Divers

They left the outpost on the morning of the third day after they arrived.

Four were going. Marlow, Willa, Drag, Roslyn. No escort. Drag decided to leave the guards at the outpost. Someone had to watch the carts and the oxen.

Brin came out past the ring of stone to see them off.

“Two days and you're there. Carry five liters of water each. There's one road. No way to lose it.”

“Anyone ever lost it?”

“Nobody. Plenty who never came back, though.”

Brin laughed. Then her face said it had not been a thing to laugh at.

“Sorry. Out here there's a lot you can only laugh at.”

Boro came out through a gap in the stone and wound himself around Willa's legs.

“He thinks he's coming with us.”

“He will. He'll get bored partway and go home.”

“He can find his way back?”

“He's a dog. He knows the road.”

Boro followed them for a day and a half, then stopped at midday on the second day and went back west. Willa said nothing for half an hour.

＊

Half a day's walk, and the ground changed.

The red soil turned gray. The thin-legged rocks were gone too. In their place there were holes open here and there in the ground, with steam coming out of them.

Marlow held a hand over one of the holes.

“Warm.”

“You are not supposed to feel temperature,” Roslyn said.

“I can tell hot. It's cold I can't tell.”

“That is a large difference. I will write it down.”

Roslyn wrote as she walked.

Drag scooped a bit of soil off the rim of a hole with his finger and smelled it.

“Salt.”

“The steam's salty?”

“The ground's giving off salt. Coming up from below, I'd say.”

There is a sea under four thousand one hundred and twenty meters, Brin had said.

The smell of that sea was leaking out of holes in the ground.

＊

That night, once the fire was going, Roslyn took out her board.

“Let me lay one thing out. If I keep it only in my head, I will make a mistake.”

“Say it.”

“I will list the numbers we know. Of the seven digits, the first four are the same in every case. Only the last three differ.”

Roslyn read off the board by the light of the fire.

“The first. The number on the inside of your left elbow. It has been there since you were born.”

“The second. The name tag of the man in the gray coat, dead inside the ship that fell.”

“The third. The name tag from the body that came out of the rear half of the ship, the half that came down on the city side. Captain Mortensen has it.”

“The fourth. The number written in the outpost's ledger of arrivals and departures. A person who came in the autumn of three years ago, went on to the drill site, and has no record of leaving.”

“So there's four of them.”

“No. Three.”

Roslyn set the two numbers side by side on the board and showed him.

“The third and the fourth were the same number. I confirmed it at the outpost.”

Marlow put together what that meant.

“Wait. Then the man who went east three years ago—”

“Yes. He is the man who came out of the ship on the city side.”

“He was dead. That day.”

“He was dead. Which means it comes to this.”

Roslyn counted on her fingers.

“In the autumn of three years ago, a man with your face and your name came east from the city. He passed through the outpost and went in to the drill site. There is no record of him leaving.”

“And three years later, that man was aboard an Imperial transport ship bound from the east toward the city.”

“The ship fell above the city. The man died. On the city side. He is the man whose name tag the captain picked up.”

Drag raised his head on the far side of the fire.

“He was coming back, then. Took him three years.”

“He was on his way back. He fell before he arrived.”

Willa spoke quietly, still hugging her knees.

“…What was he trying to bring home, I wonder.”

Nobody answered.

The answer was probably inside the iron box. What was inside was a glass cylinder and water drawn from a depth of four thousand one hundred and twenty meters. It should still be at the back of a seamstress's shelf in the city, wrapped in a bolt of linen.

＊

On the evening of the second day, a sound began.

A low sound. It came up out of the ground. At even intervals, thud, thud, striking.

As they got nearer, other sounds mixed in between the beats. Iron scraping, and human voices.

Over one hill, and the drill site came into sight.

It was bigger than the tower at the outpost. Close to sixty meters tall. An iron frame standing on four legs, and from the middle of it an iron pipe going down into the ground.

Eight huts around the tower. People moving. He counted nineteen.

Steam went up from all over the ground, and depending on the wind, the steam hid the tower.

“It's huge…”

“Sixty years' worth.”

“And after sixty years it's still not done, right?”

“Fifteen more, they say.”

＊

The man who came out to meet them was thin.

Mid-fifties. Human. Tall, but no flesh on him. The left half of his face was burn scar, smooth as glass. There was no eyebrow on that side. His eyes were a pale gray that looked white in certain light.

His voice was low and slow, and he carried every sentence through to the end. He never let a word trail off.

“Harlan Bessel. I am the foreman here. I was not told anyone was coming from the outpost.”

“Mortensen. Wall jurisdiction, but this trip is private business.”

“Private business.”

Harlan repeated just those two words, slowly.

“You walked twenty-five days on private business.”

“I walked.”

