From the monitors I watch the flakes fall in the yellow sodium light. The wind is down; outside looks almost normal, and the drifts are like snowfall.

I know it’s mid-day; the clock above me ticks on and on, but a deep cloud hides the sun from my view. My shift finishes in nine more hours. I’d like to think that some days go faster than others. George says they are all exactly the same. He works in the hydroponics dome and I track ash fall. Time works differently when you enjoy your work.

 

Three screens are lit out of a bank of twenty. We don’t know if the others are alive in their warrens or if it is an interrupted feed. Broken wires maybe? I like to hope that they are alive and they have no parts left to make camera repairs.

Seventeen warrens have gone out of contact, three in recent months. Are they still like us, frightened of the cold, the noxious gasses, or the sulfur dioxide that dissolves in the moisture of our eyes? When we began our confinement, they calculated that we would lose a warren every year or so. I say we just lost communication. George says I am the eternal optimist.

 

It’s my birthday today. I’m allowed a full hour in the simulated sunlight gym to celebrate with George. I hope my present is a hydroponic strawberry like last year. The constant hum of people, the air sweaty and ripe within our warren is comforting. Warm and well-fed, we are alive.

I hope there is a surprise party planned, with our recycled birthday banner. We don’t bother with the age bit anymore; the letters of HAPPY BIRTHDAY hang haphazard and off-center, much like us.

 

My first session in solitude training starts soon, and I have no idea what it will feel like. I don’t remember. I must have at some point been alone in the before. The younger ones say I should know better, and ask for any tips I have. When we go outside, we will need the mental ability to adapt to the wide spaces. What will it be like to have the wind in your face? The rainfall on your hair? It wasn’t all thrilling, was it? We have newsreels of avalanches, floods, and dustbowls.

 

I observe the monitor and see the light flicker in Auckland. I hope it is the unit, not their power supply. New York has ash swirling around the camera. There is sound, but I don’t turn the volume up; I can listen to the wind howling through our own if I want to. Our view looks the same as usual, swirling ash and more swirling ash. A streak hits the camera; a silver drop runs down leaving a small curve of gray. I groan because acid rain interferes with the electrics. Another risky outdoor procedure in full Haz-suit is not what I need today. Perhaps I'll mention wearing a Haz-suit to the solitude trainer — now that is being alone.

 

Our camera shows static layers of amber light at a wavelength 589 nm. Yet one more day looking at ash drifts. I gape at the swirling rain. I’m sure the ash and fog are lessening, clearing. I pull my chair up and stare. I take readings upon readings. The cloud looks different. I’m sure there is a red tinge. Then I see it. A single beam of sunlight peeks through a triangular hole of blue sky, shining down on the gray ash.

I don’t want my shift to end today.