They were standing in a large chamber. In the middle of the floor sat a huge contraption, partly covered in the luminescent lichen. It looked at once both mechanical and organic, its details distinct from one another but with rounded edges and surfaces that seemed to have pores. Vanja could make out what looked like pistons, plungers, vents, an enormous cylinder. High above their heads, sheathed in the soft light, rose the arch of a spoked wheel whose highest point seemed to have merged with the ceiling.
“It’s a machine.” Saying it sent a chill down Vanja’s spine.
Vanja and Evgen walked a full lap around it. Liquid bled from the ceiling and dripped onto it, settling in hard patches that choked the organism growing on the surface.
“Once when I was a boy, we went to Essre,” Evgen said. “We visited the Pioneer Museum. They had a steam-powered machine there, a small one. Someone had brought it from the old world. It looked a bit like this.” Evgen gestured at the wheel looming above them. “The wheel went round and round. Have you seen it?”
Vanja nodded. “Once. Then they removed it.”
“Did Ivar say anything about a machine?”
“No,” Vanja said. “I wonder if we went the wrong way. Or if it wasn’t here before.”
Evgen shone his flashlight at the walls. “I wonder if there are more exits.”
Vanja took a mitten off and ran her hand over the machine’s hull. It gave off a slight vibration at her touch. “That little machine in Essre was supposed to power other machines. I wonder what this one is for.”
“I don’t like this place,” Evgen said. “We should get out of here.”
There was a circular plaque on the cylinder’s hull. It reminded Vanja of a clock, but the symbols inscribed on the face looked unfamiliar. She tried to make out the symbols, but they kept drifting out of focus; she could almost read them, but not quite. If she could just concentrate for a moment.
“Vanja!” Evgen said it loudly, right behind her. She realized he’d called her name several times. “Can’t you hear me?” His voice was thin. “I can’t find the door.”
Vanja straightened reluctantly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I can’t find the door.”
His face appeared next to hers, eyes wide between the hat and his dewy beard. Vanja took her hand off the machine and turned on her flashlight. She aimed it at the wall but couldn’t see anything at this distance. She glanced at Evgen, who looked back at her. They slowly walked over to the spot where the door should be. The wall was unbroken and black.
“Let’s follow the wall,” Vanja said. “We just missed it.”
They followed the gentle curve of the wall. After a while, Vanja spotted tracks in the dust in front of them: two pairs of footprints, starting at the wall and leading to the center of the room. Another set of footprints returned from the center. No door. She stopped short. Next to her, Evgen grabbed her hand and squeezed it so hard it hurt. The pain cleared her head.
Vanja took a deep breath. “The door is here somewhere. We’re just a little scared and confused.” She squeezed Evgen’s hand back. “Aren’t we, Evgen?”
“Yes.” Evgen’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
Vanja spoke more loudly. “The door is exactly where we last saw it. The door is still there.”
“The door is still there.”
“Do you remember what it looks like?” Vanja said. “It opens into the chamber, I remember that.”
“It’s gray. And has a plain handle.”
They continued around the room. The colossus in the middle of the chamber constituted a very insistent presence.
Evgen clutched Vanja’s hand even tighter. “How many hinges does the door have?”
“Two hinges,” Vanja said. “And it’s a matte gray. Not shiny.”
Further ahead, Vanja could see their footprints again, the ones leading toward the machine. And there, in the wall, where the footprints started: the door. She let out a long breath.
Evgen pushed the door open with a faint squeak. On the other side, the broad staircase rose up into the darkness. He rushed upstairs, two steps at a time. Vanja took one last look over her shoulder. It was as if the machine made a noise, a note so deep she could only feel it as a vibration in the pit of her stomach.
The steps felt much higher than when they had descended. Vanja’s thigh muscles burned every time she heaved herself upward. It was with relief she saw the door at the top of the stairs—both because she’d reached the top and because the door was still there. Evgen leaned on the door and pushed it open. They jogged down the tunnel, Evgen’s breath like tortured groans behind her.
Finally, a row of rungs broke the smooth wall. Vanja clambered up the ladder, almost slipping a few times. Cold, fresh air was blowing down the shaft. No light made it this far down, but she could hear the wind whistle across the opening. When she finally made it up, she heaved herself over the edge, fell down on the grass, and stayed there. Evgen collapsed on the ground next to her. They lay like that, staring up into the night sky, until they could breathe again. Eventually, Vanja stood up on unsteady legs. Evgen held out a hand, and she helped him up. Amatka’s lights gleamed on the horizon. They started walking.
“It opened away from us,” Vanja mumbled after a moment.
“What?” Evgen stopped.
“The door. When we came into the chamber with the machine. The door opened into the chamber.”
Evgen nodded.
“But when we found it again,” Vanja went on, “then it was turned the other way. It opened onto the stairs.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Evgen abruptly leaned over and vomited.
Nina was still fast asleep when Vanja stole into bed. It wasn’t long until dawn. Then Ivar would get up, and she’d tell him that it was all true, that he wasn’t insane. That there really was something underneath the colony.
The tunnels they had gone through—it was either a system or the tunnels themselves shifted. That, or Ivar had seen the machine but not mentioned it. Who had built the machine? Who had dug the tunnels? What were they for? Travel, Ulla had said. Tunnels are for travel. Who was traveling to Amatka? The memory of her dream by the lake came back: feet across the ice, voices, flutes. Voices had called out to Ivar underground. Amatka wasn’t alone anymore.
SIXDAY
It was well after the breaking of the ice. Vanja had taken yesterday’s leftovers out of the fridge and was reheating them on the stove. The coffee was brewing. She could smell Nina on her clothes.
The steps coming down the stairs were slow and heavy. Nina entered the kitchen with a small note in her hand. She sat down at the kitchen table in silence. Vanja took the pan from the heat and plucked the note from between Nina’s fingers.
I know you don’t believe it but they’re going to come get me to do a procedure on me. I’m heading out on the ice. Don’t tell the children what I did. They shouldn’t have to hear it. I’m sorry.
Nina scrunched her face up. She pressed her fists against her eyes. “I can’t. I can’t go down there.”
Her body was so taut it trembled.
Vanja wrapped her arms around Nina from behind and put her cheek against hers. “I’ll go.”
The streets were almost empty in the gray light. It was far too early to be up on a Sixday. The only thing that moved was the shadow of the night growers on the plant-house walls. Vanja caught the sound of sprinklers as she passed, following the water-supply pipe to the lake. Stiff grass rattled against the irrigation pipeline. Vanja halted as an unfamiliar shape appeared at the edge of her vision. It stood far away on the tundra—long and thin, with a curved top end. Vanja squinted. It looked like a pipe, like the ones she had seen in a cluster the other night. Possibly. She turned in a slow circle and counted one, two, three slender silhouettes on the horizon, which until now had always been flat and featureless.