“I see. That was a long way.”

Harlan nodded. He was neither surprised nor put out.

Marlow could not read what this man was thinking. He was not angry and he was not glad. It was the face of someone who had stopped minding anything years ago.

“There is food. There is somewhere to sleep. Water is three liters a person. Less here than at the outpost.”

“Why less?”

“Because we use it for the digging.”

＊

The next morning, Roslyn asked to see the drill site's records.

Harlan did not refuse. He took her into one of the huts and pulled a ledger off a shelf. Thicker than the outpost's.

“What are you looking for?”

“The autumn of three years ago.”

“The name.”

“Marlow Kane.”

Harlan looked at Marlow's face for the first time. He looked slowly. Then he spoke without turning a page.

“That name I remember. I do not need to turn the pages.”

“You remember it?”

“I remember. The only names I remember here are the divers.”

“What's a diver?”

Harlan closed the ledger and folded his hands on the desk.

“I will tell it in order. It is not long. If I am interrupted partway, I begin again from the start.”

“This hole is three thousand eight hundred meters deep now. A machine does the digging. You add lengths of pipe, and the tip breaks the rock. You follow me that far.”

“I follow.”

“The trouble is below fifteen hundred meters. The pipe bends. It clogs. It breaks. When that happens, no machine can fix it. A person has to go down and fix it.”

“Down under three thousand eight hundred meters?”

“That is correct.”

“A man can even get down there?”

“He can. We put him in the cage and lower him on the chain. Nineteen hours, one way.”

Harlan tapped the desk once with a finger.

“The person who does that is what we call a diver. Every half year or so, the Empire sends one.”

“Sends one. What's that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said. A roster comes, and the person with that name comes. We do not choose here.”

“Are they volunteers?”

“I have never heard of one. Every diver who has come here got into the cage without a word.”

Willa took hold of Marlow's sleeve.

“How many went down?”

“Since I became foreman, fourteen.”

“How many came up?”

Harlan left a pause there. He did not seem to be dodging the question. He seemed to be counting.

The cheek on the unburned side moved, once. Nothing else about him moved.

“Not one of them.”

“Not one?”

“Not one. Fourteen went down, and fourteen.”

The room went quiet. Outside, the striking of the ground went on.

“The pipe gets fixed. Every time. The one who goes down fixes it and does not come up. The cage comes back by itself, empty.”

“You're the ones hauling the chain. You can't see what's going on down there?”

“We cannot. It is at the end of nineteen hours of chain. A voice does not carry that far.”

“Do you report it to the Empire?”

“Every time. Nine years, every time.”

“And the reply?”

“The reply is the same every time. The next roster comes. That is all. Not one line of condolence.”

＊

Drag spoke. His voice was the same as always, only a little slow in coming.

“I'll give you a name. Kale Mortensen. My brother. Three years ago.”

“He was not a diver.”

“He wasn't?”

“That man came as an escort. He brought a diver in. And the roster with him.”

Harlan opened the ledger. This time he opened it.

“Imperial Year 345, autumn. Escort, Kale Mortensen. Diver, Marlow Kane.”

Drag did not move.

“What happened to my brother?”

“He went back. West. Once the diver is handed over, the escort's work is finished.”

“He never got back.”

“That I do not know. I remember that he left here.”

Roslyn wrote on her board. When she had written it, she spoke without lifting her head.

“Mr. Bessel. The Marlow Kane who went down three years ago — did he come back up?”

“He did not come up. He is one of the fourteen.”

“Then I will change the question. The Marlow Kane who went down three years ago was aboard an Imperial transport ship last month. A ship traveling from east to west.”

Harlan was silent for a while.

“That is an error.”

“I compared the numbers on the name tags.”

“It is an error even so. The cage came back empty. I saw it.”

“Then one of us is wrong. I will doubt my own side first. I will ask you once more. Did you see the cage come back empty with your own eyes?”

Harlan did not answer.

It was not that he would not answer. He was looking for the answer.

“…I did not see it.”

“Then who did?”

“I received a report. Every time. I am not up on the tower. The paper says empty.”

“Who wrote the paper?”

“An engineer sent from the Empire. The name is different every time.”

＊

The talk ended after midday.

Outside, the sun was high. The tower's shadow was short.

Harlan came out after him and stood beside Marlow.

Then he spoke, in the tone of a man who had forgotten to mention something.

“You are early.”

“Early for what?”

“The next roster. It arrived last month.”

Harlan took a folded paper from inside his coat. He opened it and held it so Marlow could see.

There were three stamps on the paper, and one line written on it.

Diver, Marlow Kane. To report next month.

A number was set beside it.

The first four digits were the same.

The last three were the same as the number on Marlow's arm as well.

All seven digits were the same.

End of Chapter 11