Myrra almost laughed at Tobias, talking about mechanics and engineering at a time like this.
“Technically I’m not supposed to. They’ve got paid guys they rotate in for that kind of work. But you pick up things, the longer you stay in here. And I’ve been here awhile.”
Tom reached into his pocket and produced a small tin full of something sticky and herbal. He pinched a fingerful out of the tin and stuck it inside his cheek to chew. “The last of the paid guys and managers left about a week ago. Some were saying they had an in on this suicide program, designer drugs, I guess, make you feel like you’re floating up on a cloud instead of dying. The fools. There are good and bad ways to die, but none of them have to do with what drugs you’re taking.”
Myrra focused on his words, the puzzle pieces falling into place. “Was the program called Escape?”
“Sounds right, I don’t know.”
Tobias looked at her.
Myrra laughed, filled with morbid humor, thinking of the morning that she’d chopped the hand off his bloodied corpse. “Too bad Marcus got word too late. Would have been an easier way to go.”
“So there’s no one left here, overseeing the workers,” Tobias observed.
“We outnumber them by quite a bit. Once word got out that the hull wasn’t going to get fixed, even the guys that wanted to stay, we let them know they weren’t welcome.” Tom flashed a devilish smile, showing off the remaining teeth he had. “If we’re going out, we’ll go out dancing instead of working.”
Myrra considered the dark greasy world they’d wandered through. “And everyone stayed here?”
“Folks were exploring a bit at first, but all the kitchens and mess halls are on the first ten levels, so eventually they all just settled in here.”
“Nobody left and went into the desert?”
“Not many. It’s essentially suicide without a car,” he said. “Plus, most folks end up preferring it here, over time.”
“Really?” Tobias asked, gently incredulous.
“It’s true,” Tom insisted. “You two haven’t seen a window yet?”
“A window to what?” Tobias asked.
Tom’s face settled into a knowing expression. Myrra couldn’t quite make him out. He seemed unnaturally calm and attentive, as though every moment were a religious experience. He would have fit as the follower of a guru somewhere in Kittimer, but it was difficult to make sense of him here.
“You guys feel like taking a ride?” he said, gesturing to the elevator buttons.
“Where does the elevator go?” Myrra asked. She didn’t much feel like going anywhere. She’d failed at every goal she’d tried to attain these past few weeks. She was tired of wandering. In some ways, she wanted life to just be done with, instead of this terrible waiting and the need to fill up the time.
“There’s elevators that go all the way up to the sky.” Tom made a long vertical gesture with his hands. “But the best window’s at the halfway point, just before the gravity shift.”
Myrra didn’t fully understand that, but was too tired to ask about it.
Tobias squeezed her shoulder and gave her a worried look.
“Let’s check it out,” he said casually, as if he were offering up a posh place for lunch. It was all so pointless. Myrra stared at him, not willing to say yes or no. He offered her a careworn smile. “It’ll be a distraction, at least.”
They didn’t have much left besides distractions. And one more question, Myrra realized, though one she was almost too afraid to ask. Every previous answer had been a bad one.
Tom was busying himself entering a code into the elevator’s keypad.
“Hey, Tom,” Myrra asked, trying to keep her voice even. “Have you ever run into anyone out here named Ami Dal?”
Tom shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell, but the hull is very big. There’s a worker placement manifest on the mid-deck where we’re heading; I can check for you if you want. Who is Ami Dal?”
“She’s my mother.”
Tom nodded with understanding but didn’t say anything more. He finished entering the key code; the elevator jerked once or twice, then started to rise.
“Oh—” Tobias reached into the top of his bag and pulled out two energy bars. He tossed them to Tom. “Lin and Maya say hi.”
Tom took them and examined the packaging, his eyes glistening.
“Aw…” he said. “Those two kids…”
He tucked both away into his pocket. He looked at Myrra and Tobias, gesturing to an empty spot on the corner of the bench. “May I?”
They nodded, he sat.
“Thanks. It’s a long ride.” His jaw rolled the chew around in his mouth lazily.
