might be.

He also knew that they were giving up on them and his mind went to Level 72 and the secret tucked inside the thick concrete walls of the silo. Big metal plates covered recesses in the concrete and hid what Silo One could use to destroy them. It had surprises inside, very nasty surprises. Three of these panels existed on that level and those would be enough to end all their problems once and for all if Silo One decided to use it.

Graham felt suddenly cold and unbearably hot at the same time. He didn’t know exactly how that system worked, but his imagination provided more than enough fodder for him to run several visuals through his mind, each more horrifying than the last. He swallowed and focused on keeping his eyes shut without squeezing them.

There was a short silence at the other end of the line and he wondered if they had discovered that he could hear them. If so, they would destroy this silo for sure; right now. After all, they had no other person in this silo to control him anymore, at least none that he knew of.

Finally, the deep voice spoke, coming through more faintly again as if the man who possessed that particular voice was moving away from the microphone, "Are we all agreed, then?"

Graham heard indistinct murmurs of assent and words of agreement from several voices. He couldn't believe what he was hearing and his mind began to churn quickly over anything he might say or do that could stop them when he heard a new voice.

"Though I concur, I would like to delay this action until I can get more data. We have a lot, but what we don't have is data from the very beginning of this, before any problem was noted. They don't keep medical data on their computers for some reason so I have no access to it at all. Since we know about the water contamination and we could probably institute a testing protocol in other silos as a new requirement, we could do without the records but..."

"Having more information would be better. You're quite right. This silo isn’t one that I would classify as a threat to the program. They aren’t viable, but not particularly dangerous," The deeper voice finished the statement for the other and there were more murmurs of concurrence. Graham tried not to breathe a sigh of relief.

The deep voice continued, "Sir. You have our recommendations, but the decision is yours. We would like to gather all medical data from, say, the last thirty years. Just the relevant data if we’re pressed for time. More is always better. This will give us information on the younger adults. After that, we recommend termination of the silo."

There was a cough, a very faint and ragged one, that came through the line and then the deep voice said, "You have something to add?"

A raspy voice, one that reminded him of his uncle's voice as the cancer rampaged through him, now spoke in a tone like that of a patient teacher or parent engaged in gently scolding a child. "Have you not considered the possible ramifications of termination? If this is being caused by some crack in the bedrock or structural weakness then dropping the silo might simply spread that problem to other silos?"

The deep voice, one that Graham now thought of as Mr. Gloom, responded, "George, is that a possibility?"

The young voice answered and Graham now had a name for him too, George. "The silos collapse only on the inside, each level coming down upon the next. We just start the process remotely from here. The initial blasts at the top and in the middle of the silo initiate the process and the weight of the structure does the rest. It is designed to work the same way that one might use to bring down a skyscraper in a crowded area, collapsing in and downward and not spread outward. But..."

"But, what?" Mr. Gloom interrupted.

"Nothing is perfect. It is possible that if this is a crack, or series of cracks, that the stress of bringing down a silo could expand it or change the direction. It's a risk," George answered, his words slow and his voice hesitant.

Graham then heard the voice he was sure he had been speaking with again. There was something about the way he put his words together and the speed of his speech that made it seem familiar to Graham. And now he knew it was a man. Just a man. The man said, "Thank you, gentlemen. Good work. Go ahead and take me off mute, will you?"

There was a slight sound on the line, this time clearly from a mouth close to a microphone and Graham knew he had best react appropriately so he opened his eyes when the voice said, "Are you still there, Graham?"

"Yes, I'm here," Graham said and thought he did a fine job of pretending. There was a pause on the line and then he heard the word "nervous" from a distant voice.

"Listen, Graham, I understand you're worried and perhaps frightened, but I think we might be very close to a solution for you."

He wanted to grind his teeth and call the voice out as a liar, but instead Graham worked up some reserve of calm and started lying too, pushing back the earphones a tad under the guise of settling them on his head. "I knew you would have a solution, sir. What should I do?" Graham wanted to hear how they were going to do this great act of murder and get him to simply move along smartly, none the wiser.

"We have some good medical people over here and they say they'll be able to provide you with a formula very soon that you can take to your own chemists. It should stop all the problems with your water, help with births and decrease future cancers. In the meantime, we'd like you to put all your medical records from the last 30 years on the computer so we can take a look at them." A note of chiding entered the voice again as he continued, "We did request that you switch to electronic ones some time ago, didn't we?"

This question confused Graham on top of his being horrified at how calmly the man on the line lied to him. "Uh, no, sir. It was discussed a few years ago but I wasn't able to convince silo administration that it was desirable. What with so few people to do extra work. If you recall, our silo had a problem with some privacy issues in the past. It was a law enacted totally outside my sphere of control to keep physical records..."

Graham heard a rapid whispered conversation from that same open microphone somewhere in that other room but could make out no specific words. Eventually, the voice returned and said, "Ah, yes. My apologies. But there is no reason now not to get someone scanning in those documents when there is so much benefit for you all. Do it. Then contact us again so we can ensure we have access."

"I will, sir. If it will help." Graham resisted the urge to start calling the man vile names and slamming his headset down repeatedly. It was a close call but restraint won.

"It will. By the time you complete that, we should have a formula for you. Out."

The implication was as clear as the disconnection of that circuit. They were going to hold out a chance for relief until they had what they wanted and then, boom goes the silo. He felt judging eyes on him so he hung up his headphones carefully, gathered his papers and tidied the room before leaving. His glance inadvertently fell on the little white numbers over the row of jacks and stopped at the number 40, but he pushed the temptation aside for the moment. This was not the time. He wanted to scream but what he needed to do was think. And he needed to do it someplace not likely to be watched. And he needed someone he could trust to tell everything to.

Any Normal Day

Graham did his best to behave completely normally but it was only through sheer force of will that he was able to even approach such a state. That and spending time hidden in his compartment playing solitaire whenever possible were what helped him make any believable pretense at all. It was a surprise to him how hard it was to simply act like he would on any other day. That the situation was unprecedented was true, but his job was, at its core, simply one long act and he’d done fine through any number of serious situations.

There were few actual skills required for the job he held, which was arguably the most important one in the silo. Of those skills, acting like everything was normal ranked at the top of the list, pretending like everything was in control followed closely behind and occasionally doing things one might otherwise find absolutely reprehensible rounded out the top three.

According to his uncle, the careful cultivation of an exterior personality that combined being an asshole with a desire to do nothing except work was a bonus, but not absolutely required as a fourth skill for the job. Uncle Newt had been a jolly fellow with a genuinely caring core and quick sense of humor at home. The first time Graham had seen his uncle at work, trailing behind him as he was evaluated, all unknowing, for the job he held now, he had been amazed at how different the man behaved. He wasn’t mean exactly, just not at all nice. And people had seemed to fear him.