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The Scottish Government Bunker
LED downlighting glowed over Siobhan as she stood in her bedroom in the single-female quarters of the accommodation sector of the underground Scottish Government Bunker. Her lamp spilled soft light on her serviceable dressing table, which was now bare except for her toiletries and make-up paraphernalia. Packed bags and boxes crowded the floor at her feet.
Apart from her single bed and functional wardrobe, the only other unpacked items were a turntable and speakers. She’d got the record player on “permanent” loan from the archives. The rock bands of the 1970s had intrigued her. Some of their names were odd, with no hint of the fantastic electric guitar riffs in the tracks she’d played, and like the one she listened to now.
Beats thrummed through her body. Music filled her cramped room, as if the lead guitarist were strumming the strings in her presence. Vibrations bounced from the speakers and drove into her soul. The lyrics expressed exactly what she felt: she and Rory had waited so long to be together.
Her time apart from Rory had been a hard couple of months’ anticipation of life with him. Soon they’d be together every day and she’d enjoy exploring who he was, which was far more than the talented, resourceful, and very masculine man who’d attracted her attention. She recalled his reaction to the possibility of a nuclear fallout cloud moving toward Scotland and how he’d shown compassion to those even his Community would regard as enemies by offering the bandit groups shelter. His sense of fairness was admirable. He had the makings of a great man, and she relished the thought of witnessing that potential bloom.
And beginning their intimate relationship. She couldn’t deny the promise of their sex life had its own pull.
Somebody banged on her door. Louise opened it, entered and flicked on the main light. She mouthed something.
“Pardon?” Siobhan lifted the stylus off the record.
“Siobhan. It’s so loud!”
“Oh, sorry.” Siobhan removed the record from the turntable and replaced it in its cover. She wiped her wet cheeks dry with her palm before turning to face Louise.
“You okay, Siobhan?”
“I’m fine,” she sniffed.
“No, you’re not.” Louise stepped forward and hugged her. “But I’ve some good news for you.”
“Yes, what?” Siobhan dried her eyes with the back of her hand.
“The drone returned. The Geiger Counter strapped to it was clear. Well, just the usual background radiation readings. Our contacts in the French Government were right. It never reached us but blew to the east. So, we can safely say it’s over.”
“I can go?” Siobhan gasped. But that would only happen if she got permission from the Prime Minister. Siobhan’s shoulders sank a little.
“Oh, I doubt you’ll be able to leave.” Angela poked her head into Siobhan’s room, her long, red hair hanging loosely about her face.
Siobhan sighed at her sister-in-law. Rory had warned her of Angela’s ambitious nature, and he hadn’t exaggerated either. Louise released their hug.
“The PM wouldn’t want a valuable person such as yourself out of her sight.” Angela pushed strands of straight hair behind her ear and came to stand fully in the doorway. “What are you going to do? Rory will never leave. He loves it in his middle-of-the-bloody-nowhere-highlands. And he’s too busy being king of the compound.”
Angela was right. Rory loved his mountains and clear blue sky, even though it was often grey, and the mountains shrouded in mist. It was his home, and he belonged to the outdoors. Rory wouldn’t survive underground. Siobhan must find a way of getting to him. Recollections of fresh mountain breezes and Rory’s warm, strong hands flitted through her thoughts, then tears welled in the corners of her eyes and her throat tightened.
Angela remained in the doorway while Siobhan groped for a hankie on her dresser.
“For someone interested in politics, diplomacy isn’t your strong point, is it, Angela?” Louise shut the door in Angela’s face.
“It’s okay, Louise. But thanks.” Siobhan dabbed her eyes and inspected her face in the mirror. “I’m going to see Bethany.” She wiped her face and began to reapply her make-up.
“Ah, I don’t think she’s in her office,” Louise said.
Siobhan turned. “Where is she?”
Louise glanced at the floor.
“What?” Siobhan paused with her make-up brush still poised.
Louise raised her head. “She’s visiting Major McLellan in his cell.”
“Antony? What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you so cagey about it?” Siobhan narrowed her eyes.
Louise didn’t answer.
“Tell me.”
“Oh, okay. She sees him a lot.” Louise’s cheeks were rosy.
“What do they have to talk about?” Siobhan replaced the foundation on the dresser, she was only half done but Louise’s reaction was troubling.
Louise shrugged, her cheeks now bright red.
Siobhan was sure Antony’s opinions on Community life wouldn’t change. According to him, Community people were anti-government anarchists who would incite revolt at any sign of the Government’s return. This past year, it had been the aim of the Bunker’s occupants to restore the Government’s rule over all of Scotland once more. The nuclear submarine issue had become the impetus for accelerating the reinstallation of the Government’s leadership. And an opportunity to meet the different groups of citizens who lived up top.
“So, Antony still has the ear of the PM, even though he’s incarcerated in the depths of the Bunker.”
Louise didn’t reply but stood in the doorway studying the floor.
The Government had imprisoned Antony McLellan for his crimes committed while dealing with the submarine leaking radioactivity up top. He was obviously still spilling his negativism and inaccurate beliefs about Community life and Community people to Bethany.
Siobhan was certain her husband, Rory, would be the main topic of conversation. Her nails dug into her palms.
No, Antony having the PM’s ear was not a good thing.