“I’m so tired,” Tom said. “I’ve been playing for days. Everyone’s afraid to stop dancing, afraid to be apart in case the end comes. But I’m glad for the rest.”
The four of them fell into silence. Tom leaned against the side wall of the elevator. His chin bobbed down once, twice, then fell lightly against his chest, cushioned partly on the pillow of his own beard. A bit of brown drool trickled out of his mouth.
Without him noticing it, Myrra had fallen asleep against Tobias’s shoulder. Charlotte, too, lay snoring between their laps. Tobias himself was exhausted, but tried his best to stay still for their sakes. Far from feeling lonely, being the only one awake, Tobias pictured himself as some sort of sentinel, keeping watch while the others rested. It was all he could offer for protection.
He passed the time thinking about Barnes, and what the measure was for a good man. What the measure was for a good life. Would Barnes have been proud of him? Did that matter, when Barnes had proved to be so wrong about so many things? With all this new knowledge roiling inside him, Tobias did not think of himself as a particularly good man, or that he’d led a particularly honorable life. But that couldn’t matter less now. Nothing could change it. All he could do was be the best person he could be for however much time was left, and hope that the entirety of a life well lived could fit into the span of a few days, or a few hours. How much longer would it be?
The elevator slowed smoothly to a halt, jolting Tobias out of his half-conscious daze. He checked the time. They’d been ascending for half an hour.
“Are we here?” Myrra asked sleepily, raising her head. She looked over at Tobias as if he might know. He laughed. Her hair was sticking up at odd angles.
“You’re halfway,” Tom said, rising groggily.
There was a pleasant dinging noise as the elevator doors parted. The doors led out into a wide metal room with solid walls, ceilings, floors, and Tobias was relieved to see no scaffolding. It was quiet and deserted. Every footfall they made in the room reverberated and carried.
Charlotte rubbed her eyes and started crying in Tobias’s arms. Myrra perked up at the noise.
“Is she just tired?” he asked, trying to rock her.
“No, I think she needs changing, here—” Myrra took her and laid her down on the floor.
Tom looked fondly at them while Myrra changed the diaper. He leaned in to Tobias and said, “You make a nice family.”
Tobias didn’t know what to say to that, but it gave him a glimmer of happiness.
Two women wearing headscarves wandered in from a door at the opposite end of the room, walking amicably, hand in hand. They had the same underfed look as the other contract workers but seemed content nonetheless. They cried out and rushed over when they saw Charlotte. “Oh! A baby!”
“Hello, sweet one.” One of the women leaned down a little too close, and Tobias noticed Myrra’s shoulders hunch defensively.
“What have you two been up to?” Tom asked. He seemed to know everyone. The women shifted their focus from the baby and walked over to Tom, but Myrra’s shoulders stayed tense.
Tobias sat down beside her. “You OK?”
“Yeah, just a reflex.” Myrra laid a hand down on Charlotte’s stomach. Charlotte batted it away, then rolled over and started crawling across the room.
“Oh, no you don’t…” Tobias got up and chased after her.
“We could use a ride back down now—we’ve run out of food—” The two women fell into discussion with Tom about what food was left in the kitchens.
Tobias scooped Charlotte off the floor, and the ground started to shake. His knees buckled and he fought to stay upright, keeping a tight grip on Charlotte as he looked over his shoulder at Myrra; she was on her hands and knees, trying to stay steady.
“Charlotte—” she cried.
“I’ve got her—” Tobias answered.
It was a short quake but even more violent than the others before, and with metal surrounding them on all sides, the walls and ceilings shrieked like some primitive death omen. Tobias couldn’t help but think, This is it. He didn’t feel ready—he clutched Charlotte and sought out Myrra with his eyes. She looked back at him—he didn’t feel ready at all.
Then the shaking stopped. Everyone fell silent at the reminder of what was to come.
Myrra crawled toward Charlotte and Tobias—he ran over and met her halfway, collapsed down next to her. She reached out for Charlotte, grabbed Tobias by the arms, held the both of them close, so tight her arms ached.
