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The Scottish Government Bunker
Winter Solstice, 2063
“Meetings all day.” Murray sat on their bed, bouncing Jake on his knee. Jake squealed until Murray put him down on the floor, where he ran around in the confined space. “Yep, he’s like you, Rory. Can’t keep still. Have you taught him how to ride yet? Dad had you on a horse by now, or so I’m told.”
“How ’bout you take him to the child-minding place, Murray?” Rory directed his forced grin at his brother. He’d be happier if Murray minded Jake himself, but Murray had responsibilities now that he was part of the science team in the Bunker. Rory suppressed another shiver, they kept coming in this place of no natural light and stale air.
“What?” He looked at Siobhan’s sapphire-blue eyes staring sternly at him. He recalled the first time he saw them in LED—deep, vast pools.
“Be patient. You’ll be out of here after Christmas. Just think of me still in the place where daylight never dwells, as you like to call it.” She slipped her arms around his waist and placed a kiss on his lips.
“It’s dark all day today, anyway.” Murray chased Jake and caught his hand. “Well, almost. It’s the Winter Solstice. Sun won’t rise till 08:42 a.m. and sets as early as 3:40 p.m.”
“Thank you, Mr Numbers,” Rory said to Murray, then looked back to Siobhan. “You keep away from the you-know-what today, okay?”
“Definitely.” Siobhan’s eyes widened. “I never want to get caught in that again.”
***
RORY SAT BESIDE SIOBHAN at the front of the room, Micah was next to them and the Donaldsons were nearby. Bethany-stuck-up-Watts did her usual ingratiating welcome, and the this is what the New Scottish Government is all about speech. She touched on the country re-establishing itself, reorganising, restructuring, and stated taxation would be required for infrastructure repair and development. Rory grimaced. Invercharing were tied into that one already.
The next speaker was a defence force officer who hinted at conscription to a united security force. Rory sensed Mrs Donaldson’s posture stiffening even from where he sat in front of her. He had squirmed at the prospect of his own youngsters leaving the Community to defend the Government. As he’d looked around on this visit, he’d noticed there weren’t many young people, or children, in the Bunker.
But he could see some good in conscription. The militia might learn a thing or two—or teach the Government something new. There would be provisos, of course. Limited contracts and availability of troops should the Communities require them.
Rory rolled his shoulders. A morning of inactivity was uncomfortable. He stretched his neck and did a secret scan of the room. Lloyd was absent again.
The session broke for morning tea and Rory left Siobhan speaking to Deet, instead heading over to the coffee machine where Maxwell was dispensing a hot drink.
“Good morning,” Rory said Maxwell, who grunted a reply. “Your father hasn’t made it this morning. Is he okay?”
“Yes.” Hot water sloshed over Maxwell’s hand and he flinched. “Ahh!”
“Better put some cold water on it.” Rory said. “Go to the Gents.”
Maxwell dropped the cup on the table and made a sharp exit out of the refreshment area.
The afternoon talks were on power supplies and getting the much-needed maintenance attended to on the wind and hydroelectricity units, and determining the feasibility of repairing the abandoned facilities throughout Scotland. It required an inventory of the available and viable resources. They didn’t mention nuclear power plants.
Rory stood by the coffee machine at a late afternoon tea break. Coffee was the only good thing about this place. The Donaldsons approached him, Mrs Donaldson’s face was eye-piercingly stern.
“Mrs Donaldson, how have you found the discussions?” Rory braced himself for the response.
“You ken how I feel about their defence force ideas.” She dropped her voice. “It’s our young people they want as they only have ageing soldiers. I’m sure ye hae noted that, Rory.”
“Hmm,” Rory replied then took a sip of his coffee. His enjoyment of the dark brown liquid might dispel his discomfort regarding that issue, even if it was only for a moment.
“This government,” Mrs Donaldson continued in a low voice, “is yet tae fully convince me they’ll treat us as friends and not just a resource to exploit.”