Turning back to her reflection, Siobhan quickly finished her make-up and checked her French roll was still in place then put on her high heels and click-clacked down the smooth concrete corridor to the office sector of the Bunker, leaving Louise behind in the single-female quarters. LED lights flicked on at her approach, flicking off again as she passed and leaving a dark passage in her wake. The passageway was lined with paintings and prints of old Scotland, pre-Crash, and when she finally got to where she headed, the PM’s secretary pointed her to the chair beneath a painting of the previous parliament house in Holyrood.
Siobhan sat and listened to the muffled hum of the air conditioners and dehumidifiers. Government staff, whom her father had labelled public servants, attended diligently to their duties in the surrounding offices while she waited twenty minutes outside the PM’s office before Bethany walked along the corridor.
“Bethany.” Siobhan rose from the chair. The Prime Minster of Scotland strode past without a glance and opened the door to her office. “May I speak with you?”
“Siobhan, come in.” Bethany’s tone lacked its usual warmth as she stepped into her room, avoiding eye contact with Siobhan.
Siobhan followed, swallowing down the slight sense of dread that Bethany’s tone had evoked. Bethany walked around her desk and sat in her high-backed office chair. Her dark, tailored skirt suit sat well on her shapely figure, though her blouse was misbuttoned at the top.
Odd. Bethany was always fastidious about her attire.
Bethany straightened the neat pile of paperwork on her desk then finally looked up at Siobhan.
“What can I do for you?”
“You’ve heard the radiation-alert has cleared and the cloud hasn’t reached this far north?”
Bethany nodded.
“I wish to be with my husband. At the Invercharing Community. I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”
For some moments, Bethany stared back at Siobhan without speaking. Her mouth tightened; her hands absently fiddling with a pen beside the stack of papers she’d neatened.
Siobhan raised an eyebrow. “Bethany?”
“Siobhan, I need to tell you that the Government doesn’t recognise your marriage to Rory Campbell.”
“Pardon?” Siobhan couldn’t hold the incredulity from her voice.
So, Bethany is heading down that path, is she?
“Whether or not you acknowledge it is of no consequence, Bethany—”
“Prime Minister,” Bethany spoke low.
“Prime Minister.” Siobhan crossed her arms and endeavoured to enunciate every syllable. “In that case, I request permission to resume diplomatic talks with the diverse groups of Scottish citizens who live outside of the Scottish Government Bunker. I believe consultation and information gathering will be constructive to our steps toward the reinstatement of a fully functioning government that has the true needs of its people at heart. I shall commence with the Communities out there, those who adhere to the Community Model developed and encouraged by the late Caitlin Murray-Campbell. I will begin with the Invercharing Community, where my husband resides.”
“No.”
“Pardon?” Siobhan’s mouth remained open and she leaned closer to Bethany’s desk.
Bethany held her stare. Siobhan closed her mouth and stood straighter, determined to be ready for whatever objections Bethany was about to proffer.
“No. I do not give permission.”
“Why?” A sense of disbelief whirled in the back of Siobhan’s thoughts. “Why not liaise and communicate with our people out there? Our Scottish people whom we desire to be on our side?”
Bethany’s lips were a thin line. “Not yet, Siobhan. We need to know those groups will be on our side.”
“How can you be certain of that if you don’t interact with them?”
Bethany picked up the pen on her desk and began clicking its top—over and over.
Siobhan scratched her neck. “Prime Minister, they are real men and women with intelligence and skills. They’re not the wild, ignorant barbarians into which the inhabitants of the world up top were meant to have devolved.” She planted her palms on Bethany’s desk. “They’re nothing like our teachers said they would be, Beth—Prime Minister.”
Bethany screwed her mouth and continued clicking the pen, but didn’t answer.
“Prime Minister, I’m ideally positioned to be an ambassador for the Government, if you wish to see it that way. I can be there among them, get the feel for where they’re at. What they’re really thinking, not just what we assume they think.”
Or what Antony tells you they think.
Siobhan stood tall.
Bethany stayed silent.
“You owe it to the people of the Invercharing Community who have done Scotland a great service and rescued us from annihilation.” Siobhan slapped Bethany’s desk. “Why are you being so resistant?”
“With our assistance, Siobhan,” Bethany growled, fixing her glare on Siobhan’s hand where it pressed onto her desk. “They successfully neutralised a nuclear radiation issue with our invaluable equipment and trained personnel—two of whom we lost.”
Siobhan removed her hand from Bethany’s desk. “I will be an advocate for the Government—”
“If you have married someone in the Community System, then your opinions and sentiments are biased.”
“But if I’m one of them, surely they’ll feel more accepted and akin to us. So, no more of this us and them. Just us.”
The pen clicking continued—gaining in rapidity. Siobhan’s pulse beat in time with it.
“Bethany, I’m asking you as a friend. Please, may I go and be with my husband?”
“I have already informed you, Siobhan, the Scottish Government does not recognise your marital union with Rory Campbell and, therefore, is under no obligation to support it by facilitating access to your so-called spouse.”
“But—”
“This meeting is over.” Bethany bent her head, engrossed in the file under her nose.
“What has Antony said to you?” Siobhan’s question rang out in the quiet office.
Bethany’s nostrils flared though she didn’t look up. Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. “Do you wish me to call security?”
Siobhan blinked, her skin cooling. She stepped back from the invisible wall now before her.
“Very well. Good evening, Prime Minister.” Siobhan turned and strode to the communication centre.