“Not long now,” Tom said in a quiet mumble. Nobody responded.
“Wait—I was going to look up your mother,” Tom said, hurrying toward a screen embedded in the metal wall. Tom continued talking, as if the sound of his own voice soothed him. He’d lost his knowing repose. His movements had a nervous energy.
“Sana, you ever come across a woman named Ami Dal?” he asked one of the women, punching buttons.
“No—” Sana said, helping her friend up off the floor. “Should I?”
“I s’pose not…” Tom said distractedly, scrolling through the lines of names on the screen. He mouthed each one to himself as he ran through. Myrra left Tobias and Charlotte to stand behind his shoulder, unable to contain her curiosity.
“Here she is—” Tom said. Myrra’s mind went anxiously still, waiting and hoping. Tom pressed a finger against the screen, then streaked it horizontally across the surface, leaving a fingerprint smudge as he traced the line of data.
“Says here…” He squinted. “She was assigned to Sector Ten when she arrived…”
His face fell. “She died two years ago. I’m sorry.”
Myrra mourned all over again, a heavy aching grief, like stones sewn into her stomach. But it was a funny thing—so much had fallen apart in so short a period that her body didn’t allow another complete collapse. She couldn’t go any lower; it just added to the texture of the floor of grief that was already there. The texture felt like acceptance. She had to accept what was, and what was to come. She breathed it in, like a blue, heady smoke.
Tom was still talking, seemingly afraid of silence. “She actually lived a long life here, all things considered. People don’t usually last that long…”
“You say Sector Ten?” Sana piped up from a few feet away. She was looking at Myrra with an immense amount of sympathy.
“Yeah.”
“There are some folks here who used to work Sector Ten. They came to visit the window.” Sana laid a hand on her friend’s arm and jogged toward the doorway where they’d entered. “One second, let me just see—”
She disappeared through the door. Myrra could hear her distantly, her voice echoing off the metal walls. “Any of you here ever meet Ami Dal?”
A chatter of garbled speech echoed forth in response, but Myrra couldn’t make any of it out. She felt a hand on her elbow. Tobias was standing beside her, holding Charlotte. She hadn’t noticed him walk up.
“You OK?” he asked. He was trying to be serious, but at the same time, Charlotte kept reaching up to try to snatch his glasses. Myrra allowed a small smile to break through and caught her raised hand, encircling her pale fist in her cracked brown fingers.
“I’m fine,” she said, which was true and not true: Of course she wasn’t fine. Who could be fine right now? But it was all relative. And relatively speaking, she was doing better than she should have been. Her mind and her soul were still treading water.
“Hey,” Sana said, emerging with four other workers, dragging one of them by the hand. She waved excitedly at Myrra, jangling the old woman’s arm in her grasp. “Luce here knew Ami Dal!”
The old woman—Luce—was a head shorter than Sana, though it was hard to tell exactly how tall she was from the way she hunched. Her skin had the same dark pallor as Tom’s. Sana pulled her across the room and presented her proudly to Myrra, letting go only when they were standing right in front of her. Luce, for her part, glared disapprovingly at Sana, clearly unappreciative of being jerked around like a rag doll. Despite her squat stature, she had an air of dignity about her, and a look that practically screamed, Respect your elders.
Luce abandoned her disapproval and turned to look at Myrra, taking in her face with a pair of sharp gray eyes.
“You look like her,” she said in a voice that reminded Myrra of a dry broom sweeping across a stone floor. “You Myrra?”
She nodded.
Her mother had talked about her. For some reason she’d assumed Ami had wiped her right out of her mind. Myrra stood there, completely dumb, imagining what her mother could have possibly said about her, until finally Luce piped up again and asked, “So, what is it you want to know about her?”
What a thing, to come up with a specific question about a person that might fill in the gaps of two decades of missing history.
“I-I don’t know—” Myrra stammered. “What was she like while she was here? Was she happy?”