“They’ll soon be scrounging for our fuel,” Mr Donaldson observed. “Did ye see those tanks? How on earth do they run them?”
“Aye, that will be next,” Mrs Donaldson concurred as Micah approached.
Mr Donaldson poured his wife a coffee. “Don’t you think so, son?” Mr Donaldson peered through his glasses at Micah.
“Aye, sir,” Micah answered in a brisk manner. A fine sheen of sweat covered his brow, and he scratched the back of his neck and stared directly at Rory. “You got a minute?”
Rory kept hold of his coffee while following Micah to a quieter area with comfortable sofas.
“They’re gonna be speakin’ on fuels and stuff soon and I know Dad would be interested in that, but I can’t find him.”
“Why you tellin’ me? What’s it to me if your father isn’t making the most of his time in the Government Bunker?”
“It’s just that—” Micah closed his mouth on that sentence. “Okay, Rory. Maxwell will ken where he is.” He stomped off, his dreads bobbing in their bun.
Rory walked toward the entry to the meeting hall, but a sharp tap on his back stopped him short. He turned. Murray stood frowning, his lips disappearing in a scrunch and air coming loudly through his nose.
“What?” Alarm bells rang in Rory’s head, deafening all other thoughts.
“Need you to come with me right now.” Murray spun.
Rory trailed Murray without speaking. He hurried from the central meeting area and out to the stairwell. They ran down four flights of stairs and turned off at the level where, if Rory remembered correctly, they housed the Time Machine.
Cold shot up from his guts and filled every part of him.
“What are ye about to show me, Murray?” He stifled the yell welling up.
“Quiet!” Murray’s reply was sharp.
Murray led him down the corridor to the lab that was home to the machine.
The door stood open.
Rory stepped through. A pod lay crumpled on the floor of the Time Machine. Dirty footprints led away from it and faded as they progressed out the doorway.
Rory blinked, his skin crawling. “Who?”
“I don’t know, but I locked this door. Someone’s forced it.” Murray pointed to the broken door handle. “And used it. They’ve returned. See these footprints?” He indicated to the floor. “They must’ve used the energy of the Solstice. That means they went this morning and have been gone all day. Sunset was half an hour ago.”
“Och, no!” Rory’s guts churned with the icy sensations gathering in them. “That bastard, Derrick Lloyd. That’s why Maxwell was so jittery this morning over coffee.”
The man’s name hung in the silence between them.
“Is there any way of finding out where he went? Future or past?”
Murray shrugged. “There was no year set on the console. Just like when Siobhan travelled to the future.”
Rory closed his eyes and swallowed. If it was the future, he would now have even more power. He’d have learned what he could hold over Rory, and how to go about it.
Rory’s breath came haltingly. “How did he know?” Rory fought the numbness threatening. “Who told him?”
“Rory?” Murray’s question filled the lab.
“We’re all sworn to secrecy.” Rory opened his eyes. “Even Cèilidh. I made her promise before she married Micah.”
Murray’s wide eyes bore into his. His wee brother, like everyone else, looked to him for the answer. Sometimes this being a leader was—
“Angela’s giving guided tours. She betrayed us once before.” Murray’s accusation seemed reasonable...but Angela would gain nothing from it. And she only operated if she benefitted.
“No,” Rory said with certainty. “Revealing the Time Machine to Lloyd would be regarded as a betrayal of the government she’s worked so hard at ingratiating herself with.”
Rory unclenched his fists, stifling the heat welling from deep within.
“I knew it!’ he ground out. “This machine is more open to abuse here in this Bunker than anywhere!”
“Siobhan’s been there too, Rory.” Murray brought him out of his introspection. “She’s told you what the future holds. We’re prepared. We’re better than that arsehole, Lloyd.”
His brother’s simple faith in good will always triumph, as naïve as he was beginning to think that was, was all he had to hold on to.