it hard to believe it had changed quite so much.
Kim clenched my hand in an iron grip, and I noticed that she was glancing over at Gates who, for her part, wasn’t even looking out the window, but rather staring at the nine of us, her advisory board.
Gates caught my eye and held it as she spoke. “I fought hard for these observation towers to be included in the plans for the bunkers. Most of the engineers were against me, and not a few of members of the military. They said the towers were an unnecessary expense and a potential weakness in bunker security. But I wouldn’t back down. I believe that the most important thing we can do is remember where we came from, and without seeing it for ourselves, without looking at it with our own eyes instead of some remote camera, we can never truly understand the impact of our loss.”
She moved to one of the supports between sections of glass, placing a hand on the beam and smiling out at the world we had left behind. “I think sometimes— often , even—we forget why we’re in the bunkers. It’s only been a year, and look at us; we’re already fighting as though things like milled aluminum matter, in the end.” I noticed Sheila start to speak, but Gates cut her off. “Even if we have to build our hydroponics bays out of clay and straw, we can get by. Sometimes, I think we forget that, in our interminable meetings and schedules and reports and… well, and all the stuff we do to keep our minds off the real world.”
I nodded, completely agreeing with her and wondering how we could have been so blinded by our circumstances. I resolved to come up here more often, to remember what was truly important, what we were all living for , and why.
Gates had one more surprise for us, though.
“At the same time I was fighting the grand high muckety-mucks, I had my own engineer make a slight modification to the design of this particular tower. As far as I know, it’s the only one that can do this .” I don’t know what she did, what secret button she pressed or hidden ID scanner she used, but suddenly the windows opened . Not a lot, just thirty degrees or so. Enough for the strong, cold wind coming up the side of Mount Rainier to blast us all from our ennui, from the doldrums of our underground existence and to put the fire back in our souls. It was nothing like the recycled, filtered air we had below.
I looked over at Gates as the rest of the group—Kim included—moved forward to the windows, breathing in deep draughts of the cold mountain air. Gates smiled at me as though she was supremely innocent, one eyebrow slightly raised as if to say, “What?” I decided it was more likely to be Alfred E. Neuman’s classic phrase, instead: “Who, me?” I gave her a slight bow of the head and a grin, and was rewarded with a wink.
Well played, Angela, well played , I thought. You know exactly how to keep us in line. None of us is about to question anything you do, now. Not with this reminder . I snorted and shook my head, then moved to take Kim’s hand at one of the windows.
I wasn’t going to miss my fresh air, after all. Even if I knew it was the carrot Gates was using to keep her asses—pun intended—on the straight and narrow.
We’d finally concluded the meeting, getting some actual work done this time. As it turned out, that literal breath of fresh air was just what we needed to spur us on. I let go of the aluminum argument, and Sheila agreed to at least investigate the alternative methods I had posited, such as the clay hydroponics trays. Among several other positive steps forward, I was feeling pretty good about our progress.
Then we got back to our quarters and I noticed the tension between Kim and I all over again. But I was feeling optimistic enough from our successes earlier in the day to be ready to talk about it now. In my experience, that’s the only way out of a situation like this. But, as usual, Kim beat me to it.
“So what’s the deal, David?” she
Kim clenched my hand in an iron grip, and I noticed that she was glancing over at Gates who, for her part, wasn’t even looking out the window, but rather staring at the nine of us, her advisory board.
Gates caught my eye and held it as she spoke. “I fought hard for these observation towers to be included in the plans for the bunkers. Most of the engineers were against me, and not a few of members of the military. They said the towers were an unnecessary expense and a potential weakness in bunker security. But I wouldn’t back down. I believe that the most important thing we can do is remember where we came from, and without seeing it for ourselves, without looking at it with our own eyes instead of some remote camera, we can never truly understand the impact of our loss.”
She moved to one of the supports between sections of glass, placing a hand on the beam and smiling out at the world we had left behind. “I think sometimes— often , even—we forget why we’re in the bunkers. It’s only been a year, and look at us; we’re already fighting as though things like milled aluminum matter, in the end.” I noticed Sheila start to speak, but Gates cut her off. “Even if we have to build our hydroponics bays out of clay and straw, we can get by. Sometimes, I think we forget that, in our interminable meetings and schedules and reports and… well, and all the stuff we do to keep our minds off the real world.”
I nodded, completely agreeing with her and wondering how we could have been so blinded by our circumstances. I resolved to come up here more often, to remember what was truly important, what we were all living for , and why.
Gates had one more surprise for us, though.
“At the same time I was fighting the grand high muckety-mucks, I had my own engineer make a slight modification to the design of this particular tower. As far as I know, it’s the only one that can do this .” I don’t know what she did, what secret button she pressed or hidden ID scanner she used, but suddenly the windows opened . Not a lot, just thirty degrees or so. Enough for the strong, cold wind coming up the side of Mount Rainier to blast us all from our ennui, from the doldrums of our underground existence and to put the fire back in our souls. It was nothing like the recycled, filtered air we had below.
I looked over at Gates as the rest of the group—Kim included—moved forward to the windows, breathing in deep draughts of the cold mountain air. Gates smiled at me as though she was supremely innocent, one eyebrow slightly raised as if to say, “What?” I decided it was more likely to be Alfred E. Neuman’s classic phrase, instead: “Who, me?” I gave her a slight bow of the head and a grin, and was rewarded with a wink.
Well played, Angela, well played , I thought. You know exactly how to keep us in line. None of us is about to question anything you do, now. Not with this reminder . I snorted and shook my head, then moved to take Kim’s hand at one of the windows.
I wasn’t going to miss my fresh air, after all. Even if I knew it was the carrot Gates was using to keep her asses—pun intended—on the straight and narrow.
We’d finally concluded the meeting, getting some actual work done this time. As it turned out, that literal breath of fresh air was just what we needed to spur us on. I let go of the aluminum argument, and Sheila agreed to at least investigate the alternative methods I had posited, such as the clay hydroponics trays. Among several other positive steps forward, I was feeling pretty good about our progress.
Then we got back to our quarters and I noticed the tension between Kim and I all over again. But I was feeling optimistic enough from our successes earlier in the day to be ready to talk about it now. In my experience, that’s the only way out of a situation like this. But, as usual, Kim beat me to it.
“So what’s the deal, David?” she
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