Luce tilted her head and gave her a sidelong glance that made Myrra realize how stupid her question was. “Nobody’s exactly happy here.”
“Of course—”
“But she liked to talk. She talked a lot. It got her into trouble with the engineers, sometimes.” Luce let out a dry cackle. “She talked about you. Told us how much she missed you. Most of us have people we’ve left behind. It’s one of the most frequent topics of conversation around here, speculating on the lives of people we can’t see.”
Myrra glanced around and saw a few faces, Tom’s among them, nod with knowing.
“She liked to say she missed you, but that she didn’t worry about you. She said you were a survivor.”
Myrra felt a warmth in her chest, like a light turning on in a dark room. Luce wrinkled her forehead and peered at Myrra.
“Where’d you come in from? You don’t look like you’ve spent much time here.”
“We came in from the desert. And Kittimer before that.”
Luce’s eyes widened and her head reared back slightly in her surprise. “You came in from the desert? Then Ami must’ve been right about you.”
The light inside her grew. She’d been a survivor even back then, even as a child with no loss or anger at all. She hadn’t thought of herself that way. And her mother had been a survivor too. Or more of a survivor than Myrra had thought, in any case. But she still needed to know.
“How did she die?” she asked.
“Cancer, I think.”
Nothing violent. Nothing self-destructive. Myrra felt anxiety peel away from her like a shed layer of skin. She was still sad, but the sadness was fresh and new and healthy. Her emotions could breathe.
“But I wasn’t there. That’s just what I heard from others. I got transferred five years ago. We only worked together for a few years, on an electrical shift up on the sky.”
“The sky?” It was Tobias who piped up behind her shoulder, asking the question.
“Well, of course you have folks up there operating the sky, how else would it work?” Luce seemed to enjoy knowing more than Tobias. Myrra could understand. He had that look of someone who ought to know everything. “Of course, there’s no one left up there now. Everyone migrated further down to where the kitchens are.”
“Is that why the days have been changing so fast?” he asked.
“Have they? I wouldn’t know.”<
br />
“There’s been a sunrise or sunset every half hour,” Myrra confirmed.
Luce looked amused. “It could be. They left the schedule to run automated, but things degrade.”
“Can we go up and see the sky?” She directed her question to Tom, who seemed to know the ins and outs best. She suddenly had the urge to stand where her mother had stood.
“Technically you go down; there’s a gravity shift.” Tom laughed at their confused looks. “It’s to do with the way the world spins. It’s hard to explain, but I’ll show you if you want.”
“It’s actually quite lovely up there,” Luce added. “You can see the whole world, humming along above you.”
Tom put an excited hand on Myrra’s shoulder. “But before you do that, you’ve got to check out the window. To see that again for the first time, that would be my wish if I could make it happen.”
Tom gave her an eager push toward the door at the opposite end of the room. Myrra looked back at him, and he gave her a small gleeful nod, then fell into a conversation with the group of workers about possible changes to the stereo.
Tobias looked dubious as well but followed behind, holding Charlotte and bouncing her a little as they walked. How quickly he’s gotten the hang of it, she thought. How quickly things change.
They walked over to the doorway at the end of the room, where Sana and Luce and the others had emerged. The room on the other side was smaller and very dark. There were a string of embedded desks in the center, with tablets and instruments attached that Tobias couldn’t make out. All desks pointed toward the wall of the outer hull. Tobias turned to look and had to steady himself against the desk.
“Oh my God…” he said.
It was a window, about four meters wide, three meters high, and it looked out at the stars. The real stars. Stars the likes of which Tobias had never seen. Both of them stumbled toward the desks and sat on one of them, never taking their eyes off the view. Somewhere on the way, Myrra took his hand and held it, tight. Tobias sat and gaped—he thought of color, of the stained glass in Kittimer and the paintings he had seen with his father, the boundless depths of the reds and blues and purples that a good painter could achieve, the layers and complexity to be found in a good shade of black. Nothing he’d seen could beat this black.
The World Gives Way: A Novel Page 34