Silo 49: Deep Dark by Ann Christy Page A

tenets, which could be twisted or diminished over time if the intent were not made clear, this was something understood at a deep and instinctive level by every person old enough to form thoughts. The other nine all had explanations and discussions posted on the walls of the Memoriam so that people might come and study the words and understand for themselves the simple rules that made for a good life.
    The first one was easy. Those inside the silo were different from the not-quite-human Others that were not called to the safety of the silo. The First People were good, each one called to life instead of death, and so must we be also. It was a simple saying, but profoundly beautiful and true in its simplicity.
    The Historians, with their coveralls stitched from fabric in every color of the silo professions, were like bright patchwork spots standing out in a crowd. There were only a few Historians and each was selected only after a long and demanding shadowing process. Even after a decade of dedicated work, a Historian's shadow might be re-assigned elsewhere to start a new career path. The reward was a profession respected more than any other.
    It wasn't just a good memory that was required for Historians, it was an objective one. It was said that one could never win an argument with a Historian because if they were wrong about something they would admit it before anyone else knew they were wrong. And if they were right they would never engage in the argument, only inform the other what was correct and walk away.
    They were trained to be logical and to look at every single instance from multiple perspectives, yet be swayed by none of those different perspectives. It was a basic truth that what became history was decided by the ones that remain ed to report it. It was the goal of the Historians to ensure that this was done as truthfully as possible. Part of that was to help everyone else in the silo understand whatever it was they sought in the light of that objective truth. Marina would have liked to stop there and spend some time trying to figure out the objective truth of her own little mystery.
    As they cleared the little crowd, Marina caught her husband’s eye and adopted the most casual tone she could. “I’d like to say hello to the deputy on 70 and take a bathroom break. That okay?”
    Joseph smiled and told her that was a great idea. He wanted to check in before they left the area completely anyway. Sela gave him a little sidelong glance at that, perhaps worried that her diligent father would get caught up in whatever might be going on that day. She gnawed at her lip as they crested the next level and Marina smoothed her daughter’s hair back when she came within arm’s reach.
    Stepping off the stairs and onto the landing of 70 brought almost immediate relief to Marina's legs. She thought it was probably more mental relief than a truly physical one since she was still standing and walking. She welcomed it nonetheless. It was just a few short steps to the deputy station, both Joseph and Sela greeting people along the way.
    Marina exchanged greetings with Sander, the deputy on duty, and spent a few moments on the mandatory pleasantries before she excused herself. After a bathroom break and a splash of cool water on her face and neck, she made her way back.
    On the landing there were just enough people to make it feel inhabited and busy. Most people on first shift were long at work but there were others from odd shifts dawdling home and talking with friends. A couple, clearly in the excited courtship phase of a new relationship, were sneaking shy glances at each other as they walked. She could almost feel the electricity crackle in the air as they passed her by.
    It was a good morning in the silo. Friends in the fabber sector said she was silly for thinking that the silo had moods, but Joseph agreed with her. Whether it was the people or the silo itself or some other factor she couldn’t quite see, there were moods