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Scottish Government Underground Bunker, Edinburgh 2061
Siobhan stowed the last of her casual clothes into her duffle bag. The sound of Beatles’ music came from her record player; John Lennon sang a slow ballad as his nasal tones filled her room. No skirts or nice cardigans for this trip. Practical and warm—they were going to the Highlands, after all. She recalled from her reading, and a vague memory of a family holiday, that it could be cold. And she would wear decent shoes—no heels.
Siobhan left her packing and made her way along the corridor to the lift for the next level. There was no click-clack this time from the serviceable boots she’d borrowed from Stores. She hummed to herself despite the lack of beat her footsteps usually provided. The music put her in a calm mood, and she’d had heart flutters on and off all morning. She reminded herself to not look too eager to go up top.
The long LED-lit corridor led to the section of the Government Bunker which held her office. Louise sat at her desk in her adjoining office as Siobhan took the USB sticks out of her computer and placed them in her bag, ensuring she had everything she could possibly need with her on this trip.
“Louise, please monitor the reports of the fallout cloud. Get Communications to send me an update if it looks like its heading our way, please.” The most recent communiqué from the US Government’s sources mid country, reported it was possible that the cloud would only travel as far north as Italy. It was smaller than previous ones. They were comparing it to the cloud of radiation emitted from the Chernobyl reactor mishap of the 1980s. Britain had survived that, hadn’t it?
“Yes, Ms Kensington-Wallace.” Louise looked up and smiled, her dimples puckering. “You go. I’ll be fine. You’ve taught me everything you know, Siobhan. Time to trust me.” Her eyes opened wide, then she giggled, the gesture easing the tension in Siobhan’s shoulders.
Yes, Louise would be fine. Siobhan had been preparing her for years in all things nuclear. Louise was her designated replacement. Everyone had one. It was protocol. Every position in the bunker—political, security and defence, Brains Trust, quartermaster, anything—had the appropriate and highly qualified personnel ready to instantly take over the role.
“Ms Kensington-Wallace, the PM is waiting for you.” The PM’s secretary stood at the door to Siobhan’s office. Siobhan took the long way around to the PM’s office via the garages. Men loaded equipment into the armoured vehicles, as well as radiation suits, Geiger Counters, computers, food, ammunition, and tents. A soldier secured a 30 mm automatic chain cannon to the back of a jeep, and a tank was getting a last-minute overhaul.
Tanks! What did Antony think they would be up against?
That was enough! She strode the rest of the way to the PM’s office and knocked on the door. Antony opened it as Siobhan smoothed her shirt and army camouflage patterned cargo pants and walked into the room.
The Prime Minister of Scotland sat behind her desk wearing a military suit, her dark hair shone in the LED lighting. Of a similar age to Siobhan, Bethany Watts was also a child of the Brains Trust and had lived in the bunker most of her life. Educated with Siobhan, she was the first of the elite generation voted into office during the previous year’s elections.
Scotland—those originally called to, and living in, the Government Bunker underneath Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh—had decided devolution was the appropriate line to take. The rest of Britain and Scotland were on a level playing field financially since The Stock Market Crash. Britain’s financial backup no longer existed, and Scotland could disallow access to her invaluable resources of North Sea oil and abundant fresh water. Not to mention the many wind power sources dotted throughout the Scottish countryside. Not long after going underground, a totally Independent Scottish Parliament began its rule.
Siobhan pressed her lips together to stifle a laugh as she stood before the PM. It was still so incredulous that Antony had encouraged Siobhan to put herself up for election. She’d no wish to govern and was more interested in practical concerns, such as keeping the nuclear reactors ticking away safely and all warheads dormant.
Antony had pushed her to it out of his own ambition. He was the one who wanted the office, as many did. In fact, the desire for position motivated most of the machinations of the elite generation.
It was quite tiresome at times. And one had to watch one’s step in case someone else’s foot was inadvertently underneath it. It would be nice to have a break from it. Siobhan glanced at Antony standing beside her in his camouflage Defence Force uniform. His mouth twitched.
Antony was manoeuvring now. She was convinced his main motivation for volunteering to go on this mission was to earn Brownie points, as they say.
“I know you understand the gravity of this situation, Miss Kensington-Wallace. The Government appreciates the bravery involved in co-leading this mission.” Bethany Watts pursed her lips and looked at both of them in turn. “We haven’t had direct contact with the outside world for many years. We hope and pray you will have a safe journey and the people of the Invercharing Community are friendly.”
“We have prepared for any reception, Prime Minister,” Antony replied.
Siobhan turned her head to give her opinion, but stopped herself, her hands trembled as she clasped them in front of her.
“Do you wish to say something, Siobhan?” The PM’s focus was now on her.
Did she? She sure did. And this time, she actually would.
“Prime Minister, I have just checked the preparations for our expedition, and I think we go a little heavy-handed.”
To say the least!
“Oh, why is that?” The PM tilted her head.
Beside Siobhan, Antony stiffened.
“Do we really need tanks? These people who live in communities do not seem to be aggressive and they don’t have any heavy weaponry.”
Antony answered for the PM. “We must prepare ourselves, Siobhan. We don’t fully know what we’re up against. We will deal with the very strong possibility of a nuclear weapon. What if there are other hostiles out there?” Antony’s shoulders made their slight shuffle they always did when he was on the defence.
“Yes, but the people of the Invercharing Community may think we are coming to attack, not ask for assistance. And what do you mean by other hostiles?” Siobhan took a deep breath. “The people who live in community are only interested in survival, not mutiny.”
“You don’t know that, Siobhan. They have lived out there for years with their own form of governance. They are reluctant to comply with anyone’s wishes but their own.” Antony’s voice filled the small office. Lowering it, he continued. “They are like the hippy communes of the sixties and seventies of the last century, but with armies.” He turned back to the PM. “They could even have plans to resist the Government’s influence. They’re rebels, and this community would be the worst. It’s run by the son of Caitlin Murray-Campbell!”
Siobhan’s pulse raced. Antony was painting an inaccurate picture of the community lifestyle. The PM’s eyes widened further with each of his outlandish and unfounded statements.
“Prime Minister.” With her pulse thudding in her temples, Siobhan interrupted before Antony could do any more damage. “I’m sure we’ll find a truer picture once we have actually met the people who live there. This is a chance to work with them and see what they are like. What their wishes are regarding government.”
“You are sure.” Antony’s eyebrows raised, coinciding with his pitch. “Siobhan, just because you have watched the drones for years doesn’t mean you know what goes on in those peoples’ minds.”
“And you do?”
That silenced him.
“Let’s focus on the mission to make safe this nuclear problem.” Bethany Watts regained control of the conversation. “It can be a fact-finding mission regarding community life.” Bethany stared directly at Siobhan. Her gaze turned to Antony. “Get a feel for these people, but please do not use any force or be aggressive in any way, Major McLellan.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So, the tanks?” Siobhan asked.
The PM pressed her lips together and looked from Siobhan to Antony. “Just take one.”
***
BACK IN HER ROOM, SIOBHAN finished her packing, sat on her bed, and sighed. Directly opposite on her dressing table sat the photo of her father with her as a child.
Daddy, I’m going up top.
Her heart fluttered again.
Siobhan recalled the day they came here to the Government Bunker. She was so young at the time, but every detail was etched in her memory. Her father had been tense and they had packed in haste after the phone call, and left Oxford at once. That whole day had been strange. The two men from the previous evening, who her father had thrown out, had returned, but he had let them in and called them ‘friends’.
He had told her to never forget them. Good old Daddy.
Well, she hadn’t.
Especially not the older brother with the dark-red hair tied up in a bun. He was so nice to her, and his Scottish accent reminded her of her mother. He’d smelled of wild things; scents she recalled from a holiday in the Highlands. When people used to holiday.
She was going back there now, to the Highlands. There would be danger to get through on the way, but this community seemed particularly friendly. Except for the young man who shot the drone. He looked a little like the man she had to remember. Were they related?
Maybe all Highlanders are related.
“Ms Kensington-Wallace?” The soldier at her door interrupted her thoughts. “It’s time